tagIncest/TabooHe Wanted To See More Of Me

He Wanted To See More Of Me


This is the attachment to an email from a German student I met during a vacation at a nude resort in the south of France. She was at least thirty years younger than me. How we met and how we ended up in the same bed three or four times is a long story that may be told later. One time, she surprised me by whispering that something about me reminded her of her father, sometimes the things I said.

She admitted that my uncircumcised cock was like his, but she had only seen his when she was about that high.

During the vacation, she had more than just seen the other kind, despite not seeming like the kind of girl who would have. Maybe, however, I was projecting a too fatherly attitude on her. One night I dreamt about my wife when we first met, but somehow recognized that she was the daughter we didn't have. My wife and I divorced a few years ago without a corespondent.

Anna and I exchanged emails after I returned to the States, nice ones, maybe even veiled affection, but perhaps all young girls sign their emails with "love." I don't want to think so. I hope that is enough to make sense of any references to her vacation.

A last word: she wanted it to be to be more about anticipation, but anticipation is ninety percent of pleasure. She didn't have to tell me what it was like; we had done it all.

** *

I met my father a few days after returning from a vacation in France, which he had generously paid for. I hoped he and my girlfriend's parents did not know that it was a nudest resort, My parents have been divorced for a few years, the reason I didn't meet him immediately, but he suggested that I visit him sometime, with the expression that "we should see more of each other."

During my vacation, I had met a nice American his age who reminded me a little of him and told him so. A day or two later, I was talking with him and his companion for the trip. A remark of hers turned the conversation to fathers and daughters. Enough background.

Last weekend, I visited my father, taking the first train I could late Friday afternoon. I had been in his flat before, but never overnight, and knew I would have to sleep on the sofa. He met me at the train station, and we embrace as we always did, but this time I held him closer, like I had when saying goodbye to the American. He seemed a little surprised, but then also clasped me closer, our hips pressed together. I was then also a little surprised, but liked it when he murmured "nice," as we separated.

In his flat, he immediately showed me that he had put out bedding for me, next to the sofa, and asked what I wanted to do, if I wanted something to drink. I said the first thing that came to mind, that I wanted a shower and then a beer. "Me too, the beer," he agree and went towards the kitchen.

As I opened my overnight bag, I realized that I hadn't brought a bathrobe. I guess I could have kept my clothes on, but called after him:

"I don't have a bathrobe."

"I won't look."

I took that as an invitation to get undressed in the living room, going to the bathroom just in my panties and bra. I suppose that I should have thought to take clean ones with me, but I didn't. When I was in the shower, he called:

"Oh, I have to bring you a towel. Thought of the bedding, but not that."

When he brought, I surprised myself by saying that he could stay so that we could talk.

"If you want," he replied and asked me how my vacation had been.

I told him, of course, that it had been very good, thanking him again, of course.

"What did you do, besides swim and sun? Still have a nice tan."

"Lots of that, swim and sun."

"And when the sun set?"

"Bar and dinner, then sometimes the bar again."

"With whom? Other Germans?"

"Mostly Americans, a group from the States."

"Could practice your English."


"And then?"

"You shouldn't ask, Papa."

"Hmmpf! Met someone?"

"I'm not a little girl anymore. Yes. A woman from the group spoke German and introduced us to two men in the group. The rest of them were couples."

"Hope they were nice."

"Nice enough."

"What's that mean?"

"If you have to know, we did sleep with them."

"Maybe shouldn't have asked."

"That's all right; you probably already thought that we did."

"Hmmpf! Yes, but still shouldn't have asked.

I peeked past the shower curtain and saw him sitting on the toilet. I rinsed the soap off myself and said:

"You can hand me my towel."

I recognized that he got up to do so, handing it to me past the curtain, then murmuring:

"I'd better leave."

Then I really surprised myself and admitted something I had planned not to:

"You don't have to; all the men on the beach saw me."

"Like that?! Like this?! With nothing on?!

"Sorry, Papa, yes."

"It was one of those resorts, everyone nude?!

I had already admitted that it was, so why shouldn't he also see me? Yes, I wanted him to.

"Yes, so you may just as well also see me."

"Shit! Sorry!"

I had already pulled back the curtain. Oh, I was too embarrassed to look at him, drying my face, but he could see the rest of me, not my erect nipples behind one end of the towel, but all the rest.

"Oh, you shave!" he murmured, obviously looking at me, but letting me know that he was still there. I murmured that most girls do, and lowered my towel, seeing that he was standing in the doorway. His eyes glanced up at my face and then at my breasts. Yes, despite still feeling embarrassed, I was enjoying it, especially when he blurted:

"God, you're lovely!"

I lowered my hands, letting him see all of me. Is that what I had wanted, what the nice American had emailed about his wanting the weekend to be like I hoped? Whatever I had hoped, I sure hadn't expected to start like this. My father muttered:

"If all the men on the beach saw you ..."

He smiled wryly, apologetically for continuing to look at me. I liked it, feeling a little like a nude sculpture or one in a painting, just standing there to have a man enjoy looking at me. My father was, remarking softly:

"You have a lovely tan."

I glanced down and replied:

You should have seen it a couple of weeks ago; my nipples hardly stood out."

They did then, but I had meant their colour. We both snorted, smiling at each other, and I explained: "Not like that, the rest was almost as dark."

That wasn't really true, but I enjoyed that we could share reference to them; he had chuckled with a little nod and smile. I sure had not anticipated that this was the way our weekend was going to start and was more than a little surprised at myself. He was still looking at me. I said:

"You weren't going to look."

"Hmmpf! You made me, sort of, and did not seem to mind, wanted me to."

"I guess I did," I replied, adding: "Had to show someone my tan."

"No boyfriend?"

"Not for that."

I began to dry myself, liking that he still stood there watching me. I didn't hurry, trying to do it as unselfconsciously as possible. After a moment or two, he remarked softly:

"But you just jumped into bed with one of those young men."

"That was different; we knew it was just for the two weeks. Here it would be open-ended. You know, emotional, supposed to survive arguments. For two weeks, differences of opinion could be avoided."

He nodded with brief smile. He had watched me dry my muschi and everything else. As I was hanging up the towel, he asked:

"And the woman who spoke German?"

"She was with an older man, only older than her, about your age."

He had a wry smile when I turned back to him. I picked my bra and panties up off the floor and stood up again and stepped towards him. He stepped out of the doorway and asked:

"You're not going to stay that way, are you?"

I had to grin at the thought that he was apparently thinking that I might be wanting to. I snickered and replied:

"Only if you want me to."

"Don't ask!" I shouldn't be enjoying seeing my ... you like this."

"Why not, if you like to?"

"You know why. You're the only woman whose been here, ... well, like that."


"Never worked out; sort of gave up after a couple of dates after the divorce. You had better put something on. I'll get our beers."

He went to the kitchen, and I returned to my overnight bag.

What to wear? Why had I packed the cloth that one of the young men had given me. They had insisted on giving Petra and me each one. I could have thought to wear it to the bathroom. I quickly passed it around my back and crossed the ends in front and tied the corners behind my neck. It covered everything.

Papa returned with our beers, smiling and remarking:

"I guess that is what girls wear there, when they are not on the beach. Prost."

"Yes. Prost."

We drank with smiles. He chuckled and remarked:

"When I suggested that you visit me, I was thinking that we should see more of each other, but not quite like that."

"Me neither, 'not quite like that'!" I agreed, and we grinned and had another sip and sat down.

We looked at each other, both smirking, and I remarked:

"But you did not mind. Maybe I just took being naked a little too for granted after being there."

"It sure looked like it. But no, I did not mind."

"That's good."

We smiled again and had another sip. After a moment he asked:

"And the 'older' American, he was nice."

"Very; it was nice talking with them both."

"Sitting naked on the beach?"

I snickered with a nod, replying:

"Of course, also with clothes on in the hotel. Thank you again."

"Hmmpf, my pleasure, even if I didn't know your vacation was going to be like that."

"So it is fair for you to ask."

"Not sure if I should ask more, dare to."

"Then don't, but I will try to answer honestly."

He smiled wryly, and said:

"Kind of hard to imagine you on the beach with everyone else like that. Well, I don't have to imagine you now, just strange, sitting around as though it were completely normal.

"It felt like that after the first day."

I chuckled and added:

"For the men, too, if that was what you were wondering about."

"I guess so!"

He raised his glass, smirking at my having understood, and we had another sip. He smiled wry again. I was getting to expect that, liking what he then usually said, recalling that the nice American had often made similar remarks. Papa didn't disappoint me, not that his first question was one the American would have had to make:

"Do all the women shave? When did you?"

"Not all of them, but a lot, maybe most of them. Me? Before a boy saw it, like most of the girls in my class. Funny, he asked that, too."

"The American my age?"


"Hmmpf! You talked about that?"

"We talked about everything; he was nice, like you."

"Everything? ... Uh? ... Oh?! You didn't sleep with him, too?! No, of course not; he was there with the woman who spoke German."

I could have shaken my head; he had already suggested the obvious answer, but I was blushing, maybe not enough to show with my tan, and I wanted to tell him; it had been so good. I did shake my head in response to his last remark and then nodded in response to his question, hardly looking at him. He knew me too well - not like the American had! - and asked softly:

"You did?"

I nodded again, now looking at him. He must have been able to recognize that I was blushing. He snorted with a slight smile and repeated, not as a question:

"You did. Where was she?"

"We were in their room."

"With her?"

I nodded again, now even more embarrassed, but admitted softly:

"Yes, she was there."

"And didn't mind?!"

His question was surprised, very surprised, but softly spoken. I nodded again and replied:

"No. Girls, women do it too."

"With both of them?! You did it with her?! Do it with other girls?!"

"Yes. Lots of girls do; it is so easy, less complicated than with a boyfriend; just girlfriends, not, well, you know. She had said that she did too."

I liked that we were talking about sex, but it was still a little uncomfortable, especially anticipating what he might ask next. He looked at me for a few moments with a funny expression, and then said:

"If you say so. So he just watched?"

"No, we all did something together. Use your imagination; I don't want to have to explain."

"I guess not. And you slept with a man my age?"

"Still a man," I replied, then adding: "like you are. I liked him better than the younger man."

"Oh! I had forgotten about him. You slept with two men during your vacation."

"I am afraid so, if it bothers you."

"Hmmpf! Things were not like that when I was your age, at least, not where I was."

We both took more than a sip from our glasses. He smiled wryly at me, and I returned his smile. Then he asked:

"What did he think about it, sleeping with girl who could be his daughter?"

"I guess he did think a little about it that way, said something about wondering what he would think if I were his daughter. Well, no, what he would think about his daughter - he doesn't have one - if she were like me. He likes me enough to exchange emails with me."

"You write him?"


"Well, I can understand that he would like you."

"Not just because we slept together, I don't think."

"I wasn't thinking of that."

He emptied his glass, and I emptied mine. We exchanged slight smiles. He held up his empty glass and said:

"I think I need another beer after all this. You too?"

I nodded, and he got up. I followed him to the kitchen. As he was opening the bottles, he said:

"I was going to take you out for dinner, but you can't go like that."

He turned and handed me a bottle, smirking slightly and adding:

"Anyone - everyone - could see that you don't have anything else on, maybe all right in the south of France but not here."

I nodded, returning his smirk, and we poured. When we looked up again, I grinned and said:

"I can take it off and put on something else."

"Hmmpf! So I can watch?"

"If you want."

We both grinned and said "prost" and drank. He smiled, but shook his head, replying:

"Better not; I would. Maybe we can eat here, if some frozen something is all right."

"Fine with me; I'm not spoiled from the university cafeteria."

While he fixed it and I made a salad, we just exchanged chuckles and smiles. When we sat down to eat, we said "prost" again, raising our half-empty glasses. As we started to eat, he said:

"I was going to ask you about your vacation, but I did not know it was going to be like that, and then I was going to ask you about your studies. How are your courses?"

"It was more fun talking about the vacation. They are fine. The vacation was good for practicing my English."

"Well, that is something, if you didn't just talk about what you were doing."

"Of course, not, and one doesn't have to talk much about that."

"I guess not."

We smiled and continued eating. I told him something about my courses, and we finished eating and had finished out beers. I thanked him for the meal and complimented his cooking with a chuckle. We cleared the table, and I offered to wash up.

He could have let me just put the things on the rack to dry. Apparently, he always did, since he had to find a dish towel to dry them. I noticed that he glanced over at me, more than once. When I gave him a smile after one glance, he smirked slightly, nodding acknowledgment that he had been looking at me. I chuckled and murmured:

"I can still take it off, if you want to look."

"Don't tease me; you know I would."

"Yes," I replied with a grin.

It occurred to me to really tease him by reaching back as though I were going to untie the knot, but I didn't. Instead, I smirked and said:

"You can untie it, if you want to."

He grinned and replied:

"Don't tempt me, not me undressing my daughter to see her naked again."

"She wouldn't mind."

We both looked at each other in silence for a moment. I was again surprised with myself, and I guess we both were more than just a little surprised at how close we had come to agreeing that we both liked the idea of my being naked. He gave me a brief wry smile - another one - and changed the subject:

"Want another beer? If we had gone to the restaurant, we would have shared a bottle of wine."

I nodded and finished wiping up, while he got two more bottles of beer. As he opened them, I said that I had better go to the bathroom. He nodded and said: "After you."

I left the door open, and, of course, he could hear me going. I didn't flush until I had washed myself. When we passed each other in the living room, we exchanged slight smiles, and then I heard him going, the door still open. I picked up our refilled glasses and met him in the living room. I handed him his, and we raised them in a silent prost and drank, smiling again. After a moment, he asked:

"Something on TV?"

"Okay; we can't talk all the time."

It was almost time for the earlier of the late news programmes, and we sat down together on the sofa, watching the end of a detective story, and then watched the news, mostly politics in Germany and about the Euro crisis. Then a film started, and we agreed that we could watch that.

It was a harmless story about family in Cornwall with a large country home that someone wanted to buy, and that the bad son wanted to sell, but his sister didn't. I assumed it would be like that, since all the other films based on that author's books had about the same plot.

As the film started, I remarked that we had only watched TV once in France, when a French man and his friend in the group had invited us all to watch the Bastille Day parade in their room, all of us crowding together and drinking champagne.

"All of you naked?" he asked.

"Yes, only after we were in their hotel room, of course."

He glanced over at me with a snort. I explained:

"After a week like that, it just seemed natural: that's where we were; that's what one did. We had all seen each other that way."

"I guess so; still a little strange if one has not been there."

"But not if one has."

We returned to watching the film, sipping our beers. Was it he or I that moved a little closer, our shoulders touching? I like to think he did, but since I wanted to, maybe it was me, but he didn't mind; better, after a minute or two, he put his arm up on the back of sofa behind me. When in the film, there was near automobile accident, I did move closer to him, against his side, and his arm dropped down protectively on my shoulders.

I suddenly recalled sitting like that with him as a little girl. Maybe he did too, but I wasn't a little girl any more. When his hand dropped down on my arm, I wanted it to be like a date with a guy I liked. Oh, I knew I was with my father, but I wanted it to be like that with him, a lot more than with a few boys back in school or since then. I wanted it to be a lot more! Was that what the nice American had suggested that I hoped? Like with him?

After a minute or two, my father's fingers were moving slightly on my arm, I did something I never had to do on one of those dates. I reached over and pulled his hand down on my breast. I guess one would say that his hand involuntarily held it, my hand was still on his.

"We shouldn't be like this," he murmured, but he didn't remove his hand.

"I want it to be," I murmured in reply, clasping his hand to me, and his fingers tightened around my breast again.

"We want it to be," I murmured.

"Too much," he murmured, squeezing my breast.

"So why not?"

"You know why."

We were not looking at each other, just staring at the TV. He squeezed my breast again, however.

"That doesn't matter, if we want to," I replied.

His fingers moved on my breast as he snorted questioningly and then murmured:

"Is this why I invited you here?"

"I like to think so - now. I didn't before, but I do now."

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