In Camerabyadam applebiter©
"Hop in." We'd reached the car. I unlocked it and stowed her bags in the trunk. By the time I got to the driver's side, the stereo was on: James Brown was feeling good.
"That's a little too much, sweetheart." I reached for the volume knob. Her hand caught mine.
"Sing it loud, Daddy."
"The song you're thinking of is 'Say it loud' and it's not on this disc." Brute force overcame her restraining hand and the volume was mine – and down.
"Didn't you want ice cream?"
Driving to Denny's had it's own special problems. A car is a confined space and Helen's fragrance was doing what it was made for. Being in Denny's was worse. In the car I couldn't see her: in the diner she was right opposite and it was all I could do not to glance repeatedly down her décolletage. To add to my temptations, she sucking up melted ice cream through a straw – with all the oral and phallic symbolism that implies.
"Excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom." Helen had just finished her sundae and I was trying to catch the waitress's eye for the check.
I offered a silent prayer of thanks.
"Sure Sweetheart. I'll wait for you in the car."
In the car, I had a little time to compose myself. How in hell was I going to cope with two whole weeks of getting aroused whenever my daughter was around? I was wondering if there was any such thing as anti-Viagra – something to keep it down – when the passenger door opened and she slid into the seat beside me.
"Thanks Daddy. It's really cool, going to Denny's together again. It's been years."
"Careful Sweetheart. Nostalgia is a sure sign you're getting old."
"And getting horny over waitresses is a sure sign you aren't getting old."
"What?" I was genuinely stunned.
"C'mon Daddy! I saw you trying to hide the bone when she brought the sundaes. You're a dirty dog."
"It's all right, Daddy, it just proves you're still alive."
"And I won't tell on you. It'll be our little secret." She turned on the stereo again. James Brown started in on 'Sex machine'. Helen looked at me meaningfully then burst out laughing. "Oh Daddy! Don't look so shocked. I figured out you had a penis nearly a decade ago. I used to listen to you and Mom making out when you thought I was fast asleep, so I'm not one of those people who thinks their parents are neuter or celibate or both."
Was this really my little girl, talking so casually about my sex life? Where did all the freckles and pigtails go? Where did all the years go?
"Does your Mom know you used to spy on us?"
"Sure. We had a long woman to woman talk about sex, right after I came home from the prom."
"Ah, yes. I remember that." I tried to concentrate on driving to avoid impure thoughts as we returned to the subject of Helen's sex life. Can't we please steer clear of the subject of sex? Please, God?
"When I came home without my cherry." Helen looked to be enjoying embarrassing and shocking me. And, trust me, I was embarrassed and in shock.
"You know I joined a sorority?" She changed the subject in answer to my prayers.
"Well, as part of the hazing, new pledges had to tell the whole sorority about their first manual orgasm." Seems the subject hadn't changed.
"Sweetheart. Are you trying to make me wreck the car? I really don't need to know this stuff. Don't shatter all my illusions at once. There's a good girl."
"Daddy, I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm a twenty year old woman and there are things I want you to know about because a secret's only fun if you have someone to share it with.
Anyway, I made up a story about a boy in high school and a dare because I didn't want to tell a houseful of strangers I discovered my pee-pee wasn't just for making pee-pee while listening to my parent's having sex. You're the only one I've ever told that to."
I didn't say anything. What the hell could a father say to that? Helen broke the uncomfortable silence in a much quieter voice.
"That'll be our little secret too, Daddy."
James Brown sang 'Papa's got a brand new bag' at that point and Helen surprised me by singing along. The quiet moment had passed and she was buzzing again. I became painfully aware that this song was the nickname I'd used in Helen's chat room. At least while singing, my little girl wasn't telling me about her sex life. The fragrance was still there though.
I was lucky again. Meg came out to welcome Helen and got the same effusive greeting I had received at the airport. I got the bags from the trunk, into the house and up to Helen's room while they were both too busy to notice me, or my persistent tent pole. Then I ducked into our room for that cold shower I'd been promising myself and to put on the tightest, most restrictive underwear I could find in my drawer. I shouldn't have worn loose fitting shorts to the airport, but I didn't think. Jerking off in the shower helped too, and inspired my new plan. I would make love to Meg more often, in case she noticed my 'excitement' – she was to be my erection's alibi. And I would masturbate much more. Three or four handjobs a day and I'd be hard pushed to get it up without Viagra, never mind spontaneously. Yes, that was a plan. It had all the virtues of a good plan too – It was simple, flexible and not an unpleasant prospect. Famous last words.
The plan got me through dinner, an evening of enthusiastic news about college and a kiss goodnight that raised my demons again and more than prepared me for making love to Meg. I love my wife and it's never a chore to be with her. Not once in twenty-five years have I fantasized about being with someone else while I was actually with her: such fantasies were for masturbation, not love making. However, knowing Helen could hear us did add a certain spice to proceedings. Meg seemed more her old self tonight, but then Meg knew our little girl was listening too. How long had that secret between mother and daughter been contributing to our sex life?
I woke up early, feeling good about myself. I could do this. The plan was working. I showered, jerked off and dressed before heading for the kitchen, drawn by the smell of bacon. Meg was still fast asleep as I tiptoed out of our room.
No! No! No! Helen was making herself a bacon sandwich in her underwear. The plan could protect me against that like a shotgun protects you from biological weapons. Helen in her skimpies was definitely a biological weapon as far as I was concerned.
"Morning Daddy. I'm still on east coast time I'm afraid. Want half?" She offered me the plate, taking a bite out of the half sandwich in her other hand.
"Thanks." I mumbled and sat down as quickly as possible, trying not to look at her. She got a second plate and sat across from me, chomping down on her breakfast with evident gusto.
"Sweetheart, got any plans for your first day home?" I asked between mouthfuls.
"Sure...mmm...I'm going shopping with Mom."
"Sorry Darling," Meg arrived in her robe. "I've got work today. I can give you a ride to the mall if you like." She poured coffee for herself and sat down beside me, stealing a bite of my sandwich.
"Thanks, Mom. I'll get Daddy to pick me up later."
"Daddy's gonna get his car painted yellow and fit a meter." I said.
"Honey, don't be such a grouch. At least you get to spend the whole weekend with your daughter. I'm the one who should be complaining about being stuck in work." Meg glanced at the kitchen clock, realized she was short on time, gulped the last of her coffee and got up quickly. "Speaking of which... Helen, you've got fifteen minutes to get ready. I don't want to be late."
I found myself alone in the kitchen with the remains of breakfast and a second cup of coffee while, upstairs, the women in my life prepared to face the outside world. I had a quiet morning to myself, mainly spent fretting about – well you know what I was fretting about. When Helen called to say she was done shopping, I took the precaution of jerking off again before going to pick her up.
By arrangement, I met her in the food court and we lunched together before coming home. I had renewed faith in my plan as I managed the whole meal without getting turned on by my daughter. It was working. I'd cracked it. I was relieved.
I'd changed the CDs in the car too. James Brown had been just a bit too personally relevant yesterday. Nina Simone took us on home. Sinnerman touched a nerve but Summertime and Mood Indigo demanded mellow silence as I drove. Helen knows better than to talk across Ms Simone.
"Can I check my email?" Helen asked as I dumped her shopping in the hall.
"Sure." My heart skipped a beat. Was there anything incriminating on my PC? Apart from the large collection of pornography, including stills of Helen from her chat room, you mean? Well, most of the porn was not in any of the obvious folders so I wasn't too worried about that. Her pictures were in the My Pictures folder because they were all the porn I'd been interested in for weeks but she had no reason to look there, did she? I'd always thought we'd brought our daughter up to respect other people's privacy – a lesson we taught by example – but now I know she used to listen in on Meg and I making love, so... No. I was sure she wouldn't think of snooping through my personal files. By the time I'd worked out that I was probably safe, it was academic. Helen was already in my study, at my desk and logging into Yahoo.
"Coffee?" I asked from the door, not wanting to hover around nervously arousing suspicions.
"Sure Daddy." She didn't look up.
When I returned with two mugs, Helen was staring at the screen looking waxen and pale. She looked up with an expression I hadn't seen since our dog was run over.
"What's up Sweetheart?" I put down the mugs and went to her: The instinct of a father with a distraught daughter. She pushed me away and it dawned on me that I must be the cause of her upset.
"Don't touch me!" It was nearly a scream. It also presaged the tears.
On screen was a picture of her, naked. Oh fuck!
"Sweetheart. Let me explain. I-"
"Explain? Alright. Explain why my father has pornographic pictures of me all over his computer. Go on! Explain!" She shouted. "Explain." Her voice cracked and the tears took over. She hid her face and sobbed uncontrollably. I fought the urge to try and comfort her again. It would only make things worse.
"Sweetheart...Helen, I...I found you on the net by accident...and-"
"And you thought 'I'll just download my daughter naked'?"
"Let me finish, please... When I found you, I didn't realize it was you. You had your back to the camera. I was really turned on by your teasing. Then you turned around and I nearly had heart failure. I couldn't believe it was you. I turned it off right away but my erection wouldn't go away. I know it was perverse but you looked so like your Mom at your age."
"So you went back in?"
"Yes. I even took you private. I just couldn't help myself."
"You went private with me? What was your nick?"
"Papa's got a brand new bag."
"Oh my god!... You're Papa?"
"I'm Papa." I nodded. "I became obsessed with you."
"I know. You've spent a fortune. I saw the link on your desktop and I thought, oh no! What if you'd found out what I was doing? So I looked in your history files and found my page. Then I found the saved pictures and freaked. You do know how perverted you are?"
"Yes. I know. I just couldn't stop...Meg's been going off sex for months. The cam-girls were just a harmless release. Then there was you and..."
"And instead of blowing your top, like most fathers would, you thought you'd jerk off while watching me frig myself on screen? You haven't even asked why I did it."
"I know why. You told me the first time in private."
"Did I? Don't believe anything a cam-girl tells you. I thought I was talking to just another dirty old man. We say what we think will turn you on and keep you in the room."
"So why did you do it then?"
"Because I've been very experimental – sexually – since going to college. I've tried girls – Pussy tastes wonderful but I still prefer cock and there's nothing like the smell of a man's sweat as he sticks it right in. I've tried threesomes in various combinations, older men, bondage, I've even found myself wondering what it would be like to be dragged down some dark alley and fucked at gunpoint. Becoming a cam-girl was a way to explore my exhibitionist side. Turns out I really enjoy being the centre of attention."
"You said you'd given up telemarketing. Does that mean you've really given up the internet?"
"Yes. I didn't mind the impoliteness. I never minded being called a whore, even though it wasn't true then, but I got fed up with just sticking bits of plastic up my ass and telling them how much I wished it was their cocks. You were one of the few nice clients. Now it turns out you were the biggest pervert of all of them."
"What d'you mean 'wasn't true then'?" I picked up on something about being called a whore.
"Just what I said. I wasn't a whore then. Am now."
"Daddy – or should I call you Papa? – I quit working cams because I've got a job with an escort agency. Had my first date the night before I came home: A Harvard alumnus in town to make some big endowment to his alma mater. I got $250 just for going to dinner with him. He was really quite charming so when he oh-so-politely propositioned me, I let him take me to his hotel and fuck me twice. He tipped me $500. Not bad for sex with a guy I would have slept with anyway, if I'd just met him in a bar."
"H-How old was he?" I couldn't think of anything else to say. It was, if anything, more of a shock to hear Helen talk like this than it had been to find her online.
"About your age. Older men are fun. All sex is fun, but older men are my current favourites."
"What are we going to tell Meg? This is going to kill her."
"We're not going to tell Mom anything. I'm going to keep your secret and you're going to keep mine. I told you I like an audience. From now on, I'm going to tell you every sordid detail of my sex life. You're my new audience. I bet you're hard just thinking about it, aren't you Daddy?"
"Show me your cock. I want to see what I do to you. It's only fair. I've shown you mine: you should show me yours."
"Helen, you're crazy. What we've both done is very, very wrong and we should be trying to find a way to stop it, not compound our errors."
In a flash, she was on her feet and up against me, grabbing my treasonously hard cock through my pants and grinding her mouth onto mine. Just as quickly, she disengaged and sat down again. "See! You're hard as hell. I bet it wasn't the waitress in Denny's, was it?"
I couldn't look her in the eye.
"Well I'm wet too." She parted her legs, lifted her dress and stuck two fingers behind her gusset. They came out slick. "See? Told you I like an audience." She sucked her fingers, coquettishly. My cock throbbed, demanding attention. "Mmm. You know, Daddy, incest is one thing I never thought of trying. Now that I think about it, I think I'd like being fucked by you."
"No! No way! This is over. All of it. As of now!"
"No it isn't. Want to bet you can resist?" She started to unbutton the top of her dress. I tried to walk out of the room. My feet wouldn't move. Her fingers worked down the buttons and my eyes followed them. The descending, elongating triangle of tanned skin between her breasts was hypnotic. I was lost.
Helen stood again and let the frock slip from her shoulders, pushing it down past her hips. She wore white underwear – my favourite. "Want to see my party trick?" Her tone was chirpy. Not the tone of a girl seducing her father.
"S-Sure." What else was I going to say? Yes, she's my daughter. Yes this is all so wrong, but I'd already got past that line of logic, weeks ago. Given what I'd already done, was this so much worse? It's amazing how easily we can justify what we want. There it is! What we want. And, wrong as it was, we wanted each other.
Helen took a couple of steps back to find some clear floor space. She smiled as Eve must have smiled at Adam. Hooking index fingers and thumbs into the waistband of her panties, she slid them quickly down her legs to her ankles, without bending her knees. She rose onto the balls of her feet and slipped the panties past her heels, pressing her hands flat to the floor with the thong taut between them. Helen shifted her bodyweight from feet to hands and lifted her feet clear of the floor, rising into a perfect handstand, holding the pose for a few seconds, toes pointed to the ceiling, legs long and straight, back curved, naked except for her bra and the underwear stretched across her fingers.
Then she lowered her feet, pointing her toes through the elongated rectangle of her panties' waistband. Her weight shifted back to the balls of her feet, the panties were drawn over her heels, which settled back on the floor, and she straightened up, drawing her underwear all the way back up to cover her crotch again.
She was still smiling. "Now will you show me yours?" She sidled close, reaching for my pants. I didn't try to stop her as she unbuckled my belt, unzipped me and dropped my trousers. I'd worn snug fitting underwear again today. While it kept my hard-ons from tenting my trousers, it was close fitting enough to clearly outline my pecker. Helen stroked it through the cotton before yanking my briefs down without further ceremony. As my hard-on unfurled, it encountered her descending chin. She burst out laughing as she half-squatted half-knelt in front of me.
"Ooh Daddy! Is this what you put me into Mummy's belly with?" She looked up at me, all wide-eyed and little girlie. While I was trying to ignore the family connection, she was playing up to it for all she was worth. For her, the novelty was fucking her father, not just some middle-aged bloke. Her fingers found my scrotum and rolled my balls around. I groaned. Helen's mouth closed around my glans, her tongue curling around it, velvet soft and wet. I clutched her hair, pushing my hips forward, pushing my pecker deeper into her mouth – the mouth I had fantasized about so often. She sucked on me, palpitating my penis with the insides of her cheeks, caressing the underside with her tongue, gently pressing into my flesh with her teeth to stop me pushing further. Her fingers stopped cradling my balls for a few seconds. When they returned, one long nail tickling my perineum and inveigling its way towards my ass. It was slick – with her juices.
As the tip of her finger pressed into my tush, my knees almost buckled. In all my fantasies about anal sex, it was never my ass that got the finger. She pushed it into me until she could massage my prostate. It was too much. I tensed and exploded in her mouth, splashing hot semen all over her tonsils: And this after jerking off twice that morning. Without those handjobs, I'd have blown the back of her head off. Helen kept me in her mouth, tickling the tip of my pecker with her tongue sending electric shocks through me and making my hips twitch uncontrollably. I would have pulled out but her finger... her finger was still up my ass. If the desk hadn't been behind me, I'd have fallen. I leant against it, bare-assed, while Helen raised the dead. I think it was the prostate massage that got me back up so fast. Was that what women got out of anal sex? Can't be: they don't have prostates.
When she was satisfied that I wasn't going to get any harder, she slid her finger out, let me slip from her mouth and stood up, gripping my shirt at the waist and drawing it up over my head. I raised my hands and the shirt came off. I must have been a comical sight, naked, with pants and underwear around my ankles. Helen noticed and squatted to help me out of the last of my clothes. I was lost. All I wanted to do was come in her. The rights and wrongs of the situation – the fucked-up-ness of it all – no longer bothered me. Helen broke the silence.