Learning to Be a Dad Ch. 02

Having breakfast with my daughter the next morning was an exercise in trying to keep my mind straight. She sat across from me, talking and smiling, seemingly having forgotten her bad breakup with her fiance, already. I could see she was braless under her thin nightgown, with her young pointed breasts moving freely, and my gaze kept coming back to them and my cum stain from the night before.

Again and again, I had to force myself to look at her face and focus on what she was saying.

Brooke mused about wanting to get healthy. She was going to diet. She wanted to start exercising. Maybe, she could start jogging or going to a gym. Maybe she would do yoga like she used to. She was still focused on her weight but she had a plan and was going to take it on and get her body back under her control. She didn't say it in so many words, but I knew the implication was she wanted my support, as her dad.

My mind kept going back to that moment I had my fingers inside my daughter, feeling her respond to me, and on how she made me cum, soaking her with it in my bed. I kept expecting her to show, somehow, that she remembered, too, but I saw no sign of it. Brooke was looking me in the eye and talking about her back-to-health plan and she showed no sign of awkwardness or discomfort with me.

I came back to the moment when my daughter said, "Dad! I'm not going to eat that!" about the plate of pancakes I set in front of her.

My mouth opened but I didn't know what to say. I pulled the plate away and dumped the contents.

"Dad, haven't you heard anything I've been saying?"

My daughter started to tear up which made me even more ashamed of myself.

"Yes, of course, Sweetie," I said, too quickly. " I wasn't thinking."

Soon, we were both eating bowls of bran flakes and Brooke was smiling again.

"You're calling me Dad, now. Just a day ago, you were calling me David. Why the change?" I proffered.

"I don't know," she said distantly, "it just feels right. I guess it's something about spending the night with you. I feel closer to you, now. I feel so comfortable here, and you feel like Dad to me, now."

I smiled, conflicted in myself, as my daughter dripped milk down her front where it merged with my dried cumstain.

After breakfast, Brooke changed into gray yoga pants and a mauve sports top, leaving her midriff and her nascent buddha belly bare and oddly enticing. The other thing was that her shamelessly tight yoga pants accentuated the full curves of her butt and and thighs. I never thought of myself as an ass-man until my daughter moved in with me, but seeing my grown girl's full round ass jiggle nicely in those tight yoga pants-it was breathtaking, and it gave me a new appreciation for the joys of the female form.

After helping her move the sofa out of the way, I tried to excuse myself, but Brooke would have none of it.

"You expect me to do yoga alone?" she mocked.

I stammered and attempted an excuse, but she countered me decisively with a "do you want me to feel awkward?" and a "I want your support, Dad." which she reinforced with a pouty-face.

I gave in and she brightened, giving me a resounding, "don't worry, I'll teach you. It will be fun!"

But, unknown to her, or so I hoped, my ignorance of yoga was not the source of my hesitation. In spite of my attempts at controlling my thoughts, they kept going to a very inappropriate place, and everytime my daughter looked away from me, my gaze went to her breasts, her bare belly, her ass, her thighs, and, God forgive me, her camel-toe front. Part of me wanted to yank off those yoga pants and cover her with my cum.

I am her father, I thought, repeatedly. She trusts me, and I want to be a good father to her. I owe her, and I need to make it up to her. This was my mantra, and it was the only way I could contain myself. As I changed into my shorts and t-shirt, I tried to convince myself, these very wrong thoughts are going to blow over, and the more I spend time with my daughter, the more I will feel like a dad and the more she will feel like a daughter to me. Just a daughter.

In spite of my efforts, I had a one-third boner when Brook taught me what she called the "partner forward pose." With our legs splayed facing each other with our toes touching we took turns leaning forward and leaning back, pulling each other forward with every move.

Then she taught me the "cow pose," which is basically posing on hands and knees with the back arched and butt up. This was very difficult for me-not the pose, but seeing my daughter's ass up in front of me, as we posed. She looked so tempting, but I did my best to compose myself. Then, when we were done with that pose, I let myself make one little inappropriate joke and I told her I thought it should be called the "doggy-style" pose, then I held my breath, wondering if I had fucked up.

To my relief, Brooke, snickered and said, "yeah, right, just wait till you see the next one."

Then, she taught me the "downward dog," in which she posed on hands and feet in a pyramid shape with her ass straight up in the air. She looked at me with what I thought was a smirk and asked, "are you going to be okay with this, Dad?"

"Yeah, of course," I said nonchalantly, "I was just kidding about the doggy-style thing. Just a joke."

We took a short break after yoga, and she pretty quickly wanted to go out for a jog. Luckily I live near a park on the outskirts of town, and it has plenty of good paths to run on.

Brooke led the way, still in her yoga outfit and her hair in a ponytail bobbing and flailing in front of me. Occasionally, she would look back at me and smile. "Keep up, Dad," she'd say, and I would have to look up from her mesmerizing fully-grown butt and smile back at her, hoping she did not notice my semi-boner bouncing in my baggy shorts.

By the time we made it back to my apartment, Brooke was panting and sweating, but I was struggling to get breath, having overdone it, and I collapsed on the sofa. She sat down next to me and tendered, "I'm sorry, Dad, I shouldn't have made you run that far. We can tone it down next time."

I nodded, unable to speak.

She leaned in and rubbed my shoulder, saying softly, "I really appreciate what you're doing for me."

"I'm glad you're here," I replied, looking at her.

"I can see that," she said, with a sudden grin, glancing at my lap, "but please tell me that's because you're worked up by exercise, and not because of me."

"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry, Sweety, I don't know what happened." I would have ran out of the room but I could not even get up. "No, it's not you, it's just me," I said, sounding lame to myself."

"Don't worry, Dad, I know guys get hardons when they exercise sometimes. I mean, it happens to my yoga teacher all the time, so it's not a big deal. Do you want a beer?"

I was still perplexing over her response when she handed me a cold brew straight from the fridge and sat down next to me, again.

I felt strange sitting next to my daughter drinking a beer with my dick fully erect and obscenely tenting my shorts, but she didn't seem to mind. I had a hard time accepting that she really believed yoga and exercise alone gives men erections, but I was not about to argue with her. We drank in silence, if somewhat awkwardly.

Finally, she remarked, "Wow Dad."

"What?"

"You can really keep it up for a guy your age. You look just as hard at the end of the beer as you were at the start of the beer."

"I am so sorry about that. I didn't mean for that to happen . . . I just . . ."

"It's okay, Dad. It's nothing. I know it has nothing to do with me, but maybe you want to take care of that?"

"Um, okay, I'll take a shower, if that's okay."

"That's okay, Dad. Take your time and take care of it," she smirked, "then I want to take a shower when you're done, cause you know, exercise kinda makes me feel that way, too, so, you first, then me, okay?"

I nodded, trying to process what she had just said to me.

I took my shower, but the surrealness of my daughter basically telling me to jack off in the shower made me too weirded out to actually do it. Instead, I took my shower, hoping the hardon would go away on its own, but my mind kept going back to what Brooke said about exercise making her feel that way too, and was she saying she was going to masturbate in the shower after me?

Unfortunately, with all that envisioning what my daughter was planning on doing, I was just as hard when my shower was done. Knowing I could not go out there erect, I looked around and noticed Brooke's pink panties were still in the corner where she dropped them the night before.

What she doesn't know won't hurt her I thought as I wrapped her panties around my erection and brought myself to climax. I was careful not to get any of my jizz on my daughter's panties and directed my spurts onto the bottom of the shower. Just as my spurting was trailing off, Brooke knocked at the door.

"Are you done yet? I'm ready for my turn, Dad," she said, sounding urgent.

I yanked my shorts on and opened the door. Brooke was right there, her eyes slightly wide and excited.

She was holding something in her hand which I thought looked like a small dildo or vibrator, but when I looked at it, she whipped it behind her back.

"There they are," she exclaimed, taking her used panties out of my hand. "Oh, they're warm," she said, looking at them, screwing up her face. Then, looking up at me, she started, "Did you . . . nevermind, I don't want to know." And, with that she ushered me out with a little push and shut the door.

As I walked away feeling a mix of shame and excitement, I was startled by an, "Ew! Dad!"

I rushed back, my hand on the doorknob, "Are you alright, Sweetie?"

"Dad! Oh my God! Dad!"

"Are you decent?" I asked stupidly, slowly opening the door.

"Is this what I think it is?" Brooke was wrapped in a towel, her yoga outfit strewn on the floor. She held a foot up, looking at it, then she looked at me. "Is that your sperm on me?"

My obscenely thick cum was oozing between her toes. "I'm sorry, Sweetie," I shrugged, "you pushed me out before I could clean it . . ." And, already, my cock was coming back to life again, in spite of everything, seeing my cum on my daughter for the second time in less than 24 hours.

"I wasn't sure if it was some conditioner or what," she frowned at me, "but now I know, it's just dad-sperm. On my foot. Thank you, Dad."

"Do you want me to get you a washcloth?" I offered, ignoring her sarcasm.

A glob of cum slowly dripped from her toes in a long sticky strand.

"I have a washcloth, and I'm about to take a shower. I think I can handle it. You obviously had your fun. You can go now."

I obeyed, feeling more ashamed than ever. This dad thing was much harder than I ever imagined.

I put on some sweats and got another beer and as I tried to relax I was soon distracted by the sound coming from the bathroom. Over the sound of the water, I thought I heard a buzzing noise. The buzzing would get loud, then it would be muffled, then it would get loud again. Soon, I was hearing my daughter making soft rhythmic moaning noises. I walked up the door and listened as her rhythm sped up and her moaning got louder until a final muffled "Oh!" Then the show went silent, and I put myself back on the sofa, with my cock twitching inappropriately in my sweats.

Brooke strode out of the bathroom soon enough. She was casually wearing a towel and nothing else, her wet hair streaming down her back. She helped herself to a beer and settled down beside me on the sofa, her legs curled under her.

"Were you shaving in there?" I asked, hazarding another inappropriate comment.

"No," she said under her breath. After taking a few drinks from her beer, she continued, "It's my massager. It helps me relax after I workout."

I nodded and stopped myself from saying anything else inappropriate.

After we finished our beers, I showed her where the laundry machines were. I don't have a laundry room, just a closet off the living room that opens on a stacked washer and dryer. Brooke loaded her laundry as I watched from the sofa.

As she leaned forward in her towel, I got a full view of her delicate pussy lips; my heart leapt, and my cock began to throb. I knew I should have looked away, but I didn't. I savored the view. Her recently showered pussy lips were a pale pink and glistened wetly, nestled between the soft swells of her outer lips. Why not look, after all? I am not doing any harm by looking, I told myself. With a bizarre mix of lust and pride, I realized, my daughter's pussy is exquisite, perfectly formed, and temptingly succulent.

"Do you have anything besides beer in the house?" she asked, looking back at me. "Beer has a lot of calories."

I looked up as quick as I could, not sure if she noticed me leering. "I have a bottle of champagne that's been in the cupboard forever," I said as nonchalantly as I could.

"Oh, goody!" she bounced on her toes, "we can celebrate my moving in with you!"

Brooke, still naked in her towel, stretched her bare legs and feet out on the coffee table as I poured for us, and when I sat next to her on the sofa, she cuddled against my shoulder.

We drank and talked like that for some time. Hours went by. Brooke seemed happy.

We put a movie on and I opened a bottle of wine. We drank and cuddled through the movie. Brooke, forgetting all about her clothes, was seemingly happy to just be in her towel with me, all day.

I ordered delivery for us while Brooke put some music videos on and danced in her towel. The food was good but it could hardly compete with the amount of alcohol we were consuming. The time slipped away from us, and the windows grew dark.

At some point, we settled back on the sofa and started another movie. Brooke, remembered her laundry finally and got up and put her clothes in the drier. Again, I looked and got another quick peek of my daughter's adorable pussy lips. She was happy and I was feeling a warm glow myself, my feelings of shame and guilt ebbed away the more we drank and talked and cuddled.

When she sat down again, she leaned back and put her bare legs up on my lap, to my secret joy. I put a hand on her leg and caressed her, and she gave out a cooing noise.

When the movie went into a graphic love scene of an older man reunited with his younger mistress, we both fell silent and watched together.

After the love scene, Brooke turned to me, her face flushed and goofy-eyed with champagne and wine. "That reminds me," she said. "It was so strange what happened today. And, last night, I had this weird dream where someone was in bed with me . . . "

"Yeah? What's weird about that? It was just a dream, right?"

"At first, I thought it was my professor, Dr. Graves. It was kinda gross 'cause he's old, and I'm not usually attracted to older men. He's like 50 or something."

"So, you dreamed you were attracted to him?"

"Well, sorry, you're my dad, so I shouldn't say this . . ."

"It's okay, Sweety, we're both grown ups and I've heard it all before."

"Okay, Dad, if you really want to hear it."

"I always want to hear what you have to say."

"Well, he was touching me, you know, down there." Brooke pointed to her towel-covered crotch with a goofy smile, to make sure I understood. "And, he was like, you know, fingering me," she whispered the words, "and I was liking it and I started to think I really liked him and it felt strange to feel so good about an older man, and he really knew what he was doing, if you know what I mean?"

"Sure, yeah, older men are experienced."

"Is this wrong? I mean, like you're my dad! You don't want to hear this, do you?"

"It's okay, Sweety. Go ahead. You can talk to me about anything. I mean it."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure, we're just talking about a dream. You can tell me your dreams anytime."

"Okay, I guess it's not the same thing as talking to my dad about real sex, right? So, in my dream I'm touching his, you know, his penis, and he's hard. Really hard. And I got excited and happy 'cause I can't make my boyfriend hard anymore but this older man is hard for me. I'm so happy, I started . . . ." Brooke made her hand into an "O" and pumped it up and down still with her mischievous grin, looking at me to make sure I knew she was talking about a hand job.

"That's when it got weird," she said and looked at me, serious now. "Do you want to know what happened?"

"Of course," I said, taking another drink of wine.

"It wasn't my professor at all. I only thought it was. I looked, and it was you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, like it had been you the whole time and I just then noticed. I looked hard at you making sure it was really you and trying to figure out what was happening. You had your hand on me and inside of me and I came. I mean, I had an orgasm, and you did too. I felt it all warm and wet on my chest and I looked down and it was all over me. I kept looking at it and thinking, that's my dad's sperm and it was so weird because I came from that sperm and now it was on me and at first I thought that was so neat, you know in my dream I thought that. I thought it was neat to feel the sperm on me that I came from, but then I really started thinking about it and like you're my dad and what's wrong with me to think that way? My feelings were so wrong. I should have been disgusted. Then, when I woke up, I was so happy it was just a dream. 'Cause that would be so weird, I mean gross, right? Do you think there's something wrong with me, Dad?"

I looked at my wine glass, and emptied it, before telling her, "It was just a dream."

"But, was it?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, harder than I meant to.

"I mean, in my dream I was so happy that I could make you hard. You got hard for me. For me. Even though I let myself go. Even though I'm your daughter, you still got hard for me. And, it made me happy. But, that's kind of sick, isn't it?"

"Dreams are strange things."

"But Dad! Then it happened today! You were sitting with me right here and your dick got hard."

"That had nothing to do-"

"And then, I got your sperm on me, in the shower. It was all over my foot and between my toes. Your sperm. My dad's sperm. I felt it on my foot. It was warm and wet on me like in my dream. Isn't that weird?"

"I'm really sorry about that. Do you want another bottle?" I got another wine out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer and tried my best to gather my thoughts, but it was difficult with the alcohol affecting my brain.

After filling our glasses, I went to the bathroom, trying to figure out how to change the subject. I noticed her vibrator on the counter. It was sleek, made of chrome, with a bullet-like shape. I picked it up and it was sticky. As my conscience drowned in wine, I thought nothing of smelling it. My daughter's pussy, I thought, as I did. Thoughts never hurt anyone, I reassured myself, then I put it on the tip of my tongue and tasted it, tasted my daughter's pussy. She doesn't need to know. I just admire her pussy, that's all. Nothing wrong with admiration.

I brought it out with me and waved it in front of her, "Hey, here's your massager, you left it in the bathroom."

"Dad!" she turned a bright shade of red and reached for it with one hand, holding her towel with the other.

"What," I asked, standing out of reach, "It's just a massager, right?"

"You know what it is, Dad!" She lunged forward and snatched it out of my hands.

"If you show me how to turn it on, I'll massage your feet with it."

"It turns on like this." She turned the knob on the base and sure enough it started vibrating and as she continued turning it, the vibration intensified. "And, it's not for feet."

"Are you sure you don't want me to use it on you?"

"Dad! You shouldn't be saying that to me. I'm your daughter."

"I'm talking about your feet. Don't you want a foot massage?"