Nothing I Won't Do

I couldn't find fault with that at all. She looked terrific and I told her so. "I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed and happy," I said. "I mean, you've always been pretty well adjusted, Sweetheart, but it's like I'm seeing a whole new you."

That bashful smile played across her face again as we approached the baggage claim carousel. "I guess I'm just really glad to have my Dad back home again," she said. "I really missed you."

I dropped the duffle bag that was hanging from my shoulder as we came to a stop at the carousel and gave her a warm, loving hug. "I've missed you, too, honey. I thought about you every day."

She hugged me back and her embrace was so tight that I couldn't miss the emotion behind it. We broke our hug again and she wiped a small tear from her eye, trying her best to not let her emotions get away from her. "So," she said, changing the subject, "how was your trip?"

I rolled my eyes and was about to speak when one of my buddies, who was also on looking for his luggage, strolled by and answered for me. "Don't. Ask," he muttered tonelessly.

I nodded in agreement. "That pretty much sums it up, actually. We're all a little worse for wear. All I want to do is get home, take a shower and crash into bed for about ten hours."

Beth giggled and held up the car keys in the air. "So I guess I'll be driving us back home, then?"

I snagged the keys from her hand and said, "Not on your life. As much as I missed you, I missed the freedom of driving. I'm bombed out of my mind with exhaustion, but getting behind the wheel sounds like a great way to perk me up."

"Hey, Carson!" another one of my buddies shouted. He was standing closer to the carousel and tossed a duffel bag in my direction, which landed right at my feet. "Take this damn thing and get the hell out of here! Every minute counts, buddy!"

I gratefully picked up the bag and offered my thanks to my fellow soldier. And, with that, my daughter and I bolted out of the airport like a pack of wolves were chasing us. We threw my bags into the back of the car and got into it quickly, not wanting to waste a minute of my Leave time. Something odd happened, though, when we got into the car seats. Before starting the ignition, I turned to look at my daughter, to tell her how glad I was to be back home, and she looked at me. Our eyes locked for a brief moment and, before I could say anything, Beth leaned over and kissed me. On the lips. It wasn't one of those hot, passionate kind of kisses, but it was nevertheless not the kind of kiss a young woman should give to her father. When our lips parted, she just patted me on the cheek and said, "Welcome home, Dad."

I stared at her for a long moment, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. "What... what was THAT?" I asked.

Beth just shrugged and said, "What? I can't show my appreciation to my father, for all the amazing things he's done for me these last few years, with a kiss? Geez, Dad. Relax. It was just a quick peck. You're my dad and I love you. Besides, isn't it, like, traditional for a soldier returning home to get a kiss or something?"

"Well, maybe, yeah, but not from his daughter. What's gotten into you?"

Beth shook her head and said, "I'm fine, Dad. I'm just glad you're home. That's all. And, speaking of which, we're not home YET. The sooner you get some rest, the sooner we can celebrate my birthday. It's only a day away and we've got plans, remember?"

I continued to stare at her for a few heartbeats and then decided to just let it pass. Kids do crazy things sometimes. I started the ignition and drove us out of the airport. The drive home was filled with conversation about my experiences in Afghanistan, but it was all a blur. I knew that the ride home would take just under an hour, but it seemed like only five minutes later when I found myself pulling into the driveway. We didn't even bother unloading the car as I trudged off to my bedroom and immediately collapsed on my bed where I enjoyed the sleep of the dead for exactly ten hours.

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I had a mostly satisfying sleep except for a single, weird dream that woke me up. In the dream I was with my late wife and we were making love more passionately than I ever remembered having done with her in the past. At one point, she was riding on top of me and my gaze was fixed completely on where we were joined. She sat up and said, "Welcome home, Daddy," in our daughter's voice. When I looked up, I saw that my wife had somehow been replaced with Beth and she pointed down to her belly button. "I'm so glad you came home," she said in a husky voice.

I sat up with a start, jerking myself out of the dreamworld in a bit of a panic. My mind was still whirling with the images I'd seen in the dream and I didn't know what to make of it. I felt my forehead and realized that I was sweating almost profusely. A further inventory of my body's state resulted in the discovery that I had a severe hard-on and I was just seconds away from a dream-induced orgasm. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to get my body under control, but the only thing my mind's eye allowed me to see was the vision of my daughter, naked and sitting on top of my groin in ecstatic pleasure. My body spasmed and it took every ounce of self-control not to cum. I breathed steadily through my nose, my heart pounding in my chest as my body calmed down slowly, and then I simply flopped on my back as my pulse returned to something close to normal. After the moment was behind me and I felt that I was in the clear, I lifted the sheets up to see that I'd made a small mess just with precum. I guess going a few years without sex can do that to a guy. Oh, sure, I masturbated from time to time, even when I was in Afghanistan, but I hadn't had a wet dream like that since before my wife passed away. Having soiled bed sheets was bad enough, but the thing that really got my attention was recalling the dream that inspired my near-orgasm: I'd been dreaming of my daughter, of fucking her. Or, more to the point, she was fucking me.

I glanced at the clock (5 AM), groggily got out of bed and went into the master bathroom to clean myself off. At first I was just going to use a hand towel to wipe away the mess around my groin, but decided that it would be better to just take a shower and wash away a few days of travel from my body. I put the strange erotic dream out of my mind and instead focused on more practical matters- coffee being at the top of my list. I quickly got done with the shower, put on a clean pair of boxer-briefs and made my way into the kitchen. I didn't expect that Beth to be awake that early in the morning but, as I was making some coffee, she stumbled into the kitchen and blinked bleary-eyed at me. I blinked back at her, not prepared to see her wearing one of my old t-shirts.

"Dad? What're you doing up? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sweetheart. I just had an alarming dream and woke up. I've been asleep for ten hours, so I figured I'd get an early start today and started up a pot of coffee. Go on back to sleep. I'm sorry if I startled you."

Beth smiled wanly and waved my apology off. "No, no. It's okay. I mean, yeah, you woke me up, but that's only because I've gotten used to the house being silent."

"I guess we'll both have to adjust to me being home, eh?" I said with a slight chuckle. I was feeling very self-conscious about the fact that I was standing there in the kitchen, with my daughter, just wearing my boxers, but if she wasn't going to make a big deal out of it then neither was I. I turned around to get a coffee mug out of the cabinet.

"Get one for me, too, will you please?" Beth asked from behind me. With my back to her, all I could hear was her gently pulling one of the chairs away from the kitchen table.

"Since when do you drink coffee?" I asked with surprise as I took another mug out for her. I'd never seen her drink the stuff. Not hot coffee, anyway.

"I kinda got used to the scent of it over the last few years," she said. "With you gone and two cans of the stuff sitting in the cabinet, I decided to try some. I was actually surprised that I liked it. And I take mine with creamer and sugar, just like you. I can't stand it black. Bleh."

I poured us two cups of joe and added cream and sugar in proportions that I prefer, only guessing that her claim to like it the way I have mine meant exactly so, and turned around. Beth was sitting at the kitchen table, one leg crossed over her opposing knee, and paused at what I saw: my daughter was wearing ONLY my t-shirt. No panties underneath.

When she saw my eyes widen, she immediately realized what I'd glimpsed and quickly lowered her leg to hide her briefly exposed, shaven pussy from view. "Sorry," she said with a startled blush. "I'm still getting used to having someone around in the mornings. To be honest, I normally don't even bother with this much," she added with a tug on the t-shirt. "It's yours. I hope you don't mind. I missed the smell of you."

I gathered my wits about me and approached the table, placing her steaming mug of coffee in front of her. "It's okay," I said calmly. "Like I said: we'll both have to adjust to me being home. Besides, it's not like I haven't seen a woman's private parts before. It's no big deal."

A playful smirk crept across her mouth. "So does that mean I can fall back to my normal routine and lose the shirt?"

I raised my eyebrows at her, trying my best to hide my surprise at such a bold question, but found myself saying, "If you think you'd be more comfortable that way, I'm not going to stop you. You're going to be eighteen tomorrow, which will make you a legal adult and responsible for your own decisions."

Beth took a small, halting sip of coffee and pursed her lips at the heat of it. When the hot liquid cleared her throat, she said, "Actually, Dad, I'm eighteen NOW."

I realized, with dismay, that she was right. I had slept so hard that I'd forgotten what day it was. "Oh my God," I said with a groan. "I'm so sorry, honey. The jet lag got the better of me. Happy birthday!"

Beth let out a small giggle and smiled. "It's okay, Dad. I've got all day to celebrate and you really needed your rest." We both took sips from our mugs in a thoughtful silence that lasted for all of thirty seconds before Beth said, "So... what was it about?"

I knitted my eyebrows at her. "What was what about?"

"The dream that woke you up."

I looked down at my coffee cup and thought quickly. Did I want to make something up, tell her the whole truth or just tell her part of the truth? As a rule, I avoided lying to my daughter as much as humanly possible. I've always felt that trust between a parent and child must be rooted in honesty regarding all things, no matter how uncomfortable they may be. Some things, however, are best left unsaid. "Well," I began, "I was dreaming of your mother."

"Mmm," Beth said appraisingly with a playfully cocked eyebrow. "A good dream, I hope?"

I nodded gently. "You could say that. We were making love, if that's what you mean."

"And that's what woke you up?" my daughter asked with confusion. "I thought those kinds of dreams were the ones you want to keep having."

"Normally, yes," I replied with a shrug. "But this one was different. In the dream she changed into someone else. It kinda threw me for a loop. Startled me."

"Who was it? Who did she change into?" she asked. Of course, it was the next logical question and, of course, I inwardly winced when she asked it. I had hoped that she would let it go and not delve too much deeper, but Beth is a naturally curious creature: anything new or different piqued her interest and when that happened, she would hound after it until she got the full story. She absolutely hated not knowing things or being evaded.

I took a deep breath and decided to face the music. I couldn't bring myself to raise my eyes to meet hers, though, so I reached for my coffee cup as I answered just before taking a sip. "You."

That brought her up short and gave her a moment of pause. "Me? Really?" she finally asked. "Wow."

I tried to shrug it off. "It was just a dream, Sweetheart. Probably brought on by that whopper of a kiss you gave me yesterday. It doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Dad," she said conversationally, now fully aware and watchful of my every move. "I guess it makes a certain sort of sense, in a weird way."

Again I arched my eyebrows at her, this time in unconcealed surprise and a mixture of inexplicable indignation. "Indeed?" I asked. "And how is that? How does dreaming of sex with my daughter make any kind of sense?"

"Well," she said calmly, "first, as you mentioned, there's that kiss. Then, Mom was the one who took care of you and made you a home. She looked after all the little things that you missed. After she died, I guess I sorta took on some of her responsibilities. Not all of them, but some of them. I don't think I'll ever replace Mom, and I wouldn't want to, but I do try to make you as comfortable as she did. And you do the same thing for me, guiding me the way she would have. I mean, you're my dad and I'm your daughter, but in a weird way, we're sort of like a couple, too. I'm the only woman in your life right now, mostly because Army life doesn't give you the time to go out dating much, so I guess it makes sense that you'd dream of me in that way from time to time, especially after I kissed you. I'm no psychologist, but it makes sense to me, so I'm officially telling you, Dad, that there's no need to feel weird about it. Like you said, it was just a dream. Besides, it's not like I don't have dreams like that, too," she added off-handedly.

That last bit really floored me. "You DO?" I blurted with total shock.

"Sure," she answered. "At first, yeah, it sorta weirded me out, but after doing a little research, I found out that it's perfectly natural and now I just let it go without letting it interfere with my relationship with you. Dreams are dreams. I'm sure that, somewhere down the road, you'll have dreams of some of your experiences in Afghanistan, too, but that doesn't mean you'll wake up ready to kill somebody, does it? So what if we dream about having sex with each other? It's not like we'll actually do it. For one thing, it's against the law and, for another, well..." she trailed off.

"Well, what?" I prompted.

She waved it off. "I can't think of a second thing right now," she told me dismissively. "It's too early. Anyway, the point is, if you dream about me every once in awhile, I'm okay with that. In the final analysis, I know that you love me and that you'll never hurt me, so I have nothing to worry about. So. I won't worry about it and neither should you. You can fuck me as much as you like... in your dreams." She winked at me playfully, took a large gulp from her coffee mug and set it down on the table. "If you'll excuse me, Dad, I think it's about time that both of us get ready for the day. Besides, I think you've got some business to attend to." She nodded at my groin.

I looked down and saw, much to my chagrin, that I was sporting a very prominent erection beneath my boxer-briefs. The outline of my engorged member was so clearly defined that even some of the veins were visible through the fabric. I looked back up to apologize or explain it away or something, but my daughter had already disappeared out of the kitchen and out of my sight. I looked back down at my throbbing mast and muttered, "You have the absolute worst fucking timing in the world, you know that?" My cock merely pulsed in silent reply, as though to say that, yes, it knew that very well and was not one bit repentant about it. "Fuck," I said to the empty kitchen. I stood up, grabbed my half-full cup of coffee and made my way downstairs, severely annoyed at how I'd started my first real day of Leave.

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As I said before, I fully understood, on an intellectual level, that my daughter is a gorgeous young woman. But never, not once, have I regarded or thought of her as a sexual being or looked at her the way a man normally looks at a beautiful woman. She was always my daughter, full of spirit and intellect and emotion, not some young thing ready to be conquered, least of all by me! I felt ashamed and full of self doubt as I went through the motions of getting dressed. I allowed myself to ruminate on our conversation, picking it apart in my head, and couldn't draw any sort of real consensus of what had been said. Finally, I decided to just accept the fact that my little girl was now a full-grown adult woman, legally of-age and mature enough to decide for herself what was right or wrong. She'd told me that I shouldn't be worried about my dream and that she felt it was natural for people in our situation. I decided to put faith in that and just let it go. If she wasn't going to let it bother her then I wouldn't either. Of course, I wouldn't advertise it every time I had a dream about her, if I ever had another, but I wouldn't let it get to me. Dreams were dreams; reality was reality: ne'er the twain shall meet, right? Right.

Once I'd gotten dressed, I figured that when Beth was ready to start celebrating her birthday, she'd come and let me know. Until then, however, I might as well catch up on some of the stuff I'd missed while I was overseas. I turned on my computer (which had miraculously not been shorted out in any rain storms while I was away) and began to check my email Inbox, which was filled to the brim with SPAM. It took me a good thirty minutes to sift through all of the SPAM and, when I was done, found that I had a grand total of 8 real email messages. Eight emails over a 5-month period. I'd taken care to have most of my emails diverted to my Afghan email account, but to see so few waiting for me was a little bit of a let-down. The real sad thing, though, is that six of them were related to billing invoices and other such non-personal correspondence. The two remaining emails were from a friend I knew a few years ago but had lost touch with, and he wasn't even really that good a friend, so I was in no big hurry to respond.

With nothing left to do on that front, I opened up my web browser and began trolling some of the adult websites that I couldn't view while I was away, Literotica among them. Now, this is my dirty little secret: as much as I didn't look at my daughter in a sexual way, I'd always, even before I got married, had a fetish for incest erotic fiction. My particular bent, and the irony wasn't lost on me, was father/daughter incest. I've even written some. It first started out with and interest in mother/son stories, but as time went on, I found myself drawn more to the dad/daughter stories, mostly out of fascination at first and then out of depraved lust over time. My wife was aware of my interest in such stories, and even the fact that I wrote them, but she never complained about it. She actually liked reading the brother/sister stories, even though she was an only child. We even role-played a bit when we made love sometimes, just to spice things up- and it often worked. Usually we played siblings, but I remember a few occasions where I was "Daddy" and Lynn was my "naughty little daughter." God, I missed my wife right then!

So it was with a certain measure of conflicted carnal need that I started to view the titles of all the stories I'd missed over those intervening months. Key words like daddy, daughter, fuck, family and sundry other words jumped out at me as I scrolled through over two hundred story titles. I tried to divorce myself from my conscience, but it was to no avail. Halfway through the first story I'd selected, I found myself imagining myself as the main character and Beth, rather than Lynn, as the young lady getting nailed. The realization unnerved me to no end and I kept feeling guilty about my thoughts.