Nursing My Daddy

"Debbie, don't you realise you are a big girl now?" my mother screamed shrilly at me. "How can you sit in your father's lap like a little girl?"

I did not understand what she meant. I was in Class Two, at six and a half years old. I saw big girls at school who were almost ten! I AM a little girl, I thought angrily.

"You can't treat your daughter like a little kid. Can't you see how she has grown?"

"Calm down Mary! You will give her the wrong ideas. If a little girl cannot enjoy her father's company, what is the world coming to?" my dad replied coolly.

Nothing made me so happy as to hear him call me 'little'. And that one about me enjoying his company was so good. I hardly saw him at home because he was always so busy. He came home so late every evening and left so early. We kids did not see him enough. And now when I had a few moments to enjoy him, my mother wanted to stop it. Was she jealous, yet they slept in the same room, and kept the door closed? We were even required to knock before we could be allowed in. My mind just could not understand her.

He held me tighter, closer to his body. I enjoyed his strong arms around me, and the feeling of strength and power emanating from him. Then he let me down softly.

"I have a project to complete before noon." He went off to his study, his computers and books.

I liked my daddy's very controlled manner, opposite to my mother's very excited one. She seemed to be very emotional, even about small things. When we came home from school, the way our uniforms looked was a source of a lot of talk from her. Yet I did not think that we looked any dirtier than other kids with whom we had played. It was like she wanted us to sit in class while other children went out to play so that our uniforms would come back as clean as when we left in the morning.

When out shopping with her, she was always telling us not to do that, or look at that thing, or look before crossing the road, while in fact she was holding our hands. Her constant talk preventing our actions, even those that did not seem dangerous, sometimes bothered my young mind. My father on the other hand, allowed us free range to play, run, jump and climb. He stopped us doing things that could harm us, but he always explained what was wrong with doing it. He punished us for wrongdoing but he first made sure we understood why. My mother simply started beating, while scolding us in a loud voice, sometimes for something we had not done. There was the time the window was broken by a ball from the neighbours. It had come flying over the fence and crashed into the sitting room window. My elder brother had thrown the ball back over the fence when they came pleading.

When my mother came home, she took one look at the broken pane and and started beating the three of us, all the while scolding us, telling us how bad we were, how careless, and did not consider that money did not grow on trees. The story came out amid loud cries of pain both of the beating but also of the unfairness of it. When we had forced her to listen to our story, she simply chased us outside "to play." But my heart was no longer on play. A few days later we were to hear her scolding the neighbour's kids for playing carelessly, threatening to "beat the daylights out of you".

My mother gave me endless lectures about avoiding men and boys as they were dirty and would only ruin my education, if I let them play with my body. To be sure I did not understand what she meant by that. She even overreacted when I embraced my father. Surely he was not "playing with my body"? He was my father, for goodness' sake! Contact with him always felt so comforting, it gave me a feeling of security. He also seemed to enjoy that brief chaste contact. In my mind he was not 'men'; he was someone whom I could depend on, who had given me a good life so far, and whose authority I respected.

In college, even though I was now older than teenage, the same conflict between my feelings for my dad and for my age mates still occupied the centrestage of my life. I went into the world of work with similar attitudes towards my colleagues, yet feeling very comfortable around my father. There were times when I wished I could watch a movie lying on his lap, with his hand resting somewhere on my torso. I could almost feel my head on his thigh, my hand somehow rubbing his knee or shins, while his was on my side, at the waist, or even my backside. I could imagine nothing better than that!

However, I knew deep inside me that he would not allow that kind of pose, and not just for reasons of avoiding his wife's sharp tongue. I too would not be that daring, risking his disapproval; that would be more than I could bear. I soothed my feelings by getting him small presents which I could pass to him without anyone else being aware of it.

One afternoon just before 4pm my extension rang in the office, while I was with my boss going over a report. I excused myself to answer but she used a special code on her extension to 'pull' the call from mine to hers. That was how I received news of the accident involving my parents.

"Come to Nairobi West Nursing Home right away!" the voice at the other end said. I wailed into the receiver, tears rolling down my cheeks freely.

"What has happened, Debbie?" my boss asked, with concern lacing her voice through. It was some moments before I could calm myself enough to share the news I had received.

Her response went far beyond the call of duty. "Come, let me drop you there."

"But that is all the way on the other side of town! I will drive carefully, I promise."

"There will be a time for you drive like that, but it is not today." Without another word she reached into her drawer for her handbag. "Quick, take your things."

I followed her into the basement parking. As I got into her car, she asked me for my car keys. I looked at her in some puzzlement.

"I will send a driver with your car later. If I had thought of it earlier he would be following us. But time is of the essence now." I felt a flood of gratitude for this woman who had become my friend over the year I had worked for her.

My mother was in the high dependency unit, and unconscious. My father was in the male ward, with a broken leg, and two shattered ribs. He was in pain but could speak to me.

His first concern was for his wife. "How is your mother?"

"I am sure they are giving her the best care in the HDU. She is still unconscious."

"Your brothers are on the way." I could see the pain in his face as he tried to speak. "They will tow the car to the garage if it can be repaired, and if the police can release it. It was the truck driver who came over to our side."

That evening as my brothers and I sat in the living room, unable to take a proper dinner, we worried about both of them. We prayed they would pull through. The news of my mother's passing came in the morning when we went to see them.

"We did all we could," assured the doctor on duty. "But her injuries were too severe. Her body could not cope."

My father wept heartbreakingly, even though it hurt him to breath deeply. He had recovered enough to be discharged in time for the funeral. As I held him at the graveside I could feel the thick bandages around his chest and back. It was as if I could feel his pain as well as my own.

It also came crashing into my mind that I was now the woman of the house. My responsibilities had just multipled, starting with nursing my father back to health on top of all the household duties and my own work.

My boss allowed me to leave work an hour early every other day so I could get home to see to my father's wellbeing. His biggest challenge arose out of his chest injuries which did not allow him much movement even in bed. He made very good progress on his leg; the bones set in a matter of weeks, while the ribcage took longer. I was very glad that I had never been shy around my father so I could help him more freely. Being easy with contact with him really helped both of us to cope with his period of recovery.

As I supported him to sit up to take his meals he could hold into me with more freedom than was normal. Sometimes, in the midst of our struggle, my skirt would ride higher on my thighs, or my breasts press into his body. This did not cause us discomfort as it might ordinarily have. This was more true at night if he needed help. I would be in nightdress and panty, but my boobs would be free, both to move about and to be seen. There was a time or two when his hand came to the side of my boob, but needing my support he was not free to snatch his hand away, so it was not always clear whether a touch was intentional or otherwise. I was touched by my father in ways that would have come off as inappropriate in any other setting.

One late evening as he hobbled on his crutches he was holding onto me, his hand around my torso. As we progressed across the living room his hand moved upwards coming to the bottom of my unsupported breast. I felt him trying to move his hand back down to safer regions.

"Dad, why struggle?" I laid my hand over his to keep him there. When we got to the toilet door, I did not release him immediately. I looked right into his eyes and told him, "Its OK to touch me like that. I wish you would do it more on purpose."

I felt his fingers twitch, but he merely grunted and let go of his hold to enter the toilet. When I heard him open the door after he had finished, I rushed to him and let him hold onto his daughter's midriff as he hobbled to bed. In his bedroom, I did not let him peel off me as usual but prolonged the body contact. I hugged him with more intent than usual and my heart soared when I felt his free hand answer me with some strength.

I went to bed with my spirits high. My fantasies took on more purpose than before. I had let my beloved father know that touching me was not anathema, that I did not think like my mother thought and enforced in her lifetime. I wondered what was going in in his mind as he lay in his bed before falling asleep. I imagined his cock lengthening under the covers as he contemplated his daughter's body. I hoped he would come to the decision that loving me would bring back what he had lost in my mother's death. I hoped that he would see a younger version of her in me, and that that image would transport him back to his youth. Oh, how I longed to give my father a return to his younger days, even if only in thought!

In the morning, I went by his bedroom before going to take my shower as I prepared for work. As I gave him a good morning hug, I suddenly thought, why do this through the covers? Why not climb into bed? He turned a startled face to me as I threw the covers back and lifted my leg into bed. He must have seen an expanse of his daughter's exposed thigh. I crept closer to him and embraced my dad. He held me close too. My breasts brushed against his chest.

"Good morning, my gorgeous!" he said. My heart leaped. He seemed to be further along than I had expected.

"Good morning, precious!" I gave back. We spent a number of minutes enjoying closeness to each other, now free of fear, free of hypocrisy and letting the feelings we had held for each other come rushing out.

I lifted my leg over his, letting my short nightie expose nearly the whole thigh. I felt his hand come to hold me to himself and when he encountered bare flesh his instincts were to jump back, but there was no reason to do so now. He accepted my offering wholly, lifting his head to kiss my neck. I moved us so that he could kiss me more properly, on my mouth.

My dad's kiss turned out to be more delicious than ever I had imagined. Somewhere in that mêlée, I decided that I would stay with him all morning. I would call in sick and report to the office in the afternoon. His hand was on my left breast and I felt him heating up. I felt his cock pushing against the side of my thigh.

With something like practiced ease I slid his pyajama bottoms down his legs. Pulling my nightie up I placed myself over him with my knees on either side of him. I was exultant that I was about to receive the cock which brought me into this world into my body. I trembled at the thought.

I snaked my arm between us and grabbed the cock of my fantasies. A little squeeze, and a light massage, then I stood it upright ready to enter me. We were about to cross the border into new, unfamiliar territory.

"Baby, are you sure you want to start fucking your very own father?"

For answer, I placed his helmet right at my entrance. Swivelling my hips, I pushed down to let him inside. I was shocked at how wet and eager for my father's cock I was. He slid some way in and was blocked. I felt a sharp pain and stopped. He held my buttock to steady me.

"You really want this, Pet?"

"I have dreamt of this moment for a very long time. Come in. Give me that cock from which I came!"

I swear I felt his cock twitch. Then he lifted himself slightly pushing himself deeper into me. I felt something like a sharp prick, then a soreness as the head of my father's cock went past my broken hymen. Then I felt him slide all the way into my receptive vagina. Shots of electricity zapped all the way up from my vagina through my spine and slammed into my brain. It was like no other experience. "Yeah, Simon! Enjoy Mary's daughter!" I yelled at the headboard.

He slapped my buttocks from excess of emotion. "You remind me so much of your mother!" He pushed himself inside and out again. He stroked me like this a few times. "Aaargh, I am comingg-gg!" He convulsed violently underneath me. His orgasm shook his body over and over. The sounds out of his mouth did not make verbal sense, but to me it spoke of my power to satisfy my own daddy. It made me feel so powerful! That thought unsnapped something deep inside me. A heat enveloped my entire body and I sensed myself high up in a place I had never ever been. My vagina pulsed, I was panting like a steam engine, and my mouth was wide open. I do not know if any sounds emerged, though.

Suddenly my whole body loosened and I collapsed onto my dad's chest. He groaned from the pain, and I was overwhelmed with pity. I was sorry to have hurt him, yet I was at that moment so grateful for his taking me above the clouds with his wonderful cock. I supported myself on my elbows to take my weight off him and kissed him greedily. It seemed he was waiting for just such a moment. He kissed me back powerfully sending me up again. I swiveled my hips to move his flagging penis inside me. Inside of a minute I came again. I tried to remind myself not to crush my darling daddy in the throes of my orgasm.

I had never, before that moment eaten anything, gone anywhere, or done anything that gave me the pleasure I got from fucking my daddy in the flesh. Sure, I had fantasised about it, but the real experience was beyond anything I could have imagined.