The Vasectomy Ch. 01

SUMMARY: This is a complete work of fiction. It's about a teenage girl who goes with her dad to a fertility clinic where he's supposed to have a vasectomy. But he becomes very uncomfortable and can't relax. She decides to help him.

All characters in this story are 18 or older.

DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction. Any character resemblances to real life personae are strictly coincidental. Copying, re-posting, storing (whether digitally or in print form) or redistribution of this material is prohibited.

STORY:

Chapter One.

Things changed between me and my daddy recently, and I wanted to get it all down before I start forgetting the details. But first, a little background. My dad and I live alone in a small, two-bedroom house. And up until two years ago, my mom lived with us, too. Unfortunately, she passed away from a rare disease that weakened her heart. We had all known it was coming, since we found out when I was fifteen. She lasted over a year past what the doctors originally predicted, but none of that prepared me and my dad for when the day finally came.

My dad is a handsome guy, in his early forties. He's got dark brown hair that he keeps cut short, but messy. I don't think he ever brushes it, to be honest. He's a lot taller than me, at almost six feet. He has a manly looking beard that he trims regularly to give him that "five o'clock shadow" look almost all the time. Occasionally he shaves it away, but it comes back within a day or two. He works out at home and goes running a few times a week, so he's pretty fit. And, since my mom passed, he works his ass off to make sure I have everything I need. In short, I love my daddy to death.

Now about me. My name is Danielle and I'm nineteen years old. I was super skinny through most of my teenage years, until my body started developing just the past two or three years. My breasts started to grow, and then they kept growing. I had never wanted to have large boobs. I mean, it's not like they are mammoth tits or anything, but I do wear a 34C bra and they fill it snugly. My body isn't very fleshy, but I'm not as skinny as I was in my early teens. The "little girl" look got replaced by an hourglass shape that most certainly seemed to attract the interest of boys at my school. My weight went from under a hundred pounds to a few pounds over as my breasts filled in. As for my height, I'm five foot, two. And a half. I don't mind being short, though.

I graduated from high school last year and decided to take my first year off instead of rushing off to college right away. That was partly because I felt like I owed my dad another year of staying at home with him while we got things settled after my mom's death. He didn't seem to mind, although we rarely talked about it, so I wasn't completely sure.

A few months ago, dad told me he wanted to get a vasectomy. I was floored, honestly. At least at first. But I didn't want to make him feel bad about his decision, so I didn't voice any of my doubts about it. I decided the best thing I could do was to support him. My mom had been the caretaker of both of us, and I had vowed to fill her shoes now that she wasn't around anymore. I was sure she would have backed his decision, so I did, too.

The day of his appointment came during the last week of June. My dad was wearing a plain dark gray t-shirt and relaxed-fit jeans. As for me, I was wearing a light gray half-shirt with shoulder straps and a built-in bra. It hugged my upper belly tightly, but I liked it. The cups of the bra were open on the top, leaving the upper swells of my breasts exposed, and a fair amount of cleavage. I didn't have any special reason for wearing that today, but it was one of my favorite tops. For pants, I had on a pair of tight-fitting washed-out jeans with some designer tears randomly along the legs.

By nine in the morning, we were on our way to the clinic. They recommended not to do anything extraneous for several days, including driving a vehicle, so I was in the driver's seat. But I was all too happy to help my daddy out, so I didn't mind at all. The clinic was almost an hour away, so we grabbed something to eat on the way and then had plenty of time to chit chat.

About halfway there, I decided to ask a question that had been brewing in my head ever since my dad had told me he wanted to have the procedure. I felt embarrassed to ask about it, but when I finally mustered up the nerve to put it out there, I opened with, "So..."

When I didn't say anything else, my dad turned toward me from the passenger seat and asked, "So... what?"

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I opened my mouth and then froze. Swallowing, I forced myself to spit it out. "Does this procedure make--" I couldn't get the rest of my question past my lips.

My dad cleared his throat and then asked, "Make what?"

Glancing at him, his face was very disarming. I knew he wouldn't judge me, no matter what I asked. So I asked in a rush, "Does it make your... uh, your stuff stop coming out?"

"My sperm?" my dad asked, not sounding offended at all.

My face heated up but I nodded, saying weakly, "Yeah."

He laughed softly. Then he said, "No dear, something still comes out. It's called semen. But it won't have any sperm in it."

"Oh good," I said before I could stop myself. Good? Why would I give a fuck if my dad's... semen stopped coming out? My cheeks grew hotter still.

"Good?" he asked and when I glanced at him, he had his brows furrowed. Crap. Now he probably thought I was a weirdo.

"Uh, that's not what I meant," I said, trying to ease my embarrassment.

It didn't help that my dad laughed again, and the rest of the drive was more or less filled with silence, and a tiny bit of small talk about nothing important. When I finally pulled the car into the parking lot and found a spot, I put it in park and was just about to get out of the car when I caught something from the corner of my eyes. When I looked over at my dad, his face was white as a ghost.

"You ok?" I asked, suddenly concerned.

He closed his eyes for a second but then nodded. Pulling the handle on his door, he got out of the car without a word. I followed him into the clinic where we were ushered to sit in a large waiting area. There were about a dozen other people in the room. This place handled all kinds of birth control, not just vasectomies.

After helping my dad fill out the medical forms, we sat quietly while we waited to be called. I had already decided I was going to go in with him. He was my daddy and I wanted to be there for him, to support him and make sure he was ok. But after almost a half hour had gone by without being called, I could tell my dad was having a rough time. When I questioned him about it, he admitted that he was extremely nervous about the procedure. Not long after that, he looked so pale, I was sure he was going to pass out.

Taking control of the situation, I went up to the counter and asked if they had a place where patients could lie down if they were feeling faint. I figured my dad couldn't be the only one to get cold feet before going through with something like this. Sure enough, the receptionist led us to a private room toward the back of the building. She assured me that he could rest there until he felt ready to go on and asked me to let her know when he was ready.

A few minutes later, I found myself sitting on a surprisingly comfortable chair in a private room while my dad laid down on a long couch. The room had two other chairs, a small kitchenette and a low-standing table. I didn't know how long my dad would need, but I was content to wait as long as it took. After twenty minutes, I got up and went over to the sink, filling a cup with filtered water for him. Bringing it over to my dad, I sat on the edge of the couch he was laying on and handed it to him. He took it from me and drank it noisily.

Staring at his face, at least some of the color had returned. But I still frowned at him. I was worried. Putting a hand on his hip, I asked quietly, "What can I do, daddy?"

He shook his head and said, "Nothing."

Frowning at him, I rubbed his hip absently. Then I asked a different question, "What would mom do if she was here?" Thinking about her immediately brought up memories and I felt the loss pang in my chest. But it wasn't as bad as it used to be. And I had tried to fill her role where my dad was concerned ever since she passed. He didn't do that well on his own.

My dad frowned back at me and then suddenly started laughing. I opened my eyes wide in surprise. What was so funny? "What are you laughing about?" I asked.

"You don't want to know," he said, still chuckling. Well, that was an improvement at least!

"But I do!" I said, pushing his hip a little teasingly. I was grinning at him, even though I didn't even know what I should be grinning about.

He cleared his throat and then stared into his empty cup as he said, "Uh, I was thinking about what your mom would do if she was here."

Nodding at him, waiting for him to tell me what that was, he didn't say anything. Finally, I pushed his hip again, making his body roll a little, and then asked, "...and?"

"Uh," he said, still staring at his cup. Then I noticed his cheeks were turning red. Oh. Was he embarrassed? What the hell was he thinking about? What would my mom do? My curiosity was suddenly like an itch that I had to scratch.

"Daddy?" I called to him.

He shook his head slowly and muttered, "Forget I said anything."

I sat quietly after that, thoughts tumbling through my head. I knew I was trying to guess what he was thinking. What would my mom do? What would my mom do that would make my dad embarrassed to tell me? Finally, I couldn't take the suspense, so I used my best pleading-daughter voice and said, "Please daddy?"

"Please what?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Tell me what you were laughing about," I said. Then I added, "What mom would do."

He stared at me for a good ten seconds without answering. Then he sighed and looked away as he spoke quietly, "Your mom would give me a blow job."

Oh. And now it was my turn for my face to turn red. But as embarrassing as it was to have this subject come up with my dad, I was still curious. So, I finally asked, "How would that help?"

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the subject himself, but he answered, "When I get relaxed after... afterwards, nothing fazes me."

"Oh," I said. I didn't really know what else to add. But my mind was churning with thoughts about it. Images kept popping up. Made up images. I had never seen my dad's penis. But I imagined...

"She used that trick on me once when I cut myself and she had to stitch me up with a needle," he elaborated.

My mom was a nurse and often used to handle mundane medical things at home, apparently including stitches. And blow jobs. I laughed out loud and my dad looked at me with a startled expression. But a few seconds later, he was grinning at me. I don't know if he knew what I was thinking about, but maybe it was a way to ease the discomfort of a father talking to his daughter about blow jobs.

We sat in silence for quite a while after that. Dad put his head down on a little pillow and closed his eyes. I watched him without a word. At least the color was back in his face. I still had my hand on his hip and I was rubbing it absently, trying to comfort him. And in my head, all I could think about was what he had said. That if my mom was there, she would give him a blow job and that would help him relax. I had only given three blow jobs in my life, but I had enjoyed them all. There was something erotic about making a boy get off by using my mouth alone, instead of during sex.

I started trying to visualize what my father's penis looked like. Was he big? How big? Did my mom used to swallow, or spit? How often did she blow him? Did it feel different than masturbating? What did his cum taste like? Wait. What was that thought? Oh Christ, Danielle. I needed to get out of my head.

"Daddy?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Hm?" he responded without opening his eyes.

"Are you still nervous?" I wanted to know if he was feeling better.

My dad sighed, nodding. "Yeah, pretty much," he muttered.

More thoughts tumbled through my brain. What would mom do? What should I do? What was I even fucking considering? Was I serious right now? Should I do what mom would do? I wanted to help my daddy. And he definitely needed it. Help, that is. But did that mean the only way to help was to give him a blow job? That was it, wasn't it? I was thinking about giving my dad a blow job. I should not be thinking about that! But I couldn't help it. My hand was kneading his hip and I realized that it was only a few inches away from his penis. My eyes dropped down, staring at my father's crotch. Was he hard? No way.

Licking my lips, I whispered, "So..." That was typical me. I knew what I wanted to say, but I just said the first word until someone asked me to go on.

My dad opened his eyes and glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. Then he asked, "What?"

I licked my lips again and then whispered, "What if I..." I couldn't finish my question. My cheeks felt hot.

"What, Danielle?" he asked as he propped himself up on one elbow, staring at me.

Swallowing the huge lump in my throat, I said, "What if I... did what mom would do?"

His eyebrows shot up on his forehead and he scolded me, "Don't talk like that!"

After that, I sat in silence, feeling ashamed. Until someone knocked on the door a few minutes later. When I went and opened it, a nurse was outside and she said tersely that we needed to be ready for the procedure within half an hour or we would have to reschedule. I thanked her and then told my dad what she had said. He got up off the couch then and started pacing around the room. He was clearly getting uncomfortable again. He was probably thinking about the procedure.

As he spun on his heel and started walking toward me again during his pacing, I found myself staring at his crotch. And that's when I realized that I could see it. His penis was pressed tightly against the fabric of his jeans. Oh. Why was he hard? Was it because of what I had... offered? Thinking about it again made me squirm on the couch where I sat. But I kinda had to know. You know?

"Dad," I called to him.

"What?" he asked, sounding gruff. He didn't stop pacing.

If I didn't ask right away, I knew I would chicken out. So I just blurted, "Are you hard?"

He froze where he had been pacing. "What?" he asked, not looking at me. Then he spun toward me and saw where I was staring. "Oh for fuck's sake, stop looking!"

I didn't say anything, but I also didn't look away. I couldn't. Staring at the bulge in his pants had me mesmerized. What was wrong with me? Finally, I just said, "I can't help it."

He wrung his hands together, spinning away from me. Then he muttered, "Ah jesus, you're making it worse."

"Sorry, daddy," I said softly. I didn't mean to make him uncomfortable. He didn't say anything else and resumed his pacing after a minute. Unable to let it go, I pushed him with yet another question. "Would it help if you, uh... masturbated?" I asked. Not a question a daughter usually asks her dad.

"Jesus Danielle!!" my dad shouted, spinning and glaring at me.

Hunching my shoulders in, I said, "I'm just trying to offer a suggestion. To help."

He stared at me for a good thirty seconds before finally letting out a breath and then saying, "Maybe."

Licking my lips, I noticed there was a distinct tingling sensation in my belly and, admittedly, between my legs. Without looking at him, I shrugged and tried to sound casual as I said, "Ok, go for it."

"Uh," was his only response.

When I looked up at him, he was staring at me. He had stopped pacing. I shrugged at him, and said, "It's ok. I won't look." Then I got up from the couch and walked over to the sink, my back to him.

"You're serious?" he asked after a minute.

"Why not?" I said without turning toward him.

He sighed but then the room filled with silence. A minute ticked by and not a word was uttered. Another minute. Another--CLICK! I heard the sound of the door being locked. Oh! His footsteps were soft, but clear as he walked back to the couch. It squeaked as he sat on it. My hands started to shake. Was this really happening? Was he really going to do it? I heard a rustling sound and then a zipper being pulled open. My breath caught and I found myself gripping the edge of the sink.

Thirty seconds later, I heard it. The unmistakable sound of my dad masturbating. No words could describe the sudden thrill that shot up the inside of my pussy just then. It was tingling like mad. This whole thing was arousing as fuck, which was a complete surprise to me. I squirmed, squeezing my thighs together. Oh daddy, I thought to myself.

After a few minutes, I heard his breathing begin to quicken. The sound of his stroking hand seemed to be caressing my earlobes. Trickles of sensation spilled into my body, filling me with arousal. I squeezed my thighs together, unable to hold still. Daddy's breathing grew heavier still and then the whisking sound of his masturbating sped up. Faster. It sounded so fast! Then I heard the most beautiful sound in all the world. My daddy moaned. It was followed immediately by a soft curse. I giggled.

"Danielle, shush," he whispered at me.

I listened in rapt silence as he continued stroking himself. God how I wanted to peek! My heart was pounding rapidly in my chest, I realized. And, oh my, I was breathing harder than normal. My pussy tingled, wanting to be itched. Finally, I had to say something. Opening my mouth, I spoke softly into the room, "This is turning me on, daddy."

The sound of my father stroking himself slowed and then stopped. I could still hear him breathing heavily. He didn't say a thing. Wait, was he done? Did he... have an orgasm? I had to know. I had to look. My body was heavily aroused.

Slowly turning from the sink, I looked straight at my dad. He had an expression on his face I had never seen before. Was he mad? Jesus, had I seriously just told my dad that I was turned on? I couldn't help letting my eyes slide down until I was staring openly at his crotch. They opened wide in shock when I saw his penis. It was... massive. At least it looked massive to me, from across the room. He had one hand wrapped around it in a death grip. As I stared at it, it suddenly twitched in his hand. Just then I watched as something shiny squirted from the tip, oozing down the side of his boner and onto his hand.

My dad let out an uncontrollable moan and my eyes whipped back up to his face. Oh! No, that wasn't anger I had seen on my dad's face. It was... something else. His features were contorted, like he was straining. Almost the same look someone might have if they were in pain, except I knew that wasn't it. No, my daddy was aroused. And from the way his mouth hung open, I would say heavily. Plus he was still breathing hard. As we stared at each other, I saw his eyes droop down a few times. Was he checking out my tits? The thought sent a violent tingle through my chest and into my pelvis.

I felt myself being drawn inexplicably toward him. I'm not even sure why, but it just felt like the right thing to do. When I had crossed half the room, he finally let go of his cock and let out a breath at the same time, like he had been holding it. I couldn't help but look down again and I watched as his boner swayed from side to side, completely taut and erect. The head was shiny and, as I stared, I saw another trickle of liquid ooze from the tip, dribbling down the shaft. What was that? Maybe he really had already finished.

"Are you... done?" I asked, curious and acutely aware of just how inexperienced I was with sex, despite not being a virgin.

Daddy shook his head and then said softly, "I got too distracted when you--" he stopped mid-sentence and swallowed.