I Couldn't Sleep

"Whatcha watching?"

Dad looked up at me from the sofa. Dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of dark boxers, my father looked like he was about to head to bed.

"Oh, just this show called Easy on Netflix," he replied while picking up the remote. The only light in the room was coming from the television, which stopped flickering because he paused the show. "Can't sleep, baby?"

I always liked when Dad called me, "baby." It was incredibly comforting and reminded me of when I was younger. When life had been easier. It had been a tough few years for us, though he always tried to hide his pain from me. First, the cystic fibrosis that Mom fought with her whole life finally beat her. Mom made it much longer in life than most people with CF and never wanted to hear about how there was no cure and eventually, CF would kill her. She was/is my hero. She wasn't even my biological mother - Dad and Mom made the choice to avoid potentially passing CF to me. Her cousin and best friend, Bethany, is my actual birth mother. That said, Mom raised me from the start. I never asked the particulars of how Dad got Bethany pregnant.

Six months after Mom's passing, my husband of just less than three years, Frank, informed me that he felt we had rushed into marriage and I was pushing the prospect of having children on him too much. All of that was code for "I've been fucking two different women." Luckily, I found that out before agreeing to a 50/50 split of assets with no alimony. For the record - fuck Frank.

"Yeah, I'm tossing and turning," I said with a sigh. I sat down next to Dad, who was nursing a Killian's. "Brain's racing, I guess."

He nodded and drank a little more from his bottle before placing it down. I grabbed it and took a gulp. I hated Killian's, but I'd try anything to get some sleep right now.

Once Frank and I divorced, we sold the house I planned to raise a family in and I moved into a cute little cottage. I loved that place, but I couldn't keep up with payments once I lost my job because of COVID. And that's why, at the age of 26, I'm back at home with my father. I've tried to make the best of a bad circumstance. Dad needed a lot of help around the home because, unlike me, he could work from home as a software engineer so he did not have an over-abundance of free time. Beyond that, after Mom's death, he hadn't been doing a lot of the regular stuff Mom used to handle on her good days. When she had a lot of good days, she'd have beautiful flower beds and the house would look like a million bucks. Even when she had a bunch of bad days mixed in, she still found time to keep the house clean and orderly with a dinner ready for her husband later that evening - even if she had to bite the bullet occasionally and order some delivery.

I'm not as amazing as my mother, but I've tried to do my best. I even sometimes laugh in my head as I pretend to be my Dad's new wife. It's not a romantic thing, but merely an observation of our new life together. My mac and cheese isn't as delicious as Mom's was, but he scarfs it down like it is. I make a pretty good steak, too. I've cleaned and organized the rest of the house - often turning rooms that had not been used since Mom's passing into something functional once again. The flower gardens are a work in progress, but dammit, I'm trying.

"So, what's Easy about?"

Dad got up and walked toward the kitchen while explaining the show to me. According to my father, the series was about several different people, modern relationships, and how they work. The episode he was watching included a couple from the previous season who were giving an open marriage a shot. "But almost every episode has different people in it," he said, passing me a Mike's Lemonade while he placed another Killian's down for himself. Finishing off the first bottle, he opened another as I took my first sugary sips of Mike's. "Honestly, I think Jane put it in the watch-list for us to watch sometime and we never got around to it."

Pressing play, he sat back. Only a few minutes later, despite the sugary nature of Mike's, it didn't take long for my eyes to once again get a little heavy. Placing the drink down as we watched the couple dealing with the new challenges in their life from their choice to have an open marriage, I yawned. My eyes slightly darted away and I looked toward the steps that I would need to climb to get back to my room. It seemed so far.

Besides...there was no one else up there.

"Mind if I cuddle a little and close my eyes?" I asked. "Like I used to do when I was a girl?"

"You still are a girl," he quipped.

"You know what I mean!"

He laughed and settled to get comfy before gesturing with his hand to lean into him. I didn't want to block his view of the television so I placed my head low on his belly as he chuckled at the program. Dad has a minor gut, but is still in decent shape for a guy who doesn't work out. He used to, but it was something he just didn't have time for when Mom got real bad. Still, I had a growing appreciation for "Dad bods" so I thought the gut worked for him.

The episode came to a close and Netflix moved to the next one - titled "Side Hustle." The episode began with a tall blonde woman at a diner with an older woman. I want to make it clear that I'm not a prude at all. I believed that, as a wife, my job was to be supportive and open to my husband's interests. I can say that before Frank, I wasn't overly experienced. But with Frank, I tried many new things. We watched porn together, had sex outdoors, had a threesome, had a devil's threesome, and I even rimmed his ass since I couldn't come up with a better retort after he mentioned he ate my ass so willingly.

But hearing another woman talk about her gang-bang rape fantasy while laying my head on my father's stomach made me a little...apprehensive. Dad didn't say anything about it and I felt too awkward to mention it so we let it pass. The blonde then went home where she cleaned up her apartment - along with cleaning her pussy - as she got dressed for someone to come by. Again, I felt like I should try to escape because, while I'm not an awkward age anymore, seeing a woman getting dressed to possibly have sex with your father so close is still uncomfortable.

But the episode moved the focus away from her and to a stand-up comedian who drove an Uber. I felt myself get more at ease as a result. My eyes got heavy again and I closed them momentarily.

When I opened them again, several minutes had passed and the blonde was talking to an Indian guy. I was having trouble sticking with the story, but soon, two things were quite undeniable. One, the two quickly moved to the bed where she was playing with herself while he licked her nipples. And two, Dad was starting to really get into the show.

I last saw my Dad's penis when I was eighteen and I burst into my parent's room to tell them I overslept and missed the bus. Both of them were naked - clearly having fucked the previous evening. Dad often called Mom a covers hog and it seemed to be quite true as she was curled up with the blankets while only a sheet covered Dad's legs. But it stopped short of covering his cock. I didn't know then what I know now about cocks, but Dad was packing some serious heat. Mom may have got the shitty end of the stick with a terrible disease, but she won the lottery in other ways. Dad quickly covered himself, but nearly a decade later, I can still tell you how it looked.

But it wasn't hard that day.

Tonight - well, maybe he wasn't fully there just yet, but let's say he was definitely awake.

I dared not to move. I did, though, become hyper-aware that Dad's hand on my side began to apply some pressure like he was squeezing my hip. And that fact made me even more aware that I probably should have thrown on my robe before I left my room. Upstairs gets a bit warmer than downstairs and with the July heatwave in full effect, our AC unit was giving it all she's got, but captain, it still felt a bit too muggy upstairs for my tastes. So, tonight, I slid into a pair of short gray shorts that barely covered my tush along with the matching tank top. I did have a pair of panties on so if the worst happened and my shorts started to ride up, it's not like my entire ass would be displayed. All that said, I felt quite exposed.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore both the scene on the television and the vision in front of my eyes of my father's shorts-covered cock that seemed to be expanding to unreal levels.

Worse - I tried my best to ignore the fact that the little slit in his boxers was dangerously close to his hard-on and with one shift of the fabric, he'd be showing me his no-no parts.

Despite myself, with my refusal to move and my eyes closed - along with the increasingly normal movement of his hand against my hip and the very top of my ass - the need to sleep once again got to me. It wasn't a deep sleep and I think music from the TV forced my eyes to open again, but time had definitely passed. The blonde with the great body and the African-American Uber stand-up comedian were no longer on the television. Instead, James Franco's brother from 21 Jump Street was fussing about something related to a brewery.

But that wasn't very important.

Dad's dick was still quite hard in front of me. It looked damn painful for him to keep it locked up in his boxers to be honest. Seeing a cock so hard only a few inches away from me made me think about how long it had been since I had seen one so up close. While I had some offers as news of my pending divorce spread, between needing to re-establish myself both at the cottage and then here - along with COVID - the thought of hooking up just to get some was a difficult prospect to explore. I was married the last time I was this close to a hard cock and let's just say that while Frank pushed my boundaries and had a skilled tongue, his dick was average at best.

Not that having an average dick sucks. It gets the job done. But my daddy didn't have an average dick and my mind was starting to rush to compartmentalize things so that I could take a second to enjoy just how big Dad's penis really was. I was starting to wish that he would shift his boxers a few inches over to let this impressive tool slide through the slit and stand proudly. Like I said, it couldn't have felt good to be restrained.

To be fair - it wasn't just the huge fucking cock nearly a tongue's length away that was pushing me from awkward embarrassment to super horny. Nor was it the fact that it had been so long since I got banged. Not that both weren't factors, but we shouldn't ignore the travelling hand that moved from my hip to lower on my ass. My tiny, little loose shorts had been pushed to the side so that he could touch underneath them and the lacy panties that still covered at least some of my modesty. Dad was squeezing my rump and running his hand back-and-forth on it. I tried to control my breathing when I felt the tip of his fingers slide down my crack and over my panty-covered asshole. It had been way too long since someone played with my ass. Frank, the fucker that he is, had spoiled me. Before him, anal was a definite "no." He turned it into a "hmmm, yeah, get your tongue in there." Now, even during masturbation, I often let a finger move down there and tease my ass until pushing in. Sometimes, if I needed it enough, I would slide my smaller vibe into my ass while I fucked my pussy with the bigger dong that I lovingly called The Punisher.

God, I needed to be fucked and Dad was only making that need stronger.

I pushed myself to close my eyes again and tried to ignore everything until Dad finally had enough of teasing and went to bed. But closing my eyes only sharpened my focus on Dad's hand. I knew I was getting incredibly wet and he hadn't really done anything. He could probably try to explain it as absentmindedly touching me. He was just watching the show. Okay, the way his hand grabbed one of my ass-cheeks while his fingers pushed into my crack might be a little difficult to explain. But fuck, it felt good.

He shifted slightly. Just a little, but I felt it and his hand went lower - the fingers pushing against where my thighs met. My right leg was a little in front of my left one as I laid on the couch. He wouldn't get much further - not without my help. But that didn't stop him from applying some pressure, relaxing, and then re-applying pressure. Nor did it stop my pussy from gushing from the most sexual touching another person had given me in well over a year-and-a-half.

For some reason, I thought of a conversation Dad and I had not too long ago.

"I just can't see myself swiping whatever direction," he told me as we ate dinner one evening. "That's the worst way to start a relationship."

"Well, most people who use that app aren't searching for a relationship," I joked.

"Be that as it may, I'm just not interested in going down that direction."

I looked over at him. He was still a handsome man even after hitting the Big 5-0. He retained his full head of hair - Mom always teased him about how his brown hair was better than hers - and the few strands of gray only made him look better in my opinion. While he wasn't running any marathons, he wasn't out-of-shape either. When he took off his shirt to mow the lawn, Mrs. Henderson front next door always found a reason to be outside, too. Yeah, there was a gut, but like I said, it only added to the look in my - and apparently Mrs. Henderson's - opinion.

"Besides, we're not talking about me, we're talking about you," he pointed out. "It's been enough time, Sarah. You are a beautiful, young, and accomplished girl. No reason that you shouldn't be going on dates."

This was before we knew how bad COVID was - when the prospect of casual dating wasn't so life-threatening. I ignored his comments for the most part. I had heard them before since moving back home.

But he kept pushing so I fired back, "If you want me out this bad, then just say so."

He was taken aback by my comment. "Baby," he said quietly. "It's not that at all. I love having you back home. It's nice to have someone to talk to again and someone to spend my life with."

"Then why are you so anti-dating?" I asked. "Especially since you push me to get back out there."

Dad took a few moments to gather his thoughts before replying. First, he grabbed my hand that was laying on the table. "One day, I imagine I will try to find companionship elsewhere. Not right now. I'm not nearly ready to give it a try. But one day, I will see about this whole dating thing again. But you have to understand that you and I are in very different situations. I found the woman of my dreams. I married her. We had an amazing kid together and spent nearly a quarter-a-century together. I've already met the love-of-my-life, baby. Nobody will ever - EVER - compare to Jane. But you? You still haven't met your soulmate, baby. Frank was a douchebag. He was a mistake. And mistakes are there to teach us something. I'm not saying you'll go on one date and find your Mr. Right. But Sarah, he's out there looking for you. You should be looking for him, too."

I felt so bad for Dad so I joined a few apps and started chatting with a few guys. But nothing had materialized into dates with everything going on. And now, here I was, afraid to open my eyes while Dad continued to touch my ass like a lover might.

His other arm began to move. I thought he might give up on this strange situation we found ourselves in and turn off the television. But instead, he moved it in front of my face for a few moments and I felt him shift a little more. His other hand went even lower and the pressure at where my legs met became even stronger. While that happened, the hand that was in front of my face moved to my head and he started to, I guess, pet me? It felt so comforting and so strange at the same time. While his pinky rubbed against my asshole, he was also petting me like I was being a good daughter?

The room went dark for a second and I wondered if he had turned off the television. When I opened my eyes, I noticed that the episode was over and Netflix was wondering if Dad was still watching. He didn't move to answer their query.

But again, what was happening on the television wasn't the important part. No, the cock that stood straight up having been freed from its prison was the headline here. Holy fuck, Dad was a shower and a grower.

I closed my eyes tightly. I shouldn't be looking at my Dad's amazing cock. But then, with my eyes closed, I was now imagining it in my mouth. In my small hands. Sliding between the lips of my drenched cunt. Impossibly finding a way into my tight little asshole. God damn, I needed to look at it some more.

Opening my eyes, I was impressed with how hard he was despite the fact he wasn't touching himself. This is a guy who has a t-shirt that says, "It should be against the law to look this good at 50," not some 23-year-old in the best shape of his life. But Dad showed zero signs of aging when it came to how his dick worked. I stared at it like it was an art piece. The way a vein traveled up the right side of it before finally disappearing from view just an inch away from the helmet. How the crown perfectly was displayed with the light of the television behind it. And at the top, a shine from precum that had already escaped from the hidden reservoirs. I even could give him a pass from the bushy pubic hair that sprouted up from the base. I preferred almost no hair - made oral sex all the more enjoyable for me to give. But hey, he wasn't doing any manscaping for anyone at the moment.

I was in Cock Heaven, which is both an amazing place to be and, at least right now, a very frustrating one. I couldn't reach out and grab this cock. I couldn't taste that salty precum that shined at the top of it. This was still my Dad's cock and that was fucking unfair. It shouldn't look this tasty.

Two things started to happen almost simultaneously and I'll have you know that neither helped my predicament. The first was when Dad's hand moved from my head to his dick, wrapping around the impressive shaft. He didn't move much higher from the base, but he probably had reached a point where he could no longer avoid touching that dick. I probably wasn't too far behind myself. It was screaming for me to intervene after all so it was probably a good thing Dad got to it first. Probably.

The other thing that happened nearly blew my cover. Up until I felt his other hand move, doing this faux-sleep thing wasn't too difficult. From the angle I was at, Dad couldn't see my eyes. As long as I controlled my breathing, I could pretend that I was still sleeping soundly - blissfully unaware of the delicious treat in front of me or the wandering hand at my backside. But then that wandering hand wandered away from my backside. Slowly, it slid away from my ass - it felt cold without his hand - and slid back over my shorts up to my hip. It didn't stop there, though. Some skin was showing between my tank-top and shorts and I felt his hand against my bare skin. It was just my side, but fuck, when you're this turned on, any skin-to-skin touching makes you shiver. If he noticed, he didn't let on that he had, because after only a second, his hand went higher. As did the bottom of my tank-top.

I felt the anxiety come back. Dad was pushing the boundaries. Hell, he was tearing them down. There was no way I could "wake up" and he could talk his way out of this. There was no, "this isn't what it looks like" to be had. This was completely what it looked like. And felt like. His hand kept moving higher and I concentrated on my breathing. I should just stir, make a sleepy noise, and try to pretend I'm slowly waking up. But I was frozen in place while his hand certainly wasn't.