The Last Innocent Summer

The second week of June, in my eighteenth year, found me happily staring out the restaurant's window where my father had taken up work at a resort in one of the northwest states. Outside the window deep, dark blue water of the lake the resort sat on rippled with countless explosions as the sun danced on the waves. Far beyond the opposite shore, the land swept up into endless vistas that were, to me, nothing less than huge mountains. I was here to spend the summer with my father. A whole summer, not just five or six weeks, of campfires, hikes, fishing and any number of fantastic pleasures I had found with him the year before.

My father is an interesting person in many ways. He writes poetry that makes women of all ages moan. He knows a lot about computers and could teach college level history. So, why was he there working for little money? That is simple: For once in his life he was working at something he loved to do. Yet, maybe the neatest thing about him is you tell him about a dream you had and he will tell you exactly what it meant, and that opened many eyes, especially the younger females who were having their "odd" dreams about sex.

Two weeks into my summer I was sitting, looking out the window wanting to jump up and down and scream. On the other side of the room sat my father and this young female intently listening to what her dreams meant. Ordinarily that wouldn't bother me, but this girl had put on one real nice show for him, wiggling her boobs around in front of him and, as she kept dropping things, giving him a nice view down her blouse when she bent forward to pick up whatever she had dropped. What really pissed me off was to know that I was jealous that it was her and not me. Picking up my can of Mellow Yellow, I walked out onto the deck and sat down facing the lake so I wouldn't have to watch this kid openly act like she was trying to seduce my own father. He didn't need her, he only needed me!

"What are you thinking?" the girl's voice interrupted my fantasy about having my fingers wrapped around her neck.

"Nothing," I half-growled, not opening my eyes.

I heard her sit down on the lounge beside me. "You don't like me much, do ya?"

Instantly, I felt guilt surge through my body. I really had no dislike for her, I just wanted my father to be able to be as open with me as he had been with her.

"It's not that," I said softly, feeling the wind tease at my hair. "God, I don't know what it is."

"You don't like me teasing him, do you?" Her voice sound happy.

"Not really. He is so old. Why do you do that?"

"He's a nice guy," she laughed softly. "I think you wish it was you flashing him, don't ya?"

"What? My God, he's my father."

"I use to feel the same way about mine, then something happened that changed it."

"What?"

"I grew up."

"How's that?"

"I seduced him."

"My God! You seduced your own father? How could you have?" I blushed, wondering what she was reading in me.

"Let's take a walk. Okay?"

As we walked along the shoreline, I was unable to say anything. I had felt guilty the once or twice I had thought that my father might be a man, but this girl- her name was Sherry- had stroked my imagination, even if I knew such things were horribly sinful.

"What was it like? I mean, what did it feel like?" I asked, stopping to watch the waves lap against the shore.

"You ever put money in a parking meter?" she asked with a soft laugh.

"Yes."

"Okay, the first few times it felt like trying to put a quarter in the nickel slot. I hurt."

I looked into her eyes. "Why?"

"Because I was a virgin," she laughed back at me, then looked out at the lake.

"No. Why did you do it?"

"Many reasons, really. He was more than a father. He listened to me, he didn't poke fun at me when I started having all those problems young girls seem to have. I think what really interested me he," she turned around to face me as she walked backwards, "like your father, didn't talk down to me. He just loved to sit and talk for hours."

"Must be nice to have had him notice you," I growled.

"And you think your father doesn't notice you? Well, he talks about you more than you know. He talks about how pretty you are and about how much you've grown. Come on, he is looking at you in places you haven't noticed."

"What are you talking about?"

She sat down on a huge rock, jutting out into the water, looked up at me and smiled. "You father likes boobs... Likes 'em a lot. He talks about how you have grown and he looks at you every chance, now, put two-and-two together."

"You mean? No. You really think that?"

"Well, fathers do happen to be men, and men are a like in a lot of ways."

"What happened with you and your father? He die or something?"

"Worse than that," she replied angrily. "He married a bitch and she makes damn sure I am not around. That is why I moved out of state to go to college."

"College? What? You don't look anywhere close to me, and I am eighteen," I replied in astonishment.

"I'll be nineteen in August."

"You really put 'the make' on your father?"

"Yes," she laughed, leaning back and resting on her elbows, "I had wild, passionate sex with my own father."

"Didn't it scare you?"

For a few moments she was deep in thought. "Well, the first few times I thought lightning would come crashing through the ceiling and kill both of us, but it didn't."

"How did you do it, I mean, seduce him?"

"Why?" She giggled over at me as my face blushed.

"Just wondering, is all."

"Well, Hon, I am going to tell you something. You can ignore your feelings until he finds a bitch like mine did, and then it is gone, or you can do what you have been thinking about doing."

"I don't know what I am thinking any more. I don't know, I just feel like there should be a lot more between us."

"Well, you'd better know because, when you open your eyes and it is your father inside you, it is not a good time to find out it's not what you really wanted."

I looked out at the waves. I knew what I had been thinking since the last summer. Never before had I dared say or even hint my feelings, and now Sherry seemed to be reading my mind.

"I want him," I whispered more to the lake than her.

"You willing to share him?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I'll give you one reason, and it is a damn good fucking reason. You go through with this and you'll find that there is no one you can tell. You will feel like you're on top of the world, and there is no one you can talk to about it. It is no fun to be so damn happy, and unable to tell anyone about it."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Share him with someone and you do have an outlet."

"And you are that 'someone'?"

"Well, I have been there; I think I know how it can go wrong."

"Can I trust you?"

"I don't know. Can I trust you?"

We smiled at each other. I didn't like the idea of her being with him, but the idea of someone taking him and pushing me out was not a good one.

"Okay. How do I get him to notice me?"

"Like I said, he already does. What you have to do is get him to separate the man from the father and be able to relate to both. You ain't going to seduce him by calling him 'daddy'. So forget all the stories and bullshit. Daddies are not men, they are fathers."

"What should I do, rip my clothes off and jump in bed with him?" I laughed.

"No, he might have a heart attack if you did that. Take time and just talk to him as a person. Get to know that person and build on that."

"But what do I say?"

"Get him to talk about his feelings. First you have to get him to share something with you. Then you can build on that. Can you cook?"

"I do okay, I guess."

"Well, make him a candle light dinner and start from there."

Later that night I put the last of the special dinner on the table and turned the porch light on, a signal for Sherry to stop taunting my father with the skimpy two-piece bathing suit. Soon he'd be home, quiet in his sexual frustration at getting caught up in talking to her as she put on her lusty "boob show" for him.

"What's all this?" He asked as he came in to find the table set with what I hoped were his favorite foods.

"Oh, nothing much," I giggled. "Just thought I would show you how much I love you."

"Pretty good start," he chuckled, turning to me. His stare went from my eyes to my boobs and back to mine in a heartbeat.

'He does look at me', I thought, my heart jumping three beats at what I had just seen.

"Ah, let me get into something a bit cleaner than these. You don't mind, do ya?" I asked, turning to head to my bedroom, fully aware that I had left out what exactly what "something a bit cleaner" really was.

"Sure, but don't be too long, I am starved."

"I'm sorry," I said coming back after I had changed into the hot, red teddy I had been hiding. "I guess I really need to get some clothes washed. You don't mind, do ya?" I stood before him in my skimpiest gown.

He took one look at me as his mouth fell open. "Ah, well, I guess it's okay."

As I moved towards the table I saw his eyes taking in my body from head to toe, dwelling for a long time at the faint outline of my growing boobs. This time his eyes showed he was looking at someone who, for those few instants was, as Sherry said, not his daughter.

I had put a lot of quick thought into the dinner, even remembering the one thing my mother always laughed about him over. "Give him a few hits of champagne and he'd think World War Three is funny," she'd laugh loudly before returning to her new "super prick" of a husband.

I sat in astonishment with my spoon full of peas as I heard my father giggle for the first time. He giggled. He really fucking giggled like a little girl. I could only sit there with an amazed look on my face before I burst out in laughter.

"What?" He asked, his eyes now not moving from my breasts.

"You giggled. I never heard you do that before. It was so funny."

"I was just clearing my throat," he replied with a grin, starting to down his third glass of champagne a lot faster than before, his eyes looking over the glass at my chest.

"You know what I'd like to do this summer?" I questioned, now enjoying the fact that he felt free to openly look at me.

"What's that, babe?"

"Well, I was thinking. Maybe Sherry, you, and I could go up in those mountains hiking and camping one week end. That'd be fun wouldn't it?"

He inhaled half the champagne in one gulp. "Yea, it'd sure be interesting, wouldn't it?" Then he giggled that strange sound again. "Would be most interesting," he offered, his eyes affixed to my boobs.

"Why don't we?" I giggled back. "The way you're looking at my chest right now, and how Sherry dresses you'd be in boob heaven, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to look at you like that. I just have this thing about champagne."

"I know," I said. looking him deep in his eyes. "That is why I put it on. Mom said you open up and talk and were always lots of fun when you drank it."

"But why would you want me like this?" He questioned, his eyes now staring intently at the flickering flame of one of the candles.

"Because I want to stop this father/daughter stuff and just get to know you. God, it drives me crazy to sit there and watch you eyeing Sherry's boobs and never telling me that you even notice I am growing up. Christ, I have tits too, you know."

"I can see that now," he said with a smile as he stole another glimpse at my boobs. "But what is it you want?"

"I don't know," I whispered in frustration. "I just want more than what it has been. God, I see you once a year and I can't stand all this being so damned formal any more. God damn it, I want to sit and talk to you."

"Okay," he replied. "The rest of the evening we will sit and talk. How's that?"

"You think I'm pretty?" I asked, now looking at the tabletop, afraid of what his reply might be.

"Very much so," he replied, pouring more of the champagne into his glass.

"Still think so?" I asked as I slipped the teddy over my shoulders and tossed it to the floor.

"What are you doing?" He gasped, panic now washing over his eyes.

"Do you still think I am pretty now, or do you think I am terrible to let you see what you have been trying to see for the last hour?"

He sat back in his chair, his eyes unable to move from my now bare chest. He looked down, shook a Viceroy from its pack, and lit it with the Zippo I had bought him for Christmas. The end of the cigarette flared brightly as he inhaled from it deeply. "Yes, you are very pretty, but you are wrong about it having been for the last hour. God, I am sorry, I noticed it the instant you got off the airplane. Now, do you think I am some monster or what?"

"I think you're a man. I think you are a man I want to get to know better. I don't care if you look at me like this, but I don't want you to laugh at me. Okay?"

"There is nothing to laugh at," he observed dryly, then took a real long drag from the cigarette. "God, you are so beautiful like this."

It was different now. It would never be the same again. After we had finished dinner, he lit a fire in the fireplace and did what I had never imagined him doing. We sat and talked as the fire lapped playfully at the dry logs. As the night tip-toed by, I learned more about him than all the times before. He told me about his childhood on a tiny farm in Ohio. How he use to go to a canal, on hot summer days, and swim in the crystal clear water, the trees on the sides, creating a green canopy above him. He even told me how, in the light of a harvest moon, hidden in a woods, he had lost his virginity to a neighbor girl home from college and finding him more interesting than he had been when she had left but a few months earlier.

I sat quietly, intently listening to him, not even aware that I was naked except for the tiny, red panties. He sat on the couch, smoking cigarette after cigarette as I sat on the floor, my legs pulled up and my arms wrapped around my legs. I really felt good. Not because of what might happen. I just felt good to hear him tell about his life, using words that painted pictures in my mind. By the time he got up to use the bathroom, coming back with a big, fury quilt and two pillows, I was very much in love with this man I had once known as my father.

"What are you thinking?" He asked after we had silently stared into the glowing embers in the fireplace, the moonlight now painting a bright spot on the hardwood floor as it cascaded in from the sliding glass door.

"I like this," I whispered, looking at the moonlight, it reminding me of some of the stories he had told me about sitting in his room in front of the window, just staring out over the countryside as the moon lit up the world of his youth. I felt his hand touch my back, softly massaging it. "I like that," I moaned, closing my eyes to capture the moment in my mind.

"You sure are something else," he said softly, his fingers running up my back then down over the panties.

"I want to come live with you," I stated, knowing there was now no turning back.

"You have the right to choose that," he said, his fingers now running down the inside of my left thigh, bringing a soft moan from my lips as I opened my legs further to his touch.

"It won't stop here? Please don't get my hopes up and make me go back there."

"You want to move here, just say the word. You sure it's what you want?"

"I want it," I replied happily, "but I don't want you to stop touching me right now."

I marveled at his touch as fingertips gave way to the palm of his hand. Slowly he stroked up and down the inside of my thigh, each time brushing against the red fabric that was now getting wetter. Never before had I felt like this. I no longer felt like a little girl as he silently moved me to only want more, the fear of what was going on quickly evaporating.

"Put another log on the fire, please," I moaned, wanting to prolong this even more.

When he sat back to the quilt, I was laying on my back trying to get my heartbeat under control. I closed my eyes as his warm hand came to rest on my left breast. I could feel the palm of his hand softly running over my nipple, making it harder than I had every thought possible. It felt good. It felt natural as his touched closed doors to escape from if I wanted him to stop.

When he took my nipple into his lips for the first time, my moan turned to a shriek of abandonment. God, what could be better than such a hot, wet and soft touch on boobs deep in the moonlit might? That was a question I would have answered as he took his time carrying me into my self-made world of no return.

I felt his lips kissing their way to my belly button, then his tongue lashed out on my belly, "That tickles," I giggled hotly.

"Oh my God," I exclaimed as his lips touched the top of my thin crop of pubic hair.

Little did I know the top of my pubic mound was only the start of what he had in mind. My hands slapped hard against the quilt to his first kiss on my slit. My mind swam in lust as my hips came up, offering him the body of a young woman, her childhood now cast to what seemed the distant past.

His lips kissed heartily at me as my body shivered and shook. I couldn't open my eyes, didn't want to open them as the utter abandoned feeling of pure need crept into my very being with each kiss he cast on my wet slit. If this was any sign of what was to come, I knew I was going to be in big trouble, as it was, this oral kissing and play soon became the most important need to be fulfilled.

When his tongue sunk into me, instantly slapping against an organ I knew nothing about, my world exploded as I thrust myself upwards with a shrill scream of need. I gasped and carried on as he worked my clit for all it was worth. My head seemed to roll from side to side as my hair became matted in my eyes and mouth as I heard my grunts and groans getting louder.

With one mighty thrusting, my pussy was pushed hard into his face. I couldn't move, my body froze with electric passions as he simply kept up his sparring match with my clit. Suddenly I was screaming, my hands slapping at the quilt as I tried to look down at what he was doing, but my first climax rumbled into my brain like a once slumbering steam locomotive. I found that all I could do was lay there and gasp out words that not even I could understand.

Now, as if he had found the keys to my sexual engine, he used them to keep starting me on a trip that he knew would not allow me to stop when the moment of truth came. He sucked at my clit, pulled it between his lips and held it as his tongue danced over the swollen head. I went ballistic as he started sucking it in and out, his hands deeply massaging my ass as he forced me even higher off the floor.

I found myself laying on the quilt, him standing above me as he stripped off his pants then his underwear. My eyes got big as his cock stood out proudly. 'How was I suppose to take that in me?' I wondered as I stared up intently, knowing I would do everything I had to endure that the meaty member offered my hot mind.

Between my legs, he forced my knees up until my feet were flat on the floor. He bent forward and I felt the tip of his cock at my opening. A slight push and it was just inside me, spreading my virgin opening as the pressure increased.

When he really got it going deeper into me, my breathing came to an abrupt halt with one loud gasp. Here was a fully grown man entering my tiny, virgin hole, painfully forcing my body to accept him. Pain surged through my body. My fingers clasped at the quilt and pulled at it as the entry continued. It hurt. I hurt so bad but, being filled with pure lust, I couldn't help but accept the movement of this man, my first male meat, as he pulled up on my hips while forcing each new inch into me.

The hymen was met, ripped apart with one huge grunt as my back arched, then I was filled with a totally strange feeling. This man was in my body. This man was slowly impaling me on his cock, claiming every part of my body as his. This man: My father.