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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 20 May 2003 18:38:56 -0500
From: Rachael Ross <rache18us@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Gen 19 (rache18us@yahoo.com) M/F, Inc, Rom, Suicide
Date: Wed, 21 May 2003 06:10:02 -0400
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Disclaimer: A rather serious story, somewhat autibiographical in many
respects with an obviously fictional ending. A serious effort few will
read due to the nature. Keep this free, ditribute freely, archive at
will. Intended for intelligent and mature audiences.

Written in Minnesota, on my 19th Birthday, July 27th 2001 and
dedicated to my Father.

------------------------------


Gen 19

Fiction by Rachael


Part 1
July 27th. Happy birthday. Extra pills. Extra tears. No cake, no ice
cream, no funny little party hats. A little present, a black velvet
box with black velvet lining. A bracelet fashioned of gold plated
guilt with 19 diamonds, 19 little stars on midnight sky. Whispers that
steal my breath with dreams, 19 wishes I might make. A single wish, 19
times. Happy Mother's Day.

The back of the limousine is spacious enough. A boring extravagance
and I wonder if it's for him, or me but only for a moment. It's for
him I think. And that makes me feel better. I look at the bracelet
flashing on my wrist and turn my thoughts to other times. Other
places.

Two angels at the gates, messengers of life and death. They met my
father and in his house did dwell, they are still there. Ghosts
speaking when the cold comes creeping, voices carried over time. It is
the finality he cannot stand, the judgment beyond his ken. I have
heard him ask "Why?" and listen intently in his sleep. I wish I could
wonder. Let my thoughts travel to where he is. I would fight them,
force an answer from their lips. There must be a reason beyond
weakness. The flutter of a frail heart is the failing of life, the
confession of a failed God. Two doctors, the shaman of our times,
offering a life for a life. Me for her. Nineteen years ago today. 

A bit of Keats occurs, unbidden to my thoughts.

Welcome joy, and welcome sorrow,
Lethe's weed and Hermes' feather;
Come today, and come tomorrow,
I do love you both together!
I love to mark sad faces in fair weather;
And hear a merry laugh amid the thunder;
Fair and foul I love together.
Meadows sweet where flames are under...

A gift I would offer my father, but would he understand? So many
things I've tried to tell him, which I never will again. The
expression of love was lost someplace, falling between us and never
picked up. Or perhaps it is the way of it; the holding in of pain is
an act of love.

Is it any reason not to speak? To sit in silence, watching the world
go by, a single word would sweet suffice. A touch or tender smile. But
he cannot and I don't dare intrude upon the moment. It's not my
memory, only a thought planted by the longing. I want to rip my veins,
screaming. The stillness is unbearable, killing me but I'm afraid to
move. The rustle of my dress would sound across the chasm reminding us
of silence shared and how impossible it is to fill. I turn my mind to
other thoughts, pretending I am in my room. Alone at last, the way we
always are.

I bled. When I was 12 I woke up and felt the wetness between my legs.
I understood it; I'd expected it, waited for it even. But it scared me
just the same. I screamed for Daddy and felt the sudden flush of
embarrassment. I shouldn't have called, but it was too late. I'd
pulled the sheet away and we both stared at the red stained flower of
womanhood. He carried me into the bathroom; it was as I recall the
most tender moment we have ever shared. The last time he ever saw me
nude. He ran a bath and washed me, trying to explain. To make it all
right to change. At the time I was angry at my body's betrayal, I
didn't want to change. I hugged my knees in the warm water and nodded
when I should, bravely smiled when expected, and cried when Daddy
left. He called my mother's sister and she brought what I would need.
I wasn't Daddy's little girl any more.

Or was I? Am I still? I resist the urge to hug my knees and rock
myself beside him. I didn't realize it at the time, 7 years ago, the
embarrassment he might have felt. The inadequacy of love to do the
simple things, like teaching me how to use a pad. I resented him for
that, for calling someone else into our lives. For such a simple
thing.

And still the world passes by, more memories. The offering made by
passive acquiescence. A year later, losing the illusion of virginity
to the illusion of love. Both young and old, from every quarter. The
clarity is lost, through time or choice, or my careless, reckless
desire to be someone else. Did I say no? I can't remember. When I am
generous, I say I did. But in truth, I don't recall. Being kissed and
touched and told the little lies we always believe upon first hearing,
the seduction of being someone important. He needed me, he loved me,
he promised me. The pain was not so bad; the years have reduced it to
a dull ache, easily ignored. The second made no sound at all, no words
of comfort or betrayal to assuage my tears. He was younger and
finished quickly, disappearing from my life as if he'd never existed.
Leaving behind a thin pink trail leaking from my womb. The third had
no face; he took me on my belly, cloaking me with his body,
suffocating me. I felt his wet mouth on my ear, panting and saying the
most terrible things as he tried to hurt me with his urgency. Hate
sex.

The unholy trinity. Everything I needed to know about sex and love I
learned that first night. Sex is an emptiness, an absence of love.
Something worthless, I'd tried to barter it for love and gotten
nothing in return but pain. But that was something, wasn't it? Oh yes,
I'd learned that before. Pain is Love. A man loves his woman, so he
hurts her. A father loves his child, so he hurts her. Do you suspect
my motives? How then to show my love, to give my absent father a taste
of what I'd learned? A week later I told him everything. How my
boyfriend and 2 strangers had fucked his little girl. Confession is
good for the soul. It was the worst beating of my life and I missed 2
weeks of school. Daddy took a vacation and we stayed in our big cold
house all alone. 

If I was pregnant then, I wasn't after. My period came a week early,
the cramps were especially bad, and I curled up on my bed, hitting
myself, pounding fists against the pain in my belly. And other
changes. I remember feeling my breasts growing, budding into the
fullness of womanhood. Oh! I could feel it, the aching which no man
could understand. It made me weep and curse and there was no one I
could tell. Except my sister in the mirror - my face, my hands, my
feet. But nothing underneath, a mimic to beguile. I would turn and
turn again, quickly, to catch her unawares. It was how lonely I was.

I stop and rise, pace and sit. Trying hard to finish this. 

The journey continues, the world passes by. I watch my father from the
corner of my eye. There are flowers on the seat between us. A cascade
of colors collected in a clutch. Mine. Of his, 19 roses, the most
perfect he could find, cradled in a loose cloud of baby's breath. The
smell fills the air, attacking the senses and deceiving our memories.
I think I have never smelled flowers before; I have never touched a
flower to my nose and felt the silky petals bending to my breath. I
have never seen colors so bright; red was a rumor, yellow a myth
before today. All of my memories are black and white and shades of
gray.

Pain is a color. And sometimes it is the absence of color, as it is in
this place. The narrow road winds gently past swaying poplar trees.
Shrubbery and a carefully tended lawn spread over how many acres.
Large oaks and pines sway to the wind's embrace. It is a deceptive,
peaceful place. Devoid of the trappings of life. Everything is white
and black and in between. The driver needs directions and my father
leans forward, pointing as he speaks in a low dry voice. She is there,
right where we left her 365 days before.

Like a pillar of salt, the monument is tall and white with rough-hewn
edges. Perhaps that was her fatal sin? Looking back at something best
forgotten, as I have been doing all day. And yet here I stand,
unchanged from this morning to this afternoon. I follow my father,
stepping on his shadow as we carefully trod between the unseen. I
imagine the ground is somehow less firm and wonder how wide is wide
enough when giving berth to death. It is an easy pilgrimage to make;
this is the Mecca of my young life. A place where I might be healed
and born anew if only I had the faith to accept it. To somehow forgive
myself. It occurs to me like a thunderbolt as I watch my father lay
his roses at the bottom of the stone: Is he waiting for me to make an
act of contrition, not for him but for myself? In granting myself
absolution, would he forgive me also? Would he himself also be
forgiven? The thoughts claw at my mind and run down my face as warm
tears. I touch my tongue to my wet lips and taste salt.

There are fresh flowers in an urn, brass tinged with green. I place
the bouquet I have brought on the grass, below my father's. He is
crying too and his arms wrap around me, gently. I hold him, my head
pressed against his chest, my arms clasped around his back. I do not
know for how long we stay that way, but it isn't long enough. I want
to stay like that forever; words come and go but never reach my lips.
I'm afraid to look at him. He offers me a handkerchief and I use it,
wordlessly while he wipes his eyes on the back of his hands. I have a
poem I wanted to read, not for her, but for him.

<center><I>Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tune:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair.</center></I>

I folded the paper and put it back in the waistband of my skirt. I
said a prayer, an old one from Gaston's Book of Hours. It was the one
that brought me comfort and I'd memorized it long ago. Then I kissed
Daddy on the cheek and went back to the car. The driver held the door.
He was older, maybe very old and he did not smile for which I was
grateful. My father was there a long time, but I didn't mind. How
could I? My respects for a dream, an idealized version of what I'd
never had. My father lived in his memory, with her, every day. She was
a person to him, someone he loved and missed. I started crying again,
hating without knowing why. I fumbled with the little lever holding
the tray in place, finally dropping it and filling a glass with
bottled water. I took a pill and lay down on the cold leather to wait.

Somewhere along the way I woke up to the warm glow of the setting sun.
My father sat opposite, staring out as the world went by. I sat up and
straightened myself, smoothing my skirt and running my fingers through
my hair. He spoke then, asking me if I was all right. And I was,
everything was fine. There was a semblance of normalcy as if a weight
had been lifted. Life would so go on, work and school and living
together without being together. He reached across to take my hands in
his. They were large and warm and gentle. Daddy kissed them and
thanked me with his eyes. I gave him my practiced brave smile and he
turned again to look outside. I sat back and folded my arms across my
chest, content to watch him.

At the hotel we made our way to our room, it was a small suite with
two bedrooms and a living room. There was a fruit basket and a bar. I
ate half of an orange while Daddy mixed a drink. We sat there for a
few minutes, discussing dinner in all it's possible forms. Room
service sounded good to me, but he wanted to go out and I didn't want
him to have to eat alone. I got the bathroom first, settling for a
shower and promising myself a 3-hour bath when I got back home. I
wrapped myself in a towel and padded barefoot into the living room,
picking up the remainder of my orange and tugging gently at a section
with my fingers.

Daddy looked at me and smiled, he'd had a couple more of the little
bottles I realized. I held a little wedge of orange for him, but he
shook his head. I watched him stand up and pull his loosened tie free
as he walked into his room. Already, I must confess, a plan was
forming in the back of my mind. An idea I'd long had, but never once
dared voice. The sun had receded into darkness and the room was
reflected in the tall glass windows looking out. I could see my sister
staring back at me, wearing nothing but a white towel from the tops of
her breasts to just above mid-thigh. I walked closer to the window and
reached a hand to touch the cool smooth glass of her reflection. I
nodded in silent agreement and she nodded back.


Part 2
Dinner for two. Some people will look at us and wonder. An older man
with a young woman, not so strange perhaps in a restaurant, in a hotel
such as this. I smile a little, thinking that what is really on their
minds is how much he paid for me. It is a wicked thought, a delicious
thought. It must be a sin, I think, not in the thinking, but in the
enjoyment. It fits my mood and I squeeze Daddy's hand as we follow the
maitre'd to a small table with a decent view of the Minneapolis
skyline, such as it is.

We order drinks. I tell Daddy I'd like to have a glass of wine,
knowing he won't refuse and the waitress won't ask. It's part of the
plan; I do not drink, just playing with the sweet red wine in my
half-filled glass. I smile and talk while Daddy finishes the bottle
himself. It's a weakness for him, but only an occasional indulgence
and I know that tonight he needs it, to relax, to give him sleep. I
spend dinner listening to stories about me, as I was growing up, the
silly things every child does and every parent remembers. We don't
talk about the other things, the silly little things my father did
which I will never forget.

I lean across the table, letting my dress fall open and my unfettered
breasts hang against the loose silk. But his eyes do not waver, how
can he not notice? Is he beyond seduction, or do I understand him so
little? I have slipped my shoes off and I stretch my legs, brushing my
toes against his leg briefly, as if by accident. My heart is beating
rapidly, while he tells me how I threw all my toys out the window when
I was 4. His eyes are blue and cheerful, intent on mine. He is trying
to communicate something, a fatherly expression to thwart my desire.

My nipples are dark and hard. This bold game is exciting and made even
more so by my Daddy's seeming immunity. I sit up straight, arching my
back with a modest stretch. I can feel the thin cloth being stretched
across my breasts. The excitement must be obvious, my arousal plainly
visible to him. I want to look down at myself and see, but I'm
watching his eyes. Urging him silently to look, to acknowledge me as a
sexual being. I hold the pose as long as I dare and my father takes a
sip of wine and...There! His eyes flicker across my body, just a
glance without reaction. But it's enough. There's a doubt in his mind,
a subtle voice telling him he's a man as well as a father.

It is deceitful, an evilness to play upon his biology like this. I
feel the color rushing to my cheeks and I put my elbows on the table
hiding behind my arms with a sudden need for modesty. But it's only
temporary; I concentrate all my energy on him. Giggling and giving him
the shy smiles and soft touches of my fingertips on the back of his
hand. I know I'm attractive, I know the day has been exhausting for
him emotionally; I know the alcohol is working to relax him. The world
conspires against him; I feel the soft flutters in my tummy. I want
him. I've waited my whole life for this evening, this most perfect
night.

I hold Daddy's hand again, as we leave, winding our way to the
elevator and back to our room. It's a pleasant sensation, he is loose
and I feel giddy, uncontained. It's the little high of feeling a
year's worth of stress lifted. Tomorrow we will start again, but we're
not thinking about that. I lean against him in the elevator. It has
mirrors on 3 of the walls and I look at us. How different we seem,
almost like real people. The girl in the reflection smiles at me,
knowingly as mirrors must. Daddy feels so warm and strong, so close to
me now. It's an odd sensation and wonder if we can't just ride this
elevator all night, humming sliding up and down. We'll become homeless
travelers without destination. Time would not exist, never a tomorrow,
all our yesterdays forgotten. Like a dream and then the waking with a
gentle tolling. The doors open and it's time to leave.

I turn on a soft lamp, beside the sofa. Daddy wants to change, to use
the bathroom. I like me the way I am and fix him a drink, unasked but
appreciated. We sit on the veranda, a small patio really, the air is
still warm, but not stifling. Me in my dress, smoking as I've picked
up the habit once again. My father leaning over the rail, holding his
drink. His robe is long, and wrapped around him and I lean against
it's soft roughness, pressing my breast to his arm and putting my arm
inside his, holding his hand as we both lean over the edge. My heart
is pounding, I want to say something but the words aren't there. I
know in my heart of hearts he'll refuse me. He'll become confused and
angry and wonder what he'd done wrong. He won't understand what I need
or even why I need. And how could I ever hope to explain that which
confounds me so complete?

We're on the 18th floor. Far below traffic floats by on the thin white
glow of headlights. The downtown traffic is a soft murmur, distinction
lost as it travels across time. A thought appears silent as a thief;
an assassin come to save us. I could jump. I could climb onto the
small white table, step to the railing and be gone. Just a wave and
quick goodbye. Would that be better than words? Would it say what I am
feeling more succinctly, with the clarity of love? It would be so
easy, so wonderful to fly. Like magic as I float, drifting
towards...What? What is waiting for me there? I close my eyes and
squeeze daddy's hand. I crush my eyelids together, until I think that
black is white and colors dance. A last step and freedom waits, a line
once crossed and only once. How different that undiscovered country
from the one that I desire to find in Daddy's bed? And then the
thought is gone. I open my eyes and hear is voice. Yes. I'm okay
Daddy, just a little tired.

He kisses my forehead and I cannot help it. I pull his mouth to mine
and kiss him there. I open my mouth for him, touching his lips with my
tongue and feel something, feel his secret desire to yield to my
offer. Two heartbeats, no more, and then he pushes me away. His old
voice returns, the one I've heard so many times. Go to bed, Rache. It
is sad and defeated and hurt. If he looked at me what would I see in
his eyes? Revulsion? Pity? Perhaps a desperation to be someone else.
Someplace else. With someone else? Two more beats of my heart and I
know I'm lost, so badly lost. Tears are coming, but he can't see. I
won't let him. Running with shame. Grief for an innocence I never
possessed. I slip into the cold room, like a tomb it feels. So cold.
And into the bed where I'll sleep, or not. 

I've ruined everything, as I always have. I destroyed the memory of
this day and killed a part of us. I lay there, ripping the buttons off
my dress, baring myself, and kicking it off and onto the floor. I tear
at my panties. Naked! Bare to the blackness, I want it to envelope me.
I close my eyes, cross my arms, pretend I'm dead. I wish it were only
so. My heart won't stop. I hold my breath until it burns and my body
heaves. I can't stop myself from taking another breath. I want to will
myself to die. Trying to find my heart with my mind, searching for the
muscles and the means to tell it cease! Somewhere in the myriad of
nerves it hides, my fingers move, my toes, my stomach and my face. But
not my heart, it mocks me with its constant beating. 

I feel hot tears falling, trickling out the corners of my eyes, to my
temples and to my ears. I imagine its blood, wet and sticky, leaking
from my soul. How can I be so wrong? About everything, always, always
wrong. I would lay with my father and feel his seed within me. I
haven't taken my birth control in 2 weeks, waiting for this. I want to
feel him in my womb, planting me. I want no other, only him. I lay
there, wondering if he'll come. If the door will open with a sliver of
light. A near death experience to bring me back and give me reason.
Just to talk, if he would ask me if I'm okay, I would forgive myself.
If he would say goodnight, I would apologize for everything. I want
him so badly, but he won't. He's given up and left me in the
mountains. He'll go back to Zoar without me, without a backward look.

And does my heart become evil then? An hour? I am lying there,
unmoving. The room is so cold, I am dead. I have a prayer to give me
strength, I have to try.

Alma Redemptoris Mater, quae pervia caeli
porta manes, et stella maris, sucurre cadenti,
surgere qui curat, populo: tu quae genuisti,
natura mirante, tuum sanctum Genitorem,
Virgo prius ac posterius, Gabrielis ab ore
sumens illud Ave, peccatorum miserere.


Part3
I walk out of the small bedroom, stretching a little as I slowly feel
my way in the darkness. It is not completely black, my eyes are wide
and I can make out the unfamiliar objects. But still I go slowly, as
if deciding which way to go. Straight, through the living room and
onto the veranda? Should I take flight with all my hopes and fears and
dreams? Would they buoy me up and keep me safe? I have no illusions
and no desperation to truly die in this strange, unhappy place. It is
anonymous, lifeless and I cannot wait to find myself back home. No,
that path isn't for me, not tonight.

The door to my left, I open it slowly, peering inside. I can see Daddy
under the covers, the soft sound of his deep breathing. He's sleeping
well, no doubt from the day and the drink. I slip into his room,
closing the door behind me. My heart again is beating fast, a telltale
sound I imagine reverberating through the quiet room. He'll hear it
and wake up, disproving my presence with a frown. Watching me with
angry eyes as I slink away, ashamed and wretched to my lost purpose. I
stop and almost turn; I have to take a deep breath and will my foot
forwards, and then the other, sliding my bare soles across the cool
scratchy carpet. I pause by his bed, my body feels flushed, and the
cold air is not enough to keep me calm. My nipples are hard and I can
feel them, desiring attention. It is like a soft throbbing, a delicate
ache barely noticed at first, but steadily reaching for my thoughts.

My sex too is made slippery by my bold presence. Inside I am fired and
the heat spills out of my pores, between my nether lips. I have my
feet together, my thighs pressed closely to trap the growing want. I
am a shadow, a reflection standing there, looking and trying to
convince my heart be silent! Sin bravely! It is a thought I've had, a
message from the past and I've embraced it as my new philosophy. No
one will understand this; no one will care what I am thinking. What I
am feeling at this moment. This splendid wild moment which it has
taken 19 years to reach. I would not admit this, not until now. I
waited and pushed and shut it to the back of my mind. Now, uncaged,
the thought devours me whole. I cannot resist it; I cannot pry myself
from those tender jaws.

I am shaking, shivering as I pull the thin sheet back and lift one leg
slowly. I sit on the bed, hearing the mattress compress beneath me. It
sounds loud and I fear the every movement I make is like an earthquake
in the still night. I bring my other leg and straighten myself,
sliding as slowly and quietly as I can so that I am lying next to my
sleeping father. I can feel his warmth and smell him now. His breath
fills my ears and turn onto my side, facing his back. I stay like that
a little while, feeling the heat building inside me. The last time I
slept with my father I was...11? A bad dream and he let me sleep
curled up against him. It was not so rare a thing back then, not
common either. When I got older, somehow it never happened again. I
touch my fingers between my legs, slowly, so very slowly. I can feel
the damp; the soft humidity of my body and it excites me further. I
run two fingers down, across my clit and against the swollen lips. I
masturbate gently, pressing my teeth into my lower lip to ensure I
don't cry out. I'm not going to orgasm, not like this, not yet, but it
feels so fine.

I have been waiting, trying to lose my aim in the manipulations of my
idle hands and a voice tells me I can't wait any longer. I'm reaching
that point where I won't be able to stop, I'll have to continue and
finish and it scares me. I don't want it, not like this. I have to
touch him, feel my Daddy beneath my hands and on my lips. I want him
inside, bringing this pleasure and so much more. I reach out with one
hand, my left, the other I cannot quite withdraw. The first touch,
under the sheets on his side, my palm against the warm softness of his
skin. I feel the hardness of his ribs just beneath, expanding as he
takes a sleeping breath. I hold my hand there while I slip a finger
across my folds. I move my leg a little, until I can feel the soft
curls of his bare calf against my foot. I hold still and hold my
breath, waiting to see if he will wake, but he doesn't. It is becoming
almost unbearable, this terrible wonderful exploration. I turn over on
my side, so that I face his back. I withdraw my hands from his skin
and mine only reluctantly, missing the twin comforts immediately.

There is a pause in his breathing and so I stop, only continuing to
gain my posture when I hear him start again. When I am comfortable, my
body is bare inches from his, my hard nipples almost brushing against
him. I bring my right hand to my face in the darkness; I can smell
myself on it. The wetness is oily, slightly sticky and I touch it to
my tongue, rubbing my fingers and thumb together. I move my arm over
Daddy's chest, snaking it beneath his own. I slide a little closer,
feeling my breasts touching and then flattening against his warm back.
He's stirring, waking slowly. I can feel him as he wonders at first
where he is, then remembering he will wonder who is with him. I move
my legs to his, bending my knees to mold with him. My face presses
between his shoulder blades and I kiss him there gently. I make my
hand flat, pressing the palm like a soft breeze upon his heart.

His senses are coming to him only slowly, first his eyes, but he
cannot see me. Then his hearing, but I do not speak. He can smell my
sex, perhaps, but it is unfamiliar I think, like a half-remembered
spice considered before named. His touch, he feels my heat and my
hand. My body against his back, but does he know I am naked to his
warmth? My heart pounds, wondering if he will simply throw me off his
bed, or if he will let me stay a little while longer. Daddy speaks to
me, slowly as if to ensure that we will both hear and understand him.
He asks me what I'm doing here. A simple question, a reasonable
question. But the truth is neither and so I feign sleep. As if I were
only concerned with resting, nothing else. My own bed was too small,
or too big, too hard or too soft. I'm so tired Daddy, just let me lay
with you. Nothing else, my mind pleads across the darkness, only this.
We are both so still it's like the room itself were frozen, the air
itself unable to move.

I wonder if he can feel my breasts stabbing into his soft skin, or
below that my heart pounding as I breath slowly in and out, trying to
imagine what I sound like when I sleep. Of course he doesn't believe
me. He asks me again, what do I want? I kiss him, sweetly on the back
and press myself against him. My hand slides down his chest, across
his stomach, slowly reaching, sliding my fingertips inside the
waistband of his shorts. Daddy grabs my wrist in his hand; he's
hurting me, closing his fist around me. It catches my breath, the idea
of being hurt. I wonder if he enjoys it more. Rache, stop it, he says
and I kiss him again. I don't want to talk. I want to make him love
me. Daddy holds my hand, pulling it back up to his chest. He doesn't
know what game I'm playing; he doesn't understand why I'm doing this.
I can stay if I want, but I'm hurting him this way. He can't take it;
it's killing him little by little. He says all these things and more,
while I kiss him and lick slowly across his skin.

Finally he turns, onto his back and I drape my leg over him. I look
into my Daddy's face in the dark, just able to make out his familiar
features. He isn't pushing me; he's not turning me away. It's as if he
thinks by ignoring me I'll grow tired of this and leave him alone, or
maybe he's afraid of what I might do, how I'll react if he rejects me
so completely. A little bird I may become, an angel set on flight.
It's an unfair advantage. I'm stronger in my depravity than he can be
in his tortured morality. I can feel his anger, his frustration
radiating from him. My sex is wet and I press it against his thigh, my
knee sliding over his loosely covered crotch. I can feel him, my
Daddy's penis semi-hard, growing despite himself. I put my lips close
to his, a fraction of an inch apart. I can feel his breath on my face
and I want him to kiss me. I drag my nails across his bare chest and
push my hard nipples against his arm. How long has it been since he's
been with a woman, I wonder. Does he even have a girlfriend? It's a
small thing I never considered, not since we moved to Zoar. It was
something he'd never brought up, and I hadn't cared enough to ask. As
long as I didn't have to see it.

He moves his lips, telling me to stop. But not in the same voice he'd
used earlier, it was different somehow, more desperate. He opens his
mouth again and I press my lips to his, my tongue into my Daddy's
mouth. He twists his head, pushing me away, saying no. He can't, he
won't. But his hardness beneath my fingers is telling me something
else. I grip him through the thin cotton and stroke slowly back and
forth. I hold him tight and move my mouth to his body. I kiss his
nipple, biting it gently and his hands are on my shoulders, but not
pushing. I use my lips, my tongue, moving lower down his body. He's
breathing heavily. I can taste the sweet salty sweat on his skin.
Daddy's cock is hard in my hand, throbbing in my fist as I drag my
hair across his stomach. I take him in my mouth, through the soft
cotton of his boxers. Sucking at him, hearing him moan and caress my
back as I let my saliva soak into his shorts.

I tug at the waistband, freeing his hardness from captivity. It
springs upward, slapping against my face and I sink the smooth swollen
head between my lips. I suck my Daddy slowly, savoring his heat, his
strength, and his taste. I delight all my senses in this simple act of
pleasing him with my mouth. I swirl my tongue around him, touching the
tip to the underside, flicking it back and forth while I caress his
heavy balls. Daddy's fingers are in my hair and he repeats my name
over and over with a breathless, whispered voice. I tighten my lips
around the shaft and slide downward, letting him fill my mouth and
touch the back of my throat. A tiny gag and I let him slide out,
kissing the tip and then sliding my pursed lips along the length of
him. I kiss and stab at his balls with my tongue, licking my way back
to the head and swallowing him once more.

His strong hands push me, pull me, and turn me so that my legs are
spread over his shoulders, my wetness poised over Daddy's mouth. I
suck him deep and gasp around his thickness as I feel the first soft
touches of his tongue. He licks slowly, carefully and my orgasm starts
immediately, forcing me to pull off with my mouth and moan with
exquisite delight. I push myself against his kiss and he rewards me
with his tongue moving deeply between my labia, tasting me, drinking
me. He takes my lips between his and tugs them gently, just enough and
then licks across my aching clit bringing more shuddering ecstasy. My
fingers are wrapped around him, squeezing him and I have to will
myself against pleasure to take Daddy once again into my mouth.

I try to concentrate, to somehow ignore the devilish workings of his
mouth on my pussy. My orgasm leaves, but not entire, the sensations
remain, quivering in my belly as he works to bring me to the brink
again. Daddy's cock is long and thick in my mouth, and I suck gently
trying to work him as deeply as possible. We fall into an uneasy
rhythm, his hips moving slightly, thrusting up and into me as I move
my stretched lips down. I make loud slurping sounds, my mouth fills
with his pre-cum and my spit, I let it run down the shaft and I
swallow some, breathing between mouthfuls of Daddy's cock. I feel his
fingers spreading my ass, working his tongue along my slit and back,
touching the tip to my tight anus. It's like an electric shock,
sending shivers through me as he penetrates me with a wet finger,
kissing and licking around it. I work to open my throat for him, his
growing excitement plain as he begins lifting his hips a little
further, a little faster. I swallow and the smooth head catches my
throat and keeps it open for him, sliding the length of him inside me.
His thick tangle of pubic hair presses to my lips and tickles my nose.
I have my hands underneath him, holding him there for a moment before
letting him slide out with a gasp.

Daddy's cock invades my throat, over and over, the wonderful
discomfort of doing this for him brings me to the edge of another
orgasm and his fingers and tongue send me tumbling over the edge. He's
pushed one finger deep into my ass, turning and twisting it as he
slowly fucks it in and out of me. Daddy's mouth is sucking steadily at
my pussy, taking my labia wholly into his mouth and flicking his
tongue back and forth between them, It's a wonderful, delicious
feeling and I have to hold onto him, tearing my mouth of his wet cock
as I vent my pleasure with soft high pitched cries. He doesn't give me
a chance to relax; my body is still shaking as he lifts me, turning me
onto my side so he is lying behind me. He lifts his leg, bending it at
the knee so that mine is over his, my legs spread wide as he rubs the
head of his engorged penis across my slit.

He slides into me easily, buried with one smooth thrust and grunting
at the feeling of my hot wetness enveloping him. I'm crying, tears
filling my eyes as I cum again, hardly after the last had passed. My
body thrusts back, trying to impale itself deeply over and over on
daddy's beautiful cock. His hands are on my breasts, caressing and
pinching them, his fingers in my mouth. I suck at them as I work my
hips. The feeling of my own father's cock sliding in and out of me,
being gripped in the spasm of my unending orgasm is too much. I turn
my head as far as I can and his mouth finds mine, his tongue exploring
my mouth while we fuck. His hand is holding up my leg and now he pulls
me so that I am on top of him, facing his feet I lean forward
straddling his driving manhood. Daddy's hands are on my ass, spreading
them as he tries to see his cock disappearing into his daughter's womb
in the darkness. I slam my hips downward, fucking him as fast as I
can, reaching down to rub my clit, to try and press it against his
shaft. My orgasms roll through me one after another, and I am
sweating, breathing hard and crying out as I feel his cockhead finding
my cervix. A little bump, like the finger of God touching me inside.
It makes me crash and scream as I reach the peak.

And then I feel it, Daddy's hands pulling me hard against him as his
cock swells and the first sudden jet of his semen floods into me. I
keep moving, thrashing as the pleasure roars through my blood. My eyes
are shut tightly, visions of his sperm filling my womb, searching to
implant me with our child. I want my eggs to bathe in his seed. I push
myself and feel Daddy's hands wrapped around me. His cock jerks and
pumps his love into me, filling me completely with the warm
comfortable feeling. I pull my legs out from under me so that I can
lay beck, keeping his still hard penis inside me. His hands cup my
breasts and my own go between my legs, feeling the hot sticky wetness
where we are joined. 

We stay like that for a little bit and when his penis goes soft enough
to slip out of me I turn around so that I can lie on his chest,
kissing him and feeling the warmth of his body beneath mine. We do not
speak; his protests are forgotten to us. Now there is only our
lovemaking. I want him hard again; my body feels empty without his
hardness inside me. I want to feel him above me, taking me, using me
the way I've always wanted him to. I want more of his potent seed
inside me; I want to make sure that I have his child. Daddy's cock
begins to swell again we kiss softly, tenderly. My breasts against his
chest and my wetness against his lower stomach, resting there, waiting
for him to take me.

We make love again, with me on my back and Daddy above me. It is a
slow, leisurely fuck. His thick cock sliding easily in and out of me.
I wrap my legs around him and we kiss, he brings me to 3 more orgasms
before he rocks my body back, pinning me with his urgent manhood. His
sperm fills me once again and again it is that realization that I am
fertile, that I am ready, that brings me the best orgasm of my life. I
weep beneath him as he kisses at the tears. We roll over, onto our
sides facing each other, my body lightly angled, slightly bent, and
keeping him inside me as we fall asleep.

Part 4
I wake up without knowing why. Just a sudden realization that I was
not asleep any longer to go along with the curious sensation of being
alone when you don't expect it. I was in Daddy's bed, naked and
wrapped in a sheet. But he wasn't in the bed with me. Light was
filtering through the open door. Sunlight, it was morning sometime. I
got up, not sure what I was feeling. There was a dream-like sense
surrounding everything, my memories were bright, vivid and I felt the
sudden stab of guilt as I realized what I'd done last night. I didn't
want to leave that room; the idea of confronting my father was
terrifying to me. I put a hand to my tummy. Still small, still flat,
but maybe...I didn't let the thought finish. What had I done? How
could today be so different from yesterday, from last night? A few
hours, what had changed me? Sleep? Daylight? The act completed now
held a certain revulsion for me, it was a favorite fantasy for so many
years and I'd plotted and schemed and dreamt, but never had I done
anything until...

I would have to come out. All these thoughts went through me very
quickly. A few minutes, maybe a little more. I took a deep breath and
wrapped the sheet tightly around me. Nothing, I was sure, would ever
be the same again. I walked down the short hallway, to the bath
hesitating when I saw the door closed, wondering if my father was
inside. Did I dare knock? I wasn't even sure if I could stand to hear
his voice, or if he would welcome mine. I turned around, looking in my
room and seeing it was empty I went in and closed the door, locking
it.

I sat on the bed, looking at the girl in the mirror. I didn't
recognize her. She had a sad face, long and drawn and not pretty in
the least. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes black from makeup smeared
by too many tears. She was pale, deathly so. Lips compressed into a
thin frown. Lipstick smeared and garish red. I hated her because she'd
lied to me. Promised me freedom finally and I was locked in my room
with her now, too afraid to even speak. I'd killed something last
night. I felt sick to my stomach, I wanted to vomit up my existence,
release my experience and go back to what I was before. This was
madness, the absolute edge of sanity passed. Everything before this
had been nothing. I found my suitcase and dug out a pill, swallowing
it and looking inside the cinnamon cylinder, pouring the contents into
my palm. I counted, 13 left, not enough I thought. I put them back and
screwed the top back on, throwing it at the mirror in frustration.

I knew I couldn't stay in that room for much longer. We had a flight
back home in the afternoon. I needed to use the bathroom and take a
shower. I needed to eat, I needed to pack, and I needed to see my
Daddy. I wondered what I'd done to him, what was he doing now? Sitting
in the living room, thinking about me? Probably hating me, hating both
of us for what we'd done. But it wasn't his fault - it couldn't be
his. I'd wanted it too badly. I'd waited until his weakest moment. And
mine. Someone had betrayed us both, he had to know that. He had to see
that it wasn't our fault it was something else. I wrapped myself back
into the sheet and slowly opened the door, taking a last look at the
mirror, trying to catch her looking the other way.

I knocked on the bathroom door, briefly waiting for an answer before I
turned the handle and went in. I would clean myself before I faced
him, I'd make myself over into the daughter and not the woman. Perhaps
we could hide behind that facade, pretending not to notice the way we
could never relax with each other again. How even the smallest touches
would bring a crush of guilt to compress our lungs and still our
hearts. Life would become distant, barren. Suddenly I realized with a
flash of terrible insight where all this would lead. How it would end.
But I was wrong.

My father was lying in the bone white tub, naked except for the hand
towel floating between his legs. The water was a pale crimson, a
beautiful shade of rose. I stared at it, wondering what it meant. It
was a color I had seen before, a dress I'd worn when I was 13, when my
daddy had saved me. I stood there as that memory filled me. The feel
of razor blades across thin veins, the smell, the taste, everything.
It all came back and I wondered why. It was shock, it was not real. It
was as if life had somehow reached out and slapped me. Everything I
believed, I mean truly and completely believed, was shattered. Why
wasn't it me in that tub? I reached down and touched my father's skin;
it was cool but not cold. The water had been warm, a pleasant way to
fall asleep. He'd sat patiently, waiting, thinking about his life.
Thinking about me. While I slept, happily with his semen working in my
belly, he'd slipped out and into safety. A place where I wouldn't
touch him ever again, where I couldn't say the things I said, or do
the things I'd done. I couldn't hurt him anymore. I kissed him
goodbye.

He had left a note, on the table under a glass still smelling of
whiskey. Last call. It was as I'd thought; he couldn't bear what had
happened. He couldn't live the knowing that somehow he'd failed me.
He'd failed my mother. He forgave me and he hoped that I would forgive
him. The words were better, the sentences longer. But the meaning was
the same. He'd been searching for something along with me. A cure
perhaps, a sacrifice he thought he could make to save me. But it was
too much; it's promise too uncertain. I understood him completely. I
picked up the pen and wrote, "I forgive you" beneath his word "Love".
Paused a moment and added, "Gen 19:39 in front of it." And then I
walked outside, into that brilliant warm morning. I shaded my eyes,
looking easterly into the sun. Sweet Apollo and his steeds. And who
was I? I was Icarus perhaps? No, not me, him. Daddy would be Icarus
and I was the sun, the center of his universe. Daddy's little girl. I
stepped onto the table and looked down, 18 stories. Everything was
small. I looked back and caught the sun reflected it the windows and
myself as well. She looked at me and I turned away, I didn't look
back.

The end
Rache18us@yahoo.com

(M/F,Suicide,Incest,Consensual)

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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