Chapter 8
With Daddy attending summer classes and me on vacation that summer, I found little to do other than swim in the pool at the apartment or read. I really didn't enjoy going out with most of the kids from the school because, living so close to Daddy, I suppose I had matured far beyond my years.
Not only had our physical association turned me into a woman, but our love in an emotional sense had matured me. Where most girls my age were still screaming at pop singers or giggling about cute boys at school, I, found it far more rewarding to discuss politics or something of a similar nature with Daddy.
I did get a few invitations to go to the beach or riding with some groups, but after trying these things a couple of times, I simply gave up. I kept to myself on the assumption that it would be better to be lonely while Daddy was away than to be subjected to immature companions whom I didn't really like or understand anymore. It was as if, in some strange way, my first total act of sexual congress with Daddy had stolen my adolescence from me.
Before, I had been a child, now I was a woman and with each added touch of his hand or whisper of his voice, I became more of a woman and thus further from understanding companions my own age.
But I didn't lead a completely isolated life for, over the past several months I had formed a tight bond of friendship with Sally. Who really began the friendship, I don't know. Maybe she sensed that I was not one of the many people she had known who would criticize her. Perhaps she wanted to be criticized — maybe that was why she had masturbated in front of me — but when I refused to comment or evaluate, that must have made our association even stronger.
Remember, I had been raised — even when my mom was alive — to think for myself and to analyze on the basis of hard facts. There had never been any arbitrary dictum of right or wrong in my home and this was particularly true about sex.
I really saw nothing wrong in the fact that Sally masturbated with various things like the sawed-off broom handle, hot dogs, and such. I didn't even think it was wrong that she enjoyed the fact that I watched her do it.
I suppose she was a very strange and lonely girl in her way. Almost every time we were at her house, in her room, she would start the practice .without seeming to have any motivation. We would be listening to a new record and suddenly, she would start playing with herself by sitting on the bed, spreading her legs, and extending the fingers of one hand up one of her panty legs.
Sometimes, this would content her, sometimes it wouldn't. If she knew her mother was out and had a very strong urge, she would peel her panties down her legs and put the broom handle or something else in her. All the time she would talk to me, telling me how good it felt, but never saying or doing more than that!
I, of course, was fascinated by the whole process, because I had never seen another woman before, except for that one time I spotted Mrs. Bradley with Daddy's penis in her mouth. In a strange way, I was very excited whenever I watched Sally play with herself, yet I wasn't really desirous. The emotions I felt were more intense curiosity than anything else.
I had seen Sally perform her ritual several times and had listened to her talk about wanting boys and about her own shyness several more times before doubts really began to nibble in my mind.
By the time that summer rolled around and I celebrated my fourteenth birthday, Daddy and I were well settled down to the life of a married couple. Our sexual life was thrilling and rewarding and if there was ever a time when I didn't experience orgasm with him, I certainly don't remember it. But the newness had worn off. The thrill of the first act and of forbidden fruit was no longer there. I, like hundreds of other women before me, began to wonder if the sexual experience could be as richly rewarding and explosively satisfying with another man, as it was with the one who had first introduced me to the joys of Eros.
Had I been older or freer in my habits, I'm sure I would have followed the classic path of meeting some man at the office or at a bar for a one-night stand, and discover that way that love is vital to any satisfaction of the heart. But I had no office and I couldn't get into bars.
My only real friend, and my only close companion of my own age was Sally. We had been swimming one afternoon and Sally had lain in the sun for some time trying to get a tan. She was wearing a cute little two-piece suit that really made her body look wonderful, even though she was still sort of skinny and not completely developed yet.
After a long time in the sun, I asked her if she wanted to go inside with me and have a drink of iced tea. She agreed and we both went up to the apartment. We were in the kitchen and just because I felt wild, I asked her if she had ever tasted a martini.
"Gosh, no," she said. "Have you?"
"Sure," I told her. "Lots of times."
With that, Sally seemed even more impressed than usual and said she would like to have a martini with me. As she watched me mixing the drinks, she began to play with herself through the bottom of her swimming suit. She always did that when she was particularly excited about something — whether that something was sexual or not.
I finished making the drinks, poured them into glasses and handed her one. I suggested we go into the living room to drink them, but remembering our swimsuits were still wet, I asked Sally if she wanted to change before we had the drinks. She agreed and followed me into the room that was supposed to be mine, although I hadn't slept there in all the time we had lived in the apartment.
Sally peeled out of her damp swimsuit bottoms, revealing slender legs and a thin, muscular hip line dotted with only the slightest punctuation of pubic hair. Then, still as casual as always, she untied her flimsy bathing suit bra and let it fall to the carpet. I don't know what came over me — I had seen her tiny erect breasts several times before — but they seemed remarkably beautiful and firm, almost as if they were asking to be touched.
Forcing the thought from my mind, I slipped into a sunsuit and halter. Sally stood naked for a moment playing with her private parts almost as if she was scratching, although I knew she wasn't. She asked if she could wear a bathrobe of mine instead of getting dressed. I agreed and when she had slipped her arms into it and looped the tie cord around her slender waist, we again went to the living room to sip our forbid-, den drinks.
Sally sat on the couch and I in a chair, and again she began to play with herself. She would take a sip of the martini, wince from the taste sensation of it and the heat of the alcohol sliding down her throat and into her body and then clutch at her genitals. Finally, she just lay back against the couch, raised her left leg with the glass in her left hand and the fingers of her right violently stroking her clitoris.
"Don't you ever do this?" she asked as casually as if she were inquiring about the time of day.
I shook my head, stifling an urge to mention that I didn't have to. I wanted to say that I already knew the total pleasures of sex with a grown man and that I didn't have to play at being a little girl anymore. I wanted to tell her a lot of things about what I had experienced in my father's arms, but I knew I must keep our secret.
"Oh, it's really the greatest," she said, and then with a jerk that almost spilled her drink, she tore her fingers from her vagina, placed the glass on the table and almost screamed, "I know what!"
"What?" I asked.
"Let me do it to you," she said, excitedly. "You'll really like it. Ill get a hot dog or something. You got a hot dog in the refrigerator?"
"Sally ... I ... "
"Don't be an old square," she said ... "It's really great!"
She leaped off the couch and, like some sort of legendary fury, dashed into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open, scurrying sounds for a moment, and then the sound of it closing again. Sally returned to the room with an eight-inch-long wiener in each hand and stood waving them triumphantly in front of my face.
"It'll be great," she announced. "I can do you and then you can do me!"
"But, Sally," I managed, "I don't really want to. It's not like—"
"Like what?"
"Nothing."
She looked at me for a long time before the expression of doubt on her face turned slowly to one of complete knowing accompanied by a strange, totally illuminating smile. "I know," she said, "you don't have to tell me. I know! You've let some boy do it to you! You've gone and gotten yourself fucked, haven't you?"
"I-"
"Oh, what's it like? I mean when a boy's got it all hard and hot and puts it in there? What's it like?"
I was trapped and I knew it. My only recourse was to let her think that I had had some experience with a boy my own age instead of with my own father. "It's ... " I began, "sort of ... well, it's good. It feels good."
"Oh, come on now. Please. We're friends, aren't we? You can tell me about it. It's real good, isn't it? Tell me, please!"
In my own young and fumbling way, I tried to tell Sally what real sex was like. As I explained about the prick, she sat again on the couch, her eyes getting wider and wider as she took another sip of her martini and slowly leaned back, slipping the whole length of the wiener all the way up her moist vaginal tract.
Somehow, I experienced a strange perverse sensation at that moment and took an intense vicarious pleasure in going into great detail. First, I told her what a rod looked like when erect, but when I saw how excited she got, I went back to elaborate each detail as I remembered it. I told her how the tip felt, just before the length completely plunged into me, and how great that first surge of filling pressure always felt.
Then I went on to other details, telling her how the man often put his hands under the girl's buttocks so that he could pull her tighter to him as he thrust harder and faster against the delicate seething walls of her sexual pleasure.
Each time I mentioned something new to Sally, she would try to do it to herself. She was lying on the couch now with both legs up and her hand holding the wiener, moving it fast as she pushed her masturbation tool back and forth.
I tried to remain dispassionate over the spectacle, but I couldn't. Something about her openness in showing how intense her pleasure was, brought a surge of excitement to me. When I saw the robe fall away from her beautiful young breasts, I seemed to cross the room in a sort of hypnotic haze. I was still talking to her and saying things like, "And then he starts kissing me all over and maybe even running his hands up over my boobies like ... "
My hands were no longer a part of me. They were acting on their own. I was beside the couch, as I looked into Sally's eyes for a moment and then, still holding her gaze locked to mine, placed both hands gently over her breasts. I moved my fingers just the slightest bit to caress the nipples as mine had been caressed so often. In that instant, she twitched and spasmed into an orgasm that sent an involuntary gasp from her throat, making her body quiver like a leaf in the wind.
"Oh," she gasped after a moment. "Oh, that was the greatest. When you touched me there ... oh ..."
She fell back on the couch gasping for breath with a happy, satiated expression on her face, the like of which I had never seen before.
Embarrassed by what I had done, I returned to where I had been sitting and lit a cigarette before taking a sip of my drink. We remained silent for several minutes until Sally started to sit up on the couch. At first I thought she was going to start masturbating again because her hand was working slowly around her private parts. But when she spoke, I realized what her problem was.
"Oh, my!" she said.
"What?"
"The weenie's stuck in there. I can't get it out!"
"You're kidding!"
"You think I'd kid about something like that? I got a foot of meat in there and I can't get it out. Oh, what am I going to do?"
It all seemed so humorous to me. Here was Sally, the girl who was always masturbating whenever she could and now she had a permanent tool in there to perform the job. I thought it was ideal for her and told her as much.
"That's fine for you to say, but what if my mom catches me? She'll kill me. Literally kill me."
I rose from my chair, crossed to where she was on the couch and knelt beside her. "Here," I said, "let me see."
Slowly, she raised her legs and bent the knees so that she was in a similar position to the one in which she had experienced such pleasure only moments before.
I had a complete view of her partially open vaginal lips and the soft tuft of silken hair that grew from the top of them.
But something happened in that moment that was more than merely wanting to help Sally out of a rather embarrassing situation. As I looked at her sexual parts, the very area of her body which had allowed her to experience such intense pleasure through her own manipulations, I wondered what it would be like to touch another woman instead of a man; what it would be like to fondle and caress organs just like mine; what it would be like to touch, knowing before I did so, the exact amount of pleasure each particular nerve end could convey, what it would be like if Sally, who knew my body as well as her own, were to go down on me, as Daddy had.
The visions of all these possible acts flashed and spattered through my mind like shadows from some macabre kaleidoscope and I actually had to shake my head to be able to concentrate on what I was about to do.
Actually, it was Sally herself who helped me the most, because she reached her hands around, gently placed her own fingers on either side of her vaginal slit, and pulled the lips as far apart as she could.
"Can you see it?" she asked.
I couldn't. Apparently in her final surge of fantastic pleasure, she had really thrust the wiener as far into her as she could.
I reached toward the lips of her vagina with trembling fingers and drew back once before taking a deep breath and assuming a more professional air. Then, I inserted one tentative finger until I was able to touch the end of the wiener. It wasn't that far inside and, by taking the top of it in two fingers of my left hand and the bottom in two fingers of my right, I was able to slowly draw it forth. But, at that point, the strange, budding fires of curiosity that had allowed their flames to lick at me before, seemed to consume me in a conflagration of perverse desire.
When the wiener was out just about an inch, I took it in my right hand and, exerting an upward pressure on it, rubbed it slowly yet definitely against Sally's clitoris as I removed it inch by delectable inch. At the same time, I touched her clitoris with the forefinger and thumb of my left hand and felt a shivering joy as she gasped her pleasure aloud. Maybe that one gasp was all I needed for I, too, was now a part of the performance. I could have taken the wiener all the way out, but I didn't. I continued using it as an artificial penis, pushing it with just the perfect rhythm in and out and never relaxing the pressure on Sally's clit.
She lay in such a way so that she could watch her own genitals being stimulated as her own hands fondled the nipples of her pert breasts. We were both fascinated by what we were doing although Sally was obviously experiencing more pleasure than I. When she spasmed into her second orgasm, she tried to pull the whole length of the wiener into her again, but I wouldn't let her. That second explosion of her pleasure shook me back to sanity and, pulling the wiener out of her entirely, I left her on the couch as I walked with it to the kitchen.
Suddenly embarrassed, I tossed the wiener into the garbage disposal, and returned to where Sally still lay gasping on the couch. It was late and Daddy was due home within the hour, so I told Sally that she had better get dressed and finish her martini before he arrived.
She just smiled at me, "I don't want the drink," she said, "I can hardly move as it is. Oh, boy, that felt great. You should have let me do you when I asked you."
Finally, with great effort, she got up and went to my room where she had left her swimsuit. I took our glasses to the kitchen where I washed and dried them and had just returned to the living room and lit another cigarette when Daddy came into the apartment.
He started toward me to throw his arms around me in our usual passionate afternoon embrace, just as Sally came out, dressed now, wearying her damp bathing suit in one hand.
Daddy seemed slightly flustered for just a second, but no more. Both he and Sally were polite to each other, but she announced that she'd better be going home because her mother might worry. With that, she crossed the room with a little wave and ambled out of the front door.
I was so stimulated and excited by all that had happened that afternoon, and doubly wanned by the one martini I had consumed, that the very moment I heard the door slam and click shut, I leaped into Daddy's arms and began to smother him with kisses.
"Hey, kitten," he said, but I wouldn't let him continue. I kissed him hard, letting my tongue play with his as one hand rubbed the smooth hard curve of his buttocks and the other slid down the form-fitting front of his body and found the growing bulge between his waiting legs.
"Oh, Daddy," I murmured into his ear. "Please, Daddy, let's fuck right now, before dinner. Let's not wait until tonight, Daddy."
With gentle, strong arms, Daddy reached over so that he held me across the shoulders and under the knees. He lifted my feet from the carpet and with slow sensuous steps, carried me first to the front door to see if it was locked, and then down the hall to the master bedroom where we had shared so much pleasure.
Our experience that afternoon was not bizarre or perverted. It was unique for I shall never forget the sensation as long as I live. I was so excited by what had happened with Sally that it seemed I couldn't stop coming.
I came the first time before Daddy was even inside me, and after that, it seemed I was on a terrible, wonderful wheel that whirred around making orgasm each time it passed a single spot.
I came four times before Daddy even came once. And, by that last shuddering time when we both writhed together in intense mutual pleasure, I was so drained and exhausted that for a moment I thought I might never want sex again.