Nevertheless, the pictures in that copy of Private soon had my skirt up and my right hand inside my panties. I think it was because they supposedly showed a man having sex with his own daughter. Because we had always been a nudist family, daddy and I continued going nude in one another’s presence, even after mama’s death. It was just the natural thing for us to do, and I didn’t think anything about it. We even hugged one another while we were nude, and gave one another good night kisses while nude, but never did anything that could be considered sexual. We just did what other fathers and daughters do who are fully clothed when they do it.
A couple of times, over the last several months, when I kissed daddy good night, I had felt his cock twitch against my thigh, but it had never gotten erect, just a little fatter and a little firmer.
It kind of thrilled me to think that my daddy was starting to get a hard-on while kissing me, but neither of us did anything to further what each of us was feeling. We always broke our kiss and went to our own rooms to sleep. But, now, looking at these pictures: I felt that daddy had this magazine because it showed someone doing what he wanted to do. My daddy wanted to fuck me! More than that, as I looked at those pictures, I wanted it to happen. I wanted my daddy.
My boyfriend, Kevin, and I had started having intercourse the week I turned eighteen. We had petted heavily a lot before that, but Kevin is two years older than I am and he was afraid to fuck me while I was still ‘jail bait,’ as he put it. So – I wasn’t a virgin any more. I had tasted the pleasures of sex.
Fucking Kevin was always fun, but something was still missing. With him, it was never anything more than physical. Don’t get me wrong. I like Kevin. For a time, I even thought I loved him, but sex with him never had an emotional component to it. It was almost like I was using his hard cock as a substitute for my hand, and was using him to masturbate myself to orgasm.
As I looked at the pictures in the magazine, and read the trite text that accompanied them, my fingers danced over my clit and plunged into my sopping wet cunt. Now, I knew why sex with Kevin never really left me satisfied. I wanted my daddy. And, if this magazine meant what I thought it meant, daddy wanted me.
That evening, when daddy got home from the garage he owns, I was in the kitchen, nude as usual, and was preparing supper.
“Hi, Rose,” daddy called out as he slammed the front door. It was raining, and in damp weather the door swells and sticks. It is hard to open and hard to close.
“Hi, daddy,” I called out. “I’m here in the kitchen. Supper will be ready in about an hour. I’m just putting it in the oven. Why don’t you go shower. I’ll open a beer for you and put it next to your chair in the living room.” “Thank you, darling.”
I opened daddy’s favorite beer, a half liter flip-top Grolsch, and poured it into a big ceramic stein that daddy had bought in Rudesheim, Germany the year we took a Rhine River trip. Then I went into the bathroom. Daddy was in the shower, but I could see him through the frosted glass of the shower door.