My plan was really quite simple. It's a wonder I hadn't thought of it long before I did. I was going to allow Daddy to get me pregnant, tell him the truth, and after that, we would both tell the world that I had been raped.
Exactly how all this was to take place and in what sequence, I had no idea. I was so dependent upon Daddy being able to run my life, that I thought, in this case too, he would prove to be the wiser of the two of us.
It was summer. A warm, humid night and the window of the bedroom was open. Because we had a second-story apartment, neither Daddy nor I had paid much attention to drawing the shades.
There were no buildings particularly close to us and the new apartment house that had recently been completed near us was almost fifty yards away. The blanket and top sheet of the bed had been pulled down so that we could enjoy what little of the cool breeze that came through the wide open window.
Daddy and I were both lying on top of the bed, completely naked before going to sleep. We were talking about buying a new car so that I could have the old one for my very own. We were lying facing one another each with our heads nestled on our elbows, and as he talked about some of the automotive literature he had read, Daddy reached out and gently ran his hand over the trough of my waist and up over the fullness of my now mature hips. The hips of a woman, not a child.
It was slow and sensual, but more a gesture full of love than tingling with animal desire. Even then, however, I sensed that this night would, somehow be different. How terribly, terribly different, I could never guess. But then, I listened to what he had to say and savored the delicate sensations of his fingers gently caressing my flesh.
Gradually, however, the pure tenderness of his caress changed me to more positive desire. I rolled onto my back so that his probing fingers could find my sexual parts and fondle and play with them. I loved it when he did that to me, because it made the whole lovemaking seem longer and richer and fuller; it was such a gradual building of passion within my body!
His fingers inched into me, playing with my vagina and clitoris as if they were frets on some remarkable musical instrument. I, in turn, reached out and took a gentle grip of his rod. Slowly, I gave it a tug and began to move the loose outer flesh up and down until he, too, became harder and harder.
Still, I continued my gentle ministrations knowing that as I did so, he would become even more erect and desirous of sharing his body and soul with me. But both of us knew that this initial play couldn't last forever and finally, as if of a single accord, we stopped as he rolled to a position where he was kneeling with his buttocks on his heels, between my knees. He gripped his huge prick – the tool of my most intense pleasure – in one hand. Gently leaning forward, Daddy placed the hot tip of it into the opening of my passion. As he moved this way, I stared at the beauty of our two bodies joining in forbidden passion, yet in passion so great that even if it had been forbidden a million times, I still would have found some way to continue with our lovemaking. I watched him move so that just the head of his prick sank within me and my lips seemed to rise to meet it and jawlessly clamp it tight inside me.
But he teased me that night. He pulled away and it seemed that a frightening gush of cold air hit the spot where he had just been. It was frustrating and yet doubly exciting, for within a split second, he again touched me with his love stick and this time pressed himself just a little bit farther into my steaming need.
Again he pulled all the way out, letting the hotness of almost-congress be replaced by humid summer air that seemed by comparison to have been blown over an iceberg. He did this again and again as I watched and panted in wild anticipation.
Each time he would pull completely away from me and then sink himself back into my eager opening just the slightest bit farther than he had been the time before. And each time he did so, he remained in such a position that I had a complete and unobstructed view of the meeting of our genitals. Even when he made his last move, he was like a man doing pushups, his upper weight resting on his straight arms and his legs extended between mine. We lay there for a long time watching the fusion of our sexual parts.
Feeling the same impossible sensations surging through me I could no longer stand it and reaching up to throw both my arms around his back, pulled him down to me with all my strength and cried, "Daddy! Oh, Daddy, do it Make a baby in me… "
He still thought I was taking the pills, and my words seemed to make his penis even harder inside me. Like a shaft of sheer power and energy, it slid back and forth in my welcoming cunt, the servant of a monstrous passion.
And then after what seemed like hours of agonized pleasure during which I savored each tingle of our love, I felt the first throbs of his involuntary muscles pulsating him into orgasm. With the heat of his love exploding into me, I could feel in surging up into me, meeting and boring into my waiting egg. Only then was I so completed with the knowledge that I lost all control and, wrapping my legs tight around his back, I tried to rise to the very ceiling as he plowed toward the floor.
My orgasm was total, complete and full of woman's secret knowledge. I knew without fear or shame that I was pregnant! Soon I would bear the child I had always wanted. The offspring of the man I loved more than anyone or anything in the world.
But, even though I was sure in my heart, I wanted to be sure in terms of logic, too. During the next week and a half, I made sure that we experienced total sexual congress every night and in as many different positions as we knew. I was determined to have enough of his sperm in me so that I couldn't escape becoming pregnant.
So involved was I with my love and my desire to become pregnant that I did not even bother to look out the bedroom window. Even if I had, I doubt if I would have assigned any importance to the occasional fleck of reflected moonlight that struck a pinpoint of brightness in the window of an apartment opposite our own. But, had I known what caused the light, I'm sure I would have begged Daddy to move as soon as possible.
The owners of the apartment house in which Daddy and I lived, had long been thinking of expansion. They allowed children, of course, and rented only on lease arrangements and as soon as they were able, began construction of a second apartment complex about fifty yards from the first. That was the new building that rose far away outside our bedroom window.
But, to save money, even though the two huge buildings were apart, the owners conceived the idea of putting a playground in the center of the new building so that tenants with younger non-swimming children could live there. If anyone there wanted to swim, he could walk across the park area that separated the two buildings and use the pool where Daddy and I lived.
Because the pool was a large one and everyone in both buildings met at least once, and also because of the fact that both buildings were heavily populated with children, most parents were on speaking terms with one another.
The light reflected from the opposite window, however, belonged to a boy I had not yet met. His name was Steve and he was a curious thirteen. The light itself was the reflection of the moon's glow off the lenses of a pair of powerful binoculars through which he enjoyed looking, in order to see Daddy and me make our love.
Had the knowledge of our love affair been confined to Steve, it would have gone no further. He was not a tease and, if anything, was very shy. I'm sure he watched first put of curiosity and then because of some budding adolescent instinct toward his own sexual cravings. Undoubtedly, he would have continued to watch and enjoy without speaking. Unfortunately, he, too, was caught in his private pleasures by his grandmother who shared her knowledge with her son (his father) and daughter-in-law. They, in turn, knew that Daddy and I were just that – parent and child – and taking our behavior into their own moralistic hands reported the affair to the manager.
But all this came about later, after the time I knew I was pregnant and after the times when I intensified my sexual contacts to make sure that my "knowledge" would become fact.
Actually, we had three more glorious months of borrowed time in which to savor every last shred of our consuming passion and we did just that. The only thing that disrupted our relationship at all was my announcement, in point of fact, that I was pregnant because my period had not started on time.
Daddy's reaction was a strange mixture of resignation – he must have known I would do it sooner or later – and quiet joy, but he was also careful.
We both agreed on the rape story, it being that I had taken the car to a movie two weeks ago and, in coming out of the theatre had been attacked by a complete stranger in the parking lot. But before telling the tale, we wanted to be sure such a lie would be necessary.
Daddy took me to a doctor, explained the false story, told the medical man that we hadn't been to the police because of the possible scandal but that he wanted to make sure I didn't have any venereal disease or symptoms of pregnancy. We were both terribly worried he said, because I hadn't gotten my period on time.
Of course, I knew, and I'm sure Daddy at least suspected that the laboratory tests would show me to be pregnant Our next stop was the police.
They asked us why we hadn't come in before now to report this. And again we explained that shame and fear had held us back and that we probably wouldn't have come in at all except for the fact that now I was pregnant. Since there was no allowance for abortion, as far as the police knew, I was just another girl who had to wait her time before delivering a child for adoption.
The plan was complete. We had reported the rape and had been virtually assured by the police that, with the information they had, it would be almost impossible to catch the person responsible. But we were covered. Their report was dated and I had checked the theatre on the supposed night of the attack so that I knew what picture had been shown at that time.
Daddy and I had thought of everything, and now settled down to wait for an event which I knew was going to be the happiest of my life. The only thing I hadn't planned on was Steve. And even if I had, I could have no idea that in addition to watching us make love through his binoculars, he also kept a completely detailed diary in which he described acts, positions and facial expressions – filing them by date!
But for three months, I had no idea of these things and with a burden of frustration finally off my mind and with the full knowledge that now I was "caught" as I wanted to be, I seemed to become even less inhibited than I had been before.
Now that Daddy and I had proved our love, we both seemed to become wildly and freely passionate for the time we had left. We played and experimented and threw all caution to the winds. It was as if I was a grown, mature woman with an easy lover and he was the young boy testing all the things he had heard about sex.
But the sands in our hourglass of pleasure were running out and only a few grains remained to drop before our love would be wrenched apart by an unthinking, uncaring society.
Strangely, when it finally happened, it was almost as if I knew it would be that way. Stage by complicated stage, with a hint here and a sign there, I watched the temple of our love crumble around us as the cannonade of society battered its walls. When the ultimate shot was fired, it was Daddy, not I, who was shocked.