High Noon

After the last party guest left daddy called me into his bedroom. It was the second time today, on my 22nd birthday, he'd told me he had something special he wanted to show me. When I entered the bedroom, even though we were alone in the house now, he told me to close the door and lock it. "You never know when somebody will forget something and show up unexpectedly, especially in these times..."

Dad seemed inexplicably nervous. Like everyone else at the birthday party, me included, he'd been drinking all afternoon. Domestic champagne mostly, though he toasted the occasion with a couple bottles of Veuve. I'd also gone out in the backyard, away from the screened-in pool and lanai, to get high with a few of my old college buds. I was still high. I felt great! Unlike dad, who stood halfway across the bedroom by the side of the bed, I wasn't nervous at all. Curious, but not nervous. What was it he wanted to show me? Why all the secrecy? Was it some kind of uber-valuable family heirloom he'd decided to pass down to me now that, as he'd proclaimed during the recent toast, I'd entered "the second quarter of my life"? Now that, as he went on to say somewhat stiffly, and annoyingly, I'd "entered the real world of adulthood"? As if college finals weren't real enough?

Dad wore long pants and a cabana shirt; his feet were bare however. I still wore my bikini, an extravagant birthday present to myself; though hours ago I'd pulled on a wonderfully sheer, sky-blue tinted sun-dress that hung to my knees. One of my male friends, a nice guy but not someone I'd ever dated in college, came up to me at one point and said that my white bikini beneath the diaphanous blue reminded him of those times when a full moon is still visible in a cloudless daylight sky. I was touched; flattered. I thanked him and kissed him on the cheek. "Well you just made Denny's day," one of my girlfriends told me moments afterwards.

"He's sweet," I replied.

"Sweet but not cute," she said. "Besides," giving me a cynical sideways look, "it's the sweet ones you gotta watch out for."

Call me naïve but I wasn't sure what my friend was getting at. I shrugged. Now I stood facing dad in his spacious master bedroom. Mom may've been a bitch and run off with a younger guy, but she hadn't contested the divorce. All she'd asked for was a little of the equity in the property—a beloved house on a large plot of land with sentimental value dad otherwise got to keep. After graduating from college I'd moved in with him. Just on a short-term basis, you understand, while I figured out what to do next with my life. I'd returned home in early June. Now it was July 20th, over six weeks later, and I was no closer to knowing what my next step was going to be than when I arrived. I'd been spending most of my days swimming; sunbathing; reading; relaxing. I went out with friends—some of my girlfriends—on weekends but I wasn't even dating anybody at the moment. Some of these same "friends" kept telling I was wasting myself.

"As pretty as you are?"

"You're in the prime of your life, Ariel."

"Who are you saving yourself for?"

"You're only 21 once, girl."

Now I was 22. So what?

"What's the big mystery?" I now asked my dad. He swallowed.

"Mystery?"

I gestured at the locked bedroom door. "What is it you wanted to show me?"

Dad hesitated. Looked down, up. "Promise you won't freak out?"

I giggled, involuntarily. "Why should I freak out?"

My diffident dad was still beating around the bush. Almost literally, as it turned out. Finally his hands disappeared under the long tail of his cabana shirt. His pants fell. Then he untied his Speedo, with its thick slanting bulge at the front. He wiggled out of this as well. Dad lifted his shirt-tail as if it were a stage curtain, a drama about to unfold. A melodrama at any rate.

I stood. Stared.

Dad's penis was hard; erect. It pointed straight up at the ceiling. I passed another involuntary giggle. Or something. What the...?

Dad's face crumbled. Not that I was presently looking much at his face. He said, haltingly: "Darling...I've been watching you ever since you returned home...swimming, sunbathing...in your bikinis...You're such a beautiful young woman. Your body...It...You've been driving me crazy without knowing it...I can't help myself...I see you, I watch you...I get aroused. I...I've talked to my therapist about it and he—"

"He told you to expose yourself to me?"

"No! No, darling! Of course not! I...He...The only reason I mention that is that...to let you know I've been working on it, trying to get past it. I—"

I'm pretty sure I smiled at this point. If not now, soon thereafter. "Why do you want to get past it?"

"Because it's wrong! It's not normal! There's something wrong with me!"

"You just said I'm a beautiful young woman, dad," I bragged. "Your words. And you're a horny middle-aged male. What's abnormal about a man being attracted to a woman half his age in these circumstances?"

"You're my daughter, Ariel!"

"So what! It's chemistry, dad. Sexual chemistry. We can't help who we're attracted to, or for what reason."

"I can help how I respond. How I behave..."

"Oh you mean like not locking yourself in your bedroom with your daughter and exposing yourself to him?"

"I..." Dad looked down at the carpet again. At that moment, to my eyes, he seemed a pathetic figure. Not the same man he'd been when mom was around, despite their frictions, their differences. I approached.

"You don't need a shrink, dad," I said, taking hold of his cock. "What you need is a girlfriend. Have you been out on one single solitary date since mom left?"

"If you keep that up," dad replied, evading the question, and referring to my stroking hand, "I'll..."

"That's OK. You need to."

I let go of dad's cock and sank to my knees. Before bending it down and taking it in my mouth I pulled my sun dress off and tossed it aside. Dad had a nice one. Not overly long, about six inches, but uniformly thick with a pretty, rosy head. I grasped the base of his shaft with my left hand while my right gently took hold of his balls and began fondling them. It did not pass me by that they were shaved. A lot of the guys I'd had sex with in college shaved their balls; but they were college boys. Dad was a middle-aged man. What did that signify? Mid-life crisis? Latent...?

"Should we be doing this?" he asked.

I pulled back. "Why are you whispering?"

He had no answer. I ran my mouth down his shaft another two times then pulled back again. "Dad, we've had this discussion before. To kids of my generation? A blowjob is no different than a kiss."

"Some kiss," he muttered, as usual.

"Hey, I'm not the one who asked for it, OK? What's the old saying? If you pull a gun you better be prepared to use it?"

Even I, as I went back to aggressively sucking dad's cock, wasn't sure about this analogy. I was reminded of that old movie Die Hard, which dad and me (and sometimes mom) used to watch every Christmas. The scene where the bad guy, Hans Gruber, asks John McClane if he's the product of having watched too many cowboy movies. John Wayne and Grace Kelly? Gruber asks. Gary Cooper, McClane corrects him, referring to the iconic western High Noon.

I let go of dad's cock and balls and pulled my mouth back, dad's surprisingly stout penis (Viagra?) once again springing up to the ceiling. High Noon indeed. I got to my feet. I unhooked my bikini bra and let it fall. I began working down my tight, skimpy white bikini bottom with its wet crotch. It left marks.

"Daddy," I declared somewhat breathlessly, "let's fuck."

"Here?"

I looked at him in disbelief. We were two feet from a bed for christsake. "Well where else?"

"Do I need to...?"

"Take that shirt off." I was already scooting backwards across the bed, my naked body bisecting it diagonally. "Come to bed, daddy."

"Do I need?" he repeated.

"It's safe. Just fuck me with that big cock."

I wrapped my legs around daddy's back as he climbed between them, and as he clumsily guided himself into me.

"Oh darling," he said.

"Daddy! Fuck me!"

He did, briefly. Then, inexplicably if not altogether surprisingly, in mid-ejaculation, he pulled out, with a cry. Instead of finishing in me he took to stroking the rest of it out onto my belly, shooting his copious load of sperm as far up as my belly button with its silver piercing. A cumshot. Too many porn videos?

"Oh god," he said, looking down at it, wide-eyed.

"That was wonderful, daddy," I lied, resolving then and there to fuck my dad more frequently so he wasn't—let's hope—so premature. Was that why mom had left him for a guy nearly half her age? Nearly MY age?

My disbelieving dad was still above me, open-mouthed, looking down at the thick white streaky mess he'd made on my flat belly even as the rest of it, some of it, his first volleys, dripped to the sheet from my vagina, forming an incipient wetspot.

He started to speak. "I—"

There was a knock at the bedroom door. We both froze.

"Sorry to interrupt. I think I left my phone behind. Hello?"

I looked up at dad. He looked down at me. We'd just had a special moment, the first of many. I should've made him wear a condom. I hadn't been dating, I was off the pill. But it was a safe time of the month. The amazing thing was that dad had seemed to intuit this, pulling out at the last minute. Or trying to, unsuccessfully. Even at this bizarre moment the middle finger of my right hand was toying with the thick sperm on my belly. Daddy's sperm. I tasted it: sweet. Delicious. The sperm that had conceived me all those years before.

Looming above dad mouthed words I didn't quite understand. But I think it had to do with the intruder. How long had he been back in our house, outside the bedroom door, I wondered. What had he heard? How did he get in?

Still on my back I called out: "Who's there?" reminding myself from freshman English of the opening line of Hamlet.

"Oh it's Denny. Denny. Sorry to interrupt. Hi Ariel. Hi Mr., um...But it's OK. I won't tell anyone."

He was behind the bedroom door. Invisible. It was like listening to a ghost. It was rumored on campus, senior year, that Denny, despite his beguilingly mild manners and undesirable looks, had been recruited by the secret police. No wonder my girlfriends avoided him. "Did you guys notice if a phone was left behind? Ariel? It's early still. Want to go out and see a movie or something?"