My Daughter, Janice

Strange though it sounds, with my lips on my daughter's, her breasts lightly bumping into mine I became conscious of my hands. They were pressed into the bed at my knees. When I brought them up and put them flat against her back she moved into me and I could feel her breasts now pressing into mine.

"It's different, isn't it, then with a man?" Again, she didn't really leave my lips when she spoke.

"Jan?"

"Yes?"

"I'm totally scared. Are you absolutely certain you want to be doing this?"

She pushed into me, with her mouth and her chest and I was falling backwards when she eased me onto my back and, straddling my legs, she looked down on me, "Do ya think?" and she bent over me and her lips were on mine again and she kissed me softly, tenderly with a controlled passion, licking at my lips, the corners of my mouth and when I gasped, her tongue touched mine and with that touch the last bit of fight in me was gone.

And she knew it because she didn't try to control me any more. She lay down beside me, turning into me and when she did I turned into her and our lips met again and as she gently bit at my lips, sucking them and licking them I did something that shocked me, I opened my mouth and when she brought her tongue in, I brought mine out to kind of duel with hers until I had to pull away. "God, Jan, that is just so hot."

But she didn't say anything, she pulled into me for more and this time she wasn't quite so gentle and as her tongue pressed into my mouth I could feel her hand on my hip, pulling me into her and then she was squeezing my cheek ... with her fingers pressing deep into my crevasse.

The exquisite, feminine intimacy was something I had never experienced before. Her tongue was playing in my mouth, her fingers were pressing at my anus, I felt her pushing into me — it was so gloriously foreign to any sex I'd ever had before that I wasn't surprised to hear my moan escape into her mouth and I wasn't surprised that my leg climbed over hers so I could press my pussy into her thigh ... and so her fingers could go deeper into my bottom and as I shifted, my hand came down and pressed against her hip, her hot, naked hip and with this touch of skin I quickly pulled away, shocked and I looked down. Her nightie had pulled up and I was staring at the only pussy, but for my own, I had ever seen.

"It's really sensitive, mom."

I guess I had been staring at it a little too long but her pussy was just so erotic I couldn't tear my eyes away. It was so different from my own. I am very thin and very narrow at the hips, so I'm like a very tight triangle down there with a deep, well worn gully at the apex, sparsely covered by dark brown hair. Her light brown bush was much more luxuriant than mine and spread wide across her belly and into her groins. What was getting to me was that she was just so much more robust and hairy than me, but what fascinated me most was that she was making no effort to push down the cotton nightie that now barely conceal her navel; she seemed eager that I see her — naked below the waist, she seemed so open and honest and excited. But really, what fascinated me the most was that I was sprawled on a bed with my near naked daughter and, for the life of me, it seemed like a perfectly natural place to be.

As I stared at her, trying to come to terms with this and trying to understand why I was getting so turned on, she slowly opened her legs, then took my hand and placed it low on her stomach, just above her pubic patch and I watched in amazement as my fingers hesitated for just a moment before they crept into her hair, slowly, crawling until they were lost to the knuckles in her hair and I could feel her heat. "Oh, God, mom, go into me."

Her fingers were pressing on mine now, forcing me into her and I watched as they went where directed and slipped into her hot wet centre and when they did she brought her hips up to force me further into her and then, as if she had been teetering on the brink, she began to buck and her low moan became a high-pitched squeal, then the squeal became a wail and I found her stiff nub and I rubbed at it, transfixed by her metamorphosis, by her thrusting hips, her growing scent, her primordial noises and as I reveled in the unbelievable intimacy of it all, she was pulled at me, pulled me down and she had her lips on mine and the wail became a groan, a deep, guttural moan, repeating, time after time, "Oh, mom, oh mom," as she finished herself off on my leg.

Youth. That would have done me in for a week, but not her, she was kneeling over me now, pulling her nightie over her head, then she was on the buttons of my shirt.

"Hon?"

She had been concentrating on her task and now looked at me. "Hmm?"

"You were beautiful, hon, really beautiful. Exquisite."

She was unbuttoning me faster now, "God, mom, I just so want you to have one of those."

I took her by the hands and pulled her down and kissed her, "Slowly, OK, I'm an old lady." But I sure wasn't feeling like an old lady. When she'd finished unbuttoning me she leaned down to pull me up so she could take off my shirt and get to my bra and when she did her large breasts swung in front of me and I stopped her, I wanted to look at her.

Her breasts weren't anything like mine, in fact all her genes seemed to have come from Dan's side of the family. She was thick set, like Dan but voluptuous, with unbelievable curves compared to my thin angularity. She was pulling at me more insistently now so I playfully slapped her hands away, "Give me a minute or two, will you? I want to look at you. Sit back."

She did, on her heels and without a shred of self-consciousness. "I sure don't look like you, do I?"

I felt my chest swell, I seemed to have gasped. She didn't look like me. Not a bit. The first image of my daughter in all her adult naked glory stunned me. "God, look at you. You look just so ... fertile."

"Fertile?" she laughed.

"God, your breasts, your belly, your curves, all your hair, you look like ... honest, hon, you look like ... a fertility goddess." It was a stupid comment and I knew it but it just seemed so true. There was nothing subtle about the body in front of me: it was strong, unbelievably curvaceous and soft and positively dripping with sex. Honestly, the first thing I thought about was an image of one of those ancient stone fertility goddesses. My daughter was absolutely magnificent.

She was laughing merrily, "Do I take that as a complement?"

"God, yes. You have one astonishingly sexy body," I was stunned, transfixed, I had no idea, "God, look at you, you're just amazing!"

"See why I'm horny most of the time?"

"God yes, those breasts, your belly, your hips. God you're just fantastic!" With my words her wonderfully open smile was positively beaming now and the guilt that was banging at my subconsciousness seemed to dissipate in her glow.

"Thanks, mom." I've never seen her so happy.

"I've always though you were ... a bit over-weight, but you aren't, are you? Not really. You're ... God, I have to come back to it, you're just so fertile; you're just so unbelievably feminine, unbelievably sexy." Her smile now stretched wide across her face and she was about to lie on me but I stopped her. "No, wait." I propped a couple of pillows against the headboard and I half-pulled her towards them and when she rested against them I sat in the middle of the bed and just looked at her.

She has quite a rounded face with a large forehead, prominent, rounded cheekbones, a thin nose and eyes that seemed always to be squinting under eyebrows arched in a look of constant curiosity. It was a face that didn't do well above a collared shirt or an attractive sweater. But it was glowing with beauty now; entirely nude, entirely open, entirely honest, she was a study in unabashed sexuality. She had her hands up, holding onto the top of the headboard so the hair in her armpits seemed unusually long and thick. She was leaning back with her legs bent and open, her belly a small sexy pillow on which the tip of her wonderfully rounded breasts were resting, with their fantastically dark aureolas and their very long, very stiff nipples. This description may sound lewd, but it sure wasn't, not to me. And it wouldn't have been to her, either. The face that was looking back at me was glowing like I had never seen it before — brightly, confidently and without a trace of self-consciousness.

"God, Jan, you are just breath-taking."

"Can I see you?"

I hated the thought. "I'm going to look like an androgynous stick beside you."

She was going to move into me again but again I stopped her. "Just wait a minute." I moved in and settled directly in front of her with my knees over her legs. "I just want to look at you and touch you, OK?"

I brushed the back of my fingers against the large expanse of the inside of her thigh, white and soft, "How did you get this?" I gently poked at a small bluish-black discolouration almost dead centre of the left thigh.

"God, mom." She was still leaning back, her eyes were closed, her legs were opening wider and she was slightly shimmying her pelvis at my touch.

"Sensitive, eh?"

"God, mom, you have no idea."

I brushed the backs of my fingers lightly over the slope of her belly now, then against a nipple. "You have beautiful breasts, Jan, no, they're more than beautiful, they're elegant ..."

She snorted, "There way too big to be elegant ..."

"Your aureolas are fabulous, hon, ... I've never done this before," I gave a short ironic laugh, "among other things." I picked up a breast gently with both hands and kissed the stiff nipple then sucked on her, tasting her skin and when I did her hands made it to the back of my head and she was caressing my hair. "Does that feel good?"

"You feel good, mom, I just love that you're here with me, I just love what you're doing to me and I can't wait to do all this to you."

I kissed all around her aureola then I licked under her breast, tasting her sweat then I kissed slowly up her chest and for some reason I put my lips in her armpit and I kissed all around it, breathing in deeply, reveling in the dampness and the smell . When I placed my lips on hers I mumbled, "you're fabulous, Janice, I'm just so proud of you." When she kissed me back she moaned and I said, "When you told me before to go for it, did you mean it?"

I could feel more than see her eyes pop open, "Of course."

I pulled away and took one last look at her, then I took her by the hips and she pushed herself along as I dragged her down the bed until I was off it and her legs were dangling over the end. She knew what I was going to do better than I did. Kneeling on the floor, looking over her lush hairy pussy, I looked at her, I guess for approval. The face staring back at me was smiling excitedly, expectantly, encouragingly and it had a beauty to it that I had never ever seen before. When I eased my face into her I felt not even the slightest twinge of guilt, I was burying my face into the hot, wet pussy of an astonishingly sexy, astonishingly loving woman and for some unknown reason it seemed a perfectly natural thing to do.

Chapter 5

This time she needed to recover and I did, too. So as she lay there, her fingers softly playing on her belly, I moved over to her reading chair and just looked at her, astonished that what we had done wasn't filling me with guilt, disgust and self-loathing. It didn't, instead, I was wondering if men would see her the same way I did: a wonderful, kind, sharing, passionate woman with the most unbelievably fuckable body imaginable.

"What are you thinking?"

I had been looking at her fingers caressing the swell of her stomach above her lush, hairy pussy. I looked at her eyes now. "I was just thinking, if you must know, that I think you have the most unbelievably fuckable body imaginable."

"Ya?" She was beaming again, but she really hadn't stopped since I knelt on that bed in front of her.

"Ya. You are just amazing honey ... you are just so fucking amazing."

"You know when I said I was horny?" When she turned on her side, her breasts hung down in such a way that I had to resist the temptation to go over and sit beside her and just hold them.

"I sure do," I laughed, "and I note you're using the past tense now."

She laughed, too. "I was horny to get off, there was no doubt about it. But I was mostly horny when I thought about what I'd like to do with you."

But I wasn't ready for that yet. "Have you ever made love to a man, hon?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Often?"

"No, twice, well, five times to two different men."

"Did you like it?" I didn't have any idea how she'd answer this question.

"Loved it," her smile told me how much.

"Have you made love to many women?"

"No, just Janie."

"Have you ever made love to her, and made love to her, and made love to her and just never wanted to stop?"

"Yes."

"That's the way I'm feeling now. I want to keep making love to you, I don't want to stop."

She had been cheerful, anxious I think to share her life with me, but now she seemed serious. "Then you wouldn't be making love to me, would you, mom? You'd be having sex with me because if you were making love to me, you would let me express myself, too."

My daughter has always been a mystery to me, a fascinating, complex mystery, at once entirely vulnerable but at the same time oddly self-assured. I've known forever that I didn't really understand her. She's always been so different from me, so different from the boys, so different from everyone I knew.

It has always seemed to me that she has never quite found her niche in life: it wasn't scholastics; it certainly wasn't sports; it wasn't social, either — her niche wasn't any place easily identifiable. Until now.

The nude woman across from me, with her heavy breasts and pillowed stomach resting on the bed, her magnificently wide and rounded hip curled so seductively, her legs so casually crossed — and so willing to open. The woman looking back at me couldn't have been more natural, more loving and she couldn't possibly be more sexy. I know it will sound like a mindlessly stupid thing for me to say about my own daughter but when she had been lying back against the headboard, with her legs open, her breasts resting on her rounded belly, the wide loving smile on her face — this was my daughter in her element: no one could have looked more confident, more comfortable with herself: this was my daughter's niche; Janice, nude and waiting, is the sexiest sight I had ever seen, could ever imagine seeing.

When I got out of the chair and moved into her my lips brushed against hers, "I love you Jan, I'm so proud of you I could scream."

I could feel her laugh, then she pushed me away, "Scream? I'll tell you about scream," then she quickly pulled my open shirt off my shoulders and over my arms, pinning them against my sides, then she pushed me down onto the bed. "My turn, mom, we're going to go to an unbelievable place together."

As she bent over me I felt a jolt that was part joy, part sexual as her large breasts clapped together, then her fingers were on my belt. "Hand me a pillow, hon." I was shocked at how calm I felt. I think it was because I finally thought I understood her and sex with her just seemed so supernaturally natural ... to her and now to me, too.

"Sorry." Her breast slapped me on the face when she put the pillow behind my head.

When she sat back and concentrated on my belt she was in perfect control: of her self, of me, of her world.

As she undid my zipper, I thought of her brothers, so at home on the field, in the rink, on the diamond, in the boardroom. When I lifted my bottom so she could strip me of my pants and panties, it occurred to me that my daughter had found a much smaller, much more private stage than theirs, but on it, she, more than all the others, had found her element — and would find her bliss.

When she tapped me on the insides of my thighs, I opened my legs to her ... without a hint of anything but the love and excitement that was flashing in her eyes.