Nothing I Won't Do

I begrudgingly went back downstairs to enjoy my new TV for about thirty minutes until my daughter finally called out for me to come up and eat. Without a second's hesitation, I shut off the new TV and raced upstairs, eager to see what wonderful meal she'd cooked and ready to quell the rumbling in my stomach. When I got to the top of the stairs, however, I noticed that the kitchen lights were out except for a soft glow. I thought that Beth had turned them out and left the stove's dome light on so that I could serve myself while she ate dinner in her room or something. I was slightly disappointed that she hadn't waited for me, but figured that she might have still needed some more time to herself, which I completely understood. As I got closer to the kitchen's entrance, though, I came to a dead halt with honest surprise. The table was set with two lit candles, a steaming pot of spaghetti, a separate smaller pot filled with meat sauce, enough sliced French bread for two on a serving plate, a bottle of red wine and, at the opposite end of it, stood my daughter, dressed in a simple, form-fitting black dress that showed off her cleavage handsomely, her hair done up in such a way that only a few of her ringlets dangled loose. She held up two glasses of wine, both already filled halfway, and said nothing. Beth was a stunning sight to behold.

I slowly approached her, took the glass of wine she offered to me and said, "Wow," with as much feeling as I could muster without getting loud and obnoxious about it. "I mean, WOW, honey. But look at me, I'm WAY under-dressed." I still had on my blue jeans and a buttoned-down shirt. It was an acceptable enough ensemble for dinner in a casual restaurant, but definitely not suitable for a romantic table setting. "And look at you! Good Lord, Sweetheart, you look..."

"Ravishing?" Beth prompted, a slight tone of hopefulness in her voice.

I looked her up and down, noting the black heels on her feet and the fact that she wasn't wearing any hose, the skin of her well-toned legs shining in the candlelight. "I was going to say beautiful, but 'ravishing' works, too. How did you do all of this so quickly?" I looked around the kitchen skeptically. Even the dishes had been put away. "All right. Where are the elves that helped you? C'mon, you little bastards, come on out!"

My daughter stifled a giggle and said, "It was all me, Dad. While the pasta and sauce were cooking I zipped off to my room to change clothes real quick. While the bread was baking, I took the opportunity to get out the wine, wine glasses and candles. It really wasn't that difficult. Just a matter of efficient use of time. By the way, you look fine. I just wanted to get dressed up for you." She held up her glass of wine. "So what'll we toast to?"

I looked at my own glass for a moment in deep thought. What would be an appropriate toast, I wondered. Health? Wealth? Happiness? Good deeds? And then, inspiration struck. No no no, not THAT kind of inspiration! The proper kind, about the toast. I held up my glass and Beth followed suit, a curious eyebrow perched above her left eye. "To the stories of our lives, those chapters yet to be opened and those closed behind us: may they be forever joined with joy and peace."

Beth's eyes sparkled brightly as my words sank in and she smiled appreciatively. "Well said, Dad. To the story of our life."

I almost corrected her on the plurality of my original toast but thought better of it- I figured it was probably just a rephrasing on her part. We clinked our glasses together and each sipped lightly from them, our eyes meeting with happiness. When the cool liquid was past our gullets, I moved to my customary place at the head of the table and set my wine glass down while Beth moved to the place at my right. She stood there, expectantly unmoving and silent, until I got the hint and quickly moved behind her, pulled out her chair for her and helped her get comfortable at the table.

"Took you long enough," she muttered as I sheepishly took my seat at the head of the table.

"Sorry, Babygirl," I said. "It's been awhile, y'know?" I surveyed the meal before me with wonder again. "You're really amazing, you know that?"

My daughter blushed happily. "Well, I figure that a war hero who's home on Leave deserves more than just a simple meal at some restaurant. And, believe me, doing this was as much for me as it was for you. I feels nice to get pretty every once in awhile."

"Sweetheart, you shot right past 'pretty' and nailed gorgeous with a bulls-eye." My eyes were transfixed on my daughter and it was then that I noticed that she wore the burgundy bra-and-panty set that we'd bought earlier in the day. I kept thoughtfully silent about that realization and allowed myself to feel just a tiny bit flattered. Nothing more was said while we ate and savored Beth's wonderfully-cooked meal. Everything about it was absolutely perfect and I wouldn't have changed a thing. It sure as hell beat going out to eat.

When we were done, Beth stood up, her wine glass still in hand, and said, "I want to watch a movie on our new TV. You game?"

"You bet," I replied as I got up from my chair. "But what about the dishes?"

"It'll keep," she said nonchalantly and then headed downstairs, clearly expecting me to follow. I didn't disappoint, either, and enjoyed the guilty pleasure of watching my daughter's perfect ass move with a gentle sway underneath her dress. With each step that she took I also noticed just how well-toned her legs were in those heels. What can I say? She IS beautiful and I'd have to turn in my man card if I couldn't appreciate that fact. When we got downstairs, she kicked off her heels, dimmed the lights some and curled up on the sofa facing the TV while holding the PlayStation3 remote. I sat down next to her, placing my wine glass on the end table closest to me, and stretched my arm across her shoulders in a warm half-hug which she snuggled into, her head resting peacefully on my lap. "I downloaded a movie from the 'net," she told me and then cast an askance glance up at me. "Don't worry: it's a mainstream film. Mostly. Something one of my girlfriends at school turned me on to. I've only seen half of it and, so far, it's really good."

"Sounds wonderful," I said, not really caring what we watched as long as we could cuddle like this for a few hours. All sexual tensions aside, I truly did like holding my daughter like that on the sofa. It was one of the few fatherly pleasures that I looked forward to while I was away because it reminded me of times when she was a little girl, back when Lynn was healthy and alive, and we all three used to cuddle up to watch movies as a family. In a sense, sitting on the sofa like that was a little like having Lynn back with us, if only in spirit.

I tapped the TV remote since it was closest to me and deftly switched it to the video input channel while Beth turned on the PS3 with her remote. Within moments, the movie started and we watched in silent harmony. Of course, it was a romance flick, but it wasn't a bad one at all. There were a few moments of subtle humor, but it was mostly a drama. The story was about a younger woman who'd fallen for a widower who loved her back but couldn't put aside his concerns about their differences in age and experience. In some ways it had the distinct flavor of "Lolita" without being scandalous. As the movie unfolded I couldn't help but draw some parallels to the situation between Beth and myself. I began to wonder, idly, if my daughter's choice in movies was intentional or not. She wasn't in the habit of lying to me, so I took her claim that it was suggested by a friend at face value and chalked it up to coincidence. I'm sure, however, that the irony wasn't lost on Beth, though. In a scene where the two protagonists finally make love, Beth snuggled up even tighter to me and let out a soft murmur of contentment. I tried my absolute best to not let the fact that I was sporting a massive erection during the scene be known to my daughter, lest things get potentially out of hand again, but the truth of the matter was that, with her head in my lap, there was no way that she COULDN'T notice it. Both of us, I'm glad to say, managed to keep our ardor at bay and just enjoyed the movie until its end.

When the credits started rolling, Beth sat up and stretched her arms out with a long, languid, cat-like yawn. I didn't miss the fact that, as she did so, her prominent breasts jutted out nicely and her cheeks looked a little flushed. I started to stand up and collect our wine glasses when Beth grabbed me by the wrist, pulled me down to lean over her and planted a very warm, wet kiss right on my lips. I was frozen like a deer caught in headlights as I felt my daughter's lips press against mine. The kiss wasn't lust-filled and there wasn't any tongue, but the warmth of her body heat and the scent of her arousal was unmistakable. She let me go after what seemed like an eternity and, as our lips parted, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, put her fingertips thoughtfully to her lips and I distinctly heard her let out a soft, "Mmmmm," while I stood up and watched her carefully, not sure of what she might do next.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked up at me and smiled lovingly. "Thank you, Dad. For everything. I'm going to bed now. I'll get the dishes in the morning." And, with that, she lithely stood up, picked up the heels she'd kicked off at the beginning of the movie, and made her way tiredly upstairs to her bedroom. I just stared at her dumbly as I watched her go, my mind reeling and my body screaming for a status report from my spinning brain. And all my brain could muster up as a response was this soft buzz, like static.

I left the wine glasses where they were, took a leak and went to sleep in my own bed, alone, with thoughts of my daughter confusedly dancing through my head. I was fast asleep within minutes.

-----------------------------------------------

The next day I woke up at a more reasonable hour, eight o'clock. I was satisfyingly rested and, as the cobwebs of sleep cleared away from my mind, I began to play the previous day's events back through my head. I was in such a state of confusion, self-doubt and misgiving that I couldn't make heads or tails of it. The kiss that my daughter had given me just before going to bed was a whopper. I hadn't been kissed like that in ages and there's really no way to describe it fully. There were emotions behind it, certainly, and subtexts of nuanced love that was a mixture of something romantic and yet entirely familial. Let me restate: I hadn't EVER been kissed like that. The last time I'd received a kiss even remotely like it was from the woman I ended up marrying and having this incredible offspring with. If that was how my first real day of Leave went, I couldn't even BEGIN to imagine what the next two weeks were going to be like.

I rolled out of bed and, first thing's first, took a leak. Once again, still in my boxer-briefs, I went upstairs in search of caffeine. When I reached the top of the stairs this time, however, the aroma of coffee greeted me like a siren song. Bleary-eyed, I stumbled my way into the kitchen, grunted a "g'morning" to Beth where she sat at the table with her own cup of coffee while she read something on her cell phone. I made a beeline straight for the coffee pot. I reached for the pot, reached for the mug that had already been set out for me and was about to start pouring when I froze in mid-motion. I carefully put the pot back in its cradle, the mug back on the countertop and slowly looked to the right at my daughter, who was still sitting at the table, now facing me and wearing a bemused smirk on her face.

And that was it.

No. Seriously. All she wore was a bemused smirk on her face. Not a stitch of clothing adorned her beautiful body. She sat in the same position that she had been in the morning before, one of her ankles perched atop the opposing knee, which provided me with an unobstructed view of her bald pussy. I just blinked at her stupidly a few times, at a complete loss for words.

"What?" she said defensively. "I'm eighteen. Legally, I'm an adult. And you said I could wear, or not wear, what I wanted to around the house. So... ta-da. Meet Naked Babygirl! Good morning, Dad."

"I... I didn't actually think... young lady, are you TRYING to kill me?" Beth tilted her head back in laughter, her bounteous breasts bobbling up and down, shaking with the commotion, at my expense. All I could do was stand there and stare at her nakedness with this dumbstruck look on my face. Finally I found my voice again and said, "Will you PLEASE go put some clothes on? Please?"

Beth's laughter petered out to mere giggles before she was able to say anything, but she certainly didn't move from her seat. Instead she took a sip from her coffee mug and said, "Tell you what, Dad. I'll get some clothes on when YOU put that thing away." She pointed at my crotch and I looked down, mortified but not particularly surprised, to see the head of my cock peeking out of my underwear's waistband as if to say hello to the world and my daughter in particular. The one curse of having a large cock is that Fruit of the Loom doesn't make underwear to accommodate a massive erection.

I looked back up at her and said flatly, "It's morning wood."

"Sure it is. We'll be rich. Ladies and gentlemen, the first man in history who is able to take a piss with a full-on chubby. Step right up, folks, and have a look-see!" She giggled some more. "Dad, I heard the toilet flush a minute ago and I know enough about basic male anatomy to know that you can't urinate with an erection without contorting yourself like a pretzel. Be honest: you like what you see. I'd feel insulted if you didn't."

I sighed heavily and turned my back to her, ready to resume my hunt for coffee. "Okay," I said. "Yeah. So what? I see a beautiful naked girl in my kitchen and my natural physiological response is to get a hard-on." I paused long enough to see that there was sugar on the countertop next to the coffee pot but no milk. "Say... where's the cream?"

"Tug on that thing for a minute or two and you'll have all the cream either of us can handle," Beth quipped. I spun around quickly, fixed her with a steely glare and emitted a low growl of impatience. She held up her hands defensively, still smiling. "What're you gonna do, Dad? Beat me with it? Creamer's in the fridge. Geez."

I stalked over to the refrigerator and yanked it open, snatching the container of creamer from the in-door shelf, and shut it forcefully. I didn't say a word as I marched back to the countertop and continued to fix my coffee. That task complete, I calmly sat down at my customary seat, gazed at my daughter, who was looking at her phone's screen intensely and pointedly not at me, and said, "I'm going to have to get used to this, aren't I?"

"Yep," she answered without looking up.

"And there's not much I can do about it, is there?"

"Would you like me to move out?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Then, nope." She took another sip. "Coffee's good this morning. I added a little something extra."

"You're crazy. You know that, don't you?"

She shrugged lightly. "Maybe a little bit, yeah." Then she glanced at me while holding her thumb and forefinger closely together, the universal sign for a small amount. "A little bit." Then she went back to looking at her phone.

I closed my eyes and thought about the situation. It was too early in the morning to argue the matter and, frankly, I wasn't sure that I didn't like the view. Okay, I'll admit it: I'm a dirty old man. And why shouldn't I enjoy the view? Old and dirty or not, I'm a man after all and she's a beautiful woman, regardless of the fact that she's my daughter- weren't men supposed to enjoy seeing beautiful women, especially in the buff? And it wasn't like she seemed bothered by it. I decided to just let it roll and accept the fact that my daughter would do pretty much whatever she wanted. I watched her while I sipped at my coffee quietly. I'm sure that she was aware of my staring, in the detached sort of way that all women are, but she was so intensely focused on her cell phone that I doubt a grenade would have disrupted her. What the hell was she reading anyway?

"Whatcha got there?" I asked, pointing to the cell phone.

She looked up as though noticing me for the first time. "Uhm, our favorite website. I've been busy the last few days, preparing for your arrival here, and I haven't had much opportunity to catch up some of the stories I've missed."

I nodded understandingly. "I did the same thing yesterday while you were out. Did you see the one about the girl who tries to get her parents divorced yet?"

A sour expression crossed my daughter's features and her nose crinkled like she'd just smelled something horrible. "Ugh," she replied. "I've seen some real stinkers on this site, but that one was just terrible. I know that they've got proofers who check for illegal content in the stories, but would it be too much to ask if they'd just nix poorly-written stories like that one, too? How can someone inflict that kind of damage on other people? I mean, Dad, it hurt my eyes to read it!"

"I know," I agreed. "It didn't have a single redeeming quality, did it? Bad grammar, terrible spelling, virtually no plot and the characters were more like cardboard figurines. Even the sex scene sucked and was over almost before it began. I actually went to the author's profile page- ALL of his stories are like that and not a one of them has a voting score over 2. So... which one are you reading now?"

Beth smiled and even blushed a little, which was a surprise seeing as how she was naked in front of her father without a care in the world. I didn't miss the fact that the blush extended to the cleavage between her breasts. "It's a story about this girl who got kicked out of her mother's house and comes to live with her father out of desperation. I'm only on the second page, but it's really a good read. Whoever the author is, they've really got a knack for this stuff. It's romantic and funny and smart. I'm really enjoying it."

I grinned knowingly. I was very familiar with the story. I rather enjoyed it myself and had come to pretty much the same conclusion. "Well, I won't spoil it for you. I will say this, though: I think you're gonna love how it ends."

Beth smiled. "I'm looking forward to it," she said brightly and then returned to her reading.

I stood up, coffee mug in hand, and decided to leave her alone for the time being. Lord knows how annoyed I can get when people interrupt a good story. I was just about to leave the kitchen when I stopped and looked back at my naked daughter while she immersed herself in the fictional world of incest. She looked so relaxed and comfortable that I almost envied her. And, then, it dawned on me: Beth's nudity really was about her comfort. It wasn't part of some game she was playing in any direct sense (though I'm sure that it dovetailed nicely into it). She honestly had grown comfortable with being in the nude around the house while I was away.

"Your mother and I, before you were born," I said, surprising her with the fact that I was still there, "used to go around our apartment naked all the time. I think I've forgotten how it felt. It's liberating, isn't it?"

Beth considered it for a moment and nodded. "Yeah," she said, "it is. I mean, if you can't be free inside your own home, what's the point, right? You ought to try it for a day or two, see if you can remember how it feels."

I thought about it for a minute and, in light of recent events, decided to give it a shot. It wasn't like my daughter was going to see anything she hadn't already seen. And I was pretty sure, by the point, that it was something she dearly wanted. Without ceremony, I bent down and shoved my boxer briefs to the floor, stepped out of them and stood back up. My cock sprang out into the morning air, almost pointing directly at my daughter with a small drop of precum forming at the tip, and I left it alone, not bothering to cover myself up. "Satisfied?" I asked her.