“And that’s where the matter stands right now. What do you have to say to that, my man?”
Blake was so stunned that he couldn’t see straight. He could think of absolutely nothing to say. But just then both he and Jane heard the front door open, and in seconds Rowena was rushing up the stairs.
As Jane’s eyes widened and she covered herself with a bedsheet, Blake leaped out of bed and made his way toward Rowena’s room–but not fast enough. She saw him in the landing, his own cock wagging just the way he imagined Tyler’s did after he’d bedded down with his own daughter. As Rowena chuckled at the sight of her naked boyfriend, she cast a glance into her mother’s bedroom.
“Hah!” she cried triumphantly. “So you poked Mom? Good for you!” She gave Blake a few sarcastic claps of her hands.
Blake said nothing, but stalked into Rowena’s bedroom, waiting for him to follow.
Rowena sensed that something wasn’t quite right, but she still tried to make light of the situation. “Um, your cock’s dripping,” she said.
Blake looked down at himself. It was dripping–with the mingling of his emission and Jane’s juices.
“Yeah, well, that’s the way it is,” he muttered.
By this time Rowena had closed her bedroom door and was staring at her boyfriend, who’d made no effort to put his clothes on. With a sigh she grabbed some Kleenex from a dispenser, knelt down in front of him, and began wiping down his cock.
As she was doing that, he looked down at her and said softly, “Why did you sleep with your dad?”
Rowena abruptly stopped what she was doing, then finished the job and got to her feet. She tossed the soiled Kleenex into a little dustbin next to her bed.
“She told you that, did she?” she said.
“Yeah. Why did you do it?”
“Don’t you understand?” Rowena exploded, as if infuriated at some moron who couldn’t grasp that two plus two equals four. “Sleeping with Dad was one of the most significant moments of my whole life!”
“It must have been,” he said viciously.
“You just don’t get it, Blake!” She paused, breathing heavily. “Look, I don’t have to remind you how I was those first three years of my college life. Yes, I slept with pretty much any guy who came long–so many that I don’t even remember how many there were. I thought it was fun, and I thought I was enjoying myself. But I really wasn’t enjoying myself all that much. So when I ended up having to spend a week or more alone with Dad, well, I got to feeling like I was”–she suddenly got choked up–“his little wife.”
“Rowena! You were his daughter!”
“I knew that! But it felt just like it would have if I’d had a husband. I’m not referring to the drudgery of cooking and cleaning for him; it was the closeness that I felt by being around him all the time without my mom there. That made such a huge difference. It was–a revelation. So by some sort of unspoken agreement we began sharing his bed. Sure, I felt a little funny, knowing I was lying in the very spot that Mom lay when she was sleeping here, even though this wasn’t actually the bed where I was conceived. They were living somewhere else when that happened. But it was just–heavenly.
“For the first few nights, we didn’t do anything but sleep. I could tell that Dad was pretty nervous and even upset: it’s like I became radioactive the moment I slipped into that bed. But as the days passed he seemed to get more comfortable with my presence, and we started cuddling a bit. It felt so good to be in his big, strong arms! And it was pretty hot that summer, so even with the windows open I could only stand to wear this baby-doll nightgown that only went down to about the middle of my thighs. Sure, Dad’s eyes got big when he saw me in that thing, and I could tell what he was thinking. But I figured that was just what all men think when they see a pretty girl: Gee, I wonder what it would be like to take her to bed? It’s just a kind of automatic response that men have, and it’s really just a fantasy that dissipates in a few seconds after the girl passes on out of sight.
“But then, that Sunday night, I felt a different sort of vibe. As we were snuggling, there was no mistaking that something was happening to him–down there.
“I don’t know why I was surprised, but I was. With any other guy I’d have thought to myself, You’d better get hard, buster! I’m a real cutie-pie! But this was my dad–there was no escaping that. So I got a little unnerved myself, but I just couldn’t help reaching down and passing my hand over his distorted underwear, whispering into his ear, ‘What’s going on, Daddy?’
“He gasped as he felt my fingers in that area, and he looked almost frightened. I suddenly felt sorry for him: I mean, here was a guy who was aching to do something with me, but all the rules of society were shouting in his ear, ‘No, you can’t do that! You’re a horrible person for even thinking of doing that!’