It never entered my empty little head that the new curves that were forming on my body — a new roundness on the under-curves of my butt, a slight flare to my hips, slightly more padding on my thighs — had much to do with the new way the old man was treating me, either. I knew he'd changed somehow; that was all.
He'd always made a big thing out of wrestling around with me, tickling me and all that, and all that had suddenly stopped. Instead, I'd sometimes turn around to find him watching me in the same kind of way the boys at school did, looking at my ass and long legs in that way that'd cause that warm feeling inside me. Mom had noticed those looks too, I realize now, because more than once I saw her glaring at him. I heard them yelling their heads off at one another about it another night, and I remember wondering why my own father wasn't supposed to look at me. That fight ended like all the rest. She stomped out of the house, headed for her sister's place, where she always went when she was pissed, and the old man proceeded to get drunk. Which was what he always did when he was pissed at her.
It was on a night like that that my old man copped my cherry.
He'd come home early from the docks where he worked as a stevedore, and, out of the clear blue sky, he'd handed me a present. I squealed with delight when I opened the box and found a green knit minidress, the sharpest I'd ever seen. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.
"Go put it on, baby. That's what it's for," he said, untangling my arms from around his neck. I rushed into the bedroom. It was perfect for me — except it was a little small. The green went well with my long red hair, though, and it almost matched the color of my eyes, so it made no difference that it ended so high up on my thighs. I was just going to have to be careful about bending over.
"How do I look?" I asked, going back into the kitchen and posing with my arms above my head. He smiled sort of funny as, he said, "You look good enough to eat. Yep — good enough to eat."
"It's the prettiest dress I've ever seen," I squealed, then rushed excitedly across the tiny kitchen and threw myself into his lap, kissing him. I felt I had the best father in the whole world. He was raising a can of beer to his lips as I jumped on his lap, and some of it spilt on the front of his blue shirt. "Hey, careful," he said, laughing. "I can't afford new clothes for myself."
As he looked down at the dark stain spreading wetly across the front of his shirt, I noticed that strange look spread across his face — the same look I had seen the times I'd turned to catch him looking at my butt. It was a hungry look.
Following the downward gaze of his eyes, I saw that the short skirt was tugged up so high that part of my white panties were showing. He had slipped his arm around my shoulder, and I was suddenly aware that his fingers were touching the bottom of my tittie. His touch caused a dull throbbing in my nipples. And under my round little rump, in his lap, I felt something new. His peter was getting hard. Even though I'd never actually seen a hard on, I'd heard enough talk among the girls at school to know that was what he was getting.
And that was when Mom walked into the room.
For a moment she just stood in the doorway looking like she was going to have some kind of attack, then she stomped across the room and slapped me — hard! "You get to your room, you little slut!" she yelled, then turned and started screaming at the old man. Crying, I did as I was told.
She went on yelling at him for what seemed like hours. Through the door of my bedroom I could hear her accusing him of feeling me up, of trying to make a whore of his own daughter, and lots of other things I didn't really understand. I found myself wondering why a good-looking guy like my father had married a bitch like her. She wasn't even pretty.
"You ain't foolin' me one bit! I know what you're up to," she yelled at long last, then stomped, her way out of the house, slamming doors behind her, off to her sister's. I came out of my room.
The old man put the booze away faster that night than I'd ever seen him drink it before. He was soused inside of two hours. I sat in the kitchen with him, drinking Coke and trying to joke him out of the bad mood he was in, and it was in the kitchen that it started.
I was putting an empty bottle in the cabinet beneath the sink, bending far forward at the waist, when. I felt — I could really feel them — his eyes watching me from behind. As I looked around and saw him staring at me, I remembered what I'd told myself about being careful about bending over. Of course, I told myself, it didn't really matter that my bending had caused the short dress to lift so high in the back that my butt was waving like a flag. Not with my own father, it didn't. What the hell, how was I supposed to know that my old man was having the hots for me?
Then I saw the look on his face and was reminded of the way his peter had gone hard as I sat on his lap, the way his fingers had touched my tittie, and the warm feeling it'd caused in my pussy, and I knew it did matter. I felt myself blushing hotly.
"What're you thinkin' of?" he asked thickly. "Thinkin' of how your mother accused me of playing with your knockers?"
"Were you?" I don't know why I asked that.
"So what if I was?" he said loudly. He was giving me the strangest look I'd ever seen. "Ain't a man gotta right to touch his own daughter? Well ain't he?"
"I guess so."
"Well, then, come here," he commanded, and his dark eyes seem to be daring me to defy him. As I walked across the narrow space that separated us, I could fell his eyes on my boobs, on the roll of my still girlish belly. I stopped in front of him. He put his big hands in the small of my back. "Ain't nothin' wrong with a man wantin' to touch his pretty little girl, is there?" I felt his hands move down onto my rump. He squeezed me.
"No... I guess not," I said nervously. There was something wrong with the way his hands were sliding down the backs of my legs. There was something wrong with the way he licked his lips and stared at my titties instead of looking me in the eyes. He pulled me down on his lap, one arm circling my waist.
"Even if I did want to touch you on the titties, Melody, what'd be wrong with that," he asked, and through the woven material of the dress I felt his big hand move slowly upward until it rested on the firm little knob of my tittie. His other hand stroked my thigh. Beneath me I once again felt the hardness of his peter, and I was suddenly aware that what was happening was wrong... totally wrong.
Of course, we can't ever let nobody know about what happens between us. "Specially not the old lady. Not nobody." His hand was cruelly tight on my tittie; the fingers of his other hand were rubbing the bottom of my belly, closer and closer to my pussy. "Just our little secret," he said.
I squirmed on his lap. My eyes were closed. His voice droned on telling me of the fun we'd have together from now on, and his hands moved over my titties, my tummy, and finally, beneath my dress. As I felt his fingers press against the front of my panties rubbing the nylon against the hard little lips of my pussy, I suddenly began struggling to get off his lap. He held me there easily.
The feel of his fingers against my pussy both excited and frightened me. It excited me in a way that seemed to cause my pussy to tingle as if it were filled with pins and needles. I felt my panties getting damp; felt his lips against the smooth flesh of my throat. I was warm all over. But there was also fear inside me.
What if Mom walked in and caught us? What was going to happen next? Was this all there was to screwing — just playing with each other? Or...? It was the unknown that frightened me more than anything, I think. But I wanted that good feeling in my pussy to go on forever.
"I'll rub and kiss my little girl's pussy whenever she wants it rubbed or kissed," he said thickly into the hollow of my throat, and his hands bunched my dress around my waist. The crotch of my panties was pushed aside by his thick fingers, and he was stroking the sparse red fuzz around my pussy, and I was shaking... from fear and from something I couldn't understand. I wanted him to stop. But it felt so good. So... right.