A Good Place

tagIncest/TabooA Good Place

There comes a point in one's existence when there is no turning back. Ed had just reached that point and, implicitly, had accepted his fate. He was not proud of himself; to the contrary he was ashamed. But things were in motion, the motion was unstoppable, and he had resigned himself to its inevitable conclusion.
He was going to go out on the lanai and masturbate all over his daughter's backside.
For a good ten minutes now he'd been standing just off the kitchen behind the nearer of two sliding glass doors staring at his semi- or outright unconscious daughter as she sunned herself next to the glittering pool. Ariel lay on her belly, her brastrap undone, a skimpy string bikini bottom all that separated her 24-year-old body from being completely naked. And even that minimalist patch of teal nylon left nothing to the imagination. Underneath Ariel's folding chair lay a thick, old-fashioned hard-copy novel, open and also lying face-down, a bottle of water and a pair of sunglasses. But these things were incidental. Ariel's horny dad was concentrating on the luscious spectacle of his daughter's oil-slick, sweat-slick, for-all-intents-and-purposes nude body as it acquired a tan. That body had never been curvier but—was Ariel putting on weight?
Ed also was nearly naked. And if you count the fact that his baggy, variegated swim trunks were down below his balls, the elastic waistband tucked behind them as a matter of fact, producing a bulging effect not unlike looking at them through the magnification of water, he truly was. Naked. Completely exposed at any rate.
Prior to three nights ago, when Ariel unexpectedly arrived—"Dad, I'm at the airport. Don't have money for an Uber. Can you, like, pick me up?"—Ed hadn't seen his daughter in over two years. Ever since the break-up with her mother, consummated almost the second Ariel graduated from college, father and daughter had been, well, estranged. Emails, texts, phone calls went unanswered; Christmas gifts unrequited. And absolutely nothing received on Ed's birthday, not even when he rang the bell at 50. Ariel had apparently blamed her dad for the break-up—despite the fact that her mom had unceremoniously run off with a guy more in line with Ariel's age group than middle-aged, perpetually 39 Gloria. They departed on a Harley. Next stop New Mexico. Or was it Arizona? It was left to poor cuckolded Ed to pack Gloria's voluminous stuff up and ship it off.
Now, without much—so far—in the way of explanation, Ariel was back. With plans, big plans, but without a job, a car, or a cent to her name other than what Ed had so far provided her. Beyond that came no explanations, lots taken for granted, and a heady determination, for these first few days at least—"while I think about my future"—to acquire a suntan. But had Ariel put on weight? Her face rounder? Her breasts fuller? Hips wider? Her waist and thighs thicker perhaps? And was that beautiful ass of hers even fleshier? Rounder? Firmer?
One thing was for sure: Ariel fit quite nicely into her mom's left-behind teal bikini—something that could not have been said two or three or certainly four or five years ago.
So now, on a Saturday, three days in, Ed was staring at that bikini-clad body while secretly stroking himself in andante fashion—not too fast, not too slow. A walking pace as it were. He did not want to cum prematurely, as was his wont (just ask a frustrated Gloria). In fact, as the irreversible wheels turned in his fevered mind, Ed wanted to save it—for his daughter's bare back. He would—soon now—slide the glass door open quietly; walk barefoot across the lanai to the folding chair; stand on the right side of his daughter, at about thigh-level; point the thing at her, bending it down; increase his hand's tempo to allegro; and then…
…blast off!
Ed knew exactly what would follow. Ariel would shriek and twist her head around. Probably in her confused and half-conscious state she would mistakenly think she was lying on a beach (and not in the sinecure of dad's screened-in pool) and a seagull, a fucking seagull, had just flown past and dropped his sloppy load on her. Corkscrewing further, and rising, with frown, she would see her father's hasty retreat, swim trunks rising as he ran, even as his fresh load of sperm ran south down Ariel's back to her right side and began dripping from there to chair's lattice. Disgusting!
Knowing Ariel, bit now between her gnashing teeth, she would dive in the pool (shallow end) to purify herself (rather like someone in Greek mythology), partially dry off and chase after her dad wrapped in a towel. Ariel that is, until, at last, she found him cowering in a far corner of the master bedroom—as far as he could go without jumping through a window.
"Dad are you crazy? What's gotten into you? Are you sick? I'm your daughter, dad! That was, like, incest! Know what incest is? You need help! I come home after two years and this is what you do to me? You jerk off on your own daughter? Sick! You're a sick man! You're mentally ill!
"I'm outta here!" Ariel might continue. "Where's your wallet? I need money for an Uber and a plane ticket somewhere. Anywhere! I'm telling mom! I should call the police! Where're your pants at? I'm taking cash and a credit card and there's nothing you can do about it! You can cancel it tomorrow, I don't give a shit! You owe me for this, dad. You owe me big time! Otherwise I tell mom what you fuckin' did and…and she'll come down here and fuckin' kill you!
"Where's his wallet at?" stomping down the hall on wet, bare, size nines.
Or…
Finding you slumped in the corner the former psych major enters wordlessly and lowers herself beside you and shushes your feeble apologies and brushes the thinning hair back from your face. She says, soothingly:
"Daddy, you're so lonely. This is what loneliness does to people. It's a cancer. Have you dated one person since mom ran out on you? One? Man or woman I don't care. I bet you've been spending all your time cooped up in this big old house. We don't even have a dog anymore, dad, since Blitzkrieg died.
"Jesus, daddy. Poor dad," again stroking your forehead. She settles in closer, so your bodies touch. Her towel is falling away, her flesh sun-warm. "Daddy, why didn't you tell me you wanted me? You could've had me the first night. I would've slept with you, fulfilled your needs. I'd be glad to. Why didn't you say something?"
Giggles: "You didn't have to shoot it on me, daddy. You could've shot it IN me. I don't care. I'm in a good place sexually right now. It's safe. A hundred percent. We can make love every night if you want. Or as often as you…I know how you older guys are," giggling again. "But it's, like, zero guilt, dad. Repeat after me: Zero guilt, understand? There's nothing to worry about, nothing to be ashamed of. Love-making. It's the ultimate expression of, well, two peoples' affection for one another.
"I'll suck your cock, too, dad," she might go on, in this variation on a theme. "Get you all revved up. I'm not like mom. I LOVE sucking cock. I know, I know how it was. I heard these things, OK? Through the walls? Relax, dad."
Then, accompanied by more stroking: "You know your credit card? The AMEX? You can get a second card in my name, right? It would just be for the short term while I, um, get back on my feet. A few months, tops. Just so I have some independence and I don't have to bug you every time I…I…need to get a pedicure or whatever." (Giggles) "We could go again right now, dad. I mean…for the first time. We could do it right here on the floor. Or on the bed, I don't care. What? No?
"I know! Let's get naked and go for a swim! The neighbors can't see. And who cares if they can? Fuck 'em. Father-daughter love is a beautiful thing…"
These are two (out of myriad) possible outcomes.
Here's a third:
Ariel rouses herself even as you advance on the chair, erection in hand. She looks around, frowns disconcertingly and puts on her lollipop sunglasses.
"Daddy, what the…?"
You stop. Grab a towel off the back of a nearby chair and enshroud yourself, your pointy lower self, with it. "Ariel, I'm sorry. I had a…a…I looked out the door and saw you and for a moment I thought it was your mom. Her bathing suit and all. I had a kind of…a flashback and for a moment I thought we were together again."
"We are together again, dad."
"No, I mean your mom and me."
"Oh, poor dad. Really? You thought I was mom?"
A feeble nod.
"I'm a lot skinnier than mom aren't I?" your daughter vainly protests, holding, pressing, her mom's bikini bra to her mom's voluminous boobs.
"Well not when I…I first met her. Not when I was…she was your, um, age."
"Oh. Cool!" your daughter declares, for some reason. Then: "Did you and mom, like, ever do it out here? By the pool?"
"Oh, sure."
"IN the pool?"
"Sure."
"Let's get in the pool and do it right now. No one'll see. We'll be under water!"
"Well, all the thrashing…"
"So? Obviously you're ready. I'm ready too," giggling. "I haven't had sex in months. Well, weeks…"
"I don't think this is a good idea, Ariel."
"Oh, so walking around the lanai in front of your daughter with a hard-on…That's a good idea?"
"I told you. I had a kind of…I forgot myself. Space and time. I got lost. I…"
By now your daughter has taken hold of you by the toweled erection and is tugging you reluctantly forward toward the pool steps. There are four, painted blue. The pool itself is painted blue, making the water look that color. It's a blue illusion, like a clear sky making a bay or lake appear blue. When yesterday, under cloud cover, it was a steely grey. The towel falls away. Ariel's open mouth approaches. Everything is relative…
There may've been no turning back—for Ed—but conclusions are rarely inevitable. Things, more often than not, go awry.
So when a slick-bodied, topless Ariel came in for hydration and found her dad down on his knees with a towel…
"What happened?"
"Spilled my drink."
Ariel sniffed the air. "Smells like fruit juice."
"Yeah."
"I'm gonna, like, step over you, dad."
"Ariel," looking up, "put a top on."
"Why? I'm going right back out there."
"Ariel…"
The refrigerator door opened.
"Where's that juice you were drinking."
"That was, like, the last one."
"Bummer! I'm parched."
"Well drink some water."
"I have water. I want something…sweet. I have a craving."
"Ariel, put your top on."
"Why, dad?" turning back from the fridge, free hand rising to a voluptuous hip. "Am I turning you on?"
"Ariel, don't be…"
"I had a dream just now. I actually fell asleep out there, can you believe it? It was, like, a sex dream. I dreamed—"
"I want to hear this?" Ed still down on his knees attending to the sticky floor.
"Why not? I dreamed I was, like, in our pool, or a dream-version of our pool, with Jake, mom's boyfriend? The biker guy? And we were, like, doing it."
"Ariel…"
"But then—this is the best part—it wasn't him I was doing it with but you. We were fucking in the pool—"
"Ariel, please!"
"OK…making love in the pool, we were standing up and everything, and you were all worried about cumming in me, you know, because you weren't wearing protection, and I kept telling you don't worry, I'm in a good place, and you said what's that mean and I said don't worry I can't get pregnant 'cause I already am. By Jake. That part is true."
Huh? Ed thought, struggling to rise on his 50-year-old knees. As for the damp, fruity, disgusting dishrag he'd been mopping the tiles with…he tossed it straight into kitchen's stainless steel trash can. Then went to the stainless steel double sink to wash his hands. With that blue dishwashing liquid they clean oily birds with. "What?"
"What?"
"What part is true?"
A bare-breasted Ariel nodded. "I'm pregnant by Jake. Mom's, um, boyfriend."
By now Ed had turned to face his daughter, though his eyes fell instantly to her mother's breasts. "And how…did this happen exactly?"
"I went out there to spend a few weeks with 'em. In Nevada. And Jake and I…we ended up having…relations. Several times. But you can't tell mom you gotta promise me! Not even Jake knows! Nobody knows!"
"And when did this happen?" Ed asked in a surprisingly calm, or depressed, voice.
"Few weeks back," replied Ariel. "I spent a few weeks with mom then…after all this happened I decided to come here. Be with you. Promise me you won't tell mom!"
"All right already," said Ed. "Jesus! What a mess!" glancing down again at the just-cleaned floor. The circular stain. "I would hardly call it being in a good place, Ariel. Isn't that how you termed it?"
Ariel had folded her arms beneath her former C-cups. And tucked one foot behind the other as she leaned against the kitchen counter, flattening her wide ass. She frowned. "I said that in my dream, dad. When we were fucking. That I—we—were in a good place as far as me getting pregnant goes. But you've never fucked me," a smile displacing her frown, "so you wouldn't know would you?"
"Ariel…"
"Stop saying Ariel! In that…judgmental tone of yours. We're standing here and you can't take your eyes off my breasts. When I was out there sunning myself you couldn't take your eyes off my ass." Ariel stopped—refreshed her radiant smile. "I saw you in here. I saw you through the glass."
"Saw what?"
"Enough. Plenty. I know you want me, dad. I know I turn you on. I'm an attractive woman, what's the big deal? We can have a lot of fun together over the next few months. You can pretend I'm mom if you want. And you just found out she's pregnant with ME. Christ, she left a whole dresserful of clothes behind. Why haven't you given it away to Good Will or some place. Hoping," Ariel's cheeks dimpling with smile, "she'd come back some day?"
"I don't know," a lost-feeling Ed hedged. "Maybe."
"Well here I am!" Ariel triumphantly announced, unfolded arms out, hands up, as if a ringmaster at the circus. For our next act…
"You know," Ariel began, hours later, in bed, in darkness, "when I saw you through the doors today looking at me and stroking yourself, I thought…Dad wants me. I wish he'd come out here and make love to me. I started to say something…
"Then in the kitchen later," she went on, "after we talked and you dropped to your knees and began sucking my breasts…I thought, This is special, this is really something. It's going to happen, I know it is…
"And just now," Ariel continued, while stroking her dad's thinning hair, "when we were making love I thought, This is one of the most amazing days of my life. This is a dream come true! Being inseminated with the same sperm that, you know, conceived me all those years ago? How cool is that!"
A petrified Ed didn't answer. Couldn't.
"I'm so glad to be back home!" his daughter declared, giving him an awkward hug. "I mean…I couldn't very well stay with mom and Jake."
"No…"
"Now I can't decide though," said Ariel, roughly shifting her ever-increasing bulk. "A job or grad school?"
"How about both?"
"Jeece, dad. I can't very well do both AND be pregnant. I'm leaning toward grad school. My masters then my, you know, Ph.D."
"Mm…"
"You'll have to, you know, front me some cash for that naturally. I'll pay you back someday," Ariel hastened to add. "Hell, you know what the median income for practicing psychiatrists is?"
"How about ACTUAL psychiatrists?"
"Huh?"
"How much are we talking about?" a sleepy, spent, defeated Ed inquired.
A bare-shouldered shrug. "I don't know. Ten or twelve thousand to start?"
To which dad uttered something strangled like, "Buh?"
"But just think about the plus side…," Ariel now rocking her father, his torso anyway, like a hundred-pound baby. "You'll have me here the whole time. And we can fuck—make love—as often as you want, dad. I mean up until the third trimester. I'm open to anal by the way, just so you know. I'm flexible. And I'll need a credit card, you know, in my own name. So I don't have to be constantly bugging you, y'know? Nothing major, just minor expenses. What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"You're sleepy aren't you, dad?"
"Yes."
"It's been a lot for one day, I know. Have I, like, worn you out?"
"I'm pretty…"
"Why don't you suck my tit and I'll rock you to sleep? Am I your mommy?"
"Mom…?"
"You used to call mom mommy. Remember? Back in the day?"
"Uh…"
"You want to suck my tit, baby daddy? Do you?"
"Yes," Ed yawned. "If you want."
"I want."

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