Copyright © 2013, BarondeSade. ALL Rights Reserved.
No portion of this story may be reproduced for profit without the express, written permission of the author . . . .
This story is a work of fiction. The characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental . . . .
All fictional characters in the story who are involved in sexual situations and incidents are above the age of eighteen . . . .
This is an old Shoeslayer story that he wanted me to edit and rework for him. He never posted it and I thought it was a better story than his original, which you can find on his literotica web page, if you would like to read it...I just thought that since I'd spent all the time and energy to re-write it, some of you might like to see it...Enjoy...
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I woke this morning feeling hornier than a shipload of sailors who hadn't seen dry land for six months. And for me, a guy in his early seventies that is good thing. I know, I know, who wants to read a story about some seventy-year-old fart, when there are plenty of stories out there about twenty-something guys with eight-inch dicks, physiques like Arnold Schwarzenegger, and the morals of Marquis de Sade fucking women in their thirties and forties who are built like brick shithouses. But give me a break, we like sex just as much as the other guy, and you'll all be there one day (you hope). Don't you want to know what it's going to be like when you get that old?
But I regress. On with the story . . .
They say that the memory is the first thing to go as you get old. Sometime that can be a blessing as you can forget all the times you wanted to have sex and the wife just wasn't in the mood. Oh, my wife, Ezmerelda and I used to have some wild sex, and we still do. Oh, maybe it's a little more sedate and restrained than it used to be, but when we do it, now down to four or five times a year, it's nice. Of course, I think a few more times a year would be more to my liking, but hey, at my age, I'll take it any way I can get it.
But alas, I regress again. Getting old. Let me see, now what was I gonna do today? Oh yeah, the air conditioner is on the fritz and I gotta fix that to get Ezmerelda off my back. But wait, there's something else I was supposed to do.
What was it? Fuck, you old fart. How could you forget? I have to go to the airport and pick up my daughter, Joanie. She's coming home from Chicago for a little visit. It's kind of hard thinking of Joanie as my daughter anymore. After all, she is in her early fifties now. It seems like only yesterday that she was a teenager, running around in her cheerleader outfit. She was so cute and innocent back then, not that she's not sweet and innocent now. But age has a way of changing one's thoughts about people, even though the only thing that has changed is their age.
Well, back to Joan. For some reason, she had never gotten married. I don't know why. She had matured into a fine specimen of a woman. Pretty face, a spectacular set of knockers that had to be at least forty double Ds. I know, I'm her father, but I could only imagine what a nice pair of big, plump nipples went with those mammoths. And the way her gold, half-glasses rested on her bosom, held there by the little home-made beaded eyeglass chain she had made only emphasized their abundance. Oh, she could lose a little weight and it wouldn't be missed, but all in all, for a woman in her fifties, she still had it.
I know, I know, I'm her father, you say. Hell, the way I felt about her didn't begin yesterday. It began a long, long time ago back when she was a teenager.
I think maybe, or was it just wishful thinking, I don't know which, but I always thought Joanie had a thing for me the way she would walk up and plop herself on my lap. And I don't think she was trying to get comfortable the way she would grind her butt against me until she made me have a boner and then she would jump up, giggle and leave like she hadn't done a thing wrong. Now nothing ever happened, but way back in the cobweb-filled recesses of my mind, lay the thought that she knew what she was doing and was just teasing me to see if she could get a rise out of me. But, why would she do something like that to me? I was her Daddy. It wasn't nice to tease an old man like that. Hell, I might have had a heart attack or something—
Like I say, I hadn't seen Joanie in three, no, four, yeah four years and was really looking forward to it. Maybe, just maybe, I might get up enough courage to do something this time. No you won't you old goat, I told myself. You'll just stew in your juices, and she'll come and she'll go and everything will be the same. You ain't never gonna get in her panties, so give it up. I don't know why, but thinking about Joanie now was different than it had been back in the day when she was a little girl. Back then, it seemed so perverted to think about her like that, but now? She was a woman! She could make up her own mind. She was a woman and I was a man. That made it different didn't it? Well, I don't know about you, but it certainly made it different for me.
Again, I regress. . .
Thinking back on the last time she had visited, I remembered walking in and catching her reading the paper through her gold half-glasses. When she saw me, she had stopped reading, slowly took them off and held them in her hand while she watched me. The look in her eye gave me an almost instantaneous boner. Then she had glanced down at the front of my pants and then back up to my face. I remember blushing like a neon sign as I watched her suggestively ease the tip of the temple of her glasses between her lips.
As always, I didn't know what to do so I had just excused myself and went cowering back out to my shed to hide. Now as I thought back on Joanie's visits, it seemed something similar had happened each time she came back to visit. Or was it just my overactive imagination, I asked myself?
"Whatever?" I disappointedly muttered and headed over to the waffle house. Ezmerelda had already left for work and wouldn't be home until around five o'clock, so I had the whole day to fix the air condition before I had to go to the airport and pick up Joanie. Leaving the Waffle house, I stopped by the hardware store and picked up the parts I would need and headed back home.
Going out to the shed, I rolled up my sleeves and went to work. I had the A/C up on the bench with the cover off, checking the wiring when I heard a car stop out in front of the house. I didn't think much of it when I heard a door slam shut and the car drove off. Going back to work, I was suddenly surprised to hear footsteps on the gravely walk outside my shed.
Now who the hell could that be, I asked myself? Wiping my hands on a rag, I turned to step across the shed and see who it was when to my amazement, I saw Joanie step in through the door.
"Joanie—" I exclaimed, tossing the rag on the bench and stepping toward her.
"Hello, Dad," she smiled, holding her arms out waiting for a hug.
Grinning from ear to ear, I swept her in my arms and gave her a very, un-fatherly hug and a diametrical-opposed fatherly peck on the cheek. I could feel her forty, double Ds pressing against my chest as we stood there hugging for the longest time. Was it my imagination, or was Joanie pushing her tits into my chest with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary? It was almost like she was that little girl again, sitting in my lap, rubbing her tight little ass against my poor, helpless cock. And unfortunately, it was having the same effect on me that it had, had back then. Embarrassed, I let go of her and stepped back before she could feel the boner that had suddenly sprung up down between my legs.
