Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Isn't that what they say? Looking back now, I can't believe that I was so blind. But what father would think, even for a second, that his precious little girl would seduce him? The thought never even crossed my mind. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. She had me. I've heard people say that we can never be tempted beyond what we can bear. These people have never been in my shoes. I was completely broken down by own daughter. Her masterful seduction over several months utterly destroyed my resistance. I'm no shrink, but can't imagine that there won't be any long term psychological or emotional repercussions from this.
Chloe's mother died shortly after her sixth birthday. From that time on it was just the two of us. It shouldn't be long before she leaves for college and then it will be just me. Alone. She was always a daddy's girl. We had a very close relationship. We laughed a lot and played a lot. She has always been the kind of person who lights up a room when she enters.
I wish I had recognized what she was doing early on, when I had the strength and the sense to put a stop to it. At the time, I really didn't think anything of it. I couldn't have fathomed that she was engaging in a long-term plan of seduction. But it's all becoming so clear to me now.
We used to play a game that we liked to call "ninja attack" when she was growing up. When the other person was least expecting it, we would yell, NINJA ATTACK and then leap at our prey! We'd wrestle around and laugh until our stomachs hurt. I can't count the number of times I'd be dozing off in my recliner in front of the TV only to be startled awake by those two words and seeing my little girl in mid-air flying towards me. We hadn't played in years then, several months, ago she brought the game back from the grave. She was "ninja attacking" me at least once a day.
I thought it was innocent nostalgia. I just thought she was just trying to recapture some happy memory from her youth. But as we would wrestle around, she would—every so often—let a moan. Not the normal grunts from wrestling, but pleasure moans. I didn't consciously notice at the time, but now...
She also became a lot more touchy-feely. She had always been kind of a touchy-feely gal, but her intimacy seemed to increase a lot. She would always be really close when we were talking and she was always rubbing my back, or stroking an arm. She was hugging me much more than she used to. The hugs were longer and she would press her body hard against mine. Chloe insisted that we cuddle together on the couch when we watched television. If I was sitting on my recliner she would plop herself down in my lap and lay back against my chest. She would act as if she was uncomfortable and was constantly shifting around and grinding in my lap. There was actually a few times I had to make her get up and go to the couch because the grinding was getting me hard. I was embarrassed.
Then there was an increase in the frequency of kissing. I would say that we might have kissed twice a day before it all began. I kissed her every morning when she woke up and before turning in for the evening. After we kissed, she would always say, "I love you, Daddy," in a cute, squeaky voice. She started kissing me seven or eight times a day and her voice was little slower and softer when she said, "I love you, Daddy," and she would stare deeply into my eyes.
The feature that I loved most about my late wife was her long hair. There are leg-men, breast-men, ass-men—I was a hair man. I would play with my wife's hair for hours. Nothing turned me on more than running my fingers through her hair when we were making out. Chloe had her mother's hair...only better; long, straight, silky-soft hair all the way down to her ass; shiny, shampoo-commercial hair. It was all one length, no bangs, and chestnut brown with natural highlights. It was the softest thing I have ever felt in my life.
I used to brush Chloe's hair all the time, but I started to get turned on by it, so I stopped a little over a year before the seduction started. She had asked me to start brushing her hair again, but I would always make excuses not to do it. She started playing with her hair a lot more when she was around me. She would have it up in a loose bun on top of her head and when she knew I was watching she would let down. It would fall, cascading down over her shoulders, over her breasts, down past her waist. It mesmerized me each and every time. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair with every fiber of my being, but I was too ashamed to do it because it made me rock-hard when I did.
