Having breakfast with my daughter the next morning was an exercise in trying to keep my mind straight. She sat across from me, talking and smiling, seemingly having forgotten her bad breakup with her fiance, already. I could see she was braless under her thin nightgown, with her young pointed breasts moving freely, and my gaze kept coming back to them and my cum stain from the night before.
Again and again, I had to force myself to look at her face and focus on what she was saying.
Brooke mused about wanting to get healthy. She was going to diet. She wanted to start exercising. Maybe, she could start jogging or going to a gym. Maybe she would do yoga like she used to. She was still focused on her weight but she had a plan and was going to take it on and get her body back under her control. She didn't say it in so many words, but I knew the implication was she wanted my support, as her dad.
My mind kept going back to that moment I had my fingers inside my daughter, feeling her respond to me, and on how she made me cum, soaking her with it in my bed. I kept expecting her to show, somehow, that she remembered, too, but I saw no sign of it. Brooke was looking me in the eye and talking about her back-to-health plan and she showed no sign of awkwardness or discomfort with me.
I came back to the moment when my daughter said, "Dad! I'm not going to eat that!" about the plate of pancakes I set in front of her.
My mouth opened but I didn't know what to say. I pulled the plate away and dumped the contents.
"Dad, haven't you heard anything I've been saying?"
My daughter started to tear up which made me even more ashamed of myself.
"Yes, of course, Sweetie," I said, too quickly. " I wasn't thinking."
Soon, we were both eating bowls of bran flakes and Brooke was smiling again.
"You're calling me Dad, now. Just a day ago, you were calling me David. Why the change?" I proffered.
"I don't know," she said distantly, "it just feels right. I guess it's something about spending the night with you. I feel closer to you, now. I feel so comfortable here, and you feel like Dad to me, now."
I smiled, conflicted in myself, as my daughter dripped milk down her front where it merged with my dried cumstain.
After breakfast, Brooke changed into gray yoga pants and a mauve sports top, leaving her midriff and her nascent buddha belly bare and oddly enticing. The other thing was that her shamelessly tight yoga pants accentuated the full curves of her butt and and thighs. I never thought of myself as an ass-man until my daughter moved in with me, but seeing my grown girl's full round ass jiggle nicely in those tight yoga pants-it was breathtaking, and it gave me a new appreciation for the joys of the female form.
After helping her move the sofa out of the way, I tried to excuse myself, but Brooke would have none of it.
"You expect me to do yoga alone?" she mocked.
I stammered and attempted an excuse, but she countered me decisively with a "do you want me to feel awkward?" and a "I want your support, Dad." which she reinforced with a pouty-face.
I gave in and she brightened, giving me a resounding, "don't worry, I'll teach you. It will be fun!"
But, unknown to her, or so I hoped, my ignorance of yoga was not the source of my hesitation. In spite of my attempts at controlling my thoughts, they kept going to a very inappropriate place, and everytime my daughter looked away from me, my gaze went to her breasts, her bare belly, her ass, her thighs, and, God forgive me, her camel-toe front. Part of me wanted to yank off those yoga pants and cover her with my cum.
I am her father, I thought, repeatedly. She trusts me, and I want to be a good father to her. I owe her, and I need to make it up to her. This was my mantra, and it was the only way I could contain myself. As I changed into my shorts and t-shirt, I tried to convince myself, these very wrong thoughts are going to blow over, and the more I spend time with my daughter, the more I will feel like a dad and the more she will feel like a daughter to me. Just a daughter.
In spite of my efforts, I had a one-third boner when Brook taught me what she called the "partner forward pose." With our legs splayed facing each other with our toes touching we took turns leaning forward and leaning back, pulling each other forward with every move.
Then she taught me the "cow pose," which is basically posing on hands and knees with the back arched and butt up. This was very difficult for me-not the pose, but seeing my daughter's ass up in front of me, as we posed. She looked so tempting, but I did my best to compose myself. Then, when we were done with that pose, I let myself make one little inappropriate joke and I told her I thought it should be called the "doggy-style" pose, then I held my breath, wondering if I had fucked up.
To my relief, Brooke, snickered and said, "yeah, right, just wait till you see the next one."
Then, she taught me the "downward dog," in which she posed on hands and feet in a pyramid shape with her ass straight up in the air. She looked at me with what I thought was a smirk and asked, "are you going to be okay with this, Dad?"
"Yeah, of course," I said nonchalantly, "I was just kidding about the doggy-style thing. Just a joke."
We took a short break after yoga, and she pretty quickly wanted to go out for a jog. Luckily I live near a park on the outskirts of town, and it has plenty of good paths to run on.
Brooke led the way, still in her yoga outfit and her hair in a ponytail bobbing and flailing in front of me. Occasionally, she would look back at me and smile. "Keep up, Dad," she'd say, and I would have to look up from her mesmerizing fully-grown butt and smile back at her, hoping she did not notice my semi-boner bouncing in my baggy shorts.
By the time we made it back to my apartment, Brooke was panting and sweating, but I was struggling to get breath, having overdone it, and I collapsed on the sofa. She sat down next to me and tendered, "I'm sorry, Dad, I shouldn't have made you run that far. We can tone it down next time."
I nodded, unable to speak.
She leaned in and rubbed my shoulder, saying softly, "I really appreciate what you're doing for me."
"I'm glad you're here," I replied, looking at her.
"I can see that," she said, with a sudden grin, glancing at my lap, "but please tell me that's because you're worked up by exercise, and not because of me."
"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry, Sweety, I don't know what happened." I would have ran out of the room but I could not even get up. "No, it's not you, it's just me," I said, sounding lame to myself."
"Don't worry, Dad, I know guys get hardons when they exercise sometimes. I mean, it happens to my yoga teacher all the time, so it's not a big deal. Do you want a beer?"
I was still perplexing over her response when she handed me a cold brew straight from the fridge and sat down next to me, again.
I felt strange sitting next to my daughter drinking a beer with my dick fully erect and obscenely tenting my shorts, but she didn't seem to mind. I had a hard time accepting that she really believed yoga and exercise alone gives men erections, but I was not about to argue with her. We drank in silence, if somewhat awkwardly.
Finally, she remarked, "Wow Dad."
"What?"
"You can really keep it up for a guy your age. You look just as hard at the end of the beer as you were at the start of the beer."
