My Daughter

My daughter, Adrian, having pushed a bar of soap halfway up my rectum, said, "Give me your credit card and I'll go to that sex shop down the street and buy a strap-on."

"A what?"

"Strap-on. Is it [the sex shop] still in the same place?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't think Lesbians want cock? Same principle..."

I was confused. Was my daughter confessing she was a Lesbian? And why was she in the shower with me? She'd dropped her mother's terrycloth robe outside the frosted door and simply...climbed in.

I professed to be outraged. "What are you doing?"

"Joining you," she smiled. "Hi, daddy. It's so good to be back home again!"

"But..."

Almost immediately my 24-year-old daughter turned me around and grabbed the wet bar of soap and started pushing. In me.

"What...what are you doing?"

"Pleasing you. Isn't this what you like?"

"I...No!"

"That's why I've got to go to the sex shop and get a strap-on. A dildo at any rate. I'll need your credit card..."

My daughter, it seemed, was all about money. She'd called me the previous evening, while I was already in bed masturbating, and told me she was on a red-eye flight from SFO. Scheduled arrival time: 2:30 a.m. "Can you pick me up please? Daddy?"

What could I say. I hadn't seen my long-lost daughter in nearly two years. She'd dropped out of grad school, locally, and fled to California. Last I heard (from her mother) she was living somewhere in Mendocino. In a harem. Not a harem, excuse me; in a commune.

And shortly after my daughter left, her mother had followed. On the back of a Harley with a bearded guy half her age. They too headed west, though further south, in L.A. There was no mother-daughter reconciliation, apparently. Adrian seemed to despise both of us, equally. Or maybe not equally, but...

"Is this what you want, dad?" she asked, the next day, in the shower. The fake jelly penis, attached to a strap-on, was all the way inside me, and I couldn't control myself. My emotions.

"Oh, yes! YES! Please!"

"I knew it! Mom told me about catching you in bed...with another man. With you on the bottom..."

"Darling...you have to understand what happens to a man when...he reaches a certain--"

"Oh, fuck you dad! You're a wimp! No wonder mom ran out on you."

The strap-on was a set. It came with three jelly dildos: slender, medium-sized, like a normal cock, and large. Expandingly large, almost like a fist. My daughter pulled out and resorted to the latter.

And I felt like she was tearing me open. I cried out, literally--not moaned--as she entered me with it.

"Oh please...," I begged.

"Shut up. And take it. I have a lot of unresolved issues with you..."

"Me?" I grimaced, uncomprehending.

"You. Sometimes I feel like I hate you."

"Hate me?" I echoed.

"For what you did to mom."

"I didn't do anything to your mom."

"That's what I mean. Nothing. She told me you didn't do anything to her at the end. With her, I mean. Instead she catches you, one day, with another man in your bed."

"We had no sex life by then," I groaned, as the thickest of the thick dildos penetrated me, all the way in, and I began to feel, once more, effeminate. Involuntarily so I might add.

"That's what you say," my humping daughter said.

"It's the...truth! So help me...God!"

"I don't believe in god," Adrian stated. "I've read all those books..."

"What books?" Her motion had slowed, thankfully. My penis was limp and I was leaking, downward, pee. In spurts. It was, I assume, circulating around our feet, clockwise down the drain. Or is it anti-clockwise?

"You know...whatshisname...Deakins?"

"Who?"

"Deakins...Dawkins..."

"Dawkins," I confirmed. I wished, at that moment, that my daughter was the son I never had and would empty his balls in me. His explosive thick threads of white sperm. Plentiful loads...

"Dawkins," I repeated. "I'm...agnostic."

"He says...," as my daughter continued humping me (the strap-on and set of three dildos, plus tax, having set me back nearly eighty bucks), "agnostics are wimps. Fence-sitters. Can't make up their minds. I, on the other hand--"

"That's unjust," I told my daughter. And true to form my hole had begun to open up to the largest dildo. I'd always (well, not always) fantasized about taking a fist, a hand anyway, inside me. All the way in. This was close, but...no cigar. "Agnostics--"

"I, on the other hand, am an avowed, unapologetic atheist. I don't believe in...shit. Take that, dad!"

And I let out a cry. Who cared if the neighbors, who knew my daughter was back home, heard anything? Any sex cries, that is.

"An agnostic...," I eventually responded, "only believes...that there's too much to tell."

"What?" Adrian asked with an upward thrust. I should say at this point her legal name was Adriana.

"Too much to know...," I added, submissively.

"That's bullshit. What's there to know? We evolved. Read Darwin."

"I have. And he doesn't--"

"This has been going on for billions of years."

"This...fuck?" I joked.

"Life!"

"Aristotle said..."

"Fuck Aristotle."

"One of the greatest thinkers in history said...'The existence of a house implies the existence of a house builder.'"

And I imagined my daughter, fucking me with the thickest of her dildos, rolling her brown eyes. "What did he know? That was, like, two thousand years ago."

"Twentyfive hundred," I corrected.

"Exactly."

And I came. Not in the masculine sense of ejaculation but in the feminine--effeminate--internal sense. I let out a cry as my head rolled back, in joy. Utter, unrestrained, joy. There was so much more I could say..,,

"You prick!" my daughter urged. She pulled the fake penis out of me and removed the strap-on and tossed aside. "You're a fucking prick," she repeated.

Then she asked for my credit card again and ordered, online, pizza and two salads and a two-liter of Diet Coke. My daughter, feeling full of herself, made me go to the door to accept delivery wearing nothing but one of her mom's left-behind panties. I hated Diet Coke.

Both he, and my daughter seconds later, smirked.

It was so good to have her back home again.