It was pornography that got me into trouble. I wasn't tech savvy enough to password protect the adult sites I was visiting on my family's computer or even delete the history screens. That was how my daughter learned about my obsession with incest, a shameful fetish I've carried with me ever since I was twelve and found that my father kept a stash of magazines about father/daughter and mother/son incest. Those magazines were my first exposure to pornography and they unleashed a shameful fantasy.
I've never desired to sleep with my mother, and until recently I didn't have any thoughts about my daughter, Samantha. I was proud of her like any father. She had achieved excellent grades throughout high school and got a large scholarship to a private college that she is starting at this fall. Never tried out for the cheerleading squad but she ran every morning and kept herself in good shape. She's a pretty girl, no doubt. She has auburn hair and hazel green eyes. She stands at 5'5", weighs, maybe 130 lbs. Her breasts are perky and her ass shapely. She didn't dress like a slut, but I couldn't help noticing that once she started shopping for herself there were a few more thong panties in the hamper and lacy bras I know aren't my wife's.
The trouble started three weeks ago when I came home a bit early from work, feeling a little under the weather. Sam was home on summer break and her car was in the driveway. I was looking forward to sitting around watching movies with her. When I came in, I just caught Sam rushing up the stairs to her bedroom.
"Hi Dad," she shouted, "I'll be down in a bit. I forgot that I had to call Renee."
"No problem, Sam. Just came home with the sniffles. Was hoping we could watch a movie while I got myself back on track."
"Sure," she shouted from inside her room.
I thought it was a little strange that Sam wouldn't have asked why I was home a good four hours early and couldn't imagine what was going on with Renee that was so urgent. Before changing into some pajamas and popping a few aspirin, I went to the family's computer to check my work e-mail to see if anything urgent was in my inbox. I turned on the monitor and to my horror the Web browser was open to one of the father/daughter incest sites. I felt the blood rush from my face and my stomach bottomed out. Sam knew. She must have been reading it when I came in and panicked when she heard me come in the door. In her confusion she must have forgotten to close the browser.
"Shit," I said.
I went downstairs to the laundry room to look for some more comfortable clothes, afraid of encountering Sam upstairs near my bedroom. I felt like a jackass who had just destroyed his relationship with his daughter. How was Sam going to understand that it was just a porn fetish and that I didn't want to have sex with her? Sam has had boyfriends and I'm sure she understands sex, but I'm just as sure the idea of her dad wanting to fuck her would make her skin crawl. I'd have to tell my wife at some point, and she would never understand why I'm masturbating to incest porn while she's upstairs asleep. My wife and I had great sex, but I still had this thing. It occurred to me that I may have to get a divorce and never see my wife or daughter again.
Then I heard Sam come downstairs.
"Dad?!" she shouted.
She didn't sound mad and I realized that she might want to play it like nothing happened. Then I realized I left the monitor on and she would know that I knew. Hell, she might even have been hoping to clear the screen before I saw.
I took the basement stairs two at a time hoping to get to the living room before Sam and turn off the monitor. She was standing in the living room looking as ashen as I knew I did. My intestines quaked and I breathed in, but forgot for a few seconds to breathe out. When I did, everything just came out.
"I'm so sorry, Sam," I said, "I never wanted you to see any of that. You have to believe that what I look at online, well, it just doesn't involve you."
Her eyes were tearing up.
"How could it not involve me, dad? You aren't looking at those stories for their literary merit. You shouldn't think about fucking your own daughter."
"God, Sam, I'm sorry, but you have to believe me. I never think about you. I think about the people in the stories. For me, it happening to other families, it . . .well. . ."
I stopped there. I didn't want to tell my daughter that reading about other fathers fucking their daughters gets me hard. I didn't want to think about Sam thinking about me jacking off to those kind of stories.
"You don't think about me?" she said. It almost seemed like she was hurt.
"No. No."
"You don't think I'm pretty?" she asked.
"Sam, look, it isn't that. I'm not trying to reject you, but you're my daughter that's all. I think you're beautiful, but. . ."
"You don't want to fuck me?"
Tears were streaming down her face and her skin was read. She practically shouted that last question at me.
"Jesus, Sam. What's the matter with you? I'm so sorry I've hurt and confused you like this."
"What's the matter with you," she said, and slapped me.
I grabbed both her hands. I noticed that her hands smelled like cunt, but figured she had probably masturbated earlier that day.
"I'm going to tell mom what you do," she threatened, "I'm going to tell her that you fuck yourself every night thinking about other fathers doing their daughters, but that you think I'm too ugly."
"Sam, you're getting confused."
"Why'd you let me read that, dad? Do you know what that did?"
She collapsed in my arms sobbing. I felt terrible. I had introduced my daughter to my own shame. The story had been a turn-on for her and she had been upstairs masturbating thinking she was safe, like I thought I was safe.
"It's okay, Sam. Don't cry. It doesn't mean anything. You can find it hot. I promise."
"But I thought about you, dad?" she said into my chest.
