My daughter Samantha messaged me that she was just pulling off Highway 12 onto Perkins side road. I put on a pot of coffee and threw another log on the fire. I had spent three days at the cabin prepping for our Christmas together. I dragged the old box of decorations out of the tool shed and chopped and trimmed a scotch pine... a bit of a Charlie Brown effort.
I admit to downing a few too many scotch and sodas as I readied the place but it was certainly homesy, certainly me. Samantha and I had not spent a Christmas up here since my wife Darlene passed. It was too painful for either of us. This spring, however, Sam got married and I wanted to revive the family tradition and include her husband. Our fondest times and memories were linked with Christmas at this cabin. Someday, I dreamed, my grandkids would be joining us as well. I could picture them bursting in wrapped in scarves, mits, gloves and kicking off snow boots, as excited to be at Lake Taronga as Samantha had always been.
I vowed to get closer to David, Samantha's husband, this weekend. To date we had eyed each other with suspicion. I think he was jealous of the relationship Samantha and I had always shared. And, to be fair, I resented that he took my baby girl away from home. I heard their Bronco crunch up the winding driveway and a few minutes later, Sam backed through the door completely loaded down with a bag slung over each shoulder and her arms full of parcels.
"Here's my baby girl." I crossed over to her and relieved her of her luggage loading her boxes and shopping onto the harvest table. She was silent. She had that famous Samantha tight lipped expression which always indicated that she was seething.
"Oh, oh" I quipped. "Looks like a rough car trip. Were you two squabbling the entire way? Don't let it spoil the weekend honey. It's Christmas. Let it go."
Samantha remained tight lipped. She ripped off her winter jacket and threw it on the couch. She grabbed three of the Christmas presents that she had just lugged into the cabin, strode mechanically across the room and tossed them one by one into the fire. She watched them burn and I said nothing. I know my daughter well enough to give her time, time and space. I studied her back as she stared into the fire: anger, sorrow, resentment.
"Oh Daddy, David's not here. He isn't coming." As she spoke she whirled and ran into my arms. She broke into deep sobs as she buried her face in my chest."He... he's having an affair. He is spending Christmas with her. He confessed everything to me two days ago. I refuse to see him again, ever. He's a bastard and a fucking prick and a complete asshole. Oh Daddy." As she cried he body molded into me. Her splendid tits, so reminiscent of her mother's rubbed up and down against my chest and her pubic mound pressed into my crotch. Long suppressed desires shot instantly from my guts, to my nuts and into my swelling prick.
My wife Darlene had been sick for three years before she died so that masturbation was my only sexual release. And, throughout those years Samantha had pranced about the house often only in panties and a bra, often wrapped only in a towel, often in skimpy cut offs or yoga pants. We also spent hours cuddling and wrapped in each other's arms for consolation. I have no idea how I resisted the urge and the call of her compact young body. I suspect it was for love of my wife who lay only steps away in our bedroom. The closest we came to making out were mock tickling and wrestling matches which we sometimes engaged in. Often I sported an erection as we got into these bouts but neither of us ever mentioned it. We each knew, however, that the other was conscious of my aroused cock. Our tickling also got closer and closer to each other's privates, brushing pubic hair, sliding under a breast, glancing over my shaft. I always felt shame after these encounters but still would jerk off ferociously after each session.
I felt that same shame now. Now that Sam cried in my arms and my cock grew laying hard and swollen against my daughter's tummy. She could not miss my erection and may have even pressed herself more tightly into me. She did eventually break off the hug and announced. "I'm getting us both a drink, Dad. And, we are going to get pissed. I deserve it. You deserve it. We deserve it. I sat in my easy chair staring at the fire. My prick remained stiff as a broom handle.
