The First Time

This wasn't easy to write. I had a new friend on here encourage me (I think he is an excellent writer, so I asked for his advice) to write this as if I were writing to my dad and then to post is "as is". I'd love to hear your comments!

Dear Dad

You wanted me to write about our first time – or my memories of that first time. I am sure yours are different. I am still not sure what must have possessed you. I remember that was the only time I ever saw you struggle with what you were doing to me – the only time I ever heard remorse in your voice – and the last time you said that you were sorry.

I was asleep when you started. I don’t know what time of night it was or how you got there, but I woke to your hands rubbing my stomach. My nighty was pulled up just enough for you hand to roam between my rib cage and panties. I could barely see in the dark room, but I knew it was you. Your hands were rough and I could still smell the oil on your hands. I knew you were clean, but you always smelled like the cars you worked on. You weren’t wearing a shirt and I thought I heard you sniff, like you were, or had been crying.

“Daddy…” I started to say and sit up, worried about you. Scared that you were hurting, crying, afraid – not knowing what you were there for. Not knowing that I was the one I needed to be worried about.

“Shhh…” You kept rubbing my belly. “Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“What’s wrong?”

You just kept rubbing me, and kept crying, and I noticed something else. A sound I’d never heard before, but would become familiar with. “TickTickTick” is what it sounded like – a fast watch ticking in the middle of the night. I listened to the sound and tried to see your face through the darkness.

“I’m so sorry.” I heard you whisper.

“Why?” I whispered, almost afraid of the answer.

You didn’t answer. You just touched me. Your hands getting more and more bold, running under my nighty and over my panties. You started pausing on my flat chest to feel my c***dish nipples and then you would cup my tiny mound through my panties. I understood this is why you were sorry, but didn’t understand why – what it meant – why were you touching me? Why were you crying?

I just watched – afraid to move. You were so strange. And then as your hands started grabbing tighter, pulling harder, probing deeper, you groaned, moaning a loud “I’m so sorry baby” and then turned your hips towards me pressing the head of your cock against my lips. I panicked. Remember? I felt you pressing the head through my lips and I pressed them together and pushed with my tongue, unaware that you enjoyed it – unaware that you assumed that my wild little tongue against the tip of your throbbing prick was “enthusiasm”.

I felt your knuckles tap my lips faster and faster. “So sorry,” you’d whisper every few seconds until you finally just groaned long and loud. I felt my first “tribute” between my lips. I fought you, your cum pooling between my lips and running down my cheeks, covering my face as you milked yourself onto me.

Your body was hunched over me as you spilled the last, shaking and crying again. Your body jerked and I could see you staring down at my face – not at me – at my face, covered with your cum. You rubbed the head of your cock against my cheek, rubbing your seed in.

I don’t think I blinked.

I remember staring at you as I tried to figure you out. What did you just do? What happened? What is this “stuff”? I was so scared, so confused, and I think you saw that – because you left me there. I watched you leave, your naked body such a surreal sight closing my door behind you.