4

As I tossed and turned in my bed, trying to get comfortable, the memory kept assaulting me every time I shoved it away. When I had first experienced it, I was awestruck by what I saw. But as the years ticked by and I got older, that memory had started having a different effect on me. More than just "awe" and despite my father's obvious hatred toward me, I slowly became obsessed by what I had seen. Especially his penis. It was somewhere during these years where I discovered how to masturbate. At that time, my fantasies took on a whole new level when I conjured up visions of touching my father's penis. I wondered what it would be like if I gave him the same kind of pleasure I experienced when I touched my own genitals.

And then came my experience last year. When I lost my virginity. Up until then, I had successfully blocked all thoughts of my father from my head. But that night, in the heat of the moment, the memory had popped into my head, more vividly than ever before. I was taken completely off guard. When it happened, it freaked me out. I remembered how, for a horror-filed minute and a half, while the boy I was with pumped himself in and out of me, my mind kept trying to convince me that it was my father who was inside of me. And what made it a true horror was how my body reacted to the fantasy. I nearly had an orgasm, despite the intense pain the boy's thrusting was causing me. I was frozen beneath him while he got himself off, shocked by the twisted visuals dancing through my head.

When the boy finished and pulled his condom-covered penis out of me, reality came crashing back down again. Including my father's hatred of me. I immediately burst into tears, while the tingling pleasure of my near-orgasm swirled round and round in the pit of my stomach and pelvis. The boy I was with had no idea what was wrong and didn't know what to do, so he just left me there alone and bleeding. And that was my one and only experience with sex.

Shuddering at the memory, I felt tears trickling down the sides of my face once more. And my thoughts began to betray me yet again. I started thinking about my dad's naked body. Try as I may to push it away, the memory just wouldn't budge. And with those thoughts came an uninvited sense of arousal that started to build inside of me. After my one and only sexual experience, I had started masturbating again like I used to when I was younger. But a few months later, I forced myself to stop doing it. Too often, masturbating brought with it fantasies that I didn't want to experience.

Now, as I lay silently crying in my bed, after seeing my father tonight, I felt the urge to do it again. With a tingling jolt, I realized I had already moved my hand down between my naked legs, tickling my fingertip across my clitoris. I gasped loudly. The pleasure was growing fast. Too fast. If I wasn't careful, I would have an orgasm while thinking about my father. Christ. I couldn't help but explore, at least a little bit. Maybe I could make myself relax a little. Sliding three fingers down over my vulva, I froze when I reached the entrance to my vagina. I was shocked at how wet I was.

Why was I torturing myself like this? Tears streamed from my eyes, cascading down my cheeks, dampening the pillow. But thoughts of my dad continued to torment me. How was it even possible to have two such paradoxical concepts barraging me at the same time? On the one hand, I saw my father as he really was, full of loathing toward me, wishing I would cease to be a part of his life. And on the other end, I saw my father as a fantasy in the flesh, to be admired and drooled over. A fantasy that made my blood boil and my heart race; that made my vagina so wet, I couldn't help but diddle myself while thinking about him and his naked body. These concepts continued to flood my mind and senses.

Nearly on the brink of orgasm and with extreme effort, I yanked my hand out from between my legs, panting heavily. I balled my hands into fists, thrusting them at my sides and trying to hold still. I knew what would happen if I gave in again. I fought my desire with every ounce of will I could muster. It took a long time before my body started to cool off, but I finally managed to calm down enough that sleep took me under.

[Bathroom.]

My sisters woke me the next morning, banging on my bedroom door. I pushed through my grogginess and grabbed a big shirt to put on. It hung down just below my waist, hiding the fact that I wasn't wearing any panties. The second I unlocked the door, they came barging in, flinging their arms around me and exclaiming over seeing me. By the time they finally ran back out of my room, my mood couldn't help but be lightened.

Making my way upstairs, I headed for the bathroom to take a shower. I probably spent longer under the hot water than I needed to, but it felt so good, I couldn't resist. When I finally stepped out, I stood before the sink, staring at my reflection as I toweled myself dry. My eyes lowered until I was staring at my breasts. They hung down, sagging slightly against my skin. My tits were small. I had always hated that about myself. My nipples were reddish, surrounded by pink circles that were slightly covered in little bumps from the cool air after my shower.

As I stared at my breasts, I watched curiously as the tips of my nipples stated to grow, sticking out just so. Lifting my hands up, I cupped them with both hands. Then I brushed my thumbs across my nipples and felt a burst of pleasure that trickled down into my stomach. Despite having always been self-conscious about my boobs, I was not dissatisfied with my nipples. They had always been extremely sensitive, as far back as I could remember.

Turning, I gazed at my body's profile, letting go of my breasts. From the side, my right tit was the only one I could see, and it was shaped like a teardrop with the back side flattened out against my chest. Looking lower, I trailed my eyes over my own butt. It wasn't large, but it was big enough to grab. Letting my hands glide down my skin, along my sides and finally ending on my rear, I closed my eyes as I slowly caressed my butt cheeks. Tickling ripples of pleasure stirred within me. Biting my lip, I slowly slid one of my hands around the outside of my hip, across my thigh and then between my legs. Spreading my legs apart, I slid two fingers into the folds of my vaginal lips, skipping past my clitoris and aiming for my opening. Pleasure flared intensely as I started to tickle myself. I was still caressing my butt cheek with my other hand.