A love story about a unique family tradition

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And the day that I consciously realized, for the first time, just how stunningly beautiful my daughter was, I felt like a fool. Not a single thing about her had changed and yet everything about her was suddenly different. I had seen it all along and never noticed. And noticing her beauty wasn’t a sudden event, but a culmination of years spent watching her grow and appreciating, in a detached sense, all of her finest attributes in bits and pieces. But a thing of beauty is the sum of all its parts and there was no part of her that wasn’t absolutely beautiful. It was with trepidation and excitement that I quickly realized that there was no number of cold showers I could take which would hide or assuage the lust that was slowly, menacingly growing for my own daughter. Dear God, I remember thinking to myself as I stood under that first cold shower, what have I wrought?

I did what any father in my position would do: I immediately withdrew. My withdrawal wasn’t, in any way, like what I had gone through during my depression, but it was definitive. I never spoke harshly or distractedly with Amity when she engaged me in conversation, and I didn’t exactly hide from her, either, but I likewise didn’t make any special effort to seek out her companionship. When she came to me for something, I didn’t turn her away, but when whatever she wanted was done with, I’d quietly go back to my office or another part of the house, anywhere I could go that would keep my eyes off her increasingly distracting beauty.

About a month of that and Amity had finally had enough. She called me into the kitchen for breakfast one sunny morning and, when I arrived fully dressed and subdued, she slammed a frying pan into the kitchen sink. “What the hell, Dad?” she cried out of the blue.

I just stared at my daughter stupidly and then looked down at myself, to make sure that I hadn’t somehow forgotten my pants or something. When I looked back up at her I was perplexed. “What?”

Amity glared at me hotly. “You KNOW what, Dad. A year ago you would come to breakfast in boxers and a t-shirt, smiling bright as the sun and happy to see Mom and me. Now… now you just mumble good morning at me like you’re in a soup kitchen! What the hell is going ON with you?”

I blinked at Amity uncertainly. Had I been that obvious about it? But no, I thought to myself. I hadn’t been rude or cruel. I just… distanced myself from her. For her sake. I couldn’t refute the fact, to myself, that I was beginning to lust after her, but I wasn’t about to put pressure on her or invite her to help solve a problem that wasn’t hers to begin with. “I…” I had no idea where to begin, so I decided to just go with a half-truth. “I’ve been… struggling with some things, that’s all.” I placed my hands on the back of a chair and leaned forward a little bit. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable or anything. I’m just… going through things right now that I need to work out on my own.”

“Bullshit,” she replied flatly. I arched a cautious eyebrow at her in a non-vocal but obvious attempt to remind her that I AM still her father. She brushed it off with a wave. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Dad. I know you. Hell, I probably know you better than you know yourself, sometimes. You’ve been hiding from me. I think I know why, but I want to hear you say it. Say it out loud, so we can get it out in the open. Because that’s how Mom did things and just because she’s gone, that doesn’t mean we should change something like that. So out with it, Dad. What’s eating you?”

Thoughts raced through my mind at light speed. I was wrapped up in a mix of emotions, none of them easily defined. When had my little girl grown up into such a self-assured young woman? When had she grown so articulate and precise? With a brush of my hand through my hair, I took a deep sigh. “You really want to know?” I asked her.

Amity didn’t miss a beat. “Like I said: I think I ALREADY know. I just want to hear you say it.”

Feeling the challenge behind her words, I hardened myself and scowled. Suddenly the dam within me broke and the floodgates between mind and mouth flew open. “Do you? Fine. Okay. Here it goes: yes, I’ve been hiding from you. More to the point, I’ve been avoiding you like the plague. Because, since your birthday, every time I see you, the only thing that comes to mind is the fact that, daughter or not, all I want to do is have you the same way I had our mother. Every time I see you, literally see you with my eyes, I’m mentally undressing you and wishing that I could feel your body sweating under mine as I take you either as a gift or by force. When you’re in the same room as me and I catch your scent, my cock is immediately hard and my pulse quickens and I have to make a near physical effort to pay attention to what you’re saying because my imagination is doing its best to drown you out. When Mother was alive, I’d be able to get out my sexual frustrations with her, any time I wanted to and any time SHE wanted to, and I wouldn’t think twice about the fact that our daughter was the physical embodiment of lust personified. But now she isn’t here and every single thing about you makes me want to forget that I’m your father and instead revel in the fact that I’m a man and you’re a woman and I haven’t had a woman in a very long time and I miss our mother and every time I feel like just throwing you across that counter top, the very one you were conceived on, and fucking you until I put a child in YOUR belly, every time I think about that I feel like shit because it feels like I’m being unfaithful to the one woman who brought BOTH of us into this world. And I hate that feeling, I hate feeling betrayed by my own lusts and I can’t… I can’t… I…” I yanked the chair away from the table suddenly and sat down heavily in it. “Fuck.” Then I ashamedly dipped my head down in defeat and cradled it in my hands, elbows acting like tripods on the kitchen table. I didn’t cry, no more strength was left in me to do that. So I just sat there in abject shame, hiding my eyes from my daughter who watched me in my tirade with a stony expression.

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