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o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety o
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Eight Simple Rules for Seducing your Teenage Daughter
by Your Ghost (no address provided)

***

This story is a parody of the television show '8 
simple rules for dating my teenage daughter. (Mg, 
pre-teen, ped, reluc, grope, inc, oral, rom)


***

Author Note: this is a parody of the television 
show '8 simple rules for dating my teenage 
daughter; 'despite what the narrator of this story 
says, this is in fact NOT a guide for seducing your 
daughter or anyone else; it was written and is 
being posted here solely for the purposes of parody 
and entertainment, and should not be taken as an 
encouragement to molest your daughter or anyone 
else; however, if your daughter is a consenting, 
willing adult, then go for it.

***

I know what you're thinking. Paul Hennessey is such 
a good guy, such a friendly neighbor, such a kind 
and loving husband and father, so wholesome and 
upright. I'm the last guy you'd expect to seduce 
his own daughter. And believe me, for most of my 
life I was that guy. I didn't even think about 
doing anything out of line, whether it regarded my 
daughter or anything else. But people change, they 
grow older, they experience things they never 
thought they would, they feel things they never 
imagined they could feel. This was the case with 
me, beginning about five years ago, when my 
daughter Bridget turned twelve.

Of course, it wasn't the fact that she was twelve 
that made me see her in a new (and startling) 
light, but the fact that she too was changing, 
growing breasts, and taking on a more womanly 
shape. Becoming a beautiful young woman before my 
very eyes. And being her father didn't make me 
incapable of noticing. If anything, I noticed the 
changes taking place in my daughter more than other 
men (or boys) because I saw her every day, I kept a 
close eye on her, I even studied her in a way. 
Because she was my child, and the way she developed 
forced me to not only see her differently, but 
myself as well. I know that might seem strange to 
some people, but if you're a father, you know what 
I'm talking about.

You not only see the physical changes, but the way 
those changes will affect people. You know that 
when men (and boys) look at her, they'll be seeing 
the sexual object. Imagining her with her clothes 
off. Imagining taking her to bed and making love to 
her. You begin to see your little Angel as a girl 
men want, as a lover, even a seductress. You too 
undress her with your eyes.

And don't tell me you don't. I know it's socially 
expected to say that you never have even the 
slightest thought about your daughter in a sexual 
way, but my theory is that the majority of fathers 
(and not a small majority; my estimate is about 
ninety percent) do have sexual thoughts and 
feelings about their daughters. And the majority of 
those fathers take it further, entertaining 
explicit sexual fantasies about them. I also 
believe that the statistics that say that 
approximately twenty percent of all women 
experience some form of sexual contact with their 
fathers is also conservative; I would put it closer 
to fifty, maybe sixty percent. Incest is more alive 
and well in this world than we want to admit.

But you don't want to read about statistics. You 
want to know what I did to my daughter. Probably 
even more than that, you want to know how I did 
what I did, so that you could do the same thing. I 
know, believe me. That's the whole reason I'm 
writing all of this down. It's not some smarmy, 
weak-willed confession designed to convince anyone 
that I'm sorry for what I did. I have a little more 
self-respect than that.

No, what this is, is a guide, if you will. I've 
developed these rules, you see, eight of them, 
that, if you follow them closely, will help you to 
accomplish the same thing with your own daughter 
that I managed to do with mine. You should note, 
though, that one rule isn't more important than 
another, and that it's essential for you to read 
through each rule and its explanation thoroughly, 
and make sure you understand them, before you begin 
any seduction project.

I've also included my particular story, set as 
examples, so that you can see how my rules were 
applied in a real life setting.

And now for the rules.

*****

*** Rule Number 1: Make Sure She's Well Groomed.

No endeavor begins without the imagination. Nothing 
in the history of human existence has ever been 
created, built, improved, or even destroyed without 
someone being able to see the end result in his or 
her mind beforehand. And no daughter has ever been 
molested by accident.

All incestuous fathers everywhere spent a good deal 
of time fantasizing about their daughters before 
they managed to gather the courage (or get drunk 
enough) to put their dreams into action. And the 
ones who were most successful were the ones who had 
a plan. They didn't just jump on their girls and 
have their way with them; they prepared them ahead 
of time. They groomed them psychologically and 
emotionally, doing their best to make sure their 
little Pumpkins were as ready as possible to accept 
(or at least tolerate) their fathers' advances.

There are many things you can (and should) do to 
get your daughter ready for you, but because most 
of them need to be done on a regular basis 
throughout the relationship, and will therefore be 
explored in later rules, I'm only going to focus on 
a few of them right here at the beginning.

Now, I know this will sound odd to you, and even 
counterproductive, but the first thing you need to 
do when preparing to have sex with your daughter is 
WAIT. Bide your time. The whole point of grooming 
is to set the table for the incestuous feast, and 
this will require patience and self-control more 
than anything else.

Waiting, however, doesn't mean doing nothing. While 
you're waiting you can take the steps necessary to 
get your little Kitten in the right frame of mind. 
And to do this, you need to foster a positive, 
loving relationship with her. Teach her as early as 
possible, from the day she's born, to love, trust 
and depend on you. Give her regular hugs and 
kisses, tell her every day how much you love her, 
read her a story and tuck her in at night, chase 
away the monsters from under her bed, bandage her 
boo boos, and reward her when she's been good. In 
other words, be a good father. You'll be glad you 
did, even if you never do anything about your 
desires.

Having said all that, I can tell you that I myself 
was a pretty good father to my little Bridget. Of 
course, I was a good father to all three of my 
children, but it was obvious to everyone that she 
was my favorite. From the moment she was born I 
doted on her, held her and cuddled her and cooed to 
her, and as she grew I did everything I could to 
make her a happy girl and to let her know how much 
I adored her.

I spoiled her, actually, and to be honest this is 
not something I would recommend to all you aspiring 
daughter molesters. Because if you teach your 
daughter that she can have anything she wants from 
you and all she has to do to get it is bat her eyes 
at you, and she knows that no matter how badly she 
behaves she won't be receiving punishment from her 
daddy, that could spell trouble later on. In other 
words, you should balance your fathering, 
discipline her when she needs to be disciplined. I 
did spank Bridget on occasion when she was little, 
but I just didn't have the heart for it, and 
eventually left that kind of thing for her mother 
to do. I think the last time I spanked her was when 
she was six or seven, and even then it was a 
halfhearted effort which did nothing to get her to 
behave herself. I wouldn't mind spanking her now, 
though; just take her over my knee and lay a few 
stern loving whacks onto that sweet round bottom of 
hers.

But I'm getting sidetracked. My point is that as 
Bridget was growing up I was laying the foundations 
for a good close relationship with her, developing 
an emotional bond that would serve me well when the 
time came to make the drastic changes in our father 
daughter relationship that I would make.

But I'd like to point out right here, before I go 
onto the next rule, that in those days I had no 
intentions of having sex with my daughter. I know 
this contradicts what I said earlier about fathers 
denying any sexual interest in their little girls, 
but honestly, I didn't even think about it. To me, 
Bridget was just this beautiful little child that 
instilled in me the most intense love and pride. I 
couldn't have hurt her if I'd tried, and maybe 
that's the point of this paragraph; an incestuous 
father is always more successful when he knows and 
understands that his wish isn't to bring any harm 
or unhappiness to his daughter's life. He wants to 
love her, to give her pleasure, to know the 
unequaled tenderness and joy of an incestuous 
relationship with Daddy. If you're working out some 
past pains of your own, taking it out on her, then 
you're not only misguided, in my opinion, but 
you're bound to fail.

And now just one final point: I mentioned earlier 
that I have three children. Bridget is the oldest 
(she's seventeen now), Carrie is the second oldest 
(sixteen), and Brandon, my son (fourteen), is the 
youngest. I didn't do anything sexual with Brandon 
because he's a boy, and the sexual contact I had 
with Carrie was extremely limited. In fact, all I 
ever did with her was cop a feel of her breasts 
when she was fifteen years old (her tits aren't as 
large and round as Bridget's, but they're still 
very nice). There were several reasons why I never 
did anything more than that. For one thing, I 
simply didn't feel the same romantic and sexual 
attraction to her as I did Bridget. Carrie is a 
beautiful young girl in her own right, but Bridget 
has always been the one to capture every area of my 
imagination. For another, I also knew from 
experience that Carrie was less likely to put up 
with any sexual advances from me because she has a 
more serious and inflexible personality than her 
older sister. Also, I'm pretty certain that she 
prefers girls. My wife would have a better shot at 
her than I would.

Those of you who have more than one child may want 
to try to develop this kind of discernment for 
yourself. Make sure that if you're going to become 
sexual with your kid, you pick the right one. 
Otherwise, disaster might ensue and you won't need 
to bother with any of these other rules.


*** Rule Number 2: Start Out Small

Begin your incestuous seduction of your little 
Princess by taking baby steps. Like any romantic 
and/or sexual relationship, you don't want to rush 
things. Again, patience and self-control are the 
keys. You might begin by elaborating on the 
fatherly hugs and kisses you already enjoy with 
your daughter, making them longer, slightly more 
intimate. Or when you're giving her the fatherly 
and nonsexual caresses you've gotten her used to 
over the years, you can let your hands venture to 
areas of her body that you've only so far 
fantasized touching (my recommendation is to begin 
with the breasts, not the cunt; always a less 
threatening area for your daughter, and if she 
complains, it's much easier to pass off as an 
accident). Another thing you can do is slowly 
"adultize" your conversations with her, introducing 
sexual subjects like masturbation and intercourse. 
This, by the way, is a good reason to wait until 
your daughter has hit puberty, because it will not 
only be appropriate for you to teach her about 
these subjects, but the little minx might even 
bring them up herself. In any case, keep your 
conversations with her on a subdued level, making 
it seem like you're simply trying to learn how much 
she knows about sex or what she thinks about it.

However you begin, remember that you MUST start out 
small; avoid being too abrupt, too aggressive, too 
invasive of her privacy (no barging in on her when 
she's in the shower or changing clothes in her 
bedroom, and don't start out your "sex talk" by 
showing her porn videos). Any kisses you give her 
can only go slightly over the boundaries (no french 
kissing), and your hands, while they might travel 
into previously unexplored areas, must always stay 
outside of her clothes. I know it won't be easy, 
especially when you've got two luscious and fairly 
new breasts resting in your eager palms, but just 
be a man and suck it up. The patience and self-
control (I can't say those words enough) you 
exercise now will pay off later.

By the time my Bridget was twelve she'd already 
grown good sized breasts and a remarkably womanly 
shape. I couldn't believe my eyes, nor could I 
believe the things I was thinking and feeling. I'd 
never been attracted to girls that young, and I'm 
still not, but Bridget was different. She was my 
little girl in the process of becoming a woman, and 
the more she matured the more room she took up in 
my thoughts. I might also add that at this stage of 
her development Bridget decided that any kind of 
physical contact with me, intimate or otherwise, 
was completely out of the question (her term was 
"creepy"), and that not only left me devastated as 
a loving father but very probably contributed to 
the strange new ideas I was having about her. A 
woman knows, even at that age, that the best way to 
attract a man is to let him know he can't have her.

At any rate, I found myself with a surprising and 
(at first) troubling attraction to her. I was 
constantly looking her over, admiring her growing 
beauty, her splendid blonde hair, studying the 
various shapes that made up her young body, 
imagining what those particular shapes would look 
like without the benefit of clothes, and imagining 
too what they would feel like in my hands. What her 
whole body would feel like in my arms as I slowly 
and gently pushed my cock into her. I very quickly 
came to understand how men could bring themselves 
to molest such young girls, if not exactly the why.

For a long time I practiced rule number one; I 
waited. I didn't take immediate action. Because I 
knew, probably on some instinctive level, that 
while I'd done a good job of winning my daughter's 
love and trust, they had to be strengthened, 
conditioned over time, if I was to successfully 
seduce this sudden nymph in my house. In the 
meantime, I did a few small things that allowed me 
to surreptitiously and vicariously make sexual 
contact with her.

You might want to hold onto your hats here, because 
some of the things I did might seem rather bizarre 
to you.

I fantasized about her as I was making love to my 
wife, of course (just about every lustful father 
does, doesn't he?), and I stole a pair of her 
panties and one of her bras and used them to 
masturbate with. There were also the few times when 
I did "accidentally" walk in on her in the shower 
or enter her room without knocking, but they were 
few and far between, and not really as satisfying 
as you might think. Probably because it's such 
typical behavior. Uninspired. The most satisfying 
things I did were, as mentioned above, the more 
bizarre things.

Bridget was (and still is) somewhat spoiled and 
selfish, and she had to have her own shampoos and 
soaps and towels in the bathroom. She even had her 
own little cabinet between the toilet and the sink 
where she kept all that stuff, which was convenient 
for me, because that way I could put some of my 
come in her shampoo without worrying that any of 
the other people in my family might use it. Yes, I 
did that. Put a good healthy dollop of my come in 
her shampoo. Actually, I did it many times over a 
period of five years, and nearly every time she was 
in the shower I imagined she was rubbing the stuff 
into her hair, and then letting it slide down over 
her body when she rinsed. Very erotic, and I never 
got tired of it.

I did a few other things, like masturbating with 
her bar of soap, and cutting pictures out of 
hardcore porn magazines and sticking them in the 
library books she'd just brought home (this should 
be done with the utmost care, because she might 
have already looked through the book). But the 
worst thing I ever did, something I actually 
regret, was the time when she was fourteen and I 
made her a ham sandwich, and after spreading the 
mayo on the bread I quickly jerked off and spread 
my come on the bread with it. She ate the whole 
sandwich, but then she threw it all up afterward. I 
got a huge kick out of knowing that my daughter had 
my come in her mouth and then swallowed it, but I 
never repeated that particular trick.

The first real sexual contact I made with Bridget 
was when she was fifteen. It was summer, and as 
most girls will, she was wearing much less than she 
usually did; in this case it was a very snug pair 
of denim shorts and a bikini top, bright yellow, to 
match her hair. She'd developed a good tan, and her 
skin was a smooth enchanting bronze. She looked 
like a golden goddess freshly arrived from Mount 
Olympus, and as great as my patience and self-
control were, I'd finally reached that point where 
I couldn't resist her anymore.

No, I didn't just walk up and grab her tits. Steady 
now.

It was just before dinner, and my wife and son were 
working in the kitchen (he isn't gay, he just likes 
to cook; I imagine he'll grown up to be a very 
manly chef), and Carrie hadn't yet arrived home 
from an outing with friends, which left Bridget by 
herself up in her room. And me with idle, yet 
ambitious, hands.

I actually had a valid reason for knocking on her 
door; she still had the car keys (she was just 
learning how to drive) and I wanted to make sure I 
got them back. I almost forgot what I'd come up 
for, though, after she called for me to come in and 
I opened her door and saw her standing in front of 
her full length mirror, dressed in the above 
mentioned outfit.

"Um...hi, sweetheart," I said, taking her in from 
head to toe, then focusing on her bikini top and 
the luscious items resting inside. I probably 
should have continued speaking but I was too 
distracted.

"Hi, Dad," Bridget replied. She glanced at me, then 
went back to looking at herself. After several 
heartbeats she must have noticed the stunned 
silence, because she turned to look at me again. 
"Did you want something?"

She had no idea how loaded that question was.

"Yes, um, my um...car keys?"

Bridget nodded at the top of her dresser and said, 
"Over there," then returned to studying herself in 
the mirror.

I went over to the dresser and picked up the keys, 
shoved them in my pocket, then just stood there 
looking at my daughter. I marveled at her brilliant 
blonde hair, her full round breasts, her smooth 
flat belly, her sleek back and round butt, her long 
perfect legs, and not for the first time forgave 
her for her vanity. She was a truly gorgeous 
creature.

"Dad, you're staring," she said.

I blinked, somewhat startled back into focus, but 
not embarrassed; there was something in Bridget's 
voice that told me I didn't have to be. As if she 
didn't mind that her own father was ogling her.

"I think," I said, "that you're the most beautiful 
girl I've ever seen in my life, Bridget."

Bridget gave me a fabulous smile and said, "Thank 
you, Dad. Normally, when I'm wearing something like 
this you'd tell me to put some clothes on and lock 
myself in my room."

"Which reminds me: put some clothes on and lock 
yourself in your room."

"Sure, Dad. And right after I do that, I'll start 
studying to become a nun."

"Actually," I said, "you really should put a little 
more on. Dinner's almost ready, and I don't think 
it would be such a good idea to be dressed like 
that in front of your little brother. You know how 
sex hungry boys are."

"Yeah, right," Bridget replied with a giggle. "Like 
he's the only sex hungry boy in the house."

My little girl might not have been the sharpest 
knife in the drawer, but she sure had my number. Or 
at least I thought she did. I took her flirtatious 
remark a little more seriously than she meant it. 
More accurately, I took it as a cue to begin the 
next phase of my seduction of her. I went up behind 
her (the girl could stare at herself for hours) and 
put my arms around her, a relatively normal gesture 
in our relationship, but then I kissed her shoulder 
and, as if it was the most natural thing in the 
world, I slipped my hands up over her breasts.

Bridget seemed to freeze for a moment, then said, 
"Dad? What are you doing?"

Now, when you're holding your daughter's breasts in 
your hands, there's no real correct answer to that 
question. You can't say, "Nothing," because that's 
obviously a lie; and yet, if you try to explain, 
even in the most tender and romantic language, 
chances are your little Buttercup isn't going to 
believe it. A rational and logical explanation 
won't help, either, even if you're convinced (as I 
am) that fondling your daughter's breasts is an 
entirely rational and logical act for a father. And 
it's useless (as well as spineless, in my opinion) 
to try to offer excuses or apologies. The best 
response in such a situation is no response; don't 
say anything, and don't take your hands away. Those 
actions will only confirm your daughter's 
suspicions that your behavior isn't appropriate.

That's what I did. I just left my hands right where 
they were, enjoying themselves under the soft firm 
weight of Bridget's breasts, and let my silence 
speak for itself. And Bridget, preoccupied with 
trying to process and make sense of this new 
information in her life, simply looked down at her 
breasts, watching me gently squeeze them, and 
offered up no further questions.

I fondled her for maybe ten, fifteen seconds, and 
I'm telling you, it was the most wonderful fifteen 
seconds of my entire life. Nothing, not even the 
eventual reward of sexual intercourse, can match 
that very first meeting of your own two hands and 
your daughter's breasts. That first, magical 
introduction to the world of father daughter 
incest. Even if I had never done any more than that 
one thing, I would have been a very satisfied 
father.

But of course, like all other magnificent things, 
my first sexual contact with my Bridget had to end. 
I moved my hands from her breasts up to her 
shoulders, turned her around (gently; always 
gently), gave her a fatherly kiss on the nose, and 
said, "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, Dad," Bridget replied, her voice a 
mixture of genuine love and confusion.

"I know you do. Now, do like I said and put a 
little more on, okay?"

I gave her another peck on the nose, then left her 
room, feeling like a completely new man.

And that, really, should be the limit of your own 
initial contact with your little Munchkin, a little 
fondling, a few loving kisses, and be sure to 
remind her that you love her. Anything more than 
that, really, and you're probably going to derail 
your whole program. Patience and self-control.


*** Rule Number 3: Go Slowly But Surely

Once you've crossed the boundary into the land of 
incest, you might be tempted to just sprint for the 
goal line. An understandable temptation, believe 
me, but you must remember that one of your goals is 
to enjoy your new relationship with your daughter 
for more than just a few hours or days before the 
cops come knocking at your door. You want it to 
last for as long as possible, if not permanently. 
Therefore, you will want to proceed slowly, 
continue with the baby steps. Rape is not an option 
here (actually, it never is). I suggest more 
episodes of fondling for maybe a week or two, an 
intimate kiss on occasion, and of course continue 
to romance her, flirt with her and buy her little 
presents. The good news is that while you won't be 
going very fast, you will at least be moving 
forward. The fondling can progress from over the 
clothes to under the clothes, inside the bra and 
down into the panties. You might even dare to sneak 
a finger a little way into her cunt, or play with 
her nipples or her clit. If you do this, your 
daughter might exhibit a pleasurable response, 
which, naturally, you'll want to encourage. But you 
should at the same time continue to maintain your 
patience and self-control; just because she's 
coming her brains out doesn't mean it's okay to 
bull your way through her china shop. Your little 
Chipmunk will need time to get used to the changes 
occurring in her life, and she will look to you to 
guide her on her way, to teach her how to cope.

My darling Bridget was an outstanding student. She 
was docile and compliant, if not completely 
enthused about her new course of instruction. She 
asked that "What are you doing?" question two more 
times before she must have realized that I wasn't 
going to answer it. After that she attempted to 
avoid being alone with me, but I was persistent and 
crafty, and she was a fast learner. I spent an 
entire month doing nothing more than kissing her 
when I did manage to get her alone, feeling her up 
whenever I had the opportunity, and always outside 
of her clothes.

As the second month began, however, I turned it up 
a notch or two. I started french kissing her, and 
as mentioned above, I went inside, sneaking my hand 
up under her bra to hold and caress her breasts 
skin to skin. Bridget tolerated these advances, and 
even seemed to respond a little to the french 
kissing, especially if I was tweaking her nipples 
at the same time. I also noticed that, the more I 
did with her, the more she seemed to accept it, if 
not as a natural activity between father and 
daughter, then at least as a normally recurring 
event that she would have to get used to. She quit 
squirming and trying to get away from me, anyway. 
My patience and self-control were paying off.

I should rename this guide "How To Have Patience 
and Self-Control While Seducing Your Teenage 
Daughter."

Just kidding.


*** Rule Number Four : Make Her Hate Her Mother

I'm not really happy with the title of this rule. 
The words "make" and "hate" are a little too 
strong, but I couldn't come up with any other title 
that wasn't long-winded, silly, or both. Besides, 
it fits well with the title of rule number five, 
which is succinct and to the point.

Anyway: what you really want to do isn't to make 
your daughter hate her mother (although if she 
reaches that emotional state on her own, it can't 
hurt), you simply want to disrupt their 
relationship, create distance between them, so that 
your little Biscuit won't feel comfortable with the 
idea of telling Mommy about Daddy. You can also do 
this if your daughter has siblings, although I 
personally wouldn't go that whole "divide and 
conquer" route. Many incestuous fathers like to 
isolate their little girls as much as possible, 
even separating them from their friends, and while 
that may be an effective tactic, it doesn't make 
your daughter a very happy person. She's dealing 
with enough problems as it is.

Driving a wedge between her and her mother, 
however, is essential, and it can and should be 
done in tandem with the other rules.

There are several strategies you can employ here. 
The most important one, of course, is the one 
you've been using all along, the strong loving bond 
you and your daughter have shared ever since she 
came rocketing out of your wife's vagina. If you've 
done a good job in this area, the other strategies 
will be much easier to apply.

Another strategy is to take her side in the 
inevitable mother daughter squabbles. When Baby 
Bear wants to go to a concert instead of going out 
to dinner with the family, or she wants to get 
something other than her ears pierced, or she wants 
to borrow the family car, or whatever other 
disagreement arises between your little girl and 
your ball and chain, you can jump right in and 
defend your daughter's choice. You can argue that 
she's growing up, she needs to be given more 
responsibility, needs to be allowed more freedom. 
This might not sound like the kind of thing a 
typical father would say, and who knows, maybe it 
isn't, but your wife will see your point, because 
she was once that demanding little teenage brat who 
wanted to do things she wasn't allowed to do. And 
even if the wife doesn't come around, that's okay, 
because your daughter will be noticing and 
appreciating the fact that you are so often in her 
corner.

You don't always have to take her side, of course, 
and there are times when you shouldn't. Like when 
she wants to date that longhaired pierced-nosed 
freak she calls a boyfriend, or when she wants to 
go to a party at a college boy's house while his 
parents are out of town, or when she wants to wear 
the absolutely sluttiest outfit you've ever seen in 
your life, or wants to go to school without a bra 
just to make a point. Admittedly, those last two 
are tempting, but while you're trying to get into 
your daughter's best graces, you can't afford to be 
unbelievable. A good father puts a stop to those 
things.

There is one more thing that I can think of that 
will make that rift between Mom and your little 
Doodlebug wider, but you should proceed with 
caution in this area: birth control pills.

I'll tell you what I did when this subject came up 
in my own house. Bridget was fifteen at the time, 
and she had come home one day from school and, when 
she dropped her backpack onto the sofa instead of 
taking it up to her room like she'd been told to 
countless times, a package of condoms fell out. She 
tried to grab them up before we saw them, but we 
were her parents, which meant we probably saw them 
fall out before she did. We were outraged, of 
course, just like any good parents would be. After 
all, condoms lead to sex, which leads to 
indiscriminate sex, which leads to social disease 
and unwanted pregnancy (condoms aren't effective 
one hundred percent of the time), drug use and 
crime, even prostitution. Before we knew it our 
little Pookie would be in prison, fighting off 
sexually aggressive guards and getting raped with 
broomsticks in the shower by her inmates.

Bridget actually had a fairly decent reason for 
carrying condoms around in her purse: she was, she 
declared, a responsible young woman now, and though 
she wasn't actually having sex, and didn't intend 
to have sex in the near future, she had decided 
that it would be wise to have at least some form of 
birth control with her at all times, because you 
never know when the right person and the right 
moment might come along. Okay, it wasn't the best 
reason in the world, but it showed that Bridget 
wasn't exactly in a handbasket barrelling down the 
road to hell.

Nonetheless, we informed our darling delinquent 
about the pitfalls of her reckless behavior, at the 
top of our lungs. Or, more accurately (and here's 
the trick), I let my wife inform our daughter about 
the consequences of her behavior (at the top of her 
lungs) while I stood there with my arms crossed and 
didn't say a word. With this tactic I managed to 
make my wife think that I was supporting her, and 
at the same time supplied the proper negative 
images for Bridget to stew about later on; when she 
recalled this encounter in the future she would 
remember her mother yelling at her, but not me. 
That was the first phase of the plan.

The second phase came later, when I had each of 
them alone. I talked to my wife first, listening to 
her complain and rant and rave, and responding to 
her with calm soothing tones, telling her that I 
knew how she felt, that I was just as concerned as 
she was, and that I would go and talk to Bridget 
myself and get her straightened out. Then I went to 
Bridget. I let her complain and rant and rave, and 
I was calm and soothing, but I didn't support my 
wife's argument. Instead, I complained about her 
too, how controlling she was, how demanding, petty 
and selfish and what have you. In other words, I 
let my daughter know that I resented Kate just as 
much as she did, and I didn't understand at all why 
she wouldn't let her obviously responsible daughter 
keep condoms in her backpack. This helped to 
strengthen the bond of trust that I'd already 
developed between us, and it instilled in Bridget 
that necessary sense of partnership with me, a 
mutually supportive stance against the evil wife 
and mother, an esprit de famile, if you will.

Then I told her she couldn't keep the condoms. As 
expected, the volatile little brat exploded, 
shouting and waving her arms and stomping her feet 
(causing her magnificent breasts to jiggle in a 
remarkably charming way), but I was ready for that. 
I had a plan, I explained, that would resolve this 
entire problem. I told her that if she got rid of 
the condoms (and made sure that her mother saw her 
doing so) I would take her to the doctor myself and 
get her a prescription for birth control pills, and 
her mother wouldn't have to know anything about it. 
This idea appealed to my devious daughter, and she 
went right down to the living room with me and, in 
front of her mother, tossed the condoms in the 
trash can. Two days later I took her to the doctor 
and got her put on the pill, and from that day on 
Bridget and I shared a defiant little secret that 
bonded us in a way that very few other things 
could.

It was just over a month later that the pills began 
to be effective, and I began to molest her.

	
*** Rule Number Five : Make Her Love You

Now you can see what I meant when I said that the 
wording of rule number four fits with rule number 
five. And with this particular rule, the word 
"make" is a bit more appropriate, and certainly the 
word "love" is entirely accurate.

But enough with semantics.

It is essential to get your daughter to love you, 
and I don't mean the natural kind of love that any 
daughter will feel for her father, or even the 
romantic (and also natural) type that is common in 
most father daughter relationships. What you must 
do is get your daughter to FALL IN love with you, 
the way she might fall in love with a rock star or 
a movie star or that longhaired loser with the 
motorcycle, the tattoos, and the criminal record.

This won't be easy, but if you've prepared her 
well, it won't be impossible. And, as with all the 
other rules, there are things you should do and 
things you shouldn't do.

Naturally, the things you should do are the simpler 
ones. Buying her gifts tops the list, because we 
all know how teenage girls (and adult women, for 
that matter) love gifts. Clothes, jewelry, CDs, 
expensive electronics, a car if you can afford it. 
You can take her dancing, or to nice restaurants 
for father daughter dinners, to the movies, to the 
local amusement park, to the mall (her favorite 
place on earth), or to less costly places like the 
beach or the park. Anything that will put a smile 
on her face and make her appreciate what a great 
dad she has, and at the same time allow you to be 
alone with her so you can molest her.

Some of the things you shouldn't do is take her to 
hotel rooms (or motel rooms; even a bigger 
mistake), take her with you on your business trips 
out of town, take her to a buddy's makeout pad (for 
those of you still living in the 1960s), or any 
place that's going to make her feel cheap and used.

Don't beg her for sex.

Don't criticize her looks, even if she looks awful.

Don't tell her she reminds you of her mother. Or 
your mother. Or any other woman in the world (these 
rules actually apply to all women).

And while you're doing (or not doing) the above 
mentioned things, you must, repeat must, romance 
her. Treat her like a queen. Treat her like you 
treated your wife back when you were both young and 
you were trying desperately to get in her pants. 
Tell her over and over again how beautiful she is, 
how much you love her and cherish her, how sweet 
and wonderful she is, how there's no one in the 
world you love more. You can even tell her that 
she's the ONLY one you love, especially if you've 
got rule number four working really well.

Most of all you need to be in love with your 
daughter. This is an iron clad rule, and if you 
can't meet this requirement (be honest), you have 
no business seducing your little Peanut. Leave her 
alone. Get off of her and go find a call girl that 
resembles her.

I can without reservation claim that I was head 
over heels for Bridget from the moment I first saw 
her come into the world. She was the most 
beautiful, most perfect little thing I'd ever seen, 
a tiny miracle that I had helped to bring about. 
And my feelings for her only grew over the years, 
as she grew, from a baby to a toddler to a child, 
then to an adolescent, and finally to the young 
gorgeous woman she became. There were so many 
incredible moments of having fun with her, teaching 
her, even scolding her. But the best moments were 
the quiet ones, when I would sit with her on my lap 
(or next to me, when she supposedly got too big for 
my lap), just holding her and touching her hair and 
enjoying the sometimes intense and always flawless 
love that can only be found between father and 
daughter. Even having sex with her came in second.

A goddamned close second, but still second.

The first truly sexual contact with her, beyond 
just feeling her up and sticking my finger in her 
cunt, occurred shortly after she turned sixteen. It 
was an almost perfect Spring day, as I recall, with 
sunshine and a cool breeze and the woman I was 
married to nowhere in sight. She was working or 
something, I really don't remember now. Carrie was 
still at school, at one of her geek club meetings 
(or possibly at a gay rights rally), and Rory was 
off with that girl he was crazy about, Misty. 
Lovely little thing, that girl was. Sweet smile, 
nice tits.

Anyway, it was just me and Bridget at home. I was 
in my office, working on my latest column. I had 
just finished it, in fact, and was now ready to go 
find Bridget for a little father daughter alone 
time. I closed out the programs on my computer and 
stood up from my chair, and I as I turned to go I 
suddenly stopped short, surprised to see Bridget in 
the doorway. It was still morning, so she was, as 
usual, still wearing her nightclothes; peejay 
bottoms and a nicely snug tanktop. Her bright 
blonde hair was a wild mop on her head.

"Well, hello there, sweetheart," I said.

"Hi, Dad," Bridget replied. "Whatcha doin?"

"I was working, but I'm stopping for a break. What 
are you doing up so early?" It was only a few 
minutes past eleven.

Bridget shrugged and said, "I dunno. I'm bored. 
Sleeping is boring."

She came further into the room and I held my arms 
out to her. Bridget came right to me and embraced 
me, just as I'd trained her to do, and I gave her a 
kiss on the forehead. I hugged her tight and she 
wrapped her arms around my neck. We stood there 
like that, just holding each other for a while, not 
saying anything, just enjoying our closeness. My 
daughter seemed small and fragile in my arms, and 
yet with her firm breasts pressed against my chest 
and her smooth belly against my growing erection, 
she seemed alive and vibrant at the same time. I 
touched and caressed her, letting my hands roam up 
and down her back, and over her ass, before I 
slipped them up under her tanktop. I fondled her 
breasts and played with her nipples, pleased to 
feel them growing hard under my fingers. Bridget 
even pressed her body closer to me, and rested her 
head against my neck. If I'd had any doubts before 
that she was getting something out of our special 
relationship, those doubts were gone now. It was 
that realization, along with the sweet scent of 
shampoo in her hair (shampoo that I had doctored 
with my own come), that led me to take the next 
step. I let go of her and took a step back, then in 
a low secretive voice, said, "Take your top off."

I expected her to offer at least some kind of 
resistance, but Bridget, while she seemed a teeny 
bit reluctant, immediately complied, grasping the 
bottom of her tanktop and pulling it up over her 
head. She dropped it onto the floor, then stood 
there with downcast eyes, her hands clasped 
together in front of her, and her breasts now in 
full view.

"Wow," was all I could say. My daughter has the 
most magnificent breasts I've ever seen. I reached 
out and touched them, fondled them some more, 
luxuriating in their weight, their warmth and 
firmness, the hardness of her little pink nipples. 
I kissed Bridget on the lips, then ducked my head 
and kissed each of her breasts. I took her nipples 
into my mouth and sucked on them, and as I did so I 
felt my daughter's hands moving over my back and 
shoulders. I heard her take in a sharp breath when 
I nibbled one of her nipples, and I knew I was 
moving in the right direction.

As I nibbled and sucked on Bridget's breasts, I 
slid one of my hands down over her belly and down 
into her peejays. I moved my fingers through her 
pubic hair, found the lips of her cunt, and began 
to rub her. Bridget sighed and tightened her arms 
around my neck, her body tensed, and within about a 
minute or two I had helped her to reach orgasm. The 
very first orgasm she and I had shared as father 
and daughter. It was a very proud moment for me.

Now, I hate to spoil your fun, but I need to pause 
here and discuss something that I consider to be of 
vital importance. From what I've been able to learn 
from the literature on incest that I've read 
(including the internet porn stories I've 
collected), most incestuous fathers would introduce 
oral sex at this point. And maybe, if your daughter 
is only seven or eight years old (and you're a 
monster), this would be an effective way to go. I 
beg to differ, though, especially when you're 
talking about a daughter already in her teens. 
Teenage girls are naturally more emotionally mature 
and sexually sophisticated than preteen girls, and 
as a result they require something more, or at 
least different, than being made to suck on a nine 
inch worm-looking thing until it shoots a wad of 
foul-tasting semen into their mouths. That can come 
later (no pun intended).

In my opinion, the best way to introduce your 
little Girl Scout to the wonders of sex beyond 
kissing and fondling is to just go straight to 
intercourse. Go ahead and pop that cherry (if she 
still has one). But do it gently. You want her to 
be able to associate the experience of having her 
familial sexual boundaries violated with love, 
tenderness, and consideration.

After Bridget had a chance to relax from her 
orgasm, I wordlessly grasped the waistband of her 
peejays and pulled them down over her hips. She was 
wearing sky blue silk panties. French cut. I'm not 
kidding. Very very sexy. What was my daughter doing 
with such sexy underwear? I really wanted to know, 
but I didn't think that was the proper moment to 
ask. Instead, I pulled them down too, letting them 
join the peejays around her ankles, and I saw, for 
the first time, Bridget's pubic area. The hair on 
her cunt was just as blonde as the hair on her 
head, and she shaved it, not all off, but in a 
narrow strip right over her cunt.

Why did my daughter feel that it was necessary to 
trim her pubic hair like that? Another question 
that had to go unanswered for the time being.

Bridget put one of her hands on my shoulder to 
steady herself as she stepped out of her peejays 
and her panties, then stood there as I looked her 
over. She had the most amazing body, almost 
overwhelming in its beauty and symmetry. No one, 
not even a father, could be reasonably expected to 
resist its natural charms. Meaning: I didn't.

I took her in my arms again, kissed her mouth, then 
held her gently as I guided her down onto the 
carpeted floor. I lay on top of her and Bridget 
automatically let her legs fall open, making room 
for me. I continued to kiss her as I fumbled with 
the fly on my pants, then reached in and brought 
out my cock. Bridget had her arms around me and I 
had to reach back and take one of them by the wrist 
and bring it down between us. I wrapped her fingers 
around the shaft of my cock and she gripped it 
gently.

I'd had the idea of getting her to stroke it a 
little first, but just the sensation of her hand 
holding me was so exquisite that I knew if I let 
her play with it I was going to go off too early, 
so instead I just pushed forward, letting her guide 
my cock toward her cunt. I pushed the head in past 
her lips, paused briefly, then pushed my cock 
further into her. Bridget was tight, but warm and a 
little wet too, and she gasped as my cock entered 
her. I pushed all the way into her, noticing to my 
chagrin that she wasn't a virgin, but not wanting 
to open that can of worms right at that moment.

I fucked my daughter slowly, just sliding my cock 
into her and pulling it back, and she tightened her 
arms around me, no doubt holding me in the same way 
she'd held the asshole who'd stolen her virginity 
from me. We fucked this way for several minutes, 
Bridget holding onto me but staying silent, her 
face turned away and her eyes closed. I wished she 
could show some sign of pleasure or enthusiasm, but 
I knew that was more than I could reasonably 
expect. At least she wasn't crying, or fighting me 
and begging me to stop. For me, it was an 
indescribable experience; I was fucking my own 
beautiful little girl. I held her and kissed her as 
I steadily pumped my cock in and out of her cunt, 
loving her more than I ever had before.

Eventually, I felt my cock swelling up and getting 
ready to explode. I started fucking her a little 
harder then, racing toward the end, until the 
pressure became too great to hold it back anymore 
and I went off, groaning as I spilled come into her 
body.

Afterward we sort of collapsed together on the 
floor, me breathing hard and giving her little 
kisses and telling her how much I loved her, 
Bridget just staying still beneath me and lightly 
caressing my back.

We lay like that for maybe five minutes, until 
Bridget put her lips to my ear and whispered, "Can 
I get up now, Dad?"

I reluctantly pulled out of her and got to my feet, 
then helped her up, and as I put my cock back in my 
pants Bridget grabbed up her peejays and her 
underwear and disappeared out the door.


*** Rule Number Six : Convince Her It Was Her Idea

When I first wrote this rule down I used the word 
"fault" instead of idea, and even though I changed 
it I believe that "fault" might actually be the 
most appropriate word. The problem is that "fault" 
implies that there's something wrong with a father 
having sex with his daughter, and if you've read 
this far then you more than likely believe, as I 
do, that despite whatever the law and social 
customs say, there is in fact nothing more natural 
and right than father daughter incest. Because of 
this I will use the word "idea," although you 
should probably keep that other, pesky, word in 
mind as we continue, because your daughter sure 
will. She's been conditioned from the moment of 
birth (as we all have) to view incest of any sort 
as wrong, bad, nasty, sinful, abhorrent, pick your 
adjective, and if (when) she finds herself involved 
with you sexually, she will feel guilty about it, 
and more than likely responsible. I know, it's 
silly and unnatural, but unfortunately it's normal. 
What you need to do is help her work through those 
feelings of guilt, get rid of them, while at the 
same time retaining her sense of responsibility. 
This doesn't mean that you don't take any 
responsibility yourself; your goal here is to 
foster a sense of shared responsibility, not shame 
or blame. You and your little Cupcake are in this 
together.

To accomplish the above, you need to communicate 
with your daughter. And I don't mean ask her if she 
liked getting fucked by her daddy. Talk to her 
about her feelings, her fears and her doubts, her 
opinion about the changes in your relationship, her 
thoughts about the directions it might go in the 
future. Listen to what she says, and take it 
seriously. I know I'm starting to sound like Oprah 
here, but the truth is your daughter is (or should 
be) a young woman, and this is the kind of thing 
women respond to. And if your daughter believes 
that you truly love her, and that her concerns are 
important to you, she'll be more likely to let you 
lead her down the path you want her to take.

And, once again, if you've done your preliminary 
work, if you've groomed her well, and you've been a 
good father to her all along, none of this will be 
any more difficult with your daughter than it would 
be with any other woman.

In other words, who knows if it'll work or not?

I was fortunate enough to have a daughter who 
proved very susceptible to my loving and caring 
influence. Not 'extremely,' just very.

After that first sexual encounter with her on the 
floor of my office (a mistake, I realized in 
hindsight; floors are not a romantic location for 
your first tryst with any female), I let the 
situation cool off for a few days. Bridget and I 
both had to have time to collect our thoughts and 
assess the experience.

For my part, I felt like the luckiest man alive, 
and that all was right with the world. Bridget, 
though, seemed to withdraw a bit, not just from me 
but from the family as well. She spent less time 
with us and more time in her room, and taking long 
showers (longer than usual). She didn't see any 
boys (thank God in Heaven), didn't see any of her 
friends, and even passed up opportunities to fight 
with her sister and brother. This deflated my joy 
somewhat, but I forced myself to leave her alone. 
She was a good girl, and she would come around.

Four days went by and I decided it was time for us 
to reconnect. It was a Saturday, and my other two 
kids were out doing things with their friends, and 
as luck would have it Kate was working an extra 
shift at the hospital. Once again, it was just me 
and Bridget alone. This time I went up to her room.

I found her laying on her bed, a teen magazine up 
in front of her face and headphones over her ears. 
She didn't hear me knock, and she didn't see me 
standing in the doorway. I went into her room and 
got just close enough that she noticed me and 
looked up. I gave her a little wave and she took 
her headphones off. I could hear the noisy music 
from four feet away and wondered why she wasn't 
bleeding from her ears.

"Hi, Dad," she said, her voice somewhat subdued. 
She looked into my eyes, but only for a second 
before she looked down.

"Hi, sweetheart," I said. I glanced down at her 
body; she was wearing black jeans and a bright blue 
top that hugged her breasts, and I could see a 
black bra strap on one of her shoulders. "I was 
hoping I could talk to you for a minute."

"Sure."

She still didn't look at me, even as I approached 
her bed, then sat down on the edge. I touched her 
knee and finally she brought her eyes up to meet 
mine.

"Are you doing alright?" I asked.

"Sure, Dad. I'm fine," Bridget said. She stared 
into my eyes for a moment, then looked down. "Well. 
Maybe not totally fine." She took a breath and let 
it out. "I guess I'm kinda confused. About...you 
know."

"I know," I said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Bridget set her magazine aside, took off her 
headphones and crossed her arms in front of her 
breasts. She looked down at where I had my hand on 
her knee.

"Well," she said, "I feel two different ways about 
it. I mean, it's wrong and I shouldn't be doing it. 
But at the same time...well...the hugging and 
kissing and touching? I liked doing those things, 
it made me feel close to you, and I wanna feel 
close to you, Dad. But the sex...you didn't hurt me 
or anything, but still...I feel like I messed 
everything up."

"You didn't mess anything up, sweetheart," I said. 
I scooted a little further up the bed and touched 
one of her arms. "I want you to know this, Bridget. 
You didn't do anything wrong. But I feel that, in a 
way, neither did I. I mean, okay, society says that 
you and I shouldn't be doing what we've been doing, 
but my honest feeling about it is that it's right. 
It feels right." I moved my hand up to her 
shoulder, then touched her hair. "You're the 
sweetest and most beautiful girl I've ever known. 
And I guess when I see you, and I get to hold you 
in my arms, I kind of lose my head." That's right, 
shoulder some of the responsibility. Believe me, 
she'll love you for it. "And as far as hurting 
you...well, I could never willingly hurt you, 
Bridget. You're too precious to me."

I leaned in to kiss her, and not only did she let 
me kiss her, but she kissed me back. And when I 
touched my tongue to her lips, she opened her mouth 
and let me put it inside. As I french kissed her I 
let my hand fall from her hair down to her left 
breast. She moved her arm out of the way and let me 
take it and hold it.

I went slowly but surely, and in about five minutes 
I had most of Bridget's clothes off and was laying 
on top of her on the bed. I was sucking her nipples 
and playing with her cunt, and even though she was 
responding with excited little moans she still 
seemed somewhat reluctant, unsure of what we were 
doing. I kept on with what I was doing until she 
had come, then moved down her body until my face 
was between her widespread legs.

I buried my mouth in her golden pubic hair, kissed 
and licked her cunt, burrowed my tongue between her 
lips, gently sucked on her clit. I pulled out all 
the stops, making passionate and generous love to 
my daughter with my mouth, until finally she arched 
her back, pushed her cunt up against my feverish 
tongue, and came with a shuddering gasping cry of 
release.

Afterward I moved back up and covered Bridget's 
body with mine, holding her and kissing her cheek 
and letting her think, for a few moments at least, 
about what had just occurred. But I didn't let her 
think too long. I needed to keep going, and not 
just because it suited my plans of seduction; I 
wanted to fuck her more than I've ever wanted to 
fuck any woman in my entire life.

Without saying anything I reached down and worked 
my cock out of my pants. To my surprise (and 
delight) Bridget took it upon herself to grasp it 
and guide it up to the lips of her cunt. I entered 
her, probably a little too abruptly, but I couldn't 
help myself, and began to make love to her with an 
intensity I'd rarely known before. Bridget wrapped 
her arms around my neck, then wrapped her legs 
around my waist, and held on as I fucked her. She 
didn't utter those words that every father wants to 
hear, she actually didn't say anything at all, but 
the gasps and sweet moans of pleasure that spilled 
into my ears, the simmering heat of her cunt around 
my cock, let me know that she was enjoying herself.

Bridget came for the third time that morning, her 
fabulous body trembling beneath me, and in the next 
moment I came too, groaning in shameless ecstasy. 
In the aftermath, Bridget wept softly and I held 
her, murmured reassurances and loving things to 
her. I told her more than once that everything was 
going to be alright, and in my heart I knew it was 
true. Because we'd crossed that first real hurdle, 
and the grand frontier of father daughter incest 
now lay before us, a brilliant country that we 
could explore without guilt, and to our hearts' 
content.


*** Rule Number Seven : Be Gentle But Firm

Despite the poetry of the last paragraph, moving 
forward with an already established incestuous 
relationship is not all bliss. There are still 
rough patches ahead, a rocky and uneven road, and, 
like any other kind of relationship, it will 
require constant attention and maintenance to 
sustain. Your little Snookums might hang on to some 
of her reservations, change her mind, or even rebel 
and tell you to leave her the hell alone or she's 
telling Mom. You need to be ready for these things, 
and respond to them in ways that will strengthen 
your bond with her, not destroy it.

In my opinion, this is one of the areas in which 
incestuous fathers make their biggest mistakes. 
Because they don't understand that their romance 
with their daughters is exactly that, a romance; 
it's not a power struggle, and it's not about 
making her behave or bend to your will. Ripping her 
clothes off and slapping her around and brutalizing 
her might be one of your fondest fantasies, but 
it's not going to keep her mouth shut. And 
threatening her with the breakup of your family, 
the loss of your love, jail, etc., is just going to 
make things worse.

On the other hand, there comes a time when the 
gifts and the money and the preferential treatment 
won't be enough. You have to find a middle ground 
on which to operate. This is where the best 
fathering technique, Gentleness mixed with 
Firmness, comes in very handy.

Your daughter needs to be reminded that she's in 
this thing with you, that on some level she desires 
it as much (or almost as much) as you do. In fact, 
you can say this to her, and put it in language 
that emphasizes her part of the responsibility. If 
she has come to you, or in any other way initiated 
the sexual contact, or if she has had orgasms as a 
result of whatever you've been doing with/to her, 
point these things out as evidence of her 
commitment. Point out the fact that she continues 
to dress and/or act in sexy and seductive ways 
(even if she doesn't). Remind her of your emotional 
bond, especially in regard to your mutually 
negative feelings toward her mother. But don't do 
any of this in an accusatory way; remember that 
it's not all her fault (responsibility). Talk to 
her as any father would, with love, with respect, 
and with a sense of firm guidance.

I confronted this particular problem about three 
months into my incestuous relationship with 
Bridget. By this time we had made love exactly 
twenty-seven times (yes, I kept count), mostly 
intercourse, but also several incidents of oral sex 
(I introduced my daughter to oral sex after the 
first month or so, although I should admit that it 
wasn't so much an introduction as a refresher 
course; apparently, she'd already developed a 
remarkable amount of skill in this area. I wanted 
to ask her where she learned to suck cock like that 
(believe me, she was a genius with her mouth and 
tongue) but I didn't trust myself; I knew that if 
she actually told me, I'd not only put the culprit 
in the hospital, but more than likely give her a 
good swift kick in the cunt as well. Instead, I 
just let the whole question slide by without 
comment).

Bridget had been admirably cooperative in the 
beginning, but as our relationship deepened she 
began to drift away from me even as we became 
physically closer. I didn't think she was becoming 
particularly unhappy so much as just less 
interested, as if she had already learned whatever 
she needed to learn from the experience and was 
wanting to move on. I suppose women can be like 
that. Men, of course, don't give a fig about 
learning anything new, as long as they can continue 
to have great sex. Or just sex.

Anyway, I naturally grew concerned about my 
daughter, and about the possibility that she might 
let our secret slip simply to bring an end to it. I 
knew I had to do something, but unfortunately, I 
didn't know what I could possibly do beyond what I 
was already doing, with the talking and the 
affection and the presents and the looking the 
other way when her entire bedroom smelled of pot.

I also looked the other way when Bridget showed me 
the lesbian porn magazines Carrie hid in her 
underwear drawer, but that doesn't really have 
anything to do with this subject; I just mentioned 
it to give the reader something fun to think about.

I, like most fathers, didn't take any direct action 
to shore up my position until it was nearly too 
late. As I said, it was three months into the 
incest, and Bridget had withdrawn from me 
emotionally, and sometimes physically as well, and 
then for a period of about five or six days she 
simply refused to let me do anything with her at 
all. She wouldn't even let me feel her tits. The 
situation was intolerable.

I needed to get her alone, away from the house and 
the family, and straighten her out. So I arranged 
to take her with me on a short business trip out of 
town. I know I said earlier that this was a no-no, 
but that's only true in the beginning stages; at 
the kind of point Bridget and I were at, it's not 
only okay, but recommended. Just keep reading, 
you'll see why.

They were holding a three day journalists' 
conference in Chicago, and Bridget was actually 
excited to go, mostly, I think, because she'd never 
been to Chicago before. Of course, Carrie wanted to 
go too, but I told her she could come with me on my 
next trip; maybe there was a teen lesbian 
convention somewhere.

Anyway: we got to Chicago the evening before the 
conference started, had dinner at a nice 
restaurant, then went to the hotel the paper had 
booked for me. I'd told them that I was traveling 
alone, so while I had to pay for Bridget's ticket 
myself, the room they'd given me was a single, with 
just one bed. Yes, I'm a genius.

Bridget had been in high spirits, awestruck by the 
big city, but as soon as she got to our room and 
realized that we would be sharing it, along with 
the one bed, her attitude changed and she became 
grumpy and locked herself in the bathroom. It took 
me nearly an hour to get her to unlock the door, 
and another five minutes to convince her to come 
out to the room where we could talk.

We sat in two chairs, facing each other, and I took 
the direct approach, asking her why she was so 
upset with me. I told her she could be honest, say 
whatever she wanted to say. And Bridget, that 
little fire engine, took it to heart.

"What do you 'think' is wrong?" she asked me. 
"You're having sex with me all the time. It's 
wrong, Dad. I'm your daughter, for fuck's sake. 
Don't you care about how I feel at all? Is that all 
I'm good for, an easy fuck when the house is empty 
or a quick blowjob in the car on the way home from 
school? Is that all I am to you, just some stupid 
slut you can stick your dick into whenever you 
want?"

She said several other things in that vein, her 
words and tone of voice designed to wound me, and 
while they did to a certain degree, I made sure I 
didn't let that show. I took the attitude that I 
was just letting her blow off some steam, get 
things off her chest, and as soon as she was done 
we could begin to work things out.

And that was pretty much what happened. Once 
Bridget was done ranting and raving, she started to 
cry, and I embraced her and shushed her and stroked 
her hair and told her, as always, everything was 
going to be okay. She was stiff in my arms at 
first, but after a few minutes she relaxed, then 
pressed her face against my chest and said, "I'm 
sorry, Daddy. I just don't know what to do 
anymore."

Now, here is one of the many points at which a 
father will stumble, make a bad mistake and ruin 
everything. Some fathers will wimp out and say, 
"That's okay, sweetheart, we don't have to do 
anything more if you don't want to," while others 
will take the overly aggressive approach and rip 
her clothes off and slap her and throw her on the 
bed and teach the little brat a lesson.

Neither of these approaches is a good idea, because 
they rob your little girl of responsibility, 
initiative, and a sense of having control over her 
life. The first option might seem like you're 
handing over all control, but in fact you're not, 
because there's a part of her that wants you to be 
the one to make the decision. Of course, she might 
be wanting you to decide to leave her alone, but 
that's beside the point. The main thing is that, 
even if she thinks you're being a rotten daddy, at 
least you ARE being the daddy, and that's what your 
little girl needs more than anything else. On the 
other hand, roughing her up is a bad idea too, 
because, as tempting as it is, unless you've 
already been roleplaying rape fantasies with your 
little Boo Boo, she's more than likely just going 
to call the police.

With Bridget, I knew I had to walk a tightrope. I 
couldn't indulge my more nefarious and violent 
impulses, and yet I couldn't just let her abandon 
what we had, especially since I knew that it was at 
least a resemblance of what she wanted with me. I 
said as much to her, and told her that we were so 
close to realizing the full and wonderful potential 
of our relationship, it would be a crime to give up 
now. I told her that I needed her, and that she 
needed me too. She shook her head at that and I 
said, "I'm right, Bridget, you know I'm right, and 
you know you don't want to give up." I said some 
other things, personal and intimate things, and 
they don't really need to be recounted here.

Bridget still tried to resist, but her arguments 
were growing weaker and weaker, her resolve was 
crumbling, and finally, after about an hour of 
intense talking, I saw my chance. A little bit of 
physical propaganda was in order.

We happened to be sitting together on the bed, and 
I already had my arms around her, and so it was 
just a matter of guiding her down onto her back and 
making love to her. I unbuttoned her blouse and got 
her bra open, and she let me fondle her and suck on 
her nipples, and she even let me slide my hand up 
under her skirt and into her panties to play with 
her, but when I started to pull her panties down 
she grabbed my wrist and said no. I didn't let this 
stop me. After all, I had the truth on my side.

Bridget is a strong girl, and she can be very 
stubborn, but she really didn't put up that much of 
a fight. I managed to get her panties off without 
too much trouble, and after a short struggle I got 
my cock into her and started fucking her. She 
whimpered and said, "Daddy, please don't," but of 
course by then it was too late. Besides, we both 
knew she didn't really want me to stop. The 
evidence was in the way her resistance slackened 
the more I fucked her, and the two orgasms she had 
before I had my own.

Now, some of you might be thinking that I 
disregarded my own advice and raped Bridget, but 
you'll notice if you reread the above few 
paragraphs (and I'm sure some of you will, with 
dicks in hand) that there was no violence, no 
threats, no tearing of clothes. I did force myself 
on her, but I did it gently and firmly, and the 
whole time I was having my way with her I was 
talking to her, telling her all the things I'd told 
her before, using words and logic and reason along 
with my superior strength to persuade her that her 
fears and her doubts were misguided, and that this 
melding of our bodies and hearts was the true 
substance of who we were.

I won't say that this method was a complete cure. 
There were still some wrinkles in our road to be 
worked on, but for the most part Bridget did 
straighten up and behave herself after that. She 
was sixteen then, and for the past year we have 
enjoyed a very satisfying romantic and sexual 
relationship. Because we both know and believe that 
this is the way we were meant to love each other.

*** Rule Number Eight : Don't Get Caught

This rule is obvious and self-explanatory, but I'm 
going to review it anyway, for the same reason that 
rat poison manufacturers put warning labels on 
their products that say things like, "Not for human 
consumption." Because, unfortunately, it's 
necessary.

It's shocking to me, the number of fathers who get 
caught, either because their daughters tell on them 
or because they make some lamebrained mistake that 
any person with an IQ over 12 can avoid. In my 
opinion, these guys deserve to get caught; if 
they're not smart enough or careful enough to keep 
their special relationship with their daughters a 
secret, then they shouldn't be messing around with 
their little Cookies in the first place. Morons, 
all of them.

Avoiding detection is simple, especially if you've 
observed the prior seven rules with circumspection 
and diligence. If you've groomed her well, started 
out small and proceeded slowly, fostered a rift 
between her and her mother, developed a strong 
romantic bond between her and yourself, helped her 
to understand and accept her part of the 
responsibility, and gently but firmly corrected her 
when she drifted off course, then the rest should 
be smooth sailing. Your well conditioned daughter 
won't tell anyone, not her mother, not her best 
friend, not her shitbag boyfriend, or her sexually 
confused sister. She'll keep it to herself, partly 
because you want her to, and partly because she 
herself does too.

The other types of mistakes that get a father 
arrested and tried and convicted and registered as 
a sex offender are even easier to avoid, because 
they deal with common sense: don't molest her when 
Mom (or anyone else) is in the very next room; 
don't molest her in public places like the beach or 
the mall, whether or not they are places where 
you'll be recognized as father and daughter; don't 
leave any evidence, like stolen underwear or photos 
or videos or how-to guides, laying around where 
anyone can find them; lock all that stuff up as 
tight as possible, or else destroy it; don't brag 
to your buddies or online friends (who could very 
well turn out to be police officers looking for 
guys like you), and for God's sake, don't try to 
get her to include one of her friends; this is 
between you and your daughter ONLY. Once the word 
gets out, you're sunk. You might as well begin 
preparing for a long prison sentence and daily 
buttrapings.

For the past two years I've managed to steer clear 
of all of these things. Granted, there were a few 
close calls; there was the time I joined Bridget in 
the shower and heard the wife's car coming into the 
driveway just as I was unloading about a liter of 
come into my daughter's mouth; the time Kate found 
a pair of Bridget's panties under my side of the 
bed; and of course the Chicago hotel bill, which 
showed that I took a room with a single bed (I told 
Kate I'd slept on the floor and the stupid cunt 
believed me). But for the most part I was very 
careful, and as a result very successful in keeping 
my relationship with Bridget expertly disguised as 
a normal and loving father daughter relationship.

And you can too. The love you feel and so 
desperately want to express to your little 
Sweetykins can become a reality. All you have to do 
is follow these rules with care, use your head, and 
don't panic in situations that are less than 
perfect. Love your daughter with all your heart. 
And don't get caught.

*****

It's eight-thirty in the morning and I've got to go 
to the store to get some batteries, but I want to 
add this little note before I leave. I've just 
arranged with Bridget to go to a hotel with me 
tonight, using the ruse that we're going to a movie 
for a father daughter evening. She's not happy with 
me, because she was planning to go out with one of 
her lowlife boyfriends, but I insisted. I also 
wouldn't let her have the car keys. She told me she 
hated me, and yet she agreed to go with me tonight, 
which just serves to reinforce everything I've 
written so far; with the proper guidance, your 
daughter will go along with you, involve herself 
fully in the romance, even when she's not in the 
mood.

I am a blessed and brilliant man.

And if I don't drop dead between now and then, I'm 
going to enjoy a very special evening with my 
little girl; I'm planning to introduce her to the 
joys of anal sex.

Which reminds me, I should get some Vaseline while 
I'm out.