Monday rolled around with a yawn and a whimper and I had to force myself to go to work. I got to my office, which was a very plush two-room affair that I was the only denizen of. I have worked alone for years and years, so much so that I fear I would not be able to do a regular nine to five job. I read and destroyed all the incoming mail, read my e-mails and read and filed the day's security report. Then I got down to the mundane task of doing what I do. I can take you no farther into my work day as that would be a breach in security etiquette. "What?" you say "You can show us your daughter's diary yet you cannot tell us what it is you do for a living?" Very astute of you and, no I can't tell you shit. I can't even tell my wife and family what it is I do. I cannot even tell them what part of the world, not even the hemisphere that I'm in, when I travel. I would not be fired or manage to go to a Club Fed. I would just go away. Maybe a car accident or a small plane crash in a remote cornfield in Iowa. I would cease to exist. Anyway, it wouldn't interest you that much and as far as my daughter goes, I haven't done anything "illegal", as it were, just maybe morally reprehensible. Maybe.

At around two or so, my new cell phone let out a digital screech that almost made me wet myself. My work phone was an encrypted cell that only very specific people had the number to. I programmed all the tones to be pleasing and sedate. Not like the new personal one that had all of the nuances of a block party in Little Havana. I fumbled trying to get the fucking thing to shut up as I foresaw the next couple of hours consisting of a very well deserved reprogramming of the new phone. Well, there was something I could have done with my idle weekend.

I finally got the thing to quit playing the Ghetto Maramba and flip it open. It said I had one message in my inbox. I clicked on about a hundred buttons and finally came to the file. It was from Sarah, but the text message was to my wife. Well, easy screw up. All of the four telephone numbers were one digit different at the end. It said that she would be home directly after school because the art club meeting had been cancelled. It said to make sure someone was home or to leave the door unlocked because she didn't have her house key with her. Goddamn, no wonder America is sliding into the educational abyss. The text message was made up of abbreviations and weird symbols and crap. Frightening that our children were one step from being illiterate. While I was contemplating the decline of Western civilization, a thought occurred to me. A deliciously evil and wonderful thought. It would be easy to send the wrong message to the wrong person...real easy. I forwarded Sarah's message to her mother, who wouldn't look to closely at the number it was sent from. She would just assume it was from Sarah herself. I sat back in my leather chair and was actually shaking inside, contemplating the domino I was about to tip over to start a chain reaction that would inevitably bring my daughter into my arms and eventually my bed.

I checked the calendar and saw that school was out in a little over a week and almost immediately, the boys would be shipped off to summer camp. Three days after they left, Rachel would be going on a missionary quest with her church to New Orleans to help assist with God's mess that He made down there. So, two weeks is how long I had to plant the seed and have it blossom into fruition. Two weeks and my daughter and I would be alone in the house together. I would actually have to plant the seed now so that it could mature and become a reality. My cock was so hard with the fortuity and ease in which everything was falling into place, I could not contain it. I stripped completely naked and started stroking myself lightly. The glans of my cock was still a little tender, but it just seemed to make it all the more pleasurable. I took stock of every angle that I could contemplate. It was still important that my daughter not lose her love for me as a father. With this plan, if she didn't go for it, no harm, no foul and everything would go on as it was before. I couldn't be found "guilty" of anything, really, because one would have to prove an intentional act and not just a technological accident. I scrolled down the phone's features until I came to the camera. I held it out to the side and snapped one, two three...just needed to get the right pose. I let go of my cock and reviewed the pics. I was even somewhat impressed. I told you I was not a small boy. I chose the one that looked the best, the most appealing and tempting, and saved it to a file. I got myself dressed and got back to work with a slight smile across my lips, smug in the wooly comfort of a foolproof plan. See, I was learning to be patient.

Later that day, when I knew that Rachel would be taking the boys to the YMCA and Sarah would probably be home alone, I called the house. Sarah picked up the phone by the third ring with an expectant tone. I dashed her hopes that there was somebody actually interesting on the line and asked to speak to her mother. She said she had left somewhere with the boys and I inwardly smiled. Sarah asked why didn't I call her on her cell and I acted chagrined, telling her I actually forgot about the new phones. She said duh and called me a doof and I asked her if she knew how to send text messages and take pictures and such. She said it was in the manual, but grudgingly told me how to do it, as if she were talking to a retarded three year old. I told her that I wanted to show her mom something and asked if her mom would be able to figure out how to look at the picture. Sarah said, as I already knew, having read the fucking manual, that a picture would come up as soon as it went through because that was what the default was set at. I said oh, and acted like I was going to ask what "default" meant and I let her go. I waited about ten minutes and then sent the picture of my rigid cock....to Sarah's phone. I had to jerk of several minutes later reasoning that right at this very moment, my daughter was staring at her father's cock, fully erect from the thought of sinking it deep within her. The plan was irretrievably in motion.

That night, we were all together for dinner. I had been working all day at my poker face, so that I wouldn't lose it when the time came to see Sarah. Everyone was seated but Sarah and I yelled for her, as I normally would, because none of us could eat until Rachel said grace and Rachel did not say grace until everyone was seated. Sarah came into the dining room with her cheeks flushed red. She stared at the floor on the way to her seat and grace was finally said. The boys dominated the conversation with a whole lot of loud nothing and Sarah's face was so close to her plate, she should just pretend it was Jen and lap up her food. Rachel started talking to me about the impending missionary trip and asked if I had all the numbers I needed in case of an emergency. I told her that I had all the emergency numbers down there to be able to find her and I had the numbers at the summer camp to be able to call the boys. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sarah's head come up quickly with the news that her mother and her brother's would be taking there leave soon. She went back to looking at her plate and I could see her breathing in heavy, hitching breaths. I wasn't sure what to make of it, if she was scared or mad or, as I hoped it was, excited. Rachel rambled some more about how some of the numbers in New Orleans weren't exactly the most stable of communication lines. I smiled at her and gave the same sermon Sarah had given to me earlier. I reminded her that she had a cell phone now, so communication should be no problem. I leaned towards my wife and conspiratorially whispered to her, but loud enough so Sarah could hear. I asked her if she got the picture I had sent to her. She looked at me like I was a bug and I saw my daughter sit bolt upright as if someone had electrified her chair. Rachel said no, she didn't receive anything, and that, point of fact, she hadn't even been able to turn the fudging thing on. I told her that we should go over the manuals later so that we both would know how the "fudging" thing worked. Sarah hunched down in her chair again and left the dinner table, headed to her room, before dessert was even served. The trap was set and the alibi was in place. Now it was up to Sarah to decide which direction this seducement should take.

The next several weeks were a flurry of activity, what with the children being released from their school prisons for summer break and Rachel and the boys preparing for their mass exodus. I watched Sarah, not so as she would notice, but watch I did. She showed no outward signs of trying to avoid me, no outward sign of fear or loathing. In fact, the closer the time came for her mother and brothers to depart, the friendlier she acted towards me. I even think that she was checking me out, strange and egocentric as that may seem. I caught her not on a few occasions staring dreamily at my groin, like she was trying to discern it's shape and size or projecting a vision that she already had onto the aforementioned area. I wasn't able to peruse her diary until almost two days before the Great Departure. When I did, I had never fantasized as much as what I would find written on those pages.

Sarah was at her art class and Rachel had the boys out shopping for last minute supplies, so I took my opportunity to spread the pages of my daughter's thoughts once again. I carefully got the book out from under the piles of perfumed panties where it was nestled. I skipped all the way the last entries that were written and the words simply jumped off the page at me. It was an entry from three days ago and it talked about how she could not get the picture of my cock out of her mind, that it was sooo huge. I went back a few pages to the date when she would have received the phone picture and started reading there.

It was better than I had ever hoped for. I thought maybe it would spark her interest, maybe make suggesting something a little more enticing, but she seemed overwhelmed with it. The next couple of day's entries were just blah, blah, blah with a few mentions of looking at the picture again and finger fucking herself thinking about riding my cock. There was another entry where she finally broke down and showed Jen and they both got turned on and had another one of their dalliances. This time they used Sarah's "handyman", which I haven't figured out where she keeps that yet. Jen fucked Sarah hard with the dildo and kept whispering to her about how she really wanted it to be her daddy. The last part of the entry said that Jen didn't think it was sick at all, wanting her dad, just as long as she didn't get pregnant and have a side show baby. Jen said she thought I was sexy and very rugged looking. Have to make a mental note of that for later. Another entry, made just four days ago went back into an almost pornographic description of what she wanted to do with me and to me.

I went in search of these drawings. I couldn't find them in her portfolio or her current art class pads, so I went through her closet. Sure enough, there was a huge Beinfang drawing pad full of sexually explicit drawings. Not all of them were of me. Most of the one's in the back were of strangers (imagined, hopefully), that dick head Josh, all her girlfriends, some from the photos she had taken and then there were seven pages of my cock and me fucking Sarah. These were somehow more erotic than any of the photos or diary entries combined. These weren't just pictures snapped with a camera and forgotten or a diary entry hurriedly scribbled down. These were pieces of art that my daughter spent hours and hours of time sketching and perfecting and living through. These had to be by far the most exciting thing that I had ever seen. Pastels on black paper depicting the picture of my engorged member I sent her on the phone. There was another where her blonde hair cascades down her face as she sucks at the head of my cock, streaming white cum in her mouth and down the shaft. Another is of her riding my cock, blonde hair thrown back in a scream of pleasure. All of these drawing I scanned into my computer because I was afraid that sometime soon, she may destroy them and they would be lost forever, and I couldn't bear that. If nothing else happened from this point forward, I would have my daughter's heart recognizing me as a father and a sexual being, and that was more than I could ever ask for.