It Was an Accident, Honest!_(1)

IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, HONEST!
How I accidentally fucked my father, on purpose

By Trojan Snake
Written for M, she knows who she is!


If I ever meet God face to face, and he asks me about it; I can honestly say it was an accident – sorta.

Well, three accidents really, so it’s not actually my fault I fucked my father. I mean, you can’t blame me for the first two, and only partly for the third mishap. Of course, my nickname is Miss Hap, because as a kid I was always in the middle of whatever trouble there was. It’s not like I’m accident-prone, I just sort of wind up in the middle of trouble by happenstance. In fact, my given name is Happy. Mother was a Republican from upstate New York, and there was this Governor Rockefeller (like the Plaza in NYC), who became Vice-President (I think). Anyway, his wife’s name was Happy, and I’m named after her.

The moniker suits me. I am a pretty happy person. And happily I’m a pretty girl too. Not to brag, but above average. I had no more to do with it, than my name. Blame my mom’s politics and genetic material for both. However, the fact I look like her, and she was a runner-up for Miss New York State when she was 19, is part of the reason that daddy and I did it. Fucked. I must say, it was not his fault at all, as you will understand when you read my story.

It was fun too. But then sex is, if your a normal, healthy and active female of 22. Which I am, except now I’m a year older. I became sexually active, in my first year of college, at 18. I was ready. We used protection, but then I went on the pill, since I fully intended to screw often with the fella I was in love with. That torrid romance lasted two years. Since then, I have had several relationships of various lengths, and dated quite a bit. So you don’t think that I was an innocent, and got taken advantage of. Not at all, but neither am I a slut.

The first accident was with our car. We were on a back road, daddy and me, taking a short cut back from grocery shopping. The right front tire got a flat. It was a bad place to try to fix a flat, and out of the way. We have auto emergency service, but just as I was about to call on my cell, this pickup truck stopped to see if we needed help. Dad thought it would easier for the wrecker to meet him at home, and he could then ride with them back to the car. I would be back home and could start dinner. So we accepted a lift home from the good Samaritan.

I was the woman of our home, graduated from college, and back until I found a job. Mom had died of cancer a couple of years ago. That is the saddest part of my life, but I won’t dwell on it. I took care of the domestic stuff, like cooking and errands to the cleaners, etc. Dad lived on pizza and hot dogs the last two years I was at school. But he did help around the house, just he wasn’t much good at that sort of stuff. Mom had always been the homemaker; he, the breadwinner. I am determined to marry a man who can cook!

So we accepted a ride from this nice man with the farm truck. Only, the back was all dirty and he had a big tool box on the seat beside him. But we made do, with the tools in the middle and myself on dad’s lap. Uh-huh. You see where this is going now. There was one extra tool in that pickup cab. It belong to dad. It was smack dab in the middle – of my butt. I don’t know why, of all the times I have sat on daddy’s lap, this time he had a boner. But there was no mistaking that feeling. The old man had wood. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was older now, or if it was just a natural reaction, after a long abstention, since mom had passed.

I didn’t mind. I figured he couldn’t help it, he seemed a little embarrassed even. But I had not had a man prod me in a few months and it felt nice. It wasn’t as if he was putting the moves on me, not anything that overt. In fact, though we were somewhat casual about dress around the house, since we were family; and were honest about what had been our past sex lives, both being adults; actually there had been but only the chastest of relationships. It was a normal father / daughter thing, which was open and honest, the upright way my folks had raised me. No naughtiness happened as I was growing up, nothing salacious ever, I stress.

But that incident, fifteen minutes of my father’s penis pressed against my buns, planted a seed of curiosity in my cunt. It let the faintest hint of incestuous intrigue insinuate itself into my innards. I found myself wondering what dad’s dick looked like. It seemed rather large. Mom had hinted as much once. Was he circumcised? Was he veined? How hairy was he, how did his balls hang, did he squirt a lot when he came? Questions on another day I would have gone, ‘Ooueh! (with a shutter) Too much information, my mind does not want to go there!’ But for some reason, with the instrument intimate in my ass-cheeks, I had the strongest interest in them then.

But I would certainly never had had the gall to try to peek at dad, to discover the answer to any of those questions. That was what the second accident took care of. Now some people say there are no accidents. But certainly unplanned events are not considered to be anything but innocent occurrences. Even if they prove to be fateful. It turned out, that that ride in the truck on my pater’s prominence, had an impression on more than just me. Dad too, was erotically stimulated, though, to his credit, he never let on afterwards. I discovered his having been affected by accident, about a week later.

I was going out to see some friends, and had left the house. I told my father that I would not be home for hours. But as I got just a block down the road, I realized I had left my wallet in my other purse. So I turned around in a neighbor’s driveway and doubled back. I wasn’t silent when I came in, but didn’t make a big ruckus. Nor did I call out, because I knew dad was about to take a nap, just as I was leaving. So I was more quiet, than my usual boisterous self. As I passed his room, on my way to my own, I heard him call my name.

I though, ‘Oh, he’s checking to see if it’s me he hears, I’ll pop in on pop and confirm that I came back for a second.’ I opened his bedroom door. There he is, rampant. He was masturbating. He was calling my name. He was cumming. A stunning moment in a girl’s life, believe me. I wasn’t offended, but I was surprised. I wasn’t startled by the sight, but I was – uh . . . agog. I stared, I have a mental photograph of the vision, which I will never forget. I frankly liked what I saw, and noted, for later analysis, many factors which answered the queries that had arisen, when my father’s hard-on had risen under my tush.

He was big, make that BIG. Not monstrous, and I was not using a ruler to measure, but he must have been maybe eight inches, and nice and thick. So mom was not kidding, when she had let it slip, that “dad’s dong was a strong long schlong.” I remember laughing at the phrase at the time, slightly flushing, amazed that my mother would use it, or even speak it. He was circumcised, the head a wonderful plum color at the moment. Two blue veins slightly protruded along the shaft. He wasn’t overly hairy, and I could see that his sacks were large and loose. And my goodness, did he have a lot of jism erupting from the tip!

From his lips, he murmured once more, “Happy”. I could tell he was, but he didn’t mean that. It was obvious that he was thinking of me, because he then added, “Sweetheart, I love you!” I wasn’t about to respond, “I love you too, daddy!” Of course I do, and strangely enough, I did even more just then, knowing that he had sexual feelings for me.