It’s hard to remember when it started. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, but when puberty hit, our relationship changed. I went from a skinny little girl to a curvy preteen. My mother hated the changes, but my father, well, he loved each of them. That was the year he upped my allowance and gave me a secret credit card. If mommy knew about that, she would’ve dropped dead from anger. She always said no woman could replace her, but what about her own daughter? Mentally, I replaced her years ago. She just didn’t realize it yet.
The first night I remember my father entering my bedroom, I decided to start a diary about our time together. As taboo as this will be, it’s more normal than you could ever imagine.
Daddy’s girl loves to play naughty.
One night in May.
My parents were drinking with friends tonight. I can’t even explain how funny it is to see my mother drunk. Usually, a quiet woman, she really gets loud the more drinks that my father feeds her. After her 4th vodka martini, she passed out on the couch in front of their friends. I sat at the top of the stairs watching my father apologize to the other couple. I felt a little bad for him, but honestly, he should have known. She never could handle her alcohol. Thankfully, for him, their bedroom was downstairs, and he only had to carry her a few yards. I snuck back into my room during that time because it would be rude for me to laugh.
As the night went on, I slipped on my favorite sleep shirt and white cotton panties. The shirt is tight and one of my father’s old wife beater shirts. My breasts weren’t large, but puffy, and my nipples rock hard. As I turned to look in the mirror at my behind, a soft knock on the door stopped me in my tracks. Slowly, the door opened and my father took up most of the space in the doorway. I swear he was salivating as he watched me check out my tushy in that full-length mirror. The panties fit like a second skin, and truth be told, they were at least a size too small. My ass was the one part of my body that was overdeveloped. A bubble butt is what most men called it.
“Go to bed. Your mother is drunk and you should sleep,” he said.
I knew the look of frustration, but Daddy’s face contorted in a manner that I have never seen before. Somewhere between anger and disgust. Who was he mad at, though? Me, or himself, for having those thoughts. No man should ever think about his daughter with the carnal thoughts of lust for his very own little girl. I knew he was mad not only because of the look on his face, but the way his hand went to his pants to smooth the ridge. He tried to control his hard-on before I saw, but he failed. My cheeks flared with embarrassment and heat radiated from my body like a furnace. This was the first night he noticed me, but it wouldn’t be the last.