This story contains my two favorite story subjects, incest and transgenderism. It starts slowly, as all my stories do (a story with no background is not much of a story, in my opinion), so I ask readers to be patient. This story, as a whole, is fiction, although parts of it are based on actual people, places, and events.
I would definitely appreciate any comments anyone cares to send me. My email address is sjtw69@yahoo.com. I'm hoping for praise and adulation, of course, but will consider criticisms. If you just want to write and talk about the weather, that's fine, too. I don't check email very often, so be patient if you expect a response.
Thanks, and enjoy my story. Love,
Stephanie
A Visit From Dad by Stephanie
Many years ago, I graduated from college, got a job, and moved away. Soon after, I learned I was a transvestite. There was a joke I heard during that time -- What's the difference between a TV and a TS? About three years. Well, like the joke, a few years later, I wanted to take it another step. I started the transitioning process. At that time, I felt it was a good idea to finally tell my parents. Mom cried. Dad refused to talk to me and called me a queer.
Mom died - possibly from the stress of my announcement. I went to the funeral - still male, not quite ready to face Dad and the rest of my family, along with many former friends and neighbors, as a female. I saw Dad and he saw me, but we didn't speak. But I guess just the fact that he let me be there said a lot. I took it as acceptance. I started writing to him, telling him my worries and concerns and how difficult the decision to transition had been, but how good it made me feel about myself. I didn't get any replies, but I didn't really need or expect any. It was more cathartic just to get my feelings out in the open like that.
Dad must have read them, though, because when I finally went to surgery, I got a get-well card from him. He even signed it using my girl name: "To Stephanie, Love Dad".
It was still very lonely, and I had very few friends. I continued writing the letters to my Dad, still not expecting him to reply. One day, he did write back. His letter was simple - stating that he wanted to take a vacation-trip to Washington, and while he was there, wondered if it would be okay if he visited me. It was so cute the way he wrote it. As if he had to ask permission.
Sometimes, I wonder if I became a girl simply as a way of getting my father to love me more.
I wrote back and told him he was welcome to visit, and could stay as long as he wanted. I even offered to take time off from my job, just to see him and take him sight-seeing. I offered him the use of the spare bedroom in my townhouse for as long as he wanted to stay, and told him I'd be happy to pick him up from the airport. To my pleasant surprise, Dad wrote back, accepting my offer, telling me he would be staying for just that week.
I was very, very nervous as the time for his visit got closer and closer. Finally, it was the day to pick him up at the airport. I was so nervous. I didn't know what to wear. By that time, I was officially a female, and had been for a little less than two years. My driver's license had an F on it, instead of an M. My birth certificate said that I'd been born a little girl, even though I'd actually been born a little boy. And yet, I was afraid to meet my father for the first time in over three years wearing a dress, or appearing obviously female. And yet, there was no denying the two symbols of womanhood perched on my chest, announcing my femininity to all the world.
I finally decided to dress conservatively, wearing a black pantsuit with a white shirt. For a woman, it was a rather mannish outfit, and I believed it would be the easiest one for Dad to see me in. Of course, if he was serious about me taking him sightseeing all week, I knew that eventually I'd have to wear something more feminine. I just didn't have that many mannish things. More to the point, I really didn't want to dress like a man for an entire week. It was okay for a day or two, but I knew eventually I'd want to get back to the soft, feminine things I found most comfortable: the things I'd learned to wear to get comfort from a world that expected so much more from me as a man than I was able to give; the things I'd begun wearing that had started me on the trail to becoming a woman.
The visit went well, and Dad and I had a fun time. I cooked breakfast and dinner for him each day, and each day he would buy us lunch at whatever restaurant happened to be near by at the time. The first two times, I didn't think much of it. It just felt like Dad being Dad, and offering to buy. You know how dads are.
On the third day, he suggested we go to my favorite restaurant. He asked me what I wanted, and then ordered for me as I went to the ladies room to freshen up. I know that got Daddy's attention, when I excused myself and said I had to visit the ladies' room. I think, up to that moment, he'd been able to overlook the fact that I had breasts and long hair, and that I wore soft, feminine things in soft, feminine colors, and that I wore perfume and a little bit of makeup. He could just pass all that off as me being a "queer" that he'd once refused to talk to. But hearing me tell him that I was going to the "ladies' room" and knowing that's where I was actually going to go, and that that's where I belonged, I think that was an eye opener for him.
After that, it suddenly seemed less like having my father visit me, and more like we were on a date. And I suddenly realized how much all I wanted was to have my father love me for who I was.
When I returned to the table, I purposely left my polo-shirt unbuttoned one extra button, just to see what kind of reaction it would get. I mean, I suddenly wanted to flirt with him, as if we really were dating. I don't know why. I just wanted to see if I could get his attention as a woman. I admit, I was kind of horny, too, and suddenly realized just what a good-looking man my father really was. I guess I was lonely, too. I had been a woman for twenty-one months, and I still didn't have a boyfriend, and no serious prospects. Maybe I was a little desperate, as well. Whatever my reasons, I found myself sitting across from him, with my shirt unbuttoned as far as it would go, flirting with a man who was old enough to be father, and in fact, was my father.
That "date" was a turning point for us. I caught Dad looking once or twice at my cleavage, and felt proud that I finally had the kind of body that could get a man's attention. Even if that man happened to be my own father. Emboldened by his reaction, I began flirting even more. In hindsight, I can't imagine what he must have thought. I was literally coming on to him. Like I say, maybe I was desperate for the attention of a male, and maybe there were also some deep-seated psychological reasons for me to want that kind of attention from him.
After lunch, as we walked past the monuments on The Mall, I slipped my arm into his, and let him escort me as I continued to flirt. As we got closer to the station, I slipped my hand into his. That was such an exciting moment, to have Dad holding my hand like that. It was so romantic. I know that he must have held my hand when I was a boy, at least once or twice, but I really couldn't remember any time when he ever had. In any case, it had been so many years since it had ever happened, that it was as if we were doing it for the first time. And maybe it was just me, I remember thinking, but I imagined that he was holding my hand more like a boyfriend, and not so much in a fatherly way of a father holding his daughter's hand - for we both had to admit, I was no longer his son, I was his daughter now.
At the station, Daddy continued treating me like a lady, going first down the escalator, buying my ticket, and then escorting me onto the platform. As the train doors opened, I felt a gentle touch on my waist as he guided me through the doorway and into an available seat. Of course, some of that, I had to admit, could have just been the typical behavior of a man with his child. Even when that child is an adult and has lived on her own for several years, I imagine the instinct to take care of them is still there. And yet, I was sure there was more to it than that. Part of it, he just seemed more solicitous than he needed to be. And his solicitations, to me, seemed to be less fatherly, and more what I would expect from a lover. Of course, having never had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, for that matter, it was hard for me to know. I just know it wasn't what I was expecting from my father that day.
I guess the most specific thing he did that struck me as being distinctly non-fatherly, was that he sat very close to me on the train. I mean very close. His leg was touching mine the whole time. All the way from about the middle of our thighs, to our knees. And he held my hand the entire time as we sat and talked about our plans for the next day. Now, there was certainly no need to keep holding my hand once we were seated. And the pressure of his leg against mine just seemed as if he was doing it simply to be doing it, and not because there was any reason. I mean, it's not like we were being squished by a crowd. In fact, there were other empty seats all around us. And yet, he was sitting so very close to me, I could smell his cologne.
And suddenly I realized, if I could smell his cologne, then he could probably smell my perfume. And then I realized that, as close as he was sitting, and from his slightly higher vantage point - my father is a tall man - he could probably see down my top, too. And so I gave his hand a squeeze and then pressed my leg up against his, letting him know I liked that, and that, if he was looking down my top, I didn't mind. In fact, I started fantasizing about it, hoping he was.
We got home, and decided to watch TV for a while. At first, I thought we would sit separately, the way we'd done the first two days of his visit, with him sitting in the recliner chair, and me sitting on the couch. But, as we walked into the living room, I saw him hesitate, and suddenly go over and take the spot that I usually claimed. Following him, I wasn't sure what to do. I mean, maybe he just wanted to change. I looked at the recliner for a moment, wondering if I should sit there, but then I thought about how magical it had been on the train. I decided I wanted that feeling to continue, and I was willing to take a chance on Dad feeling the same way I was feeling.
Without being too obvious about it, I simply went and sat down right beside him. I nestled my shoulder into his side and sighed, saying, "It's really nice having you here, Dad. Thanks for coming."
I was rewarded with Dad's arm slipping around me, holding me close. It was still the way a father might hold his daughter - there was nothing sexual about it. He just had his arm around me, offering me that warmth and security, and a warm body to lean back on. But, I knew, or hoped, he could have been doing it in a romantic way just as easily. And, as I leaned back against his strong, sturdy body, I closed my eyes, and imagined I was in my lover's arms for a moment. Since the restaurant, I still had my shirt unbuttoned as far as possible, and so as I lay back with my eyes closed, I knew I was offering Dad a glimpse down my shirt. "Let him look," I thought.
We settled in for the evening that way, just sitting closely. There was a baseball game on TV - the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. The Yankees are my dad's favorite team, so it was a game he wanted to watch. Up until then, I'd never been much of a baseball fan. But as we watched the game, I started asking questions, and Dad would answer them. I remember how different that felt from previous times with my dad, if that were possible. I actually felt more accepted by him as a female, than I ever had as a male. All those things about baseball that I'd never understood, I felt free to ask, now that I was no longer a male. It was strangely liberating.
Happily, the Yankees won. Dad and I had spent the entire game sitting closely, and now it was time for bed. I sat up and faced him for a moment, intending to say good night. I didn't want to go to bed, really. If I could have thought of a way to stay cuddled in his arms for another hour or more, I would have taken it. But it was late, and I couldn't think of a reason.
As I sat up, for some reason I became very aware of my breasts. Of course, although I hadn't dress in a way that drew attention to my breasts, other than unbuttoning my shirt at lunch earlier, I also hadn't tried to disguise the fact that I had them. And suddenly, similar to when I'd announced that I was going to the ladies' room, it was as if they were suddenly out there, announcing the fact that I was a woman, now. And as I paused for a moment, suddenly aware of my breasts, I noticed that my father was checking me out. There's just no other way to describe it. He was checking me out, looking at my body from my head to my toes.
Okay, maybe the look in his eye wasn't purely lustful. Maybe it wasn't even partly lustful. Maybe I just wanted it to be. He was my father, after all, and hadn't seen me for a few years. It made sense that at some point during the week he'd want to get a good look at the new me. The last time he had seen me, after all, I had only just begun the transition process, and was still mostly male, physically. Now I was female, with a distinctly female appearance. And although he'd had three days to notice that fact, fate chose that particular moment to make an issue of it.
But, as near as I could tell, Dad was checking me out. His gaze on my breasts lingered just a little too long to be considered fatherly. As I waited for him to say something, I could feel my nipples responding in a sexual way. I could feel them stiffen slightly, making visible marks in the front of my shirt. As they did, I noticed Dad's gaze go back to my breasts, and I knew he could see the marks my nipples were making, which made them respond even more. He was checking me out, and I was getting aroused by it.
I suddenly had this urge to let him see my breasts. It wasn't really an exhibitionistic urge. It was more like the cathartic feeling of release I had gained by writing him letters all those years. It was more like a craving for his approval of what I'd done to my body. Of course, part of me realized that he might tell me that what I'd done was sinful - a crime against nature. We were a religious family, you have to understand. But that craving for his approval was just so strong. I was willing to risk getting his disapproval instead.
In fact, there was little risk of that disapproval. I'd already spent three years bearing the full weight of his disapproval over my choice to transition, and there was little else he could do that he hadn't already done. If letting him see my breasts shocked him, or disgusted him, or made him angry, he'd simply leave again, and I'd be right back where I was a few months earlier with him. So, I realized I really had very little to lose.
With a flirty smile that belied confidence I didn't have, I asked, "What are you looking at?"
Realizing he'd been caught, Dad quickly covered for himself, "I'm just noticing how much you've changed. Do you like being like this?" He nodded his head toward my breasts, indicating that by "this" he meant did I like having breasts and being a woman.
I glanced down at my breasts for a moment, as if just noticing for the first time that I had them, and then back at him. In a flirty manner, I arched my back slightly, pushing my breasts forward slightly, and said, "You mean do I like having boobs?" I was about to tell him how happy it made me to have breasts and to be treated like a woman, but suddenly the emotions overwhelmed me and I started to cry. All I could manage to say was a tear-filled "Yes."
I think my show of emotion caught him by surprise. Until that moment, I don't think he ever suspected just how much it meant to me to be a woman. For a moment he kind of frowned, and I think he may have been feeling some regret for refusing to talk to me when I'd first announced my intentions to transition. Or maybe he suddenly realized that the difficult times I'd had growing up were simply because I'd never felt comfortable as a boy. Whatever he thought, he eventually put his arms around me and hugged me, patting my back, and promising me it would be okay.
I let my tears flow for several minutes. It felt so good to finally let them out. All my life, I'd had to be strong with him. I'd had to display a manliness that I just didn't feel inside. Growing up, I hadn't been allowed to cry in front of him. Crying was for babies. Or wimps. It wasn't what he expected from one of his sons, who were expected to act like men. But now all that no longer mattered. I wasn't a man, and never had been. I was a woman. And as a woman, I was free to cry all I wanted.
After a few minutes, my tears slowed, and I became aware of Daddy's strong arms around me. My cheek was on his chest. It felt so good to be like that. I felt protected. I suddenly realized that's what was missing in my life - that sense of security that women get from men. And I wanted it. I wanted it so much.
As my tears stopped, I became aware of Dad's hands caressing my back. I knew he could feel the strap of my bra. What must he be thinking each time he touched it? Paul Dawson's son wearing a bra? I knew if any of his friends ever found out, he'd be humiliated. But to me, it was arousing. My father was feeling the straps of my bra. It was a very erotic feeling. At the same time, I could feel my breasts being crushed softly against his stomach. My breasts! I shifted slightly, feeling the fabric rub across my nipples. In less than a minute, I went from crying to aroused. I felt the urge to let him see my breasts again, only this time it was accompanied by sexual arousal.
Without lifting my head from his chest, I said, "Daddy?"
I think that was the first time I'd ever called him that. Usually I called him "Dad." But for some reason, at that moment, I felt a need to use a form of address that was more childlike and feminine. It caught him by surprise, because I felt him stiffen for a moment, and then hesitate before finally responding, "Yes, what is it.... Stephanie."
I grinned again at the way he'd paused slightly before saying my name. "Daddy," I continued, "Do you want to see my tits?"
As soon as the words had left my mouth, I held my breath, waiting for his reaction. Our religious background meant that even using a word like "tits" instead of "breasts" or even "boobs" was somewhat salacious. But those words didn't seem to be appropriate just then. More than that, however, was what I'd just asked. I was taking a chance that's what he wanted. For all I knew, he could get mad and leave and never talk to me again. At the same time, it seemed like an innocent question. After all, he'd been checking me out a few minutes earlier. I was simply inviting him to get a better look. If he wanted.
Daddy didn't answer for a moment. I honestly think he didn't know what to say. Finally I could wait no longer for an answer, so I started to talk. Without lifting my face from his chest, I said, "Remember all those letters I wrote you?"
"Yeah."
"Remember I told you how hard it was to transition, and then I'd tell you my worries, and my other feelings?"
"Yeah."
It was my turn to be surprised. "You do?"
Daddy shrugged. "Yeah."
"So you read them?"
"Yes."
I looked up, pulling away from him slightly. I'd always felt like, even though he didn't' respond, that he was reading them, but this was the first time he'd ever admitted it.
"So, you kind of know how I feel?" I asked.
He shrugged again. "I won't pretend to understand it, but I read your letters."
I decided that was good enough. "So, if I told you that I wanted you to see my breasts right now, do you think you'd understand why?"
I really didn't know what I was asking, to tell the truth. I mean, I don't know what kind of answer I expected him to give me. I'm not sure if I even knew myself what the answer to that question was. I just had this urge to let him see how my body had changed. I wanted him to see, and appreciate, just how much of a woman I had become. I wanted to share that with him. Just like I'd done in my letters. I honestly think I wanted only to take off my shirt and let him see my breasts. Nothing more.
Daddy looked at me for a moment, and then said, "I think so."
His answer, spoken so softly and surely, surprised me. How could he know if I didn't even know? "You do?" I asked, letting my surprise show. "Why?"
Daddy took a deep breath, and then said, "It's like your letters. You need to share it with someone. You need someone to see how you've changed."
I realized he was right. Sitting back a little further, I nodded. "So, can I show them to you?"
He nodded, and I think he suddenly realized my need to share with him the changes in my body was just one part of it. There was another, sexually charged part that would come with it. His voice was hoarse as he answered, "Yes, if you want."
I know he added the part about it being my choice to cover up his own interest. But I didn't care. I'd gotten permission. Right in front of him, I l slipped my right arm out of the sleeve of my shirt, lifted it over my head, and then slid it from my left arm and placed it on the back of the couch on which we were sitting.
For a moment, Daddy stared at me, wearing just a bra from the waist up. That's when it suddenly hit me what I was about to do. Not the sharing part, but the sexual part. Other than doctors, no man had seen me topless since I began transitioning. I suddenly realized just how exposed I was going to be.
Before I could talk myself out of doing it, I slid my arms out of the straps of my bra, and then turned it around so that I could unsnap it. Years of wearing bras has yet to teach me how to undo the snaps in the back without turning it around first, and normally, for my own convenience, I leave my bras snapped all the time and simply slip them on like a shirt. However, for Dad's sake, I was trying to do it in the most alluring way I could, without being too awkward. So, the snaps came undone.
For a few moments, I just let him look. My nipples were swollen stiff. Whatever thoughts I'd had of simply satisfying his curiosity, or wanting to gain his approval for the changes in my body were forgotten, and al I could think about was how wild and incredible it felt to be topless in front of my father. I wanted to lift my hands up over my head and shake my titties, making them jiggle naughtily for his pleasure and amusement, while I screamed with excitement. But I didn't. Instead, I just let him look, watching his face.
Daddy looked for a long, long time without saying much. Finally I did something I've always wanted to do. With a teasing smile, I snapped my fingers and pointed to my face and said, "Hey, eyes up here, buster."
Daddy laughed, and looked at my face for a moment, but then went back to staring at my boobs. As he watched, I started stroking the sides of each breast, and then caressed my nipples. It felt so good to let myself be sexual in front of Daddy. I think I spent so much of my years growing up trying to repress my sexual feelings.
After a while, I asked, "Do you want to see how they made the other part?" It almost felt like someone else had taken over my body. The words just sounded so unlikely to be coming from me in front of my dad. All my life I'd had strong sexual urges, which I thought I had to keep secret from my father. To suddenly hear myself expressing them sounded weird. I guess I was doing it, though, to feel liberated. I guess I just wasn't afraid, anymore, of his disapproval. And so, as quickly as the thoughts were coming into my mind, I was saying them.
Daddy stared for a moment. I saw his gaze drop briefly to my waist. He knew exactly what I meant. He hesitated. "I don't know, Stephanie. Maybe you should save that for your boyfriend."
You have to know my dad to appreciate what he had just said. First, he called me Stephanie. My dad was a man's man. He had no tolerance for "fags", "queers", "fairies", or "wimps". I guess that's' why I had such a hard time growing up with him. Although I tried hard to be athletic like my older brothers, I know now that I had a soft, feminine side of me that meant I'd never be the boy he expected. By choosing to begin wearing girl clothes, and then choosing to become a girl, and changing my name to Stephanie, I was embracing all those things he hated. The mere fact that his son was a transsexual had to be incredibly difficult for him to accept.
So, by calling me Stephanie, he was expressing his acceptance of me as a woman. Second, by even suggesting that I might have a boyfriend, he was showing his acceptance of that side of me as well.
I grinned, and said, "I don't have a boyfriend." The tone of my voice suggested I didn't plan on getting one any time soon, but that I was considering him for the job.
Daddy looked at me for a moment, thinking. I could almost see him giving in. "Okay," he said at length, "Let me see."
I stood up and unzipped my pants. I watched Daddy's eyes as I pulled them open. I'm sure he didn't know what to expect. He'd obviously seen a woman's pussy before, but he probably wasn't sure how much different mine would be. In some remote part of his mind he probably even expected me to produce a penis or some other evidence that would reassure him his personal nightmare - his son turning into a girl - hadn't really happened.
I could almost hear his groan as I pulled my pants open, showing him the front of my pink cotton panties with the tiny little ribbon-bow that would never be on a man's underwear. I pushed my pants down, deciding just then that I was going to be completely nude in front of my father when he saw my pussy for the first time.
After stepping out of my pants, I paused a moment. It wasn't my plan to give him a good look at me in panties, but it suddenly seemed like something we both wanted. I remember him looking for a long time at the flat panel of fabric covering my womanhood. It was as if he was hoping a bulge would suddenly appear there, ending his whole nightmare. For a moment I felt sorry for him, and wished I hadn't done it. But just as quickly, I remembered how unhappy I'd been as a male, and how happy I'd been coming out of surgery when I thought about what had happened. My last link to my male life had been removed, and in its place was the crowning glory of woman-hood - an actual vagina.
Of course, there'd been more surgeries after that, and the vagina I had that day was packed with an assortment of medical gauze and stuff that made it barely recognizable as a woman's vagina. But to me, it was the day I truly became a woman. To this day, it's the day I prefer to celebrate as my birthday.
I looked at Daddy, watching him look at me. He was looking at that impossibly flat panel of fabric, and slowly realizing there was nothing underneath it. At least nothing that would resemble a man's body. I hooked my fingers into the lacy waistband of my panties, and pulled them down to mid-thigh. Daddy could see me perfectly now, even though it took me a few more moments to get my panties off. He could see the patch of pubic hair that I'd kept, although I had shaved and trimmed it to a feminine triangle shape. He could see the bikini tan lines that I worked so hard to get simply because I wanted anyone who saw me naked to have no doubts about my gender. He could see the slit that went down the middle of my mound, leading to the new opening that went up inside me.
I honestly planned on that being as far as I went. I just wanted Daddy to see me naked, and know, without a doubt, that I was a girl. But as I stood in front of him, letting him see what the doctors had done. I caught a glimpse of a bulge in his pants. I was giving my daddy a hard-on!
Knowing that made me bolder. I lifted one leg and put it on the arm of the couch beside him, letting him get a better look at my new vagina. I showed him how they had taken my penis and inverted it, forming a vagina that now went up inside of me. I showed him the small nub of my penis they had left behind to act as my clitoris. I spread my labia, which had been formed from the remnants of my scrotum. I told him how my gynecologist - another fact for him to learn to deal with; his son now has a gynecologist - I told him how my gynecologist could tell it was man-made, but that it would fool almost any one else.
With my foot up on the couch, and my legs spread, I invited him to prove it to himself. See if he could tell it wasn't a real vagina. Hesitatingly, Daddy reached up and began to explore me, pulling my labia open and peering inside. I looked down at the bulge in his pants. I suddenly realized I wasn't going to be satisfied until I saw what was making that bulge. I wanted to see the cock that had produced the sperm that had made me.
My leg started to tremble as my arousal increased. I heard myself explaining to my dad how I couldn't produce lubrication, and that I needed to use artificial lubrications in order to have sex. "But other than that," I said, "it's just like a normal vagina."
When I glanced up from Daddy's bulge, I saw him staring at my tits. I was suddenly pretty sure that Daddy was thinking the same thing I was. With my sexiest smile, I moved forward, bending my knees and sliding into place on his lap, my arms around his neck. "Daddy. do you think I'm pretty?" I asked, my voice soft, almost whimpering, needing to know that he did.
As if he couldn't control them, his hands went around my waist and pulled me toward him. With a tingle, I felt him lightly touching my butt in the back. "Yes, Stephanie, you're very pretty now. I like what you've done to yourself."
I could hardly believe my ears. It was the thing I'd always wanted to hear. I had Daddy's approval for turning myself into a girl. I couldn't control myself. I kissed him. I kissed him right on the lips. When Daddy's lips met mine, he felt stiff and uneasy. I pressed harder, wanting him so badly. Wanting him to want me as much as I wanted him. When I felt him finally kiss me back, I began pushing my tongue into his mouth. "Kiss me, Daddy," I breathed.
Daddy was reluctant, but eventually he opened his mouth and let me put my tongue inside. A moment or two later, I felt his tongue pushing into my mouth. I ground my hips, trying to find his bulge with my pussy, trying to get it to press up against me. A moment later, I felt it pressing into my from below. I felt Daddy's hips jerking slowly up and down, as if he was trying to fuck me.
I slid from his lap onto the floor, kneeling in front of him, and began undoing his pants. Daddy didn't stop me at all. He laid back, groaning softly, and spreading his legs, giving me full access to him. In moments I had his pants undone, and reached inside to pull them off. As a boy, I'd played naughty games with my friend - another "queer" activity my dad probably suspected, but which I'd never been caught doing - so I knew how to take his pants off so that it felt good to him. I left his shorts on, for the moment, and took his pants off. Then I climbed back on to his lap and kissed him some more while I ground my pussy against the bulge.
When I was ready to continue, I slid off his lap and onto the floor once more, just as I'd done the first time. Our movements had caused his erection to work its way out the opening of his shorts, and so I was able to see it now.
I'd seen his cock once as a boy, that I can remember, and was actually somewhat surprised that it looked exactly as I imagined it would. When I'd seen it so many years before, I had been impressed with its size. It wasn't overly long, but it had appeared to be so incredibly thick.
Over the years, as I thought about seeing my father's cock, and compared what I'd seen to my own cock, I'd reached a number of conclusions. First, I decided that it hadn't been fully erect when I'd seen it. I could remember it hanging down more, instead of sticking straight out or straight up.
Second, I decided it was bigger than mine. I knew that cocks get bigger when they get aroused, so I often wondered how big his got when it was hard. But no matter how big mine got, even when I had an erection, it was never as big as what I remember his being. As I got older, I wondered if it was simply the fact that I'd been much smaller then, and perhaps I was just easily impressed by an ordinary man-sized cock.
That day, I learned the answer to answer to both questions. Based on what I was seeing sticking out of Dad's shorts, I was right that he hadn't had an erection when I'd seen him as a boy. What I was staring at as I knelt between his legs was standing up proudly and tall. Nothing like what I remembered seeing.
Second, Dad's cock was much bigger than mine. On my proudest day, when I would cheat by jamming a wooden ruler into my flesh at the base of cock to gain an extra half-inch or so, I could occasionally convince myself it was five-inches long. Daddy's, without cheating with the ruler, was easily seven inches long. As a boy, I would sometimes use the cardboard tube from the center of a toilet paper roll as a make-believe cock. I found that mine easily fit inside the cardboard tube, with room to spare all around; even when fully hard. Daddy's cock, I'm sure, would have split the cardboard tube, it was so big around.
Unable to take my eyes off this prize, I wrapped my fingers around it. Daddy groaned, and I looked up to see him watching me, his little girl, playing with his cock. I looked back at his cock, and mentally measured it with my fingers. To my surprise, I found I actually could not close my fingers all the way around it. It was that big.
Well, girls will tell you that size doesn't matter. It really doesn't. But bigger is definitely better. And my daddy was big!
I took Daddy's shorts off, making sure to rub my fingers across his bare skin as I did, and then slowly leaned forward, letting him know what I was planning to do. Reaching behind him, I put my hands on his butt and coaxed him toward the edge of the couch, making it easier for me to do what I wanted to do. I looked up at him with a grin, and then softly kissed the tip of his cock. Daddy moaned loudly, saying, "Oh, Stephanie."
I was elated. In that moment I felt more like a woman than I'd ever felt before. I was giving a man pleasure, and I had the proof of it right there in my hand. Daddy's throbbing erection was proof that I was truly meant to be a woman. It was also proof that I'd finally found a way to get my dad's approval.
Opening my mouth, I started sucking. It wasn't my first time to suck a cock, but it was the first time I'd sucked one that big. In fact, it was my first time sucking a man's cock, since my only other was with my friend when we were younger. It took me a while to get used to Daddy's size. I wanted to suck the whole thing into my mouth, but I found that when I got very much of it inside my mouth, I'd start to gag as it began going down my throat.
Eventually Daddy told me to not worry about getting it all in, but to just use my fingers around the base, and my mouth on the upper part. He also taught me to look at him while I sucked, so that he could see it going in my mouth.
As Daddy began taking over more, giving me instructions, I was content to let him tell me what he wanted me to do. When my mouth began to get tired, I finally stopped sucking, saying, "My mouth's getting tired."
Daddy pulled me back on to his lap, and let me kiss him some more. He said it was really sexy to French a girl who just had his cock in her mouth. That excited me a lot, because I liked hearing Daddy call me a girl, and I liked how he said "French," because it made it sound really dirty and sexy. And I liked that he didn't mind me sucking on his cock. I knew I wasn't very good at it, yet, but I liked having him teach me.
As we kissed, I wiggled around, trying to feel for his cock with my pussy. Daddy knew what I was trying to do, and reached between my legs to guide it into my opening. I was excited, because I knew we were about to have real sex, even though I was a little bit afraid at the same time. I had a vibrator that I used to play with myself when I got horny, but Daddy's cock was nothing like a vibrator. I was a little worried that he might be so big, it might tear my vagina, and then I'd have to go to the doctor and get it fixed. The doctor had assured me I would be able to have sex like any other woman, though, and so I trusted that I wouldn't have a problem.
That's when I remembered about the lubrication. "Daddy," I warned, "I need some lubrication first."
Daddy looked very frustrated as I got off his lap and ran naked into the bathroom to get my lubrication. I quickly returned, and put some on Daddy's cock, using my hand to make it slippery all the way from the tip to the base. That brought Daddy's smile back. Then I put some more lubrication on my pussy, working it up inside of me with my fingers. Daddy watched me getting my pussy ready for him with a big grin, and told me how sexy that looked. I asked him why it looked sexy, and he said it was because he could tell I really wanted to do it. I grinned back and told him I really did.
And then I climbed back on Daddy's lap. I felt his cock go between my legs. I was so horny for it to go inside of me, I started whimpering again. But it also felt good just having it between my legs. I wondered if it was because I kind of miss my own cock a little bit, and when I felt his there, it reminded me of it. All I know is I felt it between my legs, and I started getting really horny to have it inside of me. I wiggled around, trying to find it with my pussy again, and then felt Daddy reach between my legs to hold his cock still while I lowered myself onto it.
I felt it touch my opening, and I moaned a little bit. I couldn't believe I was about to have a man's cock inside of me. I wondered what it would feel like to have it all the way inside me.
I lowered myself a little further, and felt it starting to split me open. It didn't hurt. It just felt weird. I could feel it pushing its way inside, going deeper and deeper. It seemed like it just kept going, and I wondered if it somehow got longer when it went inside, because it sure felt like it was longer inside of me than it had been in my hand or in my mouth. But other than that, I was a little disappointed that I couldn't feel much. I cold feel my pussy lips wrapped around a thick shaft, and I could feel something inside of me. If I moved around, stirring his cock inside of me, I could feel it putting pressure on my insides, but that's about all. I couldn't really feel a specific part of it inside of me.
Once he got it all the way in, Daddy started thrusting his hips, and I did the same. I suddenly realized that I was literally sitting on Daddy's lower belly, with my pussy lips touching him each time we thrust together. The only thing was, I knew that where my pussy lips pressed against him, there was a big fleshy shaft sticking out, and that it was going up inside of me. I looked at Daddy, almost in awe. My daddy was inside me! It was so incredible. It was incredible to think that my body had an opening in it that was just the perfect place for his cock.
Daddy started fucking me harder, making my titties jiggle. He made me keep my hands behind me, not allowing me to touch them, so that they would jiggle more. It also made me put more weight on him, and that made his cock go even deeper inside of me. I suddenly started to realize that I was literally getting fucked. I was getting fucked, just like a girl. I closed my eyes, and thought how incredible it felt. In that moment, I knew transitioning had been the right decision. Turing into a girl was the best thing I ever did.
I opened my eyes and looked at Daddy. His eyes were staring at my tits, watching them jiggle. He looked at me and grinned. "Having fun?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered, not knowing what else I could say.
"Still like being a girl?" he asked.
I shivered a little. I didn't know if Daddy would be able to fuck me long enough to give me an orgasm. I actually wasn't even sure if I knew how to have an orgasm as a girl yet. There had been a few times with my vibrator that I'd made myself feel so good that I had shivered and shook. But I almost felt like I imagined those as much as anything. There certainly hadn't been any sex feelings as intense as the orgasms I'd had as a male.
"Do you like me being a girl?" I asked, knowing he liked it enough to have sex with me.
As an answer, Daddy twisted around, pushing me back so that I was lying on the couch. The whole time he was pushing me down, he kept his cock inside of me, so that when he finished, he was on top of me fucking me. I didn't think it was possible, but it seemed like he started fucking me even harder in that position. I was positive his cock could get no deeper, and I wondered if he would push it right through the top of my vagina.
A few drops of sweat dripped from Daddy's forehead onto my face and shoulders, but I didn't say anything, because I was having too much fun getting fucked. After a moment I realized that I could feel Daddy's ball sack swaying back and forth with each movement of his hips, and slapping against my bare crotch. "Oh God!" I moaned.
Daddy kept pounding his cock into me. I moaned again, "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" I was grabbing for something to hold onto, anything. I had my eyes tightly closed. I couldn't believe how good it felt to have his cock so deep inside me. It was like it felt too good, and I needed to grab onto something just to keep myself from floating away.
I moaned again, "Daddy."
Daddy responded by pushing up with his hips so that his thick cock began rubbing across my clitoral nub. I felt totally helpless. I couldn't escape the sensations between my legs, and even if I could have, I wouldn't have wanted to. At the same time, I couldn't make myself climax. At least not yet.
Daddy was wonderful. He kept going. I don't know how he lasted so long. I wrapped my legs around his waist, opening myself to his thrusts, letting his cock go as deep as it could. "I'm cumming," he finally hissed in my ear.
I shivered. I could feel Daddy's cock twitching inside of me. I felt its entire length as it bobbed up and down. "Oh my God," I thought, Daddy's squirting his cum inside of me. I shivered again and then wrapped myself tightly around my dad's thrusting body as I started to shake uncontrollably. I was cumming, too.
Daddy held on to me until I stopped shaking. I still didn't know if it was a real girl orgasm, but it left me weak and sexually satisfied - for a few hours, at least - and so I thought even if it wasn't, it was pretty close.
I had Daddy sleep in my bed that night, and each night until he had to go back home. Needless to say, our relationship changed. But that's another story.