All morals are relative
By Just-another-sick-puppy
Copywrite 2002

PART 1. Almost five years ago.

This is when it all began; I was just fifteen years old. My Mom and Dad were far from having a happy marriage. In fact they tended to spend more and more time screaming at each other than doing any other activity. Mom screamed at everyone (still does), we couldn’t talk to her, or have a discussion; only her opinion was ever valid, like whatever anyone else said, it didn’t matter. At the time I was being bullied quite badly at school, but knowing that I’d never get any emotional support from Mom, I always asked my Dad for advice. It had been like this for as long as I remembered, since before my bro and sis were born, when I was little more than a toddler. They hadn’t divorced simply because of financial reasons, nothing else. Mom is disabled and cannot work, she isn’t strapped into a wheelchair or nothing but her condition prevented her from working; It seemed very much like she was just latching onto Dad for the money, she certainly didn’t love him.

Since I could only talk to my Dad without fear of being screamed at, I spoke to him about everything, even when I had questions of a sexual nature. Don’t get me wrong, Mom had told me about periods, contraception and stuff well before I got mine, but I couldn’t discuss everything with her, she’s very homophobic; and I had realized a long time ago that I was bisexual. When I told Dad that I was bi, he said that he wasn’t really all that surprised, that he’d suspected for a long time. I told him how confused I felt, being half-straight and half-lesbian all rolled into one; he assured me that it wasn’t entirely a bad thing because I could get the best of both worlds and had more chance of meeting somebody nice because I have more people to pick from.

We would always have our little talks in the garage, because it was the only time we got to talk privately without Mom listening in, he used to go there to smoke his pipe that Mom wouldn’t let him smoke in the house (you see only her cigarettes were allowed indoors), I hid my cigs in the toolbox, and Dad was the only one who knew of them (he even let me smoke). During this time, we became so much closer; I felt that I could be myself around him. He even told me how he felt about Mom at the time, he was getting pretty depressed at her constant whining, and he was considering having a divorce.

For about five months, we have our little ‘garage meetings’, until the evening when one small event changed our lives, forever. It was a particular Saturday evening when it happened, and each Saturday I used to have a shower at about 9pm and then go to talk to Dad in his bedroom (because he did all of the ironing, which BTW just about figures because Mom did little if anything around the house) until 11 which is when I used to go to bed. Now, he used to have this jug on his bedside table which he used to fill with water from the bathroom so that he could refill the iron; do bear in mind that he was doing ironing for five people. Anyway, this particular Saturday, I was just getting out of the shower when he came in to refill the jug; I just carried on as normal because we were the kind of family where everyone sees everyone else nude and it makes no difference. I just must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time (or the right place at the right time now I think about it *grins *) that day. I was just about to get the towel and dry my hair (it used to be down to my chin back then), when Dad suddenly decided to hug me. This was nothing out of the ordinary (despite my not being dry) so I hugged him back, what he did next was what shocked me; he put his hand between my legs and started touching my pussy! OMG! It felt so good that I didn’t think of backing away, I just looked up at him, giving him a ‘why the fuck are you doing that’ kinda look. He then backed off told me that he was sorry and practically ran back into his bedroom with shame.

I stood there for several seconds in shock; I couldn’t believe he’d just done that. This may sound strange, but I wasn’t afraid, or even angry, just confused. My own father had just touched my pussy, and I’d actually liked it; did this make us both sick? It just didn’t make any sense. Then I noticed, he’d left the jug on the bathroom window ledge. I got myself dried, brushed my teeth, and put my dressing gown on. I took the filled jug into my Dad, trying to just act normal. He couldn’t even look me in the eye, when I announced that I’d brought the jug in because he’d forgot it. He just said again that he was really sorry. I told him immediately that I wasn’t about to tell on him, and he then decided to look at me; I’d never seen him so upset, he was almost in tears. He told me that only sick people did what he’d just done and that if I had any common sense I would! I couldn’t believe I was hearing this; in my eyes, all he’d done was make a dumb mistake, we could just carry on as normal, at least that was the outline of what I told him next. He asked me to just go and make a pot of tea, because he needed a few minutes to think. I went downstairs and asked everyone if they’d like a cupper.

PART 2. Battling with morality.

The week went slower than normal, since last weeks little incident; Dad and me carried on like normal and pretended that the whole stupid event never happened. But it wasn’t the same, and never would be again. I was almost confident that he wasn’t going to do it again, which left me relieved yet pissed off at the same time. Part of me wanted him to, but part of me didn’t, it was a battle of morals within my mind. I would go to bed and masturbate, remembering how his gentle fingers had felt; then I’d kick myself in shame and just go to sleep sulking at my own stupidity and myself. What I didn’t understand back then was that all morals were relative, and that the law against this type of thing was there because it does best for the vast majority of people (or does it?).

I noticed that Dad didn’t give me as many hugs as usual, and he made absolutely sure that he didn’t put himself in a position where he was even slightly likely to see me naked; perhaps he was trying to avoid the memory of what happened the other day. I could tell that it played on his conscience too, perhaps even more than mine. I remember following him into the garage for a cig, I didn’t want us to start ignoring each other, and besides, everything had to look normal for everyone else’s benefit. He asked me not to follow him around because he might do something that we’d both regret. I just told him to get a fucking grip, he was almost like a man possessed, so consumed in guilt for what he’d done, yet not so certain that he wouldn’t do it again. It was then I realized, it was very possible that it could happen again, no, more than possible, perhaps even likely, or very likely. I half wanted to tell him to get over the guilt and do it again, but at the same time I also wanted to tell him to get the fuck away from me. If he did it again, and I didn’t stop him, could I live with that? Could he?

Over the next couple of days, just by the way he was looking at me, I could tell that he was going to do it again. Telling on him was still out of the question, so I just got myself prepared for it, in fact it turned me on although I would never have admitted to that at the time. I was still battling my own inner morals, and so was he! Looking back on it, it seems so ridiculous to us now, but it seemed serious enough to be life and death at the time.

A few days later, I remember going to bed and being totally unable to sleep. I was pissed off ‘cos I hadn’t done my French homework and was likely to get a detention since this was the fourth time I’d not done it this term. Mind you I usually faked a note explaining why I couldn’t do detentions after school, and did them at lunchtime instead rather than get a load of grief of my Mom. I did that often, but I can honestly say that I never ‘pulled a sickie’; as we called it back then. Three thirty came round, I went the toilet then got back into bed, I hadn’t a hope in hell of sleeping with a full bladder. I really did NOT want to go to school the next day, just to get other kids calling me a ‘freak of nature’ and a ‘spastic mong’ as they so frequently did; I had no idea why they picked at me, but it was a fact of life and I just had to get on with it. At least I was no longer attacked physically, I’d become a very formidable opponent, and even in large groups, people thought twice before attacking. This did not prevent them from yelling insults at me though, and it was just one of those things that I could have done well without recently.

I heard the toilet flush again a couple of minutes later; I thought it was my brother getting up to get a drink (or more likely sneak down to watch videos thinking that nobody ever noticed). So I yelled at him to ‘get back bed and get to fucking sleep or I’ll tell Mom and Dad you’ve been watching vids and that’s why you’re always last one up and ready in the morning’ of course this didn’t give him any explanation as to why I happened to be awake. Then I heard somebody come in my room; I realized from the footsteps that it was Dad. I explained that I thought he was James getting up again. He asked me why I couldn’t sleep, so I explained that I hadn’t done my French and that I wasn’t tired. He told me that he didn’t blame me for not doing that particular bit of homework, but told me that I should do it so that I didn’t have to fake notes. He kneeled down next to my bed, and slowly slid his hand under the duvet and rested it on my stomach. I knew then, he was going to touch me again. Every moral fiber told me to tell him to leave, but I couldn’t, not with my pussy tingling like it had just begun to! He then proceeded to whisper so as not to wake Beth (who slept in the next room but was a very light sleeper), he asked me if it was okay to touch me! Well, here was my chance to tell him to go away, but I couldn’t, and I couldn’t exactly tell him that I really did want him to either; so I compromised, I told him that he could if he wanted to! That way, I wasn’t admitting that I liked it, but wasn’t pushing him away either (sneaky of me huh?). It satisfied my moral code (sort of).

His hand slowly traced down past my belly button and towards my pubic region. Instead of just going for it right away, he parted my legs slightly more, giving himself better access. As his fingers came into contact with my clit, I couldn’t help taking in a sharp breath, now I knew why I didn’t send him away or tell on him, it felt so damn good. I was still having such a moral battle, I couldn’t let him know how much I was enjoying it because that would be encouragement, but no way did I have the strength within me to ask him to stop (although I knew full well that he would’ve done if I’d’ve asked him). He even told me that he thought that I was beautiful! He kept it up for about fifteen minutes, and then stopped. He said sorry again, I told him that it was okay but he just left the room. Now I had no hope of sleeping, my head was in turmoil again and I was horny as hell (and remember that girls don’t just fall asleep after one lot of masturbation); just fucking great!

From this time onwards, he visited my room most nights for almost a whole year. Then out of the blue one day, he told me that he wasn’t going to ‘abuse’ me anymore and that he only wanted to touch me one last time (which I told him that he could and he did the following morning). What odd ideas my Dad had at times; I told him that for starters, it wasn’t abuse, I’d told him that I didn’t mind, and was therefore giving him consent. He told me that he *did* consider it abuse because when it had begun, I wasn’t even legally old enough to consent to anything, and that because he was my father, that kind of thing shouldn’t have been on his mind in the first place. I told him that I’d never viewed it as abuse, which in all honesty, I hadn’t; and that just because I was fifteen when it all began, didn’t mean that he was a pedo, after all, I was an early developer (well I must’ve been to start my periods a couple of weeks after leaving junior school).

For a long time, we both thought that this was case closed, little did we know what the future had in store for us…

PART 3. Two years later.

At eighteen I was doing the second year of my A-Levels at college (for those of you who don’t know what an A-Level is, I’ll tell you that it’s a qualification that we need in England to get to University). I’d made lots of new mates, and went to the pub with Rachel at lunchtimes for conversation, and several games of pool. The lecturers didn’t really mind, but they didn’t like us to get pissed before going into class (and we were all a bit guilty of that one).

I was still close to my Dad despite all that had happened all that time ago, the past was the past and I just wanted to get on with the future. Sometimes I really missed the way he used to touch me, I was glad he’d stopped, and then I wasn’t.

One night, Mom went to bed early ‘cos she wasn’t feeling very well, James and Beth had to be up early ‘cos they were going to the cinema with the boy from up the road; so Dad and me decided to stay down and watch Star Trek; The Wrath of Kahn, since it was my fave ’Trek movie. I’d seen it half a million times before but that made no difference because I loved it anyway and anything was better than going to bed while not being tired and being unable to sleep.

Dad asked me how I was doing at college, and how I thought my re-sit exams were going to go (I’d bodged a couple of modules and had to retake them). I told him all about college, then we began to watch the movie, which we ended up talking through! By the end of it, he made us a cup of tea and then we carried on talking, mostly debating who was sexier out of Seven of Nine and B’Elanna Torres from Star Trek; Voyager (I said Lt Torres!)! He just gave me a funny look, then asked me in a very serious tone if I thought that him ‘messing with me’ had made me more gay that I would have been otherwise. I told him not to be so silly, I didn’t have a gender preference before and I didn’t now. (Pity Mom is such a homophobic jerk! I should’ve been able to tell her about my sexual preferences!)

He told me that he was still feeling guilty for doing it in the first place, but that at the time he couldn’t help it; he was confused, lonely and with a nonexistent sex life (him and Mom hadn’t done it in months at the time), so he’d turned to me. He asked me about my feelings about it, since at the time I was only giving him neutral ‘non-answers’. I told him that I used to enjoy it but feel really guilty afterwards because I knew that it was against the law. He said that he suspected, no, not suspected, he knew that that was the case, because if I really didn’t like it, I would’ve told on him. I then owned up to almost waiting for him to come in some nights and actually looking forward to it, and that that was the reason why I never considered it as abuse.

At this point the memories were starting to turn me on, and I told myself not to be so daft, we couldn’t start doing stuff again; we just couldn’t, it was so NOT appropriate! He must’ve been feeling the same thing because he asked me if I’d still consider it morally wrong now. To which I replied before thinking ‘All morals are relative’. We simply looked at each other for several seconds, when he asked me what I meant, I told him that doing something that’s fun and doesn’t cause injury to anyone is only wrong if viewed from the standardized moral point of view (meaning the legal system), but isn’t necessarily wrong for the people in question if seen from their point of view. He just sat there stunned for almost a minute! Then asked me if I thought that it might be right for us. I told him that I wasn’t sure, but we could try it out. I wasn’t going to deny my feelings any more, I loved my Dad and not in just the platonic sense of the word from now on! He could masturbate me, and I’d jack him off, we couldn’t go all the way though, I was intent on losing my virginity outside of the family, like when I got to university. At this point I was never planning on actually ever having sex with him.

This particular day though, when he first touched me after two entire years, I let him know exactly how good it felt. I felt like I was on the brink of an orgasm when he pushed two of his fingers into my pussy and started moving them around inside! How the hell had he managed to locate my G-spot so fast? Was mine in the same place as Mom’s? At this point I felt too good to care, his finger fucking was just keeping me on the brink of oblivion! This was just like WOW! I could feel the biggest orgasm ever building up; it was to be the first time I’d come at the hands of anyone other than myself. When I finally came, like two minutes later, I must’ve screamed a bit (or more like a *lot*) louder than I thought, ‘cos James came downstairs and asked ‘who was fucking screaming and why’, ‘cos he’d just been woken up. I told him that I’d stubbed my little toe and that there was nothing to worry about. Dad was on the verge of laughing as James disappeared back upstairs. He told me that he loved my explanation. I replied swiftly that telling him the *real* reason wasn’t exactly a good idea. We both giggled.

We cuddled for a couple of minutes then I decided to take care of his boner, yup, this was the first time that I’d ever dealt out a hand-job as well! What an interesting evening this was turning out to be! It might sound odd that I’d not had sexual contact with anyone else, but then I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl who went sleeping around. At first I was a bit surprised at the size of his cock, I’d never seen one erect before and to me it looked *huge* (about 7 inches so in reality it’s just a bit bigger than average). It only took about two minutes before he came, it’s a good job he was quieter than me, otherwise James would’ve been back down *demanding* to know what was going on.

We carried on ‘playing’ in this manner for quite a while, and then things changed when I got to university…

PART 4. All the way!

When I first got to Uni, I missed Dad a lot, because I now only got to talk to him three times a week because we didn’t want whacking mobile phone bills, although we’d both got good deals from Vodafone. He couldn’t exactly come all the way up to Edinborough to see me either since the entire family lived in Derbyshire, and hardly went much further than Cheshire or Staffordshire for anything, even shopping excursions (which were rare).

When we did talk on the phone, we talked for a couple of hours. I had good flat mates to talk about and I often went clubbing and drinking with them. That is until Bonfire night when I made best friends with Greg, Rich and Emily, after that I spent most of my time with them, and on video-games consoles or at the university pub. So Dad and me always had plenty to talk about (or rather I did).

Over the months I was away, I turned nineteen, and had my first boyfriend Ian, who I was seeing shortly before Christmas, he was a real hunk. Even while I was going out with him, I had occasional phone sex with Dad; yet I never saw it as cheating, but it was. Dad didn’t mind me seeing whoever I liked, but Ian certainly wasn’t aware of what was going on between Dad and me.

Shortly before Easter, I lost my virginity to Ian, and had what most people would describe as a normal sex life. Sex was fun with Ian, and he was a considerate lover, but somehow something wasn’t right, it was almost as if something was missing.

During the Easter holidays, I went home. Dad knew that I’d had sex with Ian, and said that he appeared to be a nice bloke, and that if I was happy, he was happy. My having sex with Ian didn’t stop us from having fun though!

After five days of being at home, it was starting to feel a bit ridiculous simply having ‘wanking sessions’ with Dad, since I now knew what sex was like, and loved it! He asked me if I wanted to do it with him; of course I said yes. It didn’t feel like such a huge decision, not now; it was time to get rid of the guilt, time to say 'stuff what society thinks, I want to make love to him'. Our first time was an amusing disaster; I was ready to go and didn’t need much to get me super excited, he was in that much of a rush it took him three times to put the condom on properly *sighs at the memory*, then shot off in less than a minute of being inside me. Despite all that, this first time holds a very special place in my heart; we admitted our undying love for each other just as he was completely inside me, we were joined as one. This was what was missing in my sex with Ian; love.

For the rest of the holiday, we screwed at every opportunity we got, we even managed to engineer a couple of opportunities when I suggested that James and Beth go shopping with Mom rather than me, then there’d be two people to help rather than one. I made the excuse, as I wanted to play on my PSone. *Hahahahaha* little did they know!

Ian didn’t ring me all holiday, so I dumped him and told him that if he was only interested in my pussy he could look elsewhere! When I got back I discovered that he’d been sleeping with several other girls anyway, so much for *that* relationship! Why had I wasted my virginity on such a jerk, if only I'd lost it to my Dad, it would've meant so much to both of us.

Dad and me still make love whenever possible, we try for twice a day while I’m visiting home. I’d love to say that the entire experience has taught us both a lot, that no matter what society thinks; if you love someone, go for it! Once James and Beth have left school, he’s going to divorce Mom (at long last, I’ve seen it coming off for years)! The rest of the family has no idea, nobody will even know of the divorce until James leaves school in two years. They’ll never know that Dad and me are lovers. We will both find other people to go out with, and still remain special to each other. It seems hard to believe that we’ve come this far, from that day almost five years ago when he made the first move in the bathroom.

We know that most people would be ready to condemn us for being ‘sick’ or ‘perverted’, but this is because they haven’t realised that there's nothing wrong with expressing your love for somebody in any way that you see fit as long as everything is consentual.

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Well, I hope you liked my story! I'm glad that I can at last share this wonderful experience with like-minded people who won't say 'that's sick!' or something along similar lines. I hope that literary skills are adequate (they should be, I'm a regular on the Godawful Fanfiction Messageboard under a different alias, so I *should* know how to write) enough to get my message across, this is the first story I've *ever* written! I know, not wise to write ones first story with a topic so close to home (no pun intended). My own constructive criticism tells me that I should've been more explicit in the storytelling.

Getting back on-topic for the board, have any of you ended up falling in love with a family member under similar circumstances? If so did you go through the same process of learning not to feel guilty about doing something that you both enjoy?

To sweet28guy,
Yes, I still have loads of fun with my Dad. I can't imagine it any other way now! Pity sister is so anti-incest (not to mention straight) .

To b4rry,
Just spent ages rummaging round old threads after I posted my story, I am so relieved that there are so many others who have similar experiences. I can't express how elated I feel.
First sick puppy am I? *LOL* I had to think of an alternative alias, and quick; I couldn't wait to post here, but at the same time didn't want to be pointed out as being here by other regulars of the boards I visit (I got a shining reputation).

General comments;
I wrote my story actually a couple of weeks before finding this site, and it seemed so fitting to post it here. You will see me post here regularly from now on. I will also try not to drag too many ancient threads up to the top of the list, I know that I've done that a few times at GAFF.

I enjoyed your story, and admire your honest approach to your sexuality, and morality. I find your moral dilemma, and progress to morals-as-relative as down-to-earth.

I fell in love with my sister - we grew up apart and met when I was not quite a teen-ager. We got together for 14 years and have a daughter, now 18.

If you can find my story here, fine. If you can't - I can write it again.

Wish you well,

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Just, I do not find you a sick puppy. I found your story engangingly honest, tender and sexy. It read like a love story. We do not hear many here. You certainly have my acceptance.

You may want to read the threads posted by Chloe and Honeychile. I think you will find kindred spirits in them.

check my web site for more on context.

Incest, just like any other relationship, some are good, wonderful, loving and enjoyed. When there are others that are bad and wish never happened and trying to forget.

On the web you can find both sides of the story. Stories of very loving and caring love relation and lover inside the family and stories of the opposite. So to say all incest relationships are bad or all are good, would be a false conclusion. But the government assumes all are bad and abusive and sends people to jail.

As far as the Bible goes, we are under the "Law of Love" not under a list of do's and don't laws or rules.

For hundreds of years there were no rules on incest, then Moses wrote laws to solve some practical problems of the time. The practical problem was for many generations there was a lot of incest; as a result, the gene pool was getting smaller and smaller causing birth defect problems. So to solve the problem, they make a rule of no more making babies with very close relations, which we call incest, which are spelled out in Exodus 21. Today the same problem can be solve with condoms and modern birth control, which prevents birth to close relations.

But what people do is turn their brain off and become very legalistic and blindly follow rules with out thinking why. Why was there no rule or problem about incest for hundreds of years? Then they make some rule to solve a problem thousands of years ago and we just follow the same rule today blindly without thinking why.

Today we are under one rule, the "rule of Love". The whole law is fulfill in one law, to love your neighbor as you love yourself. That is the only law we are under. Some people want to go back and pick and choose different laws in the Old Testament to follow and say we have to follow these and don't have to follow though others. They become god themselves and pick and choose. We are not under any of those laws; we are only under one law, the law of love.

Sexual desire, and sexual love is not evil, God designed and said it was very good. Just like everything else we need to apply the law of love to it.

But for a government to blindly declare that all incest love and sex is evil and send people to jail is way over broad and mindless to say the least. They are mindlessly following some law make thousands of years ago without asking why.

There are many laws on the books that are totally ignored. Again they pick and choose which ones they want to enforce.

The real problem is not incest itself, but the lack of love and understanding how to love and understand people. People have different sexual desires. Some people's love language is "physical" touch, hugs and kisses etc and they greatly love to be physical with a lover. Others, this is not their major love language.

Then there are others that have a low sex drive, low hormones, and little or no desire to be physical or touch another person.

So the "physical love language" one may love a loving passionate incest relation, if done with the right person, in the right way, and take slowly to check responses and desires of the other person, just like in any other lover relationship.

But because of legalistic Church that are blindly follow a long list of laws that don't apply for today. Also a government that is blindly following outdated laws and send people to jail, everyone that has a lover in the close relation family has to keep it top secret from everyone. The Internet let some of the secret stories of great family lovers come out in the open, as well as the bad ones.

Take the time to see both sides of the story. There many great love stories and some that do not love. Just like marriage, there are good marriages and bad one, but we do not make laws and send the bad marriage to jail. What if we send all bad marriage to jail? Then what?

I had a girl friend that loved physical touch, hugs and kisses and sex. She had a high sex drive. Her sister had a much lower sex drive and less desire to be touched and be physical. Her father had sex with both and the low sex drive daughter told someone and the father when to jail for one year.

Even though my girl friend enjoyed the loving, hugs, kisses and sex; the man make guilt of thinking she was doing something wrong because she could not tell anyone, caused guilt.

Conclusion by a young girl is that if we must keep it a major secret, then it must be wrong and therefore must be guilty of wrong doing, even though it felt so good and she enjoyed doing it a lot and it created a lot of love for her. This is what brings the battle in the mind. The church, society, and government create this man made guilt.

Just like 2 kids playing "Doctor". They go off to a hiding place and have a lot of fun exposing and playing with each others body, so they keep it a secret but feel guilt. If 2 children play with each other body, no one goes to jail. But if an adult plays with the child's body, he goes to jail.

As my girl friend told me the story, I did not know what to think. I first thought, that it must have been a lot of fun and I wish my mother seduced me and I would have had a lot of fun being my mother's lover.

But then when she told me that her father went to jail, I thought, how bad for her not to have her loving father around. I never heard my girl friend ever complain about her father as her lover and she taught me a lot about loving women the right way. She was my "teacher"; she was good, too.

But her sister did not have the same feeling about it. So you have it, 2 sisters, one enjoying the physical loving from her father, and the other one, it was a major problem and the father goes to jail.

Both had guilt, but my girlfriend loved the hugs, kisses, and sexual pleasure that she could live with any guilt that came along with the great joy and pleasure. But her sister with a much lower sex drive, low desire to be hug or kisses or have sex, the guilt overcame her and no pleasure for her, she disliked the whole thing and told someone about it.

Of course there are other issues, like jealousies of others. A person could have a wonderful loving incest relation that both are greatly enjoying and then they are caught. A jealous spouse turns it over to the police and they send the person to jail for child abuse. When the child greatly loves it and is brainwashed to think that it was bad and that she was being abused. Also told that her lover was a bad person and needs to go to jail for being bad.

quote:

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Originally posted by just-another-sick-puppy:
Hi people, I'm so glad to have found this forum as I have certainly never found one like it before! The subject of Incest is fascinating to me, mostly because I am currently engaged in an incestuous relationship with my father. This is unforunately a long distance relationship due to my living away at university. I'm almost twenty, in case you were wondering.
We make up for my being away a lot by having phone-sex, and making love as many times a day as possible when I do visit home. Mother has no idea, but then she isn't exactly the most pleasant and amicable person in the hosehold. I have a younger brother and sister (15 and 16 respectively), who also have no idea.
In order to explain to you how it all began, I wrote a story about it (all places and names have been changed)...

All morals are relative
By Just-another-sick-puppy
Copywrite 2002

PART 1. Almost five years ago.

This is when it all began; I was just fifteen years old. My Mom and Dad were far from having a happy marriage. In fact they tended to spend more and more time screaming at each other than doing any other activity. Mom screamed at everyone (still does), we couldn’t talk to her, or have a discussion; only her opinion was ever valid, like whatever anyone else said, it didn’t matter. At the time I was being bullied quite badly at school, but knowing that I’d never get any emotional support from Mom, I always asked my Dad for advice. It had been like this for as long as I remembered, since before my bro and sis were born, when I was little more than a toddler. They hadn’t divorced simply because of financial reasons, nothing else. Mom is disabled and cannot work, she isn’t strapped into a wheelchair or nothing but her condition prevented her from working; It seemed very much like she was just latching onto Dad for the money, she certainly didn’t love him.

Since I could only talk to my Dad without fear of being screamed at, I spoke to him about everything, even when I had questions of a sexual nature. Don’t get me wrong, Mom had told me about periods, contraception and stuff well before I got mine, but I couldn’t discuss everything with her, she’s very homophobic; and I had realized a long time ago that I was bisexual. When I told Dad that I was bi, he said that he wasn’t really all that surprised, that he’d suspected for a long time. I told him how confused I felt, being half-straight and half-lesbian all rolled into one; he assured me that it wasn’t entirely a bad thing because I could get the best of both worlds and had more chance of meeting somebody nice because I have more people to pick from.

We would always have our little talks in the garage, because it was the only time we got to talk privately without Mom listening in, he used to go there to smoke his pipe that Mom wouldn’t let him smoke in the house (you see only her cigarettes were allowed indoors), I hid my cigs in the toolbox, and Dad was the only one who knew of them (he even let me smoke). During this time, we became so much closer; I felt that I could be myself around him. He even told me how he felt about Mom at the time, he was getting pretty depressed at her constant whining, and he was considering having a divorce.

For about five months, we have our little ‘garage meetings’, until the evening when one small event changed our lives, forever. It was a particular Saturday evening when it happened, and each Saturday I used to have a shower at about 9pm and then go to talk to Dad in his bedroom (because he did all of the ironing, which BTW just about figures because Mom did little if anything around the house) until 11 which is when I used to go to bed. Now, he used to have this jug on his bedside table which he used to fill with water from the bathroom so that he could refill the iron; do bear in mind that he was doing ironing for five people. Anyway, this particular Saturday, I was just getting out of the shower when he came in to refill the jug; I just carried on as normal because we were the kind of family where everyone sees everyone else nude and it makes no difference. I just must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time (or the right place at the right time now I think about it *grins *) that day. I was just about to get the towel and dry my hair (it used to be down to my chin back then), when Dad suddenly decided to hug me. This was nothing out of the ordinary (despite my not being dry) so I hugged him back, what he did next was what shocked me; he put his hand between my legs and started touching my pussy! OMG! It felt so good that I didn’t think of backing away, I just looked up at him, giving him a ‘why the fuck are you doing that’ kinda look. He then backed off told me that he was sorry and practically ran back into his bedroom with shame.

I stood there for several seconds in shock; I couldn’t believe he’d just done that. This may sound strange, but I wasn’t afraid, or even angry, just confused. My own father had just touched my pussy, and I’d actually liked it; did this make us both sick? It just didn’t make any sense. Then I noticed, he’d left the jug on the bathroom window ledge. I got myself dried, brushed my teeth, and put my dressing gown on. I took the filled jug into my Dad, trying to just act normal. He couldn’t even look me in the eye, when I announced that I’d brought the jug in because he’d forgot it. He just said again that he was really sorry. I told him immediately that I wasn’t about to tell on him, and he then decided to look at me; I’d never seen him so upset, he was almost in tears. He told me that only sick people did what he’d just done and that if I had any common sense I would! I couldn’t believe I was hearing this; in my eyes, all he’d done was make a dumb mistake, we could just carry on as normal, at least that was the outline of what I told him next. He asked me to just go and make a pot of tea, because he needed a few minutes to think. I went downstairs and asked everyone if they’d like a cupper.

PART 2. Battling with morality.

The week went slower than normal, since last weeks little incident; Dad and me carried on like normal and pretended that the whole stupid event never happened. But it wasn’t the same, and never would be again. I was almost confident that he wasn’t going to do it again, which left me relieved yet pissed off at the same time. Part of me wanted him to, but part of me didn’t, it was a battle of morals within my mind. I would go to bed and masturbate, remembering how his gentle fingers had felt; then I’d kick myself in shame and just go to sleep sulking at my own stupidity and myself. What I didn’t understand back then was that all morals were relative, and that the law against this type of thing was there because it does best for the vast majority of people (or does it?).

I noticed that Dad didn’t give me as many hugs as usual, and he made absolutely sure that he didn’t put himself in a position where he was even slightly likely to see me naked; perhaps he was trying to avoid the memory of what happened the other day. I could tell that it played on his conscience too, perhaps even more than mine. I remember following him into the garage for a cig, I didn’t want us to start ignoring each other, and besides, everything had to look normal for everyone else’s benefit. He asked me not to follow him around because he might do something that we’d both regret. I just told him to get a fucking grip, he was almost like a man possessed, so consumed in guilt for what he’d done, yet not so certain that he wouldn’t do it again. It was then I realized, it was very possible that it could happen again, no, more than possible, perhaps even likely, or very likely. I half wanted to tell him to get over the guilt and do it again, but at the same time I also wanted to tell him to get the fuck away from me. If he did it again, and I didn’t stop him, could I live with that? Could he?

Over the next couple of days, just by the way he was looking at me, I could tell that he was going to do it again. Telling on him was still out of the question, so I just got myself prepared for it, in fact it turned me on although I would never have admitted to that at the time. I was still battling my own inner morals, and so was he! Looking back on it, it seems so ridiculous to us now, but it seemed serious enough to be life and death at the time.

A few days later, I remember going to bed and being totally unable to sleep. I was pissed off ‘cos I hadn’t done my French homework and was likely to get a detention since this was the fourth time I’d not done it this term. Mind you I usually faked a note explaining why I couldn’t do detentions after school, and did them at lunchtime instead rather than get a load of grief of my Mom. I did that often, but I can honestly say that I never ‘pulled a sickie’; as we called it back then. Three thirty came round, I went the toilet then got back into bed, I hadn’t a hope in hell of sleeping with a full bladder. I really did NOT want to go to school the next day, just to get other kids calling me a ‘freak of nature’ and a ‘spastic mong’ as they so frequently did; I had no idea why they picked at me, but it was a fact of life and I just had to get on with it. At least I was no longer attacked physically, I’d become a very formidable opponent, and even in large groups, people thought twice before attacking. This did not prevent them from yelling insults at me though, and it was just one of those things that I could have done well without recently.

I heard the toilet flush again a couple of minutes later; I thought it was my brother getting up to get a drink (or more likely sneak down to watch videos thinking that nobody ever noticed). So I yelled at him to ‘get back bed and get to fucking sleep or I’ll tell Mom and Dad you’ve been watching vids and that’s why you’re always last one up and ready in the morning’ of course this didn’t give him any explanation as to why I happened to be awake. Then I heard somebody come in my room; I realized from the footsteps that it was Dad. I explained that I thought he was James getting up again. He asked me why I couldn’t sleep, so I explained that I hadn’t done my French and that I wasn’t tired. He told me that he didn’t blame me for not doing that particular bit of homework, but told me that I should do it so that I didn’t have to fake notes. He kneeled down next to my bed, and slowly slid his hand under the duvet and rested it on my stomach. I knew then, he was going to touch me again. Every moral fiber told me to tell him to leave, but I couldn’t, not with my pussy tingling like it had just begun to! He then proceeded to whisper so as not to wake Beth (who slept in the next room but was a very light sleeper), he asked me if it was okay to touch me! Well, here was my chance to tell him to go away, but I couldn’t, and I couldn’t exactly tell him that I really did want him to either; so I compromised, I told him that he could if he wanted to! That way, I wasn’t admitting that I liked it, but wasn’t pushing him away either (sneaky of me huh?). It satisfied my moral code (sort of).

His hand slowly traced down past my belly button and towards my pubic region. Instead of just going for it right away, he parted my legs slightly more, giving himself better access. As his fingers came into contact with my clit, I couldn’t help taking in a sharp breath, now I knew why I didn’t send him away or tell on him, it felt so damn good. I was still having such a moral battle, I couldn’t let him know how much I was enjoying it because that would be encouragement, but no way did I have the strength within me to ask him to stop (although I knew full well that he would’ve done if I’d’ve asked him). He even told me that he thought that I was beautiful! He kept it up for about fifteen minutes, and then stopped. He said sorry again, I told him that it was okay but he just left the room. Now I had no hope of sleeping, my head was in turmoil again and I was horny as hell (and remember that girls don’t just fall asleep after one lot of masturbation); just fucking great!

From this time onwards, he visited my room most nights for almost a whole year. Then out of the blue one day, he told me that he wasn’t going to ‘abuse’ me anymore and that he only wanted to touch me one last time (which I told him that he could and he did the following morning). What odd ideas my Dad had at times; I told him that for starters, it wasn’t abuse, I’d told him that I didn’t mind, and was therefore giving him consent. He told me that he *did* consider it abuse because when it had begun, I wasn’t even legally old enough to consent to anything, and that because he was my father, that kind of thing shouldn’t have been on his mind in the first place. I told him that I’d never viewed it as abuse, which in all honesty, I hadn’t; and that just because I was fifteen when it all began, didn’t mean that he was a pedo, after all, I was an early developer (well I must’ve been to start my periods a couple of weeks after leaving junior school).

For a long time, we both thought that this was case closed, little did we know what the future had in store for us…

PART 3. Two years later.

At eighteen I was doing the second year of my A-Levels at college (for those of you who don’t know what an A-Level is, I’ll tell you that it’s a qualification that we need in England to get to University). I’d made lots of new mates, and went to the pub with Rachel at lunchtimes for conversation, and several games of pool. The lecturers didn’t really mind, but they didn’t like us to get pissed before going into class (and we were all a bit guilty of that one).

I was still close to my Dad despite all that had happened all that time ago, the past was the past and I just wanted to get on with the future. Sometimes I really missed the way he used to touch me, I was glad he’d stopped, and then I wasn’t.

One night, Mom went to bed early ‘cos she wasn’t feeling very well, James and Beth had to be up early ‘cos they were going to the cinema with the boy from up the road; so Dad and me decided to stay down and watch Star Trek; The Wrath of Kahn, since it was my fave ’Trek movie. I’d seen it half a million times before but that made no difference because I loved it anyway and anything was better than going to bed while not being tired and being unable to sleep.

Dad asked me how I was doing at college, and how I thought my re-sit exams were going to go (I’d bodged a couple of modules and had to retake them). I told him all about college, then we began to watch the movie, which we ended up talking through! By the end of it, he made us a cup of tea and then we carried on talking, mostly debating who was sexier out of Seven of Nine and B’Elanna Torres from Star Trek; Voyager (I said Lt Torres!)! He just gave me a funny look, then asked me in a very serious tone if I thought that him ‘messing with me’ had made me more gay that I would have been otherwise. I told him not to be so silly, I didn’t have a gender preference before and I didn’t now. (Pity Mom is such a homophobic jerk! I should’ve been able to tell her about my sexual preferences!)

He told me that he was still feeling guilty for doing it in the first place, but that at the time he couldn’t help it; he was confused, lonely and with a nonexistent sex life (him and Mom hadn’t done it in months at the time), so he’d turned to me. He asked me about my feelings about it, since at the time I was only giving him neutral ‘non-answers’. I told him that I used to enjoy it but feel really guilty afterwards because I knew that it was against the law. He said that he suspected, no, not suspected, he knew that that was the case, because if I really didn’t like it, I would’ve told on him. I then owned up to almost waiting for him to come in some nights and actually looking forward to it, and that that was the reason why I never considered it as abuse.

At this point the memories were starting to turn me on, and I told myself not to be so daft, we couldn’t start doing stuff again; we just couldn’t, it was so NOT appropriate! He must’ve been feeling the same thing because he asked me if I’d still consider it morally wrong now. To which I replied before thinking ‘All morals are relative’. We simply looked at each other for several seconds, when he asked me what I meant, I told him that doing something that’s fun and doesn’t cause injury to anyone is only wrong if viewed from the standardized moral point of view (meaning the legal system), but isn’t necessarily wrong for the people in question if seen from their point of view. He just sat there stunned for almost a minute! Then asked me if I thought that it might be right for us. I told him that I wasn’t sure, but we could try it out. I wasn’t going to deny my feelings any more, I loved my Dad and not in just the platonic sense of the word from now on! He could masturbate me, and I’d jack him off, we couldn’t go all the way though, I was intent on losing my virginity outside of the family, like when I got to university. At this point I was never planning on actually ever having sex with him.

This particular day though, when he first touched me after two entire years, I let him know exactly how good it felt. I felt like I was on the brink of an orgasm when he pushed two of his fingers into my pussy and started moving them around inside! How the hell had he managed to locate my G-spot so fast? Was mine in the same place as Mom’s? At this point I felt too good to care, his finger fucking was just keeping me on the brink of oblivion! This was just like WOW! I could feel the biggest orgasm ever building up; it was to be the first time I’d come at the hands of anyone other than myself. When I finally came, like two minutes later, I must’ve screamed a bit (or more like a *lot*) louder than I thought, ‘cos James came downstairs and asked ‘who was fucking screaming and why’, ‘cos he’d just been woken up. I told him that I’d stubbed my little toe and that there was nothing to worry about. Dad was on the verge of laughing as James disappeared back upstairs. He told me that he loved my explanation. I replied swiftly that telling him the *real* reason wasn’t exactly a good idea. We both giggled.

We cuddled for a couple of minutes then I decided to take care of his boner, yup, this was the first time that I’d ever dealt out a hand-job as well! What an interesting evening this was turning out to be! It might sound odd that I’d not had sexual contact with anyone else, but then I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl who went sleeping around. At first I was a bit surprised at the size of his cock, I’d never seen one erect before and to me it looked *huge* (about 7 inches so in reality it’s just a bit bigger than average). It only took about two minutes before he came, it’s a good job he was quieter than me, otherwise James would’ve been back down *demanding* to know what was going on.

We carried on ‘playing’ in this manner for quite a while, and then things changed when I got to university…

PART 4. All the way!

When I first got to Uni, I missed Dad a lot, because I now only got to talk to him three times a week because we didn’t want whacking mobile phone bills, although we’d both got good deals from Vodafone. He couldn’t exactly come all the way up to Edinborough to see me either since the entire family lived in Derbyshire, and hardly went much further than Cheshire or Staffordshire for anything, even shopping excursions (which were rare).

When we did talk on the phone, we talked for a couple of hours. I had good flat mates to talk about and I often went clubbing and drinking with them. That is until Bonfire night when I made best friends with Greg, Rich and Emily, after that I spent most of my time with them, and on video-games consoles or at the university pub. So Dad and me always had plenty to talk about (or rather I did).

Over the months I was away, I turned nineteen, and had my first boyfriend Ian, who I was seeing shortly before Christmas, he was a real hunk. Even while I was going out with him, I had occasional phone sex with Dad; yet I never saw it as cheating, but it was. Dad didn’t mind me seeing whoever I liked, but Ian certainly wasn’t aware of what was going on between Dad and me.

Shortly before Easter, I lost my virginity to Ian, and had what most people would describe as a normal sex life. Sex was fun with Ian, and he was a considerate lover, but somehow something wasn’t right, it was almost as if something was missing.

During the Easter holidays, I went home. Dad knew that I’d had sex with Ian, and said that he appeared to be a nice bloke, and that if I was happy, he was happy. My having sex with Ian didn’t stop us from having fun though!

After five days of being at home, it was starting to feel a bit ridiculous simply having ‘wanking sessions’ with Dad, since I now knew what sex was like, and loved it! He asked me if I wanted to do it with him; of course I said yes. It didn’t feel like such a huge decision, not now; it was time to get rid of the guilt, time to say 'stuff what society thinks, I want to make love to him'. Our first time was an amusing disaster; I was ready to go and didn’t need much to get me super excited, he was in that much of a rush it took him three times to put the condom on properly *sighs at the memory*, then shot off in less than a minute of being inside me. Despite all that, this first time holds a very special place in my heart; we admitted our undying love for each other just as he was completely inside me, we were joined as one. This was what was missing in my sex with Ian; love.

For the rest of the holiday, we screwed at every opportunity we got, we even managed to engineer a couple of opportunities when I suggested that James and Beth go shopping with Mom rather than me, then there’d be two people to help rather than one. I made the excuse, as I wanted to play on my PSone. *Hahahahaha* little did they know!

Ian didn’t ring me all holiday, so I dumped him and told him that if he was only interested in my pussy he could look elsewhere! When I got back I discovered that he’d been sleeping with several other girls anyway, so much for *that* relationship! Why had I wasted my virginity on such a jerk, if only I'd lost it to my Dad, it would've meant so much to both of us.

Dad and me still make love whenever possible, we try for twice a day while I’m visiting home. I’d love to say that the entire experience has taught us both a lot, that no matter what society thinks; if you love someone, go for it! Once James and Beth have left school, he’s going to divorce Mom (at long last, I’ve seen it coming off for years)! The rest of the family has no idea, nobody will even know of the divorce until James leaves school in two years. They’ll never know that Dad and me are lovers. We will both find other people to go out with, and still remain special to each other. It seems hard to believe that we’ve come this far, from that day almost five years ago when he made the first move in the bathroom.

We know that most people would be ready to condemn us for being ‘sick’ or ‘perverted’, but this is because they haven’t realised that there's nothing wrong with expressing your love for somebody in any way that you see fit as long as everything is consentual.

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Well, I hope you liked my story! I'm glad that I can at last share this wonderful experience with like-minded people who won't say 'that's sick!' or something along similar lines. I hope that literary skills are adequate (they should be, I'm a regular on the Godawful Fanfiction Messageboard under a different alias, so I *should* know how to write) enough to get my message across, this is the first story I've *ever* written! I know, not wise to write ones first story with a topic so close to home (no pun intended). My own constructive criticism tells me that I should've been more explicit in the storytelling.

Getting back on-topic for the board, have any of you ended up falling in love with a family member under similar circumstances? If so did you go through the same process of learning not to feel guilty about doing something that you both enjoy?

Any thoughts, comments or questions are welcome,
Just-another-sick-puppy

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Sick puppy, You're not a sick puppy at all.
I thoroughly enjoyed your story and it brought back memories of my daughter and the struggle we had with the guilt. She was 15 when we started and we both knew it would happen it was just a matter of time. We would hug and kiss and I finally pushed my hard on against her bare belly and slid my tongue into her mouth and that was all either one of us needed. We fell on the bed and I slid into her there cuz she was so juicy. That was about 10 years ago and we are still enjoying all the love making we can manage every chance we get.

quote:

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Originally posted by luvitcremy69: October 04, 2002, 0255 hours
Sick puppy, You're not a sick puppy at all.
. . . .
Keep on doing what you're doing and enjoy !!!!

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Hi. Welcome aboard.

Informatively, on T I B, it is not necessary to quote an entire post to comment on it. When you click on the reply icon opposite the post to which you are replying, the software DOES quote what ever the person said in that post, whether it be one word or a 1000 words.

In addition to cutting, one may also opt to use the general reply icon at the top of the message page.

That was done here AFTER using the reply with quote icon at your post {enabling me to cut and past YOUR comments).

quote:

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Originally posted by luvitcremy69:

Sick puppy, You're not a sick puppy at all.
I thoroughly enjoyed your story and it brought back memories of my daughter and the struggle we had with the guilt. She was 15 when we started and we both knew it would happen it was just a matter of time.

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We also knew that it was a matter of time, but we didn't face up to that fact until after we'd 'done the deed'. I knew that it was inevitable eventually, I just didn't know when it would happen.
If it wasn't so taboo and illegal, we would have done it a lot sooner than we did.