Please note that Cindy’s black dress that you’ll read about later in the story is pictured in my profile for those of you who would like to see it.
My wife Jennifer and I got together 17 years ago, been married for 13 years now. We waited until she had finished college before we made the ultimate leap together. Our circumstances were a little unusual to begin with, however.
I was 27, while she was 26 when we met. We had both been married already. I had a 6-year-old son Damon and was divorced for about two years, while she was a widow with a 2-year-old son, Alex, and 1-year-old daughter, Cindy.
When you’re in your 20s with children, it’s hard to find many single people without kids to be interested in you, so being in the same boat and all, we kind of matched up well.
Although we didn’t get married until four years after we got together, we basically treated each others kids as our own. I remember poor little Alex when he was 2 1/2 , his mother and I had been dating only a month at the time, and he was already calling me “Daddy.”
To be honest, I fell in love with her kids more than I ever did her. They were what drew me in as my friendship with her developed into something more. It was the whole idea of an instant family that appealed to me more than anything. Though I love Jennifer and care for her deeply, I’m not sure I ever felt that spark with her, or ever had it bad to where I couldn’t live without her. I know it’s horrible to admit, but it’s the truth. We’ve managed to remain a loving couple, though as the kids grew older, we both found ourselves pursuing our own long-overdue interests.
My interests included playing golf — a lot, something I had done since I was in my 20s. My son, Damon, never really took to sports, was always interested in music, though. His calling, however, was the military and now at 23, he was in basic training after graduating college.
Alex was a sophomore away at college. He was always an independent kid, so he wanted to see what life was really like on his own, going all the way to California to attend UCLA.
Then there’s my precious Cindy. If I ever told her mother this, I’d be done for. But Cindy as a 1-year-old was the sole reason I decided to date her mother. Sure, I grew to love Jennifer because of Jennifer, but it was Cindy, the most adorable creature one could imagine, who sank the initial hook into me. I was putty in her hands.
In the early years I’d come over a few times a week to play with the kids, bringing Desmond sometimes. But after we were married, I obviously saw them everyday. Cindy was definitely Daddy’s little girl, a tomboy in the making. With neither of the boys interested in sports, she and I became close, sharing that bond of something in common that is invaluable to a relationship. In truth, I had more in common with her than Jennifer or the boys combined.
I made sure to take her to her Tee Ball games, then Little League before she switched over to softball as a pre-teen. She got quite good at it, too, especially pitching. I’d be sure to always make sure she had someone to throw with if she felt the urge to work on her pitching.
By being there for her in that sphere, it was almost by default that it was me who had to explain the changes in her body: everything from her period, to the birds and bees talk to how to handle boys and what they want. It was never awkward because we were more buddies than anything. It was even me who was the one to tell her I wasn’t her real dad, that her real father had hanged himself when she was but a few months old. Alcohol and a touch of insanity combined to drive him to it. It was only a few months after his death that I met Jennifer. He was abusive to her, so she looked at it as a good thing and was ready to move on with her life.
Cindy, who was 13 at the time, reacted as one would expect, with shock, dismay and then the inevitable string of questions about all the circumstances. For a few days Şirinevler Escort after I told her, she seemed to be avoiding me. I figured giving her space was the best thing, but I hoped that she would still think of me as her daddy.
I tapped on her door before bedtime about a week after telling her and asked if we could talk. She acquiesced and I sat on her bed. I asked if anything was troubling her, but got dismissive, uncharacteristic, responses such as “I’m fine” and “everything’s OK.” Finally, I just grabbed her and gave her a bear hug, squeezing her like it was the last time I’d see her. She was taken aback at first, but finally put her arms around me and head on my shoulder and began crying.
“I love you daddy,” she sobbed. “I don’t care if you’re not my real father, you raised me like I was your own.”
She pulled away and our eyes locked. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I was so worried you were mad at me or didn’t want me to act like your daddy anymore.”
She smiled and wiped away the lone tear that had trickled down my cheek. “I’m glad you’re my daddy.”
Our relationship stayed the same, except that as her body began to change, I began to take notice. Cindy was becoming quite the beauty, especially with her athletic structure. When she was 16, I began to take notice of her long, smooth legs with the right amount of muscle tone for a beauty and a softball pitcher. Her breasts were forming nicely as well, though I don’t think they were bigger than a large B cup, they fit her 5-8 frame just fine by my eye. Her strawberry-red hair was the perfect touch that had all the boys falling over her at school.
“God, I’m a dirty old man,” I thought to myself one morning after she bounded away from the breakfast table in her tight, form-fitting pajamas. But I also reasoned I was human and she wasn’t my own flesh and blood, so stealing a few glances couldn’t hurt anybody.
Cindy had a good head in her shoulders, made mostly As and though she dated some boys, seemed to put school and softball ahead of having a serious boyfriend. By her junior year, she was only drawing interest from a few small-college softball programs. I knew she was better than that, but living in a small community made it nearly impossible for her to be discovered by any of the big-time schools.
So I decided to take action and paid a $495 fee to have her participate in a prestigious pitching and hitting camp in Florida where we were guaranteed to have no fewer than 60 Division-I coaches or scouts on hand to observe the weeklong clinic. Since it was so far away, we could only afford one parent to go and I was the obvious choice.
We arrived and checked into our hotel and then headed over to the sports complex to register. Her first pitching session would be at 8 a.m. the next morning. We decided to order in so we could get to bed early. “Daddy, you don’t know how much this means to me,” she said in between bites of pizza. It was a grateful theme she had reiterated since I told her about the camp.
The next morning arrived and she was, of course, nervous. I told her that her future doesn’t ride on a few pitches here, there will be other chances and that I loved her no matter what. That seemed to settle her nerves. The camp was set up so that the pitchers threw for a while as a radar gun clocked their speed. Then the pitcher would throw to a myriad of different hitters, to provide a variety of styles. After wowing the scouts with her velocity and movement on her pitches, she dazzled them more by mowing down hitter after hitter. It was a dream-come-true for her because by the end of the day, four schools had offered a full scholarship, while 12 others were showing major interest.
We decided to celebrate with a night out on the town. Cindy hadn’t packed anything for such an occasion, so a shopping spree was in order first. We went to an upscale women’s clothing store downtown. She asked if she could model a Şirinevler Escort Bayan few dresses for me that she had picked out. I, of course, had no qualms about this turn of events. The first two dresses were OK if she were going to church, but the third — the third took my breath away. It was a black dress with thin shoulder straps and a deep V-cut that left little to the imagination. At her hips, it flared out to just above her knees. With high heels on, she was nearly as tall as me. My initial reaction followed by my approving smile, told her all she needed to know.
After going back to the hotel to change, we went to a seafood restaurant that was situated up against the town’s harbor. The outdoor seating was remarkable with the dim lights, the moon shining off the water and the breeze to boot. We talked about many things over dinner, mostly softball. But then her tone changed a bit. Perhaps it was the wine I allowed her to have. It was a celebration after all. I had to slip the waiter a $50 to serve it to her.After telling me about her latest boyfriend and why he wouldn’t work out, she suddenly asked “Daddy, do you love mom?”
I was taken aback by the suddenness of the question and the implications the answer might hold. “I do love your mother,” I replied. But after a long pause, “but I’m not in love with her.”Her response was a quiet “Oh,” as she looked down and played with her food. After a moment of silence, I was about to continue, try to rescue my answer with an explanation, but I was cut off. She looked up at me and said “I love you daddy.”
With a fatherly tone, I replied that I loved her, too. But she started shaking her head and started to cry, “no, I mean I’m IN love with you. I’ve always loved you, daddy. That’s why no other boy can work for me. You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted ever since you told me about my real father.”
If her earlier question had flabbergasted me, this nearly knocked me out of my chair. After a moment of me with a dumbfounded look on my face and her crying into a tissue, I finally spoke. “Cindy, I know I’m not your real father, but I’ve been in that role your whole life.”
“I don’t care, daddy. I love you. I need you. I breathe for you.”
That last statement was all I could take. I realized I loved this creature more than anything on earth and I could not stand for her to be hurt, no matter what it required of me. In this case, it was just a mild battle with my conscience about right and wrong. The side that said “make her happy” won out easily.
I got up and walked over to her and hugged her from behind. She had stopped crying as I hugged her. After a few seconds I said let’s get out of here. We left the restaurant and walked back to the hotel, only a few blocks away, in silence. I suppose by the time we arrived back to our room she still hadn’t figured out what I had decided. I still had the option to do the fatherly thing, comfort her and tell her there’s some other wonderful man waiting for her out there. But I didn’t. My mind was made up at the restaurant. The debate in my mind during the walk back was a mere formality.
When we got in the room, her ahead of me, I spun her around to me and kissed her full on the lips, passionately. I bent her back slightly; her legs seemed weak by the turn of events and it appeared as though I needed to hold her up. She returned my kiss with equal fervor and then stood upright with me and started pulling at my tie to get it off, all the while kissing me.
“Oh Cindy,” I finally breathed. I knew her dress would take far less effort to get off, so I let her work on my clothes for the time being. She finally stopped kissing me after unbuttoning my shirt so I could take it off. As I did, she worked on my zipper. I looked down at her as she crouched down: She was smiling. Not a subtle smile, but a shit-eating grin on her face. I had to chuckle as she pulled down my underwear and my cock sprung free. She looked Escort Şirinevler up, still sporting the grin, and asked “what?”
“You,” I said. “What’s that look all about?”
The smile disappeared as she stood up. With her heels still on she was almost eye-to-eye with me. She put her hands on my chest and looked deep into my eyes: “Daddy, you have no idea how happy you’ve made me. I mean, this is the greatest day of my life. It would still be the greatest day of my life even without what happened during the softball camp.”
I never though I could feel a stronger love for anyone that I did at that moment. I kissed her fiercely on the lips; she returned it with equal vigor. Now it was my turn as I began to work on her dress. In no time, it was slipped to the floor, only her red underwear and bra remained. We worked our way over to the bed, kissing and pawing at each others bodies like it was the last time we might ever touch again.
Finally, I seized control and rolled on top of her. I raised up and, after looking down on her for a moment with the feelings of love, lust and admiration running through my mind, I asked the all-important question: “Sweetheart, are you a virgin?” Her return look puzzled me for a second; it was a look of “why are you asking me that?” After a few seconds, she finally replied with words: “Of course, daddy. I was saving myself for you.”
That spurred me on even more as I dove back down to her lips and kissed her more. Her underwear and bra were off by this time. After I had fully explored her lips, neck, ears and breasts, it was time. I raised up, spread her legs a little further apart and told her this would hurt at first, but the pain wouldn’t last. She nodded knowingly as I pressed my head into her entrance. She was extremely moist, the anticipation and make-out session no doubt having an effect on her. I eased my way in and finally came to her hymen. Without further ado, I pulled back and rammed my way in. She let out a muffled shriek with her eyes closed, but her contorted face eventually relaxed and her eyes opened as I not too slowly, but not too quickly, pumped my 7 inches in and out.
She finally spoke, though her eyes had been saying “I love you. This is wonderful.” She had her legs wrapped tightly around me and apparently the sexual beast was awakened: “Daddy, deeper. Deeper daddy. I want to feel all of you. Harder, uh, uh. Harder.”
“Oh Cindy, oh baby. God you feel amazing.”
After complying with her wishes, her noises turned to grunts and moans. After a few minutes, she tightened her legs like a vice around my back, closed her eyes and contorted her face similar to when I took her cherry earlier. “I’m cummmmmming,” she screamed out. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh. God. Oh my god.”
After about 15 seconds of that, she was finally coming down from her first cock-induced orgasm. Her eyes were opened and trained on mine. “Daddy, that was so amazing. I love you.”
“I’m in love with you, Cindy,” I said with all sincerity. She smiled back before saying, “more please,” with a mischievous smile on her face. I was happy to oblige. I started again slowly, but increased my speed. I could feel my balls tingling, knowing an impending orgasm was inevitable. I was actually surprised I held out this long with such a tight pussy. She managed another orgasm before mine came. I was pounding her hard, furiously kissing her the best I could as she spurred me on: “Daddy, I want your cum. Please give it to me. Cum inside me, pleeeeeease.”
Before that last statement, I was planning to pull out. I didn’t want to get her pregnant after all. But I figured she must be on birth control, she I let loose, shooting my load deep inside her womb. I don’t make much noise during sex, but when I cum, the walls shake.
“Daddy, oh my god That was amazing.” I rolled off her, trying to catch my breath. But I quickly pulled her over to me, putting my arm under her head and pulling her close. “Cindy,” I said breathlessly. “You are amazing. I love you so much.”
“Daddy,” she said while raising up to look in my eyes. “What do we do when we get home?”
The reality of the situation suddenly set in. Now that I could think with my brain instead of my Johnson, I had a lot to ponder over the next few days.