Story: A FAMILY AT LAST 1  of 5   
      
      
      
     Mg, ped, preteen, mast, inc, cons   
   When I look back at my first marriage, I think of my wife and me as   
   having been in love, I guess. But I know that I still somehow felt   
   something was missing, even after our wonderful little girl was born.   
   I always loved our daughter Amy, even from the very first moment she   
   was born, and I felt a need to be closer to her, a kind of sense of   
   waiting impatiently for her to get older, and wanting her in some way   
   I couldn't quite seem to understand - partially in ways I struggled   
   against, even as I indulged my passions with her small body while she   
   was still only an infant. I finally managed to cope with my physical   
   hunger for Amy as she grew older and more aware, and I worried about   
   what her mom (my wife) might think if she ever found out exactly what   
   I was feeling for my own little girl.   
      
   Home life for the three of us was good. Still, I honestly don't think   
   it's oversimplifying too much to say that I just somehow never really   
   thought of us as a 'family'. I don't know how that might have changed   
   as we all grew older, because my wife died young, an early victim of   
   breast cancer. I was 31, a medical research doctor, when I suddenly   
   found myself living alone with my pretty, bright daughter who was   
   only eight years old.   
      
   We both took the death pretty hard, but we knew we had to adapt and   
   somehow keep it all together. Amy was really great. At first I almost   
   let her take over the house, but then I realized that wasn't fair. We   
   soon began to share the chores, even though she had to teach me how   
   to do laundry like her mom had taught her. We shared cooking and   
   making meals together, or went out when we felt like it. We shopped,   
   cleaned, and even worked in the yard together too. We loved playing   
   word and other brain games. Although Amy was only eight she was smart   
   and more than verbally adept enough to beat me much of the time.   
      
   We built a new life together gradually over the next few months. I   
   helped her with her homework when she needed it, which wasn't very   
   often. Amy was (still is) a straight 'A' student, and she excels in   
   almost everything. I don't know what I would have done without her!   
   She always had a smile for me when I picked her up at school. We   
   cuddled a lot and have always had a very nice kiss goodnight and for   
   lots of other small occasions; maybe that part was a little too much   
   like husband-wife rather than father-daughter, I realized sometimes,   
   but we both liked the warmth, the closeness and even that odd sense   
   of excitement - with strong hints of both sexiness and some kind of   
   clandestine naughtiness - that came with our privately shared secret   
   intimacies.   
      
   One thing that happened, which we had really not expected, but which   
   honestly helped us get through this trying period, was that we found   
   we actually had a much stronger sense of family after the death. My   
   wife was a lawyer, and there had always been some kind of a feeling   
   that her career was the main focus of her life, rather than our small   
   family. With just me and Amy, it was now clear that our being close -   
   a true family even with only two of us - was very much the main focus   
   or centerpiece of both of our lives.   
      
   I insisted that Amy stay in most of her extracurricular activities.   
   She was always a little whiz in swimming and really good at   
   gymnastics too. She looked so cute in her leotards - such a long   
   lanky (almost skinny) little girl, with her mom's dark hair, dark   
   brown Garbo eyes, full pink lips, and giggle dimples. At the age of   
   eight, Amy was still a little girl, though: straight up and down,   
   except for her cute butt curves. Thin legs made her look even taller   
   than she was, even though she was already tall for her age. Amy was   
   my very own wonderful little girl, and I'm hopelessly prejudiced, of   
   course, but she truly was a beautiful, exceptional, intelligent   
   child. I felt very blessed that she was mine, and I was secretly   
   happy that the older she got the more she would resemble her mom,   
   my very bright and lovely wife.   
      
   I had fucked a few other women, including one very young teenaged   
   girl that had excited me like no other grown woman in my life, while   
   I was married. After my wife died, I had managed to stay celibate   
   for about ten weeks, before a neighbor went to Europe for three weeks   
   on business. His wife had me in bed with her at the end of his first   
   week away. She said she had always kinda had the hots for me, and   
   being horny after her husband left was the last straw. I didn't put   
   up much of a struggle, I guess. I had sex with three other women soon   
   after that, one of them also married... but more about that later.   
      
   When Amy had just turned nine, she came into the living room where I   
   was watching the late news. I looked at her frightened little face.   
   "What's wrong sweetie?" I asked.   
      
   "Daddy... there's... there's something... wro- ... wrong with me!"   
   she said, tears forming in her eyes.   
      
   I sat her in my lap. "Hey, what's got you so upset?"   
      
   "There's... there's a... a... lump," she whimpered.   
      
   "Where?"   
      
   "Right... right here," she answered, pointing to her chest. She   
   lifted her t-shirt to expose her small breasts. "See?"   
      
   Well, well... she's right; there's a small swelling under her left   
   nipple. I reached up to be certain, feeling a small marble sized   
   mass, somewhat firm. I hadn't seen my daughter's breasts - mostly   
   just flat chest - fully naked for quite a while. I was amazed at how   
   her nipples had changed; they were colored dark pink, and they were   
   perfectly round, much larger now, more than an inch across. As I   
   stared at her beautiful young tits, I realized that her nipples   
   were actually out of proportion to her slender build. Her breasts   
   were two small, flattened puffy aureoles topped by stiffened,   
   wrinkly nipples, barely raising above her otherwise flat chest, but   
   there was very clearly a small lump under one. I couldn't help but   
   hope to myself, she's taking after her mother, who had some of the   
   world's greatest nipples!   
      
   "Ow! It's sore too!" she moaned, crying. I hugged her to me and   
   patted her on the shoulder.   
      
   "Amy, honey, there's nothing to worry about. You're just growing up.   
   That 'lump' you feel is your breast starting to grow. That's all."   
      
   "But... but... it's only on one side and it's so sore!" She looked   
   very unsure about my diagnosis as she whimpered again.   
      
   "I know, sweetie. That's the way most girl's breasts start out. One   
   side often starts first, but don't worry; the other side will catch   
   up. Remember when you were younger and your legs would hurt because   
   you were growing up? Well, that's why it feels sore now. Your breast   
   is growing and it's normal for it to feel a little sore at first." I   
   felt her start to relax against me. "You were worried about cancer,   
   huh? Like your mom had?"   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)