This blind man, an old friend of my wife’s, he was on his way to spend the night. His wife had died. So he was visiting the dead wife’s relatives in Connecticut. He called my wife from his in-law’s. Arrangements were made. He would come by train, a five-hour trip, and my wife would meet him at the station. She hadn’t seen him since she worked for him one summer in Seattle ten years ago. But she and the blind man had kept in touch. They made tapes and mailed them back and forth. I wasn’t enthusiastic about his visit. He was no one I knew. And his being blind bothered me. My idea of blindness came from the movies. In the movies, the blind moved slowly and never laughed. Sometimes they were led by seeingeye dogs. A blind man in my house was not something I looked forward to. That summer in Seattle she had needed a job. She didn’t have any money. The man she was going to marry at the end of the summer was in officers’ training school. He didn’t have any money, either. But she was in love with the guy, and he was in love with her, etc. She’d seen something in the paper: HELP WANTED—Reading to Blind Man, and a telephone number. She phoned and went over, was hired on the spot. She worked with this blind man all summer. She read stuff to him, case studies, reports, that sort of thing. She helped him organize his little office in the county socialservice department. They’d become good friends, my wife and the blind man. On her last day in the office, the blind man asked if he could touch her face. She agreed to this. She told me he touched his fingers to every part of her face, her nose—even her neck! She never forgot it. She even tried to write a poem about it. She was always trying to write a poem. She wrote a poem or two every year, usually after something really important had happened to her. When we first started going out together, she showed me the poem. In the poem, she recalled his fingers and the way they had moved around over her face. In the poem, she talked about what she had felt at the time, about what went through her mind when the blind man touched her nose and lips. I can remember I didn’t think much of the poem. Of course, I didn’t tell her that. Maybe I just don’t understand poetry. I admit it’s not the first thing I reach for when I pick up something to read. Anyway, this man who’d first enjoyed her favors, this officer-to-be, he’d been her childhood sweetheart. So okay. I’m saying that at the end of the summer she let the blind man run his hands over her face, said good-bye 2 to him, married her childhood etc., who was now a commissioned officer, and she moved away from Seattle. But they’d keep in touch, she and the blind man. She made the first contact after a year or so. She called him up one night from an Air Force base in Alabama. She wanted to talk. They talked. He asked her to send him a tape and tell him about her life. She did this. She sent the tape. On the tape, she told the blind man she loved her husband but she didn’t like it where they lived and she didn’t like it that he was a part of the military-industrial thing. She told the blind man she’d written a poem and he was in it. She told him that she was writing a poem about what it was like to be an Air Force officer’s wife. The poem wasn’t finished yet. She was still writing it. The blind man made a tape. He sent her the tape. She made a tape. This went on for years. My wife’s officer was posted to one base and then another. She sent tapes from Moody AFB, McGuire, McConnell, and finally Travis, near Sacramento, where one night she got to feeling lonely and cut off from people she kept losing in that moving-around life. She got to feeling she couldn’t go it another step. She went in and swallowed all the pills and capsules in the medicine chest and washed them down with a bottle of gin. Then she got into a hot bath and passed out. But instead of dying, she got sick. She threw up. Her officer—why should he have a name? he was the childhood sweetheart, and what more does he want?—came home from somewhere, found her, and called the ambulance. In time, she put it all on tape and sent the tape to the blind man. Over the years, she put all kinds of stuff on tapes and sent the tapes off lickety-split. Next to writing a poem every year, I think it was her chief means of recreation. On one tape, she told the blind man she’d decided to live away from her officer for a time. On another tape, she told him about her divorce. She and I began going out, and of course she told her blind man about it. She told him everything, or so it seemed to me. Once she asked me if I’d like to hear the latest tape from the blind man. This was a year ago. I was on the tape, she said. So I said okay, I’d listen to it. I got us drinks and we settled down in the living room. We made ready to listen. First she inserted the tape into the player and adjusted a couple of dials. Then she pushed a lever. The tape squeaked and someone began to talk in this loud voice. She lowered the volume. After a few minutes of harmless chitchat, I heard my own name in the mouth of this stranger, this blind man I didn’t even know! And then this: “From all you’ve said about him, I can only conclude—“ But we were interrupted, a knock at the door, something, and we didn’t ever get back to the tape. Maybe it was just as well. I’d heard all I wanted to. 3 Now this same blind man was coming over to sleep in my house. “Maybe I could take him bowling,” I said to my wife. She was at the draining board doing scalloped potatoes. She put down the knife she was using and turned around. “If you love me,” she said, “you can do this for me. If you don’t love me, okay. But if you had a friend, any friend, and the friend came to visit, I’d make him feel comfortable.” She wiped her hands with the dish towel. “I don’t have any blind friends,” I said. “You don’t have any friends,” she said. “Period. Besides,” she said, “goddamn it, his wife’s just died! Don’t you understand that? The man’s lost his wife!” I didn’t answer. She’d told me a little about the blind man’s wife. Her name was Beulah. Beulah! That’s a name for a colored woman. “Was his wife a Negro?” I asked. “Are you crazy?” my wife said. “Have you just flipped or something?” She picked up a potato. I saw it hit the floor, then roll under the stove. “What’s wrong with you?” she said. “Are you drunk?” “I’m just asking,” I said. Right then my wife filled me in with more detail than I cared to know. I made a drink and sat at the kitchen table to listen. Pieces of the story began to fall into place. Beulah had gone to work for the blind man the summer after my wife had stopped working for him. Pretty soon Beulah and the blind man had themselves a church wedding. It was a little wedding—who’d want to go to such a wedding in the first place?—just the two of them, plus the minister and the minister’s wife. But it was a church wedding just the same. It was what Beulah had wanted, he’d said. But even then Beulah must have been carrying the cancer in her glands. After they had been inseparable for eight years—my wife’s word, inseparable—Beulah’s health went into a rapid decline. She died in a Seattle hospital room, the blind man sitting beside the bed and holding on to her hand. They’d married, lived and worked together, slept together—had sex, sure—and then the blind man had to bury her. All this without his having ever seen what the goddamned woman looked like. It was beyond my understanding. Hearing this, I felt sorry for the blind man for a little bit. And then I found myself thinking what a pitiful life this woman must have led. Imagine a woman who could never see herself as she was seen in the eyes of her loved one. A woman who could go on day after day and never receive the smallest compliment from her beloved. A woman whose husband could never read the expression on her face, be it misery or something better. Someone who could wear makeup or not—what difference 4 to him? She could if she wanted, wear green eye-shadow around one eye, a straight pin in her nostril, yellow slacks, and purple shoes, no matter. And then to slip off into death, the blind man’s hand on her hand, his blind eyes streaming tears—I’m imagining now—her last thought maybe this: that he never even knew what she looked like, and she on an express to the grave. Robert was left with a small insurance policy and half of a twenty-peso Mexican coin. The other half of the coin went into the box with her. Pathetic. So when the time rolled around, my wife went to the depot to pick him up. With nothing to do but wait—sure, I blamed him for that—I was having a drink and watching the TV when I heard the car pull into the drive. I got up from the sofa with my drink and went to the window to have a look. I saw my wife laughing as she parked the car. I saw her get out of the car and shut the door. She was still wearing a smile. Just amazing. She went around to the other side of the car to where the blind man was already starting to get out. This blind man, feature this, he was wearing a full beard! A beard on a blind man! Too much, I say. The blind man reached into the backseat and dragged out a suitcase. My wife took his arm, shut the car door, and, talking all the way, moved him down the drive and then up the steps to the front porch. I turned off the TV. I finished my drink, rinsed the glass, dried my hands. Then I went to the door. My wife said, “I want you to meet Robert. Robert, this is my husband. I’ve told you all about him.” She was beaming. She had this blind man by his coat sleeve. The blind man let go of his suitcase and up came his hand. I took it. He squeezed hard, held my hand, and then he let it go. “I feel like we’ve already met,” he boomed. “Likewise,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. Then I said, “Welcome. I’ve heard a lot about you.” We began to move then, a little group, from the porch into the living room, my wife guiding him by the arm. The blind man was carrying his suitcase in his other hand. My wife said things like, “To your left here, Robert. That’s right. Now watch it, there’s a chair. That’s it. Sit down right here. This is the sofa. We just bought this sofa two weeks ago.” I started to say something about the old sofa. I’d liked that old sofa. But I didn’t say anything. Then I wanted to say something else, small-talk, about the scenic ride along the Hudson. How going to New York, you should sit on the right-hand side of the train, and coming from New York, the left-hand side. “Did you have a good train ride?” I said. “Which side of the train did  5 you sit on, by the way?” “What a question, which side!” my wife said. “What’s it matter which side?” she said. “I just asked,” I said. “Right side,” the blind man said. “I hadn’t been on a train in nearly forty years. Not since I was a kid. With my folks. That’s been a long time. I’d nearly forgotten the sensation. I have winter in my beard now, “ he said. “So I’ve been told, anyway. Do I look distinguished, my dear?” the blind man said to my wife. “You look distinguished, Robert,” she said. “Robert,” she said. “Robert, it’s just so good to see you.” My wife finally took her eyes off the blind man and looked at me. I had the feeling she didn’t like what she saw. I shrugged. I’ve never met, or personally known, anyone who was blind. This blind man was late forties, a heavy-set, balding man with stooped shoulders, as if he carried a great weight there. He wore brown slacks, brown shoes, a light-brown shirt, a tie, a sports coat. Spiffy. He also had this full beard. But he didn’t use a cane and he didn’t wear dark glasses. I’d always thought dark glasses were a must for the blind. Fact was, I wish he had a pair. At first glance, his eyes looked like anyone else’s eyes. But if you looked close, there was something different about them. Too much white in the iris, for one thing, and the pupils seemed to move around in the sockets without his knowing it or being able to stop it. Creepy. As I stared at his face, I saw the left pupil turn in toward his nose while the other made an effort to keep in one place. But it was only an effort, for that one eye was on the roam without his knowing it or wanting it to be. I said, “Let me get you a drink. What’s your pleasure? We have a little bit of everything. It’s one of our pastimes.” “Bub, I’m a Scotch man myself,” he said fast enough in this big voice. “Right,” I said. Bub! “Sure you are. I knew it.” He let his fingers touch his suitcase, which was sitting alongside the sofa. He was taking his bearings. I didn’t blame him for that. “I’ll move that up to your room,” my wife said. “No, that’s fine,” the blind man said loudly. “It can go up when I go up.” “A little water with the Scotch?” I said. “Very little,” he said. “I knew it, “ I said. He said, “Just a tad. The Irish actor, Barry Fitzgerald? I’m like that fellow. When I drink water, Fitzgerald said, I drink water. When I drink  6 whiskey, I drink whiskey.” My wife laughed. The blind man brought his hand up under his beard. He lifted his beard slowly and let it drop. I did the drinks, three big glasses of Scotch with a splash of water in each. Then we made ourselves comfortable and talked about Robert’s travels. First the long flight from the West Coast to Connecticut, we covered that. Then from Connecticut up here by train. We had another drink concerning that leg of the trip. I remembered having read somewhere that the blind didn’t smoke because, as speculation had it, they couldn’t see the smoke they exhaled. I though I knew that much and that much only about blind people. But this blind man smoked his cigarette down to the nubbin and then lit another one. This blind man filled his ashtray and my wife emptied it. When we sat down at the table for dinner, we had another drink. M wife heaped Robert’s plate with cube steak, scalloped potatoes, green beans. I buttered him up two slices of bread. I said, “Here’s bread and butter for you.” I swallowed some of my drink. “Now let us pray,” I said, and the blind man lowered his head. My wife looked at me, her mouth agape. “Pray the phone won’t ring and the food doesn’t get cold,” I said. We dug in. We ate everything there was to eat on the table. We ate like there was no tomorrow. We didn’t talk. We ate. We scarfed. We grazed the table. We were into serious eating. The blind man had right away located his foods, he knew just where everything was on his plate. I watched with admiration as he used his knife and fork on the meat. He’d cut two pieces of the meat, fork the meat into his mouth, and then go all out for the scalloped potatoes, the beans next, and then he’d tear off a hunk of buttered bread and eat that. He’d follow this up with a big drink of milk. It didn’t seem to bother him to use his fingers once in a while, either. We finished everything, including half a strawberry pie. For a few moments, we sat as if stunned. Swear beaded on our faces. Finally, we got up from the table and left the dirty plates. We didn’t look back. We took ourselves into the living room and sank into our places again. Robert and my wife sat on the sofa. I took the big chair. We had us two or three more drinks while they talked about the major things that had come to pass for them in the past ten years. For the most part, I just listened. Now and then I joined in. I didn’t want him to think I’d left the room, and I didn’t want her to think I was feeling left out. They talked of things that had happened to them—to them!—these past ten years. I waited in vain to hear my name on my wife’s sweet lips: “And then my dear husband came into my life”—something like that. But I heard nothing of the sort. More talk of Robert. Robert had done a little of everything, it seemed, a regular blind jack-of-all-trades. But most 7 recently he and his wife had had an Amway distributorship, from which, I gathered, they’d earned a living, such as it was. The blind man was also a ham radio operator. He talked in his loud voice about conversations he’d had with fellow operators in Guam, in the Philippines, in Alaska, and even in Tahiti. He said he’d have a lot of friends there if her ever wanted to go visit those places. From time to time, he’d turn his blind face toward me, put his hand under his beard, ask me something. How long had I been in my present position? (Three years.) Did I like my work? (I didn’t.) Was I going to stay with it? (What were the options?) Finally, when I thought he was beginning to run down, I got up and turned on the TV. My wife looked at me with irritation. She was heading toward a boil. Then she looked at the blind man and said, “Robert, do you have a TV?” The blind man said, “My dear, I have two TVs. I have a color set and a black-and-white thing, an old relic. It’s funny, but if I turn the TV on, and I’m always turning it on, I turn on the color set. It’s funny, don’t you think?” I didn’t know what to say to that. I had absolutely nothing to say to that. No opinion. So I watched the news program and tried to listen to what the announcer was saying. “This is a color TV,” the blind man said. “Don’t ask me how, but I can tell.” “We traded up a while ago,” I said. The blind man had another taste of his drink. He lifted his beard, sniffed it, and let it fall. He leaned forward on the sofa. He positioned his ashtray on the coffee table, then put the lighter to his cigarette. He leaned back on the sofa and crossed his legs at the ankles. My wife covered her mouth, and then she yawned. She stretched. She said, “I think I’ll go upstairs and put on my robe. I think I’ll change into something else. Robert, you make yourself comfortable,” she said. “I’m comfortable,” the blind man said. “I want you to feel comfortable in this house,” she said. “I am comfortable,” the blind man said. After she’d left the room, he and I listened to the weather report and then to the sports roundup. By that time, she’d been gone so long I didn’t know if she was going to come back. I thought she might have gone to bed. I wished she’d come back downstairs. I didn’t want to be left alone with a blind man. I asked him if he wanted another drink, and he said sure. Then I asked if he wanted to smoke some dope with me. I said I’d just rolled a number. I hadn’t, but I planned to do so in about two shakes. 8 “I’ll try some with you,” he said. “Damn right,” I said. “That’s the stuff.” I got our drinks and sat down on the sofa with him. Then I rolled us two fat numbers. I lit one and passed it. I brought it to his fingers. He took it and inhaled. “Hold it as long as you can,” I said. I could tell he didn’t know the first thing. My wife came back downstairs wearing her pink robe and her pink slippers. “What do I smell?” she said. “We thought we’d have us some cannabis,” I said. My wife gave me a savage look. Then she looked at the blind man and said, “Robert, I didn’t know you smoked.” He said, “I do now, my dear. There’s a first time for everything. But I don’t feel anything yet.” “This stuff is pretty mellow,” I said. “This stuff is mild. It’s dope you can reason with,” I said. “It doesn’t mess you up.” “Not much it doesn’t, bub,” he said, and laughed. My wife sat on the sofa between the blind man and me. I passed her the number. She took it and toked and then passed it back to me. “Which way is this going?” she said. Then she said, “I shouldn’t be smoking this. I can hardly keep my eyes open as it is. That dinner did me in. I shouldn’t have eaten so much.” “It was the strawberry pie,” the blind man said. “That’s what did it,” he said, and he laughed his big laugh. Then he shook his head. “There’s more strawberry pie,” I said. “Do you want some more, Robert?” my wife said. “Maybe in a little while,” he said. We gave our attention to the TV. My wife yawned again. She said, “Your bed is made up when you feel like going to bed, Robert. I know you must have had a long day. When you’re ready to go to bed, say so.” She pulled his arm. “Robert?” He came to and said, “I’ve had a real nice time. This beats tapes, doesn’t it?” I said, “Coming at you,” and I put the number between his fingers. He inhaled, held the smoke, and then let it go. It was like he’d been doing this since he was nine years old. “Thanks, bub,” he said. “But I think this is all for me. I think I’m beginning to feel it,” he said. He held the burning roach out for my wife. “Same here,” she said. “Ditto. Me, too.” She took the roach and  9 passed it to me. “I may just sit here for a while between you two guys with my eyes closed. But don’t let me bother you, okay? Either one of you. If it bothers you, say so. Otherwise, I may just sit here with my eyes closed until you’re ready to go to bed,” she said. “Your bed’s made up, Robert, when you’re ready. It’s right next to our room at the top of the stairs. We’ll show you up when you’re ready. You wake me up now, you guys, if I fall asleep.” She said that and then she closed her eyes and went to sleep. The news program ended. I got up and changed the channel. I sat back down on the sofa. I wished my wife hadn’t pooped out. Her head lay across the back of the sofa, her mouth open. She’d turned so that he robe had slipped away from her legs, exposing a juicy thigh. I reached to draw her robe back over her, and it was then that I glanced at the blind man. What the hell! I flipped the robe open again. “You say you when you want some strawberry pie,” I said. “I will,” he said. I said, “Are you tired? Do you want me to take you up to your bed? Are you ready to hit the hay?” “Not yet,” he said. “No, I’ll stay up with you, bub. If that’s all right. I’ll stay up until you’re ready to turn in. We haven’t had a chance to talk. Know what I mean? I feel like me and her monopolized the evening. “ He lifted his beard and he let it fall. He picked up his cigarettes and his lighter. “That’s all right,” I said. Then I said, “I’m glad for the company.” And I guess I was. Every night I smoked dope and stayed up as long as I could before I fell asleep. My wife and I hardly ever went to bed at the same time. When I did go to sleep, I had these dreams. Sometimes I’d wake up from one of them, my heart going crazy. Something about the church and the Middle Ages was on the TV. Not your run-of-the-mill TV fare. I wanted to watch something else. I turned to the other channels. But there was nothing on them, either. So I turned back to the first channel and apologized. “Bub, it’s all right,” the blind man said. “It’s fine with me. Whatever you want to watch is okay. I’m always learning something. Learning never ends. It won’t hurt me to learn something tonight. I got ears,” he said. We didn’t say anything for a time. He was leaning forward with his head turned at me, his right ear aimed in the direction of the set. Very disconcerting. Now and then his eyelids drooped and then they snapped open again. Now and then he put his fingers into his beard and tugged, like he was thinking about something he was hearing on the television. 10 On the screen, a group of men wearing cowls was being set upon and tormented by men dressed in skeleton costumes and men dressed as devils. The men dressed as devils wore devil masks, horns, and long tails. This pageant was part of a procession. The Englishman who was narrating the thing said it took place in Spain once a year. I tried to explain to the blind man what was happening. “Skeletons,” he said. “I know about skeletons,” he said, and he nodded. The TV showed this one cathedral. Then there was a long, slow look at another one. Finally, the picture switched to the famous one in Paris, with its flying buttresses and its spires reaching up to the clouds. The camera pulled away to show the whole of the cathedral rising above the skyline. There were times when the Englishman who was telling the thing would shut up, would simply let the camera move around over the cathedrals. Or else the camera would tour the countryside, men in fields walking behind oxen. I waited as long as I could. Then I felt I had to say something. I said, “They’re showing the outside of this cathedral now. Gargoyles. Little statues carved to look like monsters. Now I guess they’re in Italy. Yeah, they’re in Italy. There’s paintings on the walls of this one church.” “Are those fresco painting, bub?” he asked, and he sipped from his drink. I reached for my glass. But it was empty. I tried to remember what I could remember. “You’re asking me are those frescoes?” I said. “That’s a good question. I don’t know.” The camera moved to a cathedral outside Lisbon. The difference in the Portugese cathedral compared with the French and Italian were not that great. But they were there. Mostly the interior stuff. Then something occurred to me, and I said, “Something has occurred to me. Do you have any idea what a cathedral is? What they look like, that is? Do you follow me? If somebody says cathedral to you, do you have any notion what they’re talking about? Do you the difference between that and a Baptist church, say?” He let the smoke dribble from his mouth. “I know they took hundreds of workers fifty or a hundred years to build,” he said. “I just heard the man say that, of course. I know generations of the same families worked on a cathedral. I heard him say that, too. The men who began their life’s work on them, they never lived to see the completion of their work. In that wise, bub, they’re no different from the rest of us, right?” He laughed. Then his eyelids drooped again. His head nodded. He seemed to be snoozing. Maybe he was 11 imagining himself in Portugal. The TV was showing another cathedral now. This one was in Germany. The Englishman’s voice droned on. “Cathedrals,” the blind man said. He sat up and rolled his head back and forth. “If you want the truth, bub, that’s about all I know. What I just said. What I heard him say. But maybe you could describe one to me? I wish you’d do it. I’d like that. If you want to know, I really don’t have a good idea.” I stared hard at the shot of the cathedral on the TV. How could I even begin to describe it? But say my life depended on it. Say my life was being threatened by an insane guy who said I had to do it or else. I stared some more at the cathedral before the picture flipped off into the countryside. There was no use. I turned to the blind man and said, “To begin with, they’re very tall.” I was looking around the room for clues. “They reach way up. Up and up. Toward the sky. They’re so big, some of them, they have to have these supports. To help hold them up, so to speak. These supports are called buttresses. They remind of viaducts, for some reason. But maybe you don’t know viaducts, either? Sometimes the cathedrals have devils and such carved into the front. Sometimes lords and ladies. Don’t ask me why this is,” I said. He was nodding. The whole upper part of his body seemed to be moving back and forth. “I’m not doing so good, am I?” I said. He stopped nodding and leaned forward on the edge of the sofa. As he listened to me, he was running his fingers through his beard. I wasn’t getting through to him, I could see that. But he waited for me to go on just the same. He nodded, like he was trying to encourage me. I tried to think what else to say. “They’re really big,” I said. They’re massive. They’re built of stone. Marble, too, sometimes. In those olden days, when they built cathedrals, men wanted to be close to God. In those olden days, God was an important part of everyone’s life. You could tell this from their cathedral-building. I’m sorry,” I said, “but it looks like that’s the best I can do for you. I’m just no good at it.” “That’s all right, bub,” the blind man said. “Hey, listen. I hope you don’t mind my asking you. Can I ask you something? Let me ask you a simple question, yes or no. I’m just curious and there’s no offense. You’re my host. But let me ask if you are in any way religious? You don’t mind my asking?” I shook my head. He couldn’t see that, though. A wink is the same as a nod to a blind man. “I guess I don’t believe in it. In anything. Sometimes it’s hard. You know what I’m saying?” “Sure, I do,” he said. 12 “Right,” I said. The Englishman was still holding forth. My wife sighed in her sleep. She drew a long breath and went on with her sleeping. “You’ll have to forgive me,” I said. “But I can’t tell you what a cathedral looks like. It just isn’t in me to do it. I can’t do any more than I’ve done.” The blind man sat very still, his head down, as he listened to me. I said, “The truth is, cathedrals don’t mean anything special to me. Nothing. Cathedrals. They’re something to look at on late-night TV. That’s all they are.” It was then that the blind man cleared his throat. He brought something up. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket. Then he said, “I get it, bub. It’s okay. It happens. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Hey, listen to me. Will you do me a favor? I got an idea. Why don’t you find us some heavy paper? And a pen. We’ll do something. We’ll draw one together. Get us a pen and some heavy paper. Go on, bub, get the stuff,” he said. So I went upstairs. My legs felt like they didn’t have any strength in them. They felt like they did after I’d done some running. In my wife’s room, I looked around. I found some ballpoints in a little basket on her table. And then I tried to think where to look for the kind of paper he was talking about. Downstairs, in the kitchen, I found a shopping bag with onion skins in the bottom of the bag. I emptied the bag and shook it. I brought it into the living room and sat down with it near his legs. I moved some things, smoothed the wrinkles from the bag, spread it out on the coffee table. The blind man got down from the sofa and sat next to me on the carpet. He ran his fingers over the paper. He went up and down the sides of the paper. The edges, even the edges. He fingered the corners. “All right,” he said. “All right, let’s do her.” He found my hand, the hand with the pen. He closed his hand over my hand. “Go ahead, bub, draw,” he said. “Draw. You’ll see. I’ll follow along with you. It’ll be okay. Just begin now like I’m telling you. You’ll see. Draw,” the blind man said. So I began. First I drew a box that looked like a hose. It could have been the house I lived in. Then I put a roof on it. At either end of the roof, I drew spires. Crazy. “Swell,” he said. “Terrific. You’re doing fine,” he said. “Never thought anything like this could happen in your lifetime, did you, bub? Well, it’s a strange life, we all know that. Go on now. Keep it up.” 13 I put in windows with arches. I drew flying buttresses. I hung great doors. I couldn’t stop. The TV station went off the air. I put down the pen and closed and opened my fingers. The blind man felt around over the paper. He moved the tips of the fingers over the paper, all over what I had drawn, and he nodded. “Doing fine,” the blind man said. I took up the pen again, and he found my hand. I kept at it. I’m no artist. But I kept drawing just the same. My wife opened up her eyes and gazed at us. She sat up on the sofa, her robe hanging open. She said, “What are you doing? Tell me, I want to know.” I didn’t answer her. The blind man said, “We’re drawing a cathedral. Me and him are working on it. Press hard,” he said to me. “That’s right. That’s good,” he said. “Sure. You got it, bub. I can tell. You didn’t think you could. But you can, can’t you? You’re cooking with gas now. You know what I’m saying? We’re going to really have us something here in a minute. How’s the old arm?” he said. “Put some people in there now. What’s a cathedral without people?” My wife said, “What’s going on? Robert, what are you doing? What’s going on?” “It’s all right,” he said to her. “Close your eyes now,” the blind man said to me. I did it. I closed them just like he said. “Are they closed?” he said. “Don’t fudge.” “They’re closed,” I said. “Keep them that way,” he said. He said, “Don’t stop now. Draw.” So we kept on with it. His fingers rode my fingers as my hand went over the paper. It was like nothing else in my life up to now. Then he said, “I think that’s it. I think you got it,” he said. “Take a look. What do you think?” But I had my eyes closed. I thought I’d keep them that way for a little longer. I thought it was something I ought to do. “Well?” he said. “Are you looking?” My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything. “It’s really something,” I said. 

I was totally naked, waiting for the suffocating heat to diminish a little, but the news said that the heat wave could increase even more its intensity, take the towel and I left with the intention of giving me a shower of cold water, when the key I realized that the water was warm, and then I returned to my bedroom, I lay down again in bed and turned on the fan, the air caressed my naked body, I felt myself go through every inch of my skin, spread the legs and let it caress My mount of Venus, I turned around and now the caress was on my back, walking down, and I liked it when my buttocks received the caress of the air.

The tiredness took over my body and I fell asleep, I do not remember how long but I just woke up when I heard my parents speak quietly at the foot of the bed.

She is as innocent as she was when she was a child.

- Silvia, but our daughter is no longer a girl now is a woman, look at her body, she has too much to teach and can not sleep like that, you have to talk to her.

"Do not be modest!" Look at it a little, feel the softness of your skin, just a little!

I decided to pretend, I was still asleep and let my father slip his fingers down my back, and continued without stopping until I passed my buttocks, I heard him hurry out of my room and pretended to wake up at that moment.

Mommy! I fell asleep, very hot, and the water was very hot, my dad? Where is it?

"This bathing daughter, just as you came tired, I warn you to take a bath before going to the dining room.

Before leaving I slide his hand around my waist, and I end up giving a sound pat on one of my buttocks.

Mommy! It hurts, I laughed naively.

I put on a lycra and I set out to see my father, and I remembered his words that he said before leaving, "it's true he has soft skin" if I were not my daughter,

In my mind, moments of my adolescence came back, when I came home many times I sat on his knees and he seemed to enjoy it, even several times I caught him when he looked at my pantyhose, being badly seated, but never imagined that he thought of me As a woman, and not as his daughter, he had to find out.

As for my mother, I never felt embarrassed when she came into my bedroom and I was totally naked, even now I remember many times that I sat next to her naked, and she stroked my hair, and sometimes she ran her hand through my Tits, but I've never thought about it, but the hot weather of those days would help me solve the mystery of my parents, and we end up in a triangle of sex and lust that we never want to leave again.

After a light meal, we spent some time together watching the TV, I realized that my father used to touch her breasts, and without taking his gaze off my legs, at 18 I had developed a body Very beautiful, the tits could almost match those of my mother, my round butt and round buttocks, maybe the only thing I could not match her was my mount of Venus, because she has too much beauty and I instead have only one Little montecito

I pretended to be tired and I said goodbye to them kissing each one on the cheek, but my father pretended not to notice and I almost kissed him in the mouth, I walked away without looking back and I locked myself in my bedroom, I despoiled Of all my clothes and I lay in bed, the heat was perhaps not as intense but I continued, I stood to open my window, the light was off and it was when I opened that I heard voices in the garage, just below me I saw the silhouettes of my parents and I decided to try to listen to what they said, so I slipped quietly into the kitchen and could hear something they were talking about.

"We can try my love, maybe I will not take it badly.

"But Silvia, it is true that she has become a beautiful woman, but I do not know if we do well.

-I, I can not take any more, and if you do not want to participate I will do it alone, and sooner than you can imagine.

"Okay, Silvia, you're in charge of preparing the ground."

Steal back to my bedroom and lay down quickly, thinking that at any moment they could come in as they did every night to give me my kiss before bed.

"Sonia, my love, are you asleep?"

I remained motionless and felt them approaching, and my mother said the following.

"Look, do not you fancy caressing her pretty buttocks?" Or touch those cute little bellies, or maybe their pink nipples.

"Let's go Silvia, let her rest tomorrow and try to convince her, I think you're right.

They gave me a kiss on the cheek and they left, clear as always my mother did not miss the opportunity to caress my buttocks before leaving, only this time the caress was more than full of desire, because my bare skin was making her restless.

During the night, I woke up a dream victim where my father was catching me, while my mother watched with or

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For as long as I can remember, my parents and I have spent Thanksgiving together with my dad's side of the family and Christmas with my mom's side. One advantage of having such a tradition is that it avoided those nasty family conflicts where people get upset thinking one family was getting more attention than the other. Usually these were rather boring affairs but nowadays the potential was there for more "interesting" things.

My first time being a part of incest was when I was an eighteen year-old freshman in college. I'd lost my virginity just before by then so it wasn't like I wasn't already sexually active. It's sort of interesting that incest was actually the last thing on my mind. Sure I knew my dad enjoyed watching me when I came home and played with myself and sometimes he would even get an erection while we were in the hot tub together and I'd tell him about school. After all, he might be my dad but he was still a man so those sort of things are bound to happen. The thought that he might actually want to DO anything with me, or even the very concept of having sex with my parents, never even crossed my mind. Since my parents didn't make sex a taboo subject, I just assumed that he was reacting no differently than any man would around any college girl like me. It didn't mean he wanted to fuck me though.

Well, all that changed when I witnessed my parents having sex for the first time from my window overlooking the hot tub. Although they didn't mind me seeing them masturbate, actual sex was always something they kept private between the two of them and now I realized why. As I watched them I thought about how I could please my father the way my mom did and about how close it could bring us together. No, not in some perverted way where I was his lover or something ridiculous like that; but as a normal father and daughter. Once we started I never looked back and over the past few years my dad and I have developed a wonderful new relationship. Of course my mom has given her stamp of approval and we sometimes get together as well, but only rarely. It's my dad I want to please the most and he is the one who seems to need it more than my mom.

At first my incestual relationships were restricted to my mom's side of the family which included my Aunt Linda. My dad quickly convinced me to do it with his younger brother, AKA my Uncle Jim. Thus I went from incest "abstinence" to being with three members of my dad's side of the family in the space of less than two weeks!

Another thing about my parents - they take their marriage vows VERY seriously. To them adultery is a violation of the Ten Commandments, not to be done under ANY circumstances, even with your spouse's "permission". Of course, sex within your own family is NOT cheating. Thus my dad does my Aunt Linda at times, especially when I'm not around. While this works out great for my dad, my Aunt Linda is divorced and has no sons meaning there was nobody for my mom in our family other than my dad. Of course, she loves him totally and he satisfies her sexually, but I'm sure she wouldn't have minded a little diversity back then.

Needless to say, my dad was thrilled to see me home again from college for Thanksgiving break. At least he hadn't wasted any time showing me how much he missed me! Let's just say the erection poking through his shorts when I walked in the door was a clue. There was one thing I could count on from my dad when I was home - my morning wakeup call. There was no alarm clock involved, but rather an alarm COCK. Our little "tradition" was now so ingrained that it seemed if I didn't get fucked first thing in the morning I walked around wanting it for the rest of the day!

Given the marvelous consistency of which my dad kept up his side of our tradition, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up Thanksgiving morning and realized something was missing - my dad's cock! I rubbed my eyes and as my bedroom slowly came into focus I verified that I was indeed all alone. Hmmmm, what could had happened that was more important to my dad than his own daughter, especially on Thanksgiving morning when not even he went to work?

As I sat up in bed, I started to scratch an itch on my cheek when my fingers felt something a bit sticky. Looking down at my boobs, which were also itching a little, I grinned as I realized what had already happened this morning. My dad must have come in earlier and as exhausted as I was from the past week, I must have been hard to wake up so he let me sleep. As horny as he probably was by then, he must have jerked off looking at my nude body and then cum all over me. Normally, I get more than a little perturbed when guy makes a mess on me. Guys, the porn movies don't show what happens AFTER the whore gets covered in cum. Trust me, cleaning cum off of you is not the easiest thing in the world, especially when it's in your hair or dried on your skin. Of course in my father's case I was ready to make an exception. God what I would have given for a video of him jerking off over me, looking at me, seeing in his eyes how badly he wanted to fuck me. It thrilled me to know he found me desirable in this way, that he could fulfill his lust and needs just by looking down at me as I slept without even touching me.

The more I thought about it the hornier I got until my pussy suddenly turned on like a light switch had been thrown. I an instant I simply HAD to touch it and so my hand slipped down between my legs and at first I just cupped my shaved pussy in my hand, pressing up against my crotch like a bikini bottom pulling up against me. Damn, it felt like I was on fire down there! Even without pressing my fingers inside if me I could already feel the wetness as I imagined my dad brushing the head of his stiff cock over my face as I slept. Slowly, ever so slowly, I traced the tip of my finger in little circles around my clit. Now and then I would drop down and pull some more wetness up from my pussy hole to keep it slippery. It was like I was teasing myself, playing with my clit just enough to make me feel good but not enough to drive me to an orgasm. In my mind, it wasn't my finger on my pussy but my dad's tongue, licking me up and down my pussy slit and rubbing it up against my clit.

"Yes daddy, lick me," I whispered to myself, wishing he was there to hear me.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I put two fingers just outside my pussy hole.

"Fuck me daddy," I whispered to my imaginary father.

"He" responded by pushing his cock into me and my two fingers worked their way in as I pretended that it was his dick that was violating my tight pussy. While I fucked myself with one hand, the other was fondling my boobs, just as he would be doing if he was drilling me.

"Make me cum... oh god make me cum daddy," I cried out, a bit louder this time but there was nobody upstairs to hear me anyway. With both hand on my pussy now, I used the one to push its fingers into me while the other worked full time on my clit. God it felt so good!

"OH MY GOD! FUCK ME DADDY" I cried out to the empty room as my orgasm struck me. like a sudden summer storm. My hips rose up off the bed as my back arched and it felt like every inch of my skin was sweating fire. All I could think about was his hard cock in me, his wonderful erect dick that he would give me when I was a good girl, that he rewarded me with when I had earned it. Mmmmmmm, if only he could see me now, his only daughter making herself cum on her bed thinking of nothing else but her desire to have her father fuck her and release his love inside of her.

My pussy was gushing cum and I knew my bed must be getting soaked under me but it didn't matter to me a bit. They say practice makes perfect and when it comes to masturbation, I had tons of practice! I knew just how to keep myself on the sharp edge of an orgasm, to twiddle my clit just right that I didn't go so far to where I had to quit because it overwhelmed me, but just enough to keep me peaking, to keep the incredible sensations alive in me. I have no idea how long this went on as I tend to lose all track of time when this happens to me. Sometimes I get so exhausted I simply am forced to quit but when I catch my breath, it's back to the races and to that mountain peak once again. Poor guys, it's like a few quick shots and its over but I could keep myself going like this forever. Who knows how long I might have gone on this way when my mom appeared at the door to my room. Really, I had no idea how long she had been watching me but when she spoke I couldn't mistake her presence.

"Hey lazybones, how about you stop playing with yourself for once and get down here and help me?"

On the one hand, I knew she wanted me to help her but I also knew she was teasing me a bit too. When I was younger and first starting to learn about my body, I use to constantly touch myself - and I mean constantly. Well, I mean, can you blame me? Sometimes I would forget about where I was and Mom would poke me in church or wherever and hiss at me to "stop it". More than once, she threatened me that my clit would "fall off" if I played with it too much! She still likes to tease me about how often I masturbate, even though I knew she does it a lot herself. On average, I probably do it two or three times a day, not a record I'm sure by any means but respectable.

Throwing on just a tight tank top, I hurried downstairs to help her with the chores of getting ready for dinner. As I stood there in the kitchen, I couldn't keep still as my pussy was still acting up something fierce and even just walking was enough to stimulate it.

"Wow, you're certainly horny this morning," my mom teased me, "What's the story anyway?"

I explained to her what dad had done to me earlier and she just shook her head and smiled.

"Yeah, I can see him doing that. My guess is that it's because you let him do it. Frankly, I'm not waking up to a bunch of dried cum all over me - and he knows better than to try!"

I just laughed at her and she poked me playfully. As we worked in the kitchen, the conversation turned to the day's events and eventually to my favorite uncle and cousin (well, my only male cousin for that matter).

"You know, just because you've started screwing your uncle it doesn't mean you have to do it TODAY you know," she warned me.

"Oh Mommmmmm!" I whined.

"Don't 'oh mom' me young lady," my mom chastised me, a little more seriously now. "The last thing we need around here is for your bitchy aunt to get any clever ideas. You know she thinks you're a slut as it is - and not in the cute way your father refers to you."

I just hung my head sullenly. What was the fun of fucking your uncle if you couldn't do it when it was naughty? Especially my Uncle Jim. It's not like he was the greatest guy ever to screw me. In fact, if he hadn't been my uncle, there would certainly have never been a second time. What really made it hot was that my Aunt Shari had no idea of how much of a slut I REALLY was. Like if she complained about my bikini and shorts (or lack of them), just imagine what she would say if she knew her husband and son were doing me behind her back!

We didn't talk about it anymore and when I was finished I headed back upstairs to get dressed. As a rule, we didn't dress up for Thanksgiving so I just wore a tight pair of jeans and a school sweatshirt. The jeans were a pain to get on and I could barely sit down in them. As hot as they looked on me, they were pretty much overshadowed by the baggy oversized sweatshirt. It was so big you couldn't even tell I wasn't wearing a bra underneath. Heck, for that matter you could barely tell I had boobs! Actually, the outfit was a compromise between my mom and me. As usual, I knew she was right to be concerned about my aunts, both of whom I am sure thought my mother let me get away with murder and that it was outrageous how she allowed me to dress most of the time. Still, that didn't stop me from wanting to push their buttons a little bit.

My dad had been waiting the TV in the basement all this time and he turned it off as my mom and I came down the stairs carrying the food. He looked at me and shook his head.

"Wow, being a little overly conservative today, aren't we?"

I just rolled my eyes as my mom glared at him. I figure she must have been thinking that he last thing she needed was him egging me on today. Mom was sort of our family "conscious" and typically she kept my dad and I from getting carried away. But even she knew the limits of control she had once my dad and I got going.

*****************

It only took a few minutes to get to my Uncle Jim's house. The door was unlocked so like the family we were, we just walked right in and said hello to everyone that was there. As it turned out we were the late arrivals with my dad's older brother Paul and his family already there. Both of Paul's daughters were older than me - and married. They were all totally straight, if you ignore the Laura's bachelorette party that I was lucky enough to attend. Ginny, the older one, had great boobs but we all knew God had a little help with them. Neither she or Laura had kids there weren't any little ones to fuss with yet although I imagined the next Thanksgiving we might not be so lucky.

The women were in the kitchen and dining room getting dinner ready. My cousins Tammy and Kate were putting out the silverware. Kate was a clone of her straitlaced mom and my prediction was that she would be a virgin AFTER she was married. My dad had been lusting for Tammy since she graduated from high school. I can still remember how horny he was when we came home from her last birthday party and I pretended to be her!

If there is always one problem in a house full of people that normally doesn't have that many, it's a lack of bathrooms. This one had only two - one upstairs by the master bedroom and one downstairs in the basement for the kids. I had been there maybe an hour when the need arose and sure enough, someone was occupying the upstairs one. Of course, once you commit to doing it, the urge only gets stronger and I wasn't going to wait for whoever was in there and so I headed down the stairs to the basement. It was completely finished and didn't have that "basement" smell or feel to it. Hurrying down the hallway, trying not to pee on myself, I grabbed the doorknob and wouldn't you know it, someone was in there! God, was there no mercy on me? Dancing from foot to foot, I knocked and to my surprise, the door opened and who was there but my cousin Rick! A year older than me, he'd been trying to get in my pants for a while now. I'd pushed back until now but since I was doing his dad, who knows? He wasn't all that nice of a guy though so it wasn't like I was anxious for anything with him. Then again, I WAS a little extra horny today and he DID seem to have something special pushing out from his crotch...

"What's the matter, gotta pee?" he teased me, standing in my way.

I just glared at him and roughly pushed him out of the way, expecting him to leave and close the door behind him like any normal person would have done. He might be sporting a nice erection but I wasn't going to make it THAT easy for him. Instead he closed the door alright, but with him still in there with me.

"Ummmmm, do you mind?" I said, now just one step away from peeing in my jeans.

"I want to watch."

"What? Are you some weird pervert or what?"

"No really, I've never seen a real girl pee."

Another time and I would've questioned what he meant by "real girl" but at that point I just didn't care anymore. I quickly pulled my stubborn jeans down and planted myself on the toilet. No sooner than my bare butt hit the seat than I released a flood of pee. God, it was almost as good a feeling as getting laid!

"C'mon, let me see!" Rick insisted as he moved over next to me.

"Go away, I'm not putting on a show for you, you pervert!"

By now I'd finished and I wiped with some toilet paper and was about to get up when he pushed me down with his hand on my shoulder. He was standing right next to me and I couldn't help but notice yet again the ever-increasing bulge between his legs.

"Hey, let me up, I need to get back upstairs," I protested but with less intensity now as thoughts of his dick began to cloud my judgement.

"That can wait. I've got something you need right here, he said in a husky voice. I could tell just from the tone he was horny as hell, and the raging hard-on he was still hiding only emphasized it. He was so close now I could even smell the muskiness of his crotch. If he only knew how bad I needed a dick right now!

"Well, what makes you so sure I need it, eh? Why don't you show me what it is?" I said, trying to go with the flow. Oh what the hell, I was horny myself and the thought of going the entire day with all this testosterone around and NOT getting laid was disheartening at best.

Rick boldly undid his belt and pants and pulled down his zipper. He was wearing jockey shorts but they weren't able to contain his massive erection as the tip of his dick was peeking out the top of the elastic waist band. I just sat there as he dropped his pants and underwear to the floor in a heap around his ankles.

"Well, what do you think?"

As much as I would have liked to tease him and string him along more, I was so horny by now I simply couldn't resist and so I reached up to grab his hard dick in my hand. He was sticking straight up in the air like a rocket ready for launch and stiff as a board.

"Yeah, I knew needed it," he whispered to me as I stroked his cock gently with my hand. Then he laughed softly and said, "You know, I think I know you pretty good by now. Shit, - you just can't get enough dick, can you?"

Well, I was definitely guilty as charged. I will freely admit that I LOVE cocks in every way. I love to look at them, to hold them, to suck them and to feel them fuck me. What I REALLY love about them is the way they get hard because of me and then cum, spraying their sperm inside my pussy, in my mouth or sometimes all over me. It really didn't matter to me what the rest of the guy was like so long as he wasn't totally gross. With many a guy, it was just his dick I was interested in so whether he was fat or bald or older didn't make any difference to me so long as he could get hard and cum (although in a few cases it took the help of modern medicine - AKA Viagra).

"Rick, why don't you just shut up and let me suck your dick?" I said, my last words as I leaned forward and bent his dick down for me to take into my waiting mouth.

My tongue reached for the tip of his cock and I played it slowly around and then ran it up and down his hard shaft. God he was so hard and hot! Taking his dick in my mouth, I sucked the head first, pleased to hear him groan as my lips sealed around his shaft and my cheeks drew in as I drew a suction on his dick. He must not have showered this morning as his crotch odor was really thick and strong. It wasn't bad, though, and if anything, I loved the pungent musky odor that permeated it. Then, without warning, I plunged my head down on him, taking his entire cock in my mouth until his dick pressed against the back of my throat. There was still maybe an inch to go which would have to wait for the next time down. Drawing my head up slowly, I let my tongue drag on his shaft as I let his dick flop from my mouth with an exaggerated lip smacking sound. This time I took a deep breath and moved back down on him again. This time when I encountered the back of my throat, I relaxed and let him push his way down into it. My initial reaction was to gag but over time I've learned to control that reflex and the final inch or so moved down into my throat.

"Oh fuck, that feels incredible!" he moaned.

I looked up at him until our eyes met with my mouth tight against the base of his hairy crotch. I wanted to smile at him but with a mouthful of rigid cock that's pretty much impossible.
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I was totally naked, waiting for the suffocating heat to diminish a little, but the news said that the heat wave could increase even more its intensity, take the towel and I left with the intention of giving me a shower of cold water, when the key I realized that the water was warm, and then I returned to my bedroom, I lay down again in bed and turned on the fan, the air caressed my naked body, I felt myself go through every inch of my skin, spread the legs and let it caress My mount of Venus, I turned around and now the caress was on my back, walking down, and I liked it when my buttocks received the caress of the air.

The tiredness took over my body and I fell asleep, I do not remember how long but I just woke up when I heard my parents speak quietly at the foot of the bed.

She is as innocent as she was when she was a child.

- Silvia, but our daughter is no longer a girl now is a woman, look at her body, she has too much to teach and can not sleep like that, you have to talk to her.

"Do not be modest!" Look at it a little, feel the softness of your skin, just a little!

I decided to pretend, I was still asleep and let my father slip his fingers down my back, and continued without stopping until I passed my buttocks, I heard him hurry out of my room and pretended to wake up at that moment.
Mommy! I fell asleep, very hot, and the water was very hot, my dad? Where is it?
"This bathing daughter, just as you came tired, I warn you to take a bath before going to the dining room.

Before leaving I slide his hand around my waist, and I end up giving a sound pat on one of my buttocks.

Mommy! It hurts, I laughed naively.
I put on a lycra and I set out to see my father, and I remembered his words that he said before leaving, "it's true he has soft skin" if I were not my daughter,

In my mind, moments of my adolescence came back, when I came home many times I sat on his knees and he seemed to enjoy it, even several times I caught him when he looked at my pantyhose, being badly seated, but never imagined that he thought of me As a woman, and not as his daughter, he had to find out.

As for my mother, I never felt embarrassed when she came into my bedroom and I was totally naked, even now I remember many times that I sat next to her naked, and she stroked my hair, and sometimes she ran her hand through my Tits, but I've never thought about it, but the hot weather of those days would help me solve the mystery of my parents, and we end up in a triangle of sex and lust that we never want to leave again.

After a light meal, we spent some time together watching the TV, I realized that my father used to touch her breasts, and without taking his gaze off my legs, at 18 I had developed a body Very beautiful, the tits could almost match those of my mother, my round butt and round buttocks, maybe the only thing I could not match her was my mount of Venus, because she has too much beauty and I instead have only one Little montecito

I pretended to be tired and I said goodbye to them kissing each one on the cheek, but my father pretended not to notice and I almost kissed him in the mouth, I walked away without looking back and I locked myself in my bedroom, I despoiled Of all my clothes and I lay in bed, the heat was perhaps not as intense but I continued, I stood to open my window, the light was off and it was when I opened that I heard voices in the garage, just below me I saw the silhouettes of my parents and I decided to try to listen to what they said, so I slipped quietly into the kitchen and could hear something they were talking about.
"We can try my love, maybe I will not take it badly.

"But Silvia, it is true that she has become a beautiful woman, but I do not know if we do well.

-I, I can not take any more, and if you do not want to participate I will do it alone, and sooner than you can imagine.

"Okay, Silvia, you're in charge of preparing the ground."

Steal back to my bedroom and lay down quickly, thinking that at any moment they could come in as they did every night to give me my kiss before bed.
"Sonia, my love, are you asleep?"

I remained motionless and felt them approaching, and my mother said the following.
"Look, do not you fancy caressing her pretty buttocks?" Or touch those cute little bellies, or maybe their pink nipples.

"Let's go Silvia, let her rest tomorrow and try to convince her, I think you're right.

They gave me a kiss on the cheek and they left, clear as always my mother did not miss the opportunity to caress my buttocks before leaving, only this time the caress was more than full of desire, because my bare skin was making her restless.
During the night, I woke up a dream victim where my father was catching me, while my mother watched with or
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For as long as I can remember, my parents and I have spent Thanksgiving together with my dad's side of the family and Christmas with my mom's side. One advantage of having such a tradition is that it avoided those nasty family conflicts where people get upset thinking one family was getting more attention than the other. Usually these were rather boring affairs but nowadays the potential was there for more "interesting" things.

My first time being a part of incest was when I was an eighteen year-old freshman in college. I'd lost my virginity just before by then so it wasn't like I wasn't already sexually active. It's sort of interesting that incest was actually the last thing on my mind. Sure I knew my dad enjoyed watching me when I came home and played with myself and sometimes he would even get an erection while we were in the hot tub together and I'd tell him about school. After all, he might be my dad but he was still a man so those sort of things are bound to happen. The thought that he might actually want to DO anything with me, or even the very concept of having sex with my parents, never even crossed my mind. Since my parents didn't make sex a taboo subject, I just assumed that he was reacting no differently than any man would around any college girl like me. It didn't mean he wanted to fuck me though.

Well, all that changed when I witnessed my parents having sex for the first time from my window overlooking the hot tub. Although they didn't mind me seeing them masturbate, actual sex was always something they kept private between the two of them and now I realized why. As I watched them I thought about how I could please my father the way my mom did and about how close it could bring us together. No, not in some perverted way where I was his lover or something ridiculous like that; but as a normal father and daughter. Once we started I never looked back and over the past few years my dad and I have developed a wonderful new relationship. Of course my mom has given her stamp of approval and we sometimes get together as well, but only rarely. It's my dad I want to please the most and he is the one who seems to need it more than my mom.

At first my incestual relationships were restricted to my mom's side of the family which included my Aunt Linda. My dad quickly convinced me to do it with his younger brother, AKA my Uncle Jim. Thus I went from incest "abstinence" to being with three members of my dad's side of the family in the space of less than two weeks!

Another thing about my parents - they take their marriage vows VERY seriously. To them adultery is a violation of the Ten Commandments, not to be done under ANY circumstances, even with your spouse's "permission". Of course, sex within your own family is NOT cheating. Thus my dad does my Aunt Linda at times, especially when I'm not around. While this works out great for my dad, my Aunt Linda is divorced and has no sons meaning there was nobody for my mom in our family other than my dad. Of course, she loves him totally and he satisfies her sexually, but I'm sure she wouldn't have minded a little diversity back then.

Needless to say, my dad was thrilled to see me home again from college for Thanksgiving break. At least he hadn't wasted any time showing me how much he missed me! Let's just say the erection poking through his shorts when I walked in the door was a clue. There was one thing I could count on from my dad when I was home - my morning wakeup call. There was no alarm clock involved, but rather an alarm COCK. Our little "tradition" was now so ingrained that it seemed if I didn't get fucked first thing in the morning I walked around wanting it for the rest of the day!

Given the marvelous consistency of which my dad kept up his side of our tradition, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up Thanksgiving morning and realized something was missing - my dad's cock! I rubbed my eyes and as my bedroom slowly came into focus I verified that I was indeed all alone. Hmmmm, what could had happened that was more important to my dad than his own daughter, especially on Thanksgiving morning when not even he went to work?

As I sat up in bed, I started to scratch an itch on my cheek when my fingers felt something a bit sticky. Looking down at my boobs, which were also itching a little, I grinned as I realized what had already happened this morning. My dad must have come in earlier and as exhausted as I was from the past week, I must have been hard to wake up so he let me sleep. As horny as he probably was by then, he must have jerked off looking at my nude body and then cum all over me. Normally, I get more than a little perturbed when guy makes a mess on me. Guys, the porn movies don't show what happens AFTER the whore gets covered in cum. Trust me, cleaning cum off of you is not the easiest thing in the world, especially when it's in your hair or dried on your skin. Of course in my father's case I was ready to make an exception. God what I would have given for a video of him jerking off over me, looking at me, seeing in his eyes how badly he wanted to fuck me. It thrilled me to know he found me desirable in this way, that he could fulfill his lust and needs just by looking down at me as I slept without even touching me.

The more I thought about it the hornier I got until my pussy suddenly turned on like a light switch had been thrown. I an instant I simply HAD to touch it and so my hand slipped down between my legs and at first I just cupped my shaved pussy in my hand, pressing up against my crotch like a bikini bottom pulling up against me. Damn, it felt like I was on fire down there! Even without pressing my fingers inside if me I could already feel the wetness as I imagined my dad brushing the head of his stiff cock over my face as I slept. Slowly, ever so slowly, I traced the tip of my finger in little circles around my clit. Now and then I would drop down and pull some more wetness up from my pussy hole to keep it slippery. It was like I was teasing myself, playing with my clit just enough to make me feel good but not enough to drive me to an orgasm. In my mind, it wasn't my finger on my pussy but my dad's tongue, licking me up and down my pussy slit and rubbing it up against my clit.

"Yes daddy, lick me," I whispered to myself, wishing he was there to hear me.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I put two fingers just outside my pussy hole.

"Fuck me daddy," I whispered to my imaginary father.

"He" responded by pushing his cock into me and my two fingers worked their way in as I pretended that it was his dick that was violating my tight pussy. While I fucked myself with one hand, the other was fondling my boobs, just as he would be doing if he was drilling me.

"Make me cum... oh god make me cum daddy," I cried out, a bit louder this time but there was nobody upstairs to hear me anyway. With both hand on my pussy now, I used the one to push its fingers into me while the other worked full time on my clit. God it felt so good!

"OH MY GOD! FUCK ME DADDY" I cried out to the empty room as my orgasm struck me. like a sudden summer storm. My hips rose up off the bed as my back arched and it felt like every inch of my skin was sweating fire. All I could think about was his hard cock in me, his wonderful erect dick that he would give me when I was a good girl, that he rewarded me with when I had earned it. Mmmmmmm, if only he could see me now, his only daughter making herself cum on her bed thinking of nothing else but her desire to have her father fuck her and release his love inside of her.

My pussy was gushing cum and I knew my bed must be getting soaked under me but it didn't matter to me a bit. They say practice makes perfect and when it comes to masturbation, I had tons of practice! I knew just how to keep myself on the sharp edge of an orgasm, to twiddle my clit just right that I didn't go so far to where I had to quit because it overwhelmed me, but just enough to keep me peaking, to keep the incredible sensations alive in me. I have no idea how long this went on as I tend to lose all track of time when this happens to me. Sometimes I get so exhausted I simply am forced to quit but when I catch my breath, it's back to the races and to that mountain peak once again. Poor guys, it's like a few quick shots and its over but I could keep myself going like this forever. Who knows how long I might have gone on this way when my mom appeared at the door to my room. Really, I had no idea how long she had been watching me but when she spoke I couldn't mistake her presence.

"Hey lazybones, how about you stop playing with yourself for once and get down here and help me?"

On the one hand, I knew she wanted me to help her but I also knew she was teasing me a bit too. When I was younger and first starting to learn about my body, I use to constantly touch myself - and I mean constantly. Well, I mean, can you blame me? Sometimes I would forget about where I was and Mom would poke me in church or wherever and hiss at me to "stop it". More than once, she threatened me that my clit would "fall off" if I played with it too much! She still likes to tease me about how often I masturbate, even though I knew she does it a lot herself. On average, I probably do it two or three times a day, not a record I'm sure by any means but respectable.

Throwing on just a tight tank top, I hurried downstairs to help her with the chores of getting ready for dinner. As I stood there in the kitchen, I couldn't keep still as my pussy was still acting up something fierce and even just walking was enough to stimulate it.

"Wow, you're certainly horny this morning," my mom teased me, "What's the story anyway?"

I explained to her what dad had done to me earlier and she just shook her head and smiled.

"Yeah, I can see him doing that. My guess is that it's because you let him do it. Frankly, I'm not waking up to a bunch of dried cum all over me - and he knows better than to try!"

I just laughed at her and she poked me playfully. As we worked in the kitchen, the conversation turned to the day's events and eventually to my favorite uncle and cousin (well, my only male cousin for that matter).

"You know, just because you've started screwing your uncle it doesn't mean you have to do it TODAY you know," she warned me.

"Oh Mommmmmm!" I whined.

"Don't 'oh mom' me young lady," my mom chastised me, a little more seriously now. "The last thing we need around here is for your bitchy aunt to get any clever ideas. You know she thinks you're a slut as it is - and not in the cute way your father refers to you."

I just hung my head sullenly. What was the fun of fucking your uncle if you couldn't do it when it was naughty? Especially my Uncle Jim. It's not like he was the greatest guy ever to screw me. In fact, if he hadn't been my uncle, there would certainly have never been a second time. What really made it hot was that my Aunt Shari had no idea of how much of a slut I REALLY was. Like if she complained about my bikini and shorts (or lack of them), just imagine what she would say if she knew her husband and son were doing me behind her back!

We didn't talk about it anymore and when I was finished I headed back upstairs to get dressed. As a rule, we didn't dress up for Thanksgiving so I just wore a tight pair of jeans and a school sweatshirt. The jeans were a pain to get on and I could barely sit down in them. As hot as they looked on me, they were pretty much overshadowed by the baggy oversized sweatshirt. It was so big you couldn't even tell I wasn't wearing a bra underneath. Heck, for that matter you could barely tell I had boobs! Actually, the outfit was a compromise between my mom and me. As usual, I knew she was right to be concerned about my aunts, both of whom I am sure thought my mother let me get away with murder and that it was outrageous how she allowed me to dress most of the time. Still, that didn't stop me from wanting to push their buttons a little bit.

My dad had been waiting the TV in the basement all this time and he turned it off as my mom and I came down the stairs carrying the food. He looked at me and shook his head.

"Wow, being a little overly conservative today, aren't we?"

I just rolled my eyes as my mom glared at him. I figure she must have been thinking that he last thing she needed was him egging me on today. Mom was sort of our family "conscious" and typically she kept my dad and I from getting carried away. But even she knew the limits of control she had once my dad and I got going.

*****************

It only took a few minutes to get to my Uncle Jim's house. The door was unlocked so like the family we were, we just walked right in and said hello to everyone that was there. As it turned out we were the late arrivals with my dad's older brother Paul and his family already there. Both of Paul's daughters were older than me - and married. They were all totally straight, if you ignore the Laura's bachelorette party that I was lucky enough to attend. Ginny, the older one, had great boobs but we all knew God had a little help with them. Neither she or Laura had kids there weren't any little ones to fuss with yet although I imagined the next Thanksgiving we might not be so lucky.

The women were in the kitchen and dining room getting dinner ready. My cousins Tammy and Kate were putting out the silverware. Kate was a clone of her straitlaced mom and my prediction was that she would be a virgin AFTER she was married. My dad had been lusting for Tammy since she graduated from high school. I can still remember how horny he was when we came home from her last birthday party and I pretended to be her!

If there is always one problem in a house full of people that normally doesn't have that many, it's a lack of bathrooms. This one had only two - one upstairs by the master bedroom and one downstairs in the basement for the kids. I had been there maybe an hour when the need arose and sure enough, someone was occupying the upstairs one. Of course, once you commit to doing it, the urge only gets stronger and I wasn't going to wait for whoever was in there and so I headed down the stairs to the basement. It was completely finished and didn't have that "basement" smell or feel to it. Hurrying down the hallway, trying not to pee on myself, I grabbed the doorknob and wouldn't you know it, someone was in there! God, was there no mercy on me? Dancing from foot to foot, I knocked and to my surprise, the door opened and who was there but my cousin Rick! A year older than me, he'd been trying to get in my pants for a while now. I'd pushed back until now but since I was doing his dad, who knows? He wasn't all that nice of a guy though so it wasn't like I was anxious for anything with him. Then again, I WAS a little extra horny today and he DID seem to have something special pushing out from his crotch...

"What's the matter, gotta pee?" he teased me, standing in my way.

I just glared at him and roughly pushed him out of the way, expecting him to leave and close the door behind him like any normal person would have done. He might be sporting a nice erection but I wasn't going to make it THAT easy for him. Instead he closed the door alright, but with him still in there with me.

"Ummmmm, do you mind?" I said, now just one step away from peeing in my jeans.

"I want to watch."

"What? Are you some weird pervert or what?"

"No really, I've never seen a real girl pee."

Another time and I would've questioned what he meant by "real girl" but at that point I just didn't care anymore. I quickly pulled my stubborn jeans down and planted myself on the toilet. No sooner than my bare butt hit the seat than I released a flood of pee. God, it was almost as good a feeling as getting laid!

"C'mon, let me see!" Rick insisted as he moved over next to me.

"Go away, I'm not putting on a show for you, you pervert!"

By now I'd finished and I wiped with some toilet paper and was about to get up when he pushed me down with his hand on my shoulder. He was standing right next to me and I couldn't help but notice yet again the ever-increasing bulge between his legs.

"Hey, let me up, I need to get back upstairs," I protested but with less intensity now as thoughts of his dick began to cloud my judgement.

"That can wait. I've got something you need right here, he said in a husky voice. I could tell just from the tone he was horny as hell, and the raging hard-on he was still hiding only emphasized it. He was so close now I could even smell the muskiness of his crotch. If he only knew how bad I needed a dick right now!

"Well, what makes you so sure I need it, eh? Why don't you show me what it is?" I said, trying to go with the flow. Oh what the hell, I was horny myself and the thought of going the entire day with all this testosterone around and NOT getting laid was disheartening at best.

Rick boldly undid his belt and pants and pulled down his zipper. He was wearing jockey shorts but they weren't able to contain his massive erection as the tip of his dick was peeking out the top of the elastic waist band. I just sat there as he dropped his pants and underwear to the floor in a heap around his ankles.

"Well, what do you think?"

As much as I would have liked to tease him and string him along more, I was so horny by now I simply couldn't resist and so I reached up to grab his hard dick in my hand. He was sticking straight up in the air like a rocket ready for launch and stiff as a board.

"Yeah, I knew needed it," he whispered to me as I stroked his cock gently with my hand. Then he laughed softly and said, "You know, I think I know you pretty good by now. Shit, - you just can't get enough dick, can you?"

Well, I was definitely guilty as charged. I will freely admit that I LOVE cocks in every way. I love to look at them, to hold them, to suck them and to feel them fuck me. What I REALLY love about them is the way they get hard because of me and then cum, spraying their sperm inside my pussy, in my mouth or sometimes all over me. It really didn't matter to me what the rest of the guy was like so long as he wasn't totally gross. With many a guy, it was just his dick I was interested in so whether he was fat or bald or older didn't make any difference to me so long as he could get hard and cum (although in a few cases it took the help of modern medicine - AKA Viagra).

"Rick, why don't you just shut up and let me suck your dick?" I said, my last words as I leaned forward and bent his dick down for me to take into my waiting mouth.

My tongue reached for the tip of his cock and I played it slowly around and then ran it up and down his hard shaft. God he was so hard and hot! Taking his dick in my mouth, I sucked the head first, pleased to hear him groan as my lips sealed around his shaft and my cheeks drew in as I drew a suction on his dick. He must not have showered this morning as his crotch odor was really thick and strong. It wasn't bad, though, and if anything, I loved the pungent musky odor that permeated it. Then, without warning, I plunged my head down on him, taking his entire cock in my mouth until his dick pressed against the back of my throat. There was still maybe an inch to go which would have to wait for the next time down. Drawing my head up slowly, I let my tongue drag on his shaft as I let his dick flop from my mouth with an exaggerated lip smacking sound. This time I took a deep breath and moved back down on him again. This time when I encountered the back of my throat, I relaxed and let him push his way down into it. My initial reaction was to gag but over time I've learned to control that reflex and the final inch or so moved down into my throat.

"Oh fuck, that feels incredible!" he moaned.

I looked up at him until our eyes met with my mouth tight against the base of his hairy crotch. I wanted to smile at him but with a mouthful of rigid cock that's pretty much impossible.

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