I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I've realized that if I had to pick one instant, one single moment, that had the most powerful impact on me, it was the moment I looked into my Dad's eyes and realized that he really was going to fuck me that first time.

He had always touched me, bathed with me, even played with me at night. But for the longest time he didn't do anything else so I held on to the belief that there was a line he wouldn't cross.  I told myself that all the touching wasn't so bad, like it was just another kind of massage, just on a different part of the body. I told myself the same thing when he would guide my hand to his cock and make me stroke him. It was just another way of touching another person's body and giving them a good feeling. At least, that's what I made myself believe, and I told myself it would go no farther.

That's why, even though he'd been doing things to me for so long, it hit me so hard the night he didn't stop with the touching. He played with me for a while, like always, but this time, he didn't put my hand on his dick to take care of him. This time was different.

I'll never forget it. He got up on all fours and hovered over me, looking me hard in the eye. I was holding my breath, my heart was pounding, and my skin was tingling with that scary feeling you get when you see a cop's lights in your rear-view mirror and hope you aren't about to be pulled over. But this was a much bigger deal than getting a ticket. I only had one fear in my mind- Was he really going to do it? All of a sudden, all the things I had been telling myself seemed stupid and childish.

I looked him in the eye, made the little sad face I always made when I wanted my way, and reached up toward his cock. I thought if I could just get my hand around it, I could finish him like I always did and he'd go back to his own bed. We'd be back to our extremely fucked-up version of normal. But that didn't happen. 

He smacked my hand away. Not too hard, but hard enough. Now his eyes bore into mine and he didn't seem to be my dad anymore. There was nothign there at all but intensity. I remember he shifted around, parted my legs, and moved between them. To this day I can still feel his rough hands on my knees, spreading my thighs apart. I remember how cool the air felt on my pussy as I let him open my legs. Most of all, I remember feeling more vulnerable than I'd ever felt in my life. He was in the most dominant position one person can be over another, and there was nothing to protect my most intimate place. 

I finally tore my gaze away from his and looked down at his rock-hard cock, hovering inches from my virgin hole. I'd handled it plenty of times, but now it seemed like the biggest thing I'd ever seen in my life. I let out a little whimper like a kitten and looked back at him. That was the moment I knew. 

I could no longer pretend it wasn't going to happen. My dad was about to break the ultimate barrier. He was going to mate with his little girl. His cock was going to penetrate me. There wasn't going to be any saving myself for someone I loved. He was going to take my pussy and, on some level, it would always be his.

I say this was the most powerful moment of my life because I've never felt so many things so strongly at one time. I felt afraid, sickened, disgusted, angry. I felt dizzy, like I was half in a dream and this wasn't real. But I also felt... desire. I was comfortable with Dad's body, and the things he did to me, no matter how wrong they felt, also felt good. I was turned on by the wrongness of it. There was something about knowing he was about to do the wrongest thing in the world to me that gave me a thrill I'd never imagined was possible. I suppose that's why I'm still into twisted and taboo sex. But at the same time I hated myself for feeling that way. 

I felt all these things in an instant. I didn't know the mind could have so many emotions at once, but I did, and I never forgot any of them. I still remember all of them, and some of them still turn me on, which makes me hate myself.

I still remember looking down again at his cock, the cock that was about to penetrate me. I'm embarrassed to say I remember spreading my legs wider and raising my hips toward him. I'm not sure what made me do it, but Dad finally smiled. It was a little smile. A "your my bitch now" smile. The memory of it still makes me want to throw up, makes me want to punch him in his face... and makes me want to fuck his brains out. And as his cock slowly disappeared from sight, as I felt it push slowly into me, felt the pain of it breaking my hymen and forcing its way into my tight virgin pussy, I remember feeling an odd sense of triumph. 

I knew Dad and Mom hadn't had sex in years. Mom worked nights so they didn't even sleep together. And now Dad wanted me, not Mom. It was my body that was giving him pleasure. I was the real woman of the house. I also understood that I had something he wanted desperately, and that gave me a measure of power. It was that thought that got me through that painful first time, and the second time a little later. The knowledge that I possessed somethign Dad had wanted for years,somethng he'd been working toward. 

In a lot of ways that moment made me the way I am today. I have a love/hate relationship with men, and in those rare moments that I actually do love men, it's always a daddy type. I love the sex that's wrong, and I love the power my pussy gives me over the people who want it. 

I know, I'm a mess. Thanks for listening.