Things didn't precisely change between me and Daddy, at least, not in the way I felt about him or he felt about me. The only change was lust and pleas...re. For the first week we fucked like bunnies. Daddy was so glad to be getting sex again, especially a hot young piece like me, and I was so overjoyed at discovering the joys of my own body, that we could hardly let each other alone. We took baths together, and I rode up and down on his cock in the tub. He fucked me on the kitchen table, and bent. I picked her up in my Rambler American, and off we drove for some dance hall/bar somewhere, and on the way I pulled out the half gallon jug of cheap wine I had with me and asked her if she was one of those girls who objected to drinking while driving. And when she took the bottle and had a swig, I knew we were going to get along fine. So we went dancing (and drinking) – dancing was where I took most of my first dates in those days, and it generally seemed to work out pretty well – which means I. More

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