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Text:Tom Hathaway - Memoirs of Forbidden Love/Dad by T.R.

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Dad and I are partners, investment partners and life partners. In both areas weʼve been successful, but the road there hasnʼt been easy.

We were separated for most of my junior high and high school years. Mom had divorced him when I was twelve, left him for another man; dad was crushed and moved from our home in Pittsburgh to Philadelphia. My brother and I visited him on holidays, and those were always special times.

Momʼs boy‐friend left her for somebody younger, and when dad wouldnʼt take her back she got bitter and didnʼt want to have anything to do with men, so I never got a stepfather either. I felt a lack in that area.

Mom taught me to distrust men, so when the conservative teen chastity movement came along, I got into it and made a pledge not to have sex until after high school. It seemed a better way of being nonconformist and rebellious than sticking pins through my skin.

Dad helped my brother financially with college, and when I was ready he offered to help me to. Dad was a stock broker and doing well, so he could afford it. I sort of hero worshipped him and wanted to become a stock broker too. The University of Pennsylvania has a good preparatory program for that, and they accepted me. Dad lived not far from Penn, so the logical thing was that I stay with him. He had the top floor of a brownstone near Rittenhouse Square.

I loved it there and loved living with him. A whole new phase of my life began. I had my own room, even my own bathroom, so there was plenty of privacy, but just the two of us living together did create an undertone of tension that I now can see was sexual. He was an experienced man, I was a virgin woman; I dreamed about him touching me under my nightgown and would wake up convinced he was in my bedroom, but of course he wasnʼt. We went swimming together at his club, and I had to get used to the sight of his hairy chest and muscular legs. It was scary but intriguing.

Dad was having an affair with his secretary, and sheʼd sleep over about once a week. In my naiveté I was a bit shocked but told myself thatʼs the way it is in the adult world. The first time I heard them doing it at night I thought he was killing her — maybe I even wished he was. Tina and I hated each other instantly. She was pretty (far prettier than me, I had to admit) but didnʼt seem particularly bright or interesting, and I couldnʼt see what dad saw in her besides her looks. I even began to think less of him for being involved with her. Images of him lying on top of her would pop into my mind, and Iʼd get a headache. That was about all I knew about sexual intercourse: the man lies on top of the woman and puts his thing in her. It didnʼt seem very appealing, but I couldnʼt help wondering about it.

Tina was sugary sweet and condescending to me, treating me like a child to make me less of a threat and thinking the whole time, Just wait till Iʼm your stepmother, you little bitch.

Dad took me to Jamaica for Christmas. We stayed at a beach resort that turned out to be pretty wild, one long party. Iʼd never drunk much alcohol before, didnʼt like the taste of it, but there I discovered piña coladas — yum! The food was great too. They had live reggae and ska bands at night and dance instructors to teach the lame Yankees the sexy steps. Everyone walked around half naked. It was a constant sensual experience, so different from chilly Philly. The resort had a private lagoon that was clothing optional, but dad and I opted for clothes. Before, at the pool in his club, I had felt almost naked around him in my bikini, but now compared to the others I felt overdressed. A lot of the musicians and staff hung out (literally) at the lagoon, and I got an eyeful, quite a lesson in male anatomy. All combined, it was pretty overwhelming for a freshman virgin out with her father. The rum, reggae, and naked Rastafarians had my knees wobbling.

Dad was embarrassed too. Heʼd booked the place through a travel agent and didnʼt know it would be so daring, but now that we were here he didnʼt want to seem prudish. At home both of us had learned to live with inhibitions towards the other to keep sex out of the picture, but Jamaica blew our proprieties away. We had mood swings and more spats than usual. Once I burst into tears while I was rubbing his back with suntan lotion.

One evening, dancing after too many drinks, we had a terrible fight over nothing. I ran crying back to my room and dad followed. We shouted at each other for a while, then both of us realized how foolish it was and apologized. As we hugged each other to make up, both of us crying now, the anger turned to affection and we wanted very much to soothe the otherʼs hurt. We said how much we loved each other and began kissing — first kissing the tears away, then lips to lips. We couldnʼt stop. We knew we were getting into trouble, but our mouths would not part. The energy surging through us was like an electric wire we couldnʼt let go of. As long as we were kissing we werenʼt thinking, and as long as we werenʼt thinking we could keep fusing our bodies together, feeling them, pulling off each otherʼs clothes. Itʼs not easy to get naked while youʼre joined like Siamese twins at the mouth, but we persisted. Fortunately none of the few clothes we had on needed to be pulled over our heads.

We were writhing on the bed and dad was on top of me and we didnʼt stop kissing until I cried out in pain as he put it in me and broke my cherry. It was a dear pain, sharp and brief, one I clung to, glad he was the one giving it to me. Feeling frail, I yielded to his pressure, opened to his long thrusts, and then absorbed his wild convulsions as he exploded into me.

After that we were stunned and still, unable to speak, lying in a tight embrace to fend off the wrath that must fall on those who break the great taboo. But the only thing that fell on us was sleep.

Next morning we didnʼt know which was worse, our hangovers or our guilt. We forced ourselves to eat breakfast, sweated in the sauna (separate), swam together in the ocean, then walked on the beach, finally able to talk. Iʼd recently finished my period, so at least we didnʼt have to worry about pregnancy.

Dad apologized and took responsibility for what happened. “Iʼll understand if you donʼt want to have anything more to do with me. But no matter what you decide, I want you to know I love you … Iʼll always love you.”

Somehow I knew the only way out was forward. I pressed myself against dad, leaning my aching head against his, and whispered, “Then keep on loving me … like you did last night.”

He smiled and we kissed and that did more for our headaches than all the aspirin.

Back at the room we confronted bed sheets stained with the blood of my virginity. “Yow, whatʼll we do about those?” dad said. “Theyʼll think I stabbed you.”

“You did stab me … but I liked it.”

We rinsed the sheets in cold water in the bathtub and left them in a pile for the maid. I cried a little but they were happy tears.

By that night, though, tension and doubts had built up again. Ugly words like sin and incest were piling up inside us, dragging us back into repression. We had dinner in his room with no alcohol and talked and cried and talked. We both admitted we wanted each other, wanted to keep being intimate with each other, couldnʼt imagine stopping, but at the same time we were ashamed of wanting that and afraid of what might happen. We needed to either give up the wanting or give up the guilt. When we reduced it to that, the choice became pretty clear: we knew we couldnʼt give up the wanting, and we werenʼt sure if we could give up the guilt, but we decided to try, to see if we could make love to each other and feel good about it not just while we were doing it but afterwards. If we couldnʼt, we promised not to hold what weʼd done against each other or blame each other.

We both felt relieved and very rational but werenʼt sure what to do next. I broke the ice by getting up, sitting on his lap, and throwing my arms around his neck. “Then kiss me, daddy!”

Excitement swept over us again as our lips met. We enjoyed the kissing and petting more now that we were sober, although warning lights were still flashing in our heads: Forbidden!

As our clothes came off and I saw him nude, I grew afraid of this red thing pointed at me between my fatherʼs legs. Iʼd never seen one so close before. I flinched back from the long thick rod with squiggly veins running up the side and a wide straight vein bulging up the middle to the tip. The head was a broad purplish cone with a hole at the top already glistening wet. The whole thing swayed like a cobra about to strike, and I expected to see a tongue flick out from the hole. Below it hung a hairy sac bulging with the poison it was going to spit into me.

It was all too much. I turned my face away in fear and revulsion, then burst into tears. It was ugly. Everything was suddenly ugly. Why did life have this ugly side … and why did I want it so much? Surely there could be a nicer way.

Sensing my distress, dad turned to the side and just held me for a while. Then he began kissing me again, but his lips moved down my body and between my legs. He kissed me THERE … not just kissed but licked … and sucked. I surrendered, never dreaming anything could be so delightful. The sensations carried me away to another world where everything was wet and swirly. I became like a sea creature — an anemone spreading its petals, a manta ray undulating its wings — flowing the depths on currents of thrills. My ocean floor started quivering with an underwater earthquake that built until it shuddered and burst into tidal waves of ecstasy that crashed over me again and again.

Stunned with satisfaction, I lay mouth open and smiling, legs spread and that other mouth smiling too. I gradually came back to my regular self and was startled to see a prickly pink rash spreading over my chest. I hoped I wasnʼt allergic to this because I certainly liked it.

Now I gazed at my fatherʼs penis and saw it in an entirely different light. It was a marvel, a noble being come to honor me. I very much wanted it inside me.

When he tried to put it in, however, it hurt too much. I was still sore from last night. Dad was very understanding and didnʼt try to force it. I could tell his organ, though, was about to burst with disappointment and had an urgent need for attention. I snuggled up to it and apologized for my hasty conclusions about it before. Inspired by what dad had done to me, I gave it a little kiss and stroked it with my fingers. It got even bigger. I looked at his balls bulging tight underneath the long shaft and thought, I used to be inside there, a little seed that shot out the tip. Now I wanted to make him shoot his seeds in me. Seeing the whole thing standing up like that so fertile and powerful, I understood why in Germanic myths the center of the world is a huge tree. I ran my tongue down its trunk.

I could tell dad liked this a great deal, and I felt the need to tease him a bit. I held it against my cheek and looked up at him, lips in a pout. “Should I keep doing this? Or would you rather … uh, watch TV?”

“Keep it up … please,” he managed to murmur through his panting.

“Say pretty please.”

“Pretty, pretty please!”

I lifted its heft, slid as much as I could take down my throat, and started sucking. Dad groaned and patted my head. I cupped his hairy balls in my hand and squeezed them just a little. Soon they were throbbing and his column was shaking and thrusting then spouting as it infused me with its liquid energy. Dad was howling with bliss.

Afterwards we cuddled up, tender and amazed, and fell asleep knowing we were lovers. Weʼd crossed the Rubicon and there was no turning back.

Next day was a time of adjustment. We werenʼt sure who we were anymore, everything was altered now. Weʼd look at each and burst out laughing, from happiness but also at how easy it had been to escape the rules and roles that had bound in us before. Just do it.

I became acutely aware of my body around dad. When he wasnʼt kissing them, my lips felt swollen, more alert, dissatisfied of neglect. My breasts seemed heavier, sulking at being confined. My skin felt discontent, needing something more, an opposite electrical charge to balance it out and settle it down. I yearned to be free and naked with him, two wild creatures, innocent and lusty. I felt like a waterfall cascading through the air and exploding into a deep frothing pool.

We couldnʼt wait for the evening. After an afternoon scuba excursion, we went back to the room. As soon as dad locked the door, I opened the long zipper of my sundress and let it fall with a slithering plunge to the floor. A naked surprise underneath, I turned around and wiggled my behind at him, then smiled and placed one finger against my cheek. “Am I too bold?”

“Youʼre tantalizing … plus you have such a sassy little ass,” dad said as he rubbed it.

He scooped me in his arms and carried me to bed. I helped him strip, then nestled into his large warmth, gripping my legs around his thigh, kneading its thick solidity with my smaller, softer thighs, needing its muscular pressure against my center, the rub of his convexity into my concavity. Dad caressed up my legs in long feathery strokes, paused at the top to rub my rear, then back down the legs. He kept repeating this, pausing for a moment to spread my cheeks and touch my core lightly, just teasing with his fingers, then back to the legs. Each time his touch left my lower lips, they craved his return, but the fleetingness was exciting and my legs also liked the attention, especially high up. Finally his hand stayed on my flower, unfolded it fully, made it blossom. Gratefully I spread my legs and offered myself up to him.

Dadʼs organ still hurt me a little going in, just enough to feel good. It pushed and stretched me open, filled me up till I was bulging inside. Wincing, I swiveled my hips to get it all in.

As I loosened, he moved in me with delicious thrusts of power. While he was plunging me, his fingers found my tenderest spot down there and began riffling and fluttering it until I was bursting with delight.

Dad gazed down at me, blue eyes brimming with adoration. “I love you, Tammy … you glorious creature, you. How wonderful … doing this to you!”

Watching patterns of rapture play across his face, I was happy to be able to give him what he wanted, to have aroused him so much.

My center was all rippling and molten, billowing and flowing in dark hot waves stirred up by his pistoning. I was being penetrated and possessed by my creator in a divine union. Surrendering totally, I cried out in delirium, “My father … my father … my fucker! Yes!”

He enclosed me in his arms and kissed me ravishingly. Riding me now at a gallop, he was lifting me up and pumping me back down on the bed, and all I could do was cling to him. Every nerve in my body switched on, and I lit up with effulgence. I saw starflares and firefalls, felt sea splash and fountains surging through me, and I held on to this dear man who was doing it to me.

We lay together in an afterglow of completion, awed by what weʼd given each other.

Next day I was sore again, felt pushed around and stretched, but also empty and wanting his intrusion again.

As soon as we got back home, I got fitted for a diaphragm. Each morning Iʼd wash it out and put it right back in so I could be ready when he wanted me, which in those first weeks was a couple of times a day. I was so flattered by his lust, by how excited he got as he took off my clothes. Sometimes his whole body would quiver, wanting me so much.

We kept my room the way it was with a single bed made up for show. I studied there but slept with dad on his king‐sized waterbed.

He stopped seeing Tina, which pleased me because it showed I was enough for him. We both decided to commit to each other.

This was a big decision but not a difficult one. I couldnʼt help wondering what I might be missing with all the guys at college, but from those Iʼd met I thought it probably wasnʼt very much. I also knew I was no prize. Looking at mom and grandmom, I could see what my genes had in store for me. Now I was still young enough for the pudginess to be attractive. It softened my face and made my large chin less noticeable. It made my breasts large but not yet saggy. But time was not on my side. Given this equipment, I probably didnʼt have a great career as a romantic adventuress ahead of me. Most importantly, I loved dad, was truly devoted to him, and knew he felt the same about me. So I decided to become a one‐man woman.

Being my fatherʼs lover helped me develop a better relationship with my mother. Before, I had resented her for the divorce that deprived me of him. Now I knew I never wouldʼve had him so totally without the divorce. Dad and I needed that separation to build a yearning strong enough to overthrow societyʼs ban.

As a kid I used to compete with mom for his attention. Now when I visited her I felt like the magnanimous victor and was very nice to her. Every once in a while, however, I was tempted to ask something like, “Didnʼt it just drive you wild when heʼd tickle your clit with his mustache? Or did he do that with you?”

My brother was two years older than me. When he graduated from Pitt, dad got him a job with the firm as a brokerʼs assistant. Paul rented an apartment, and the three of us would get together about once a week for dinner and maybe a show. Paul wished mom would move to Philadelphia so the whole family might get back together, but he was the only one who wanted that. It was strange being with Paul because dad and I had to change the way we were around each other — no more kisses on the lips or caresses on the breasts.

When I graduated from Penn, dad got me a job with the firm too, so the three of us were together a lot. I loved the stock market and found I was quite good at picking winners. Paul wasnʼt doing so well, though. A lot of his picks lost money, and he was having a hard time building a client base.

One Saturday night the three of us went to a movie, and Sunday morning Paul came over for brunch. I made scrapple and eggs. Dad went to the gym afterwards, and Paul helped me clean up. While we were loading the dishwasher, he asked me, “So … uh, whatʼs your diaphragm doing in dadʼs bathroom?”

After dropping a glass I stammered, “I, uh … donʼt know what youʼre talking about. Itʼs not my diaphragm. What are you doing snooping around?” My heart was pounding and I could feel my face flushing. Paul didnʼt say anything, just smiled at my reaction. “It must be his girl friendʼs diaphragm,” I went on, grasping for a convincing explanation. “Itʼs none of your business anyway. Or mine either. Dadʼs all grown up and can do what he wants.”

“You know he doesnʼt have a girl friend,” Paul said.

“It couldʼve been from a long time ago. How do you know?”

“Itʼs still wet. Mustʼve been last night.” His thin lips arched in a sneer.

I wanted to cry … or hit him. “Get out!”

“Now, now, Iʼm no prude. I hear lots of people are doing that. Incest is the new thing … all the rage.” He grabbed both my hands in his, and his lips now curved in a leer. “So, uh … why donʼt you give me some too, sis? How about it? That way no oneʼll have to know.”

“You want to … have sex with me?” I asked, appalled.

“Sure … why not?” His blue eyes glinted hard and mean.

“Thatʼs ridiculous … youʼre my brother.” The idea was repulsive.

“What is this, a double standard? Itʼs OK with dad but not with me?”

I burst into tears. How could anyone be so vile? “Iʼm not doing it with dad … Iʼm not! Youʼre wrong.” I pushed him towards the door. “Now get out!”

When dad came back I was still crying. I told him all about it, and we decided the best thing would be just to continue to deny it. Paul couldnʼt prove anything. We agreed the worst of it was having a family member turn against us with such hatred. How could we see him again? How could we work together? Someone very close to us had suddenly turned into our enemy. It was devastating.

Dad and I consoled each other. We were all we had in the world now, and that made us need each other all the more. We made love sadly but tenderly to reaffirm our bond.

Paul didnʼt come to work Monday, but he called that evening and asked if he could come by for a few minutes to apologize for the way heʼd behaved. Dad and I were relieved and said sure. When Paul came over, he said he could now see heʼd jumped to an unfair conclusion. He was sorry heʼd thought such a thing, said his problems at work must be getting to him. He stayed awhile, and we had drinks to dissolve the tension. We patched things up but were all still emotionally exhausted.

Tuesday evening he called again and asked to talk to both us on the extension. This time he was totally different. In a cold, hateful voice he explained heʼd actually discovered the diaphragm the weekend before last. That plus the way we acted around each other convinced him we were lovers. To confirm his suspicions, heʼd gotten a couple of voice‐activated digital recorders, and when he found the diaphragm wet again on Sunday, heʼd hidden one recorder in the living room and one in the bedroom. Heʼd retrieved the recorders last night. Chuckling viciously, he now played back bits of our conversation and lovemaking over the phone. First dad and I were saying we should just continue to deny it, then we were moaning in orgasm.

“What do you want?” dad asked him.

A lot, it turned out. He wanted both of our careers. Unless we resigned and turned all our clients over to him and left Philadelphia, he would go to the president of the firm and to the district attorney with the recordings. They might not be enough evidence to jail us, but they would ruin us.

Paul gave us a day to think it over. We knew he had us — there was nothing we could do except give in. We were both furious but more hurt that he would do this to us. With some people jealousy or moral outrage might have been a motive, but Paul was so cold we finally concluded it was probably just the money. He thought with our clients he could save his floundering career. Dad was convinced that with Paulʼs lack of market skill he wouldnʼt be able to keep our clients. I hoped he was right.

As sometimes happens in life, what seems like a disaster actually turns out to be a blessing. It was traumatic at first but ended up being a change for the better. We gave up being stock brokers. We left the US and moved to Cornwall, our favorite part of Britain. And best of all, we did it as man and wife. Dad surprised me with a formal, on‐one-knee proposal of marriage and two rings — a two-carat diamond solitaire and a plain gold band. Who could refuse that? We had our own little private ceremony and a honeymoon in … you guessed it — Jamaica! Since we had the same last names already, there was no need to involve the bureaucracy.

We still invest in the stock market but just for our own accounts. Weʼre actually quite competitive about whoʼs doing better. We have different investment philosophies. Iʼm into technical analysis, studying the charts, and dadʼs into fundamentals, studying the price/earnings ratios. We often donʼt agree on stock picks, but when we find one that looks good to both of us, it almost always does great. Iʼve been able to convince him not to invest in companies that kill people, such as tobacco producers and military suppliers. With less stress, his work ulcer has healed.

We donʼt have nearly as much money, but we donʼt need much. Time together is more important. Now we have plenty of it to enjoy growing roses and vegetables, sailing the wild coast of Penzance in our little sloop, and some other things that are no oneʼs business but ours.

Thanks, Brother Paul — you louse!


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