I Would Do Anything To Have Sex With My Father Again–By Kenechi...

I Would Do Anything To Have Sex With My Father Again–By Kenechi Uzochukwu

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I didn’t cry. It was painful what he did, but I didn’t cry. He said it was okay.

I didn’t cry the second time either. I liked it. He was gentler. He told me it was our secret, our special thing, and no one should know about it.

I went to him the third time it happened, it was raining and the thunders scared me. We did it again, I enjoyed it. We began to do it more often, and each time I enjoyed it more.

I was twelve that first time, and a happy child, happier than any other child I knew. I doubt if any other child had so much love. I was my father’s lover and he was mine. Everything was perfect.

And then, on my twentieth birthday, the unthinkable happened.

My father broke up with me. Just like that. He said it wasn’t right, what we do, and that we must stop. End of matter. It felt like a full stop at the end of an epitaph. It was too sudden.

I had no warning, no premonition. The break up was like death. I had taken the week off from school just to be with the only man in my life, the best man I ever knew, or so I thought. I thought my birthday would have ended sensually, like all the others. It was usually the best birthday present he gave me, a passionate night of love making right out of a romance novel.

It had been a while. My higher education had taken me away. And I sorely missed my beloved father. I went home that day with thoughts of my father obscuring all other thoughts. I arrived late in the evening. He wasn’t home yet. I made myself as adorable as he liked. It was not hard. My allure had never needed much artificial furnishings; a touch here and a touch there, and I would be set to win any beauty contest. That evening I was at my best.

All my preparations and quivering anticipation was to have ended in bliss, the kind only my father could give me.

Instead, I got the shock of my life. That terrible day, I knew exactly how the Deer must feel when the hunter’s bullet crashes through its heart. I learnt how it must feel to be shot out of the sky.

I had hoped he didn’t mean it, that this was just another punishment, but the way he said it convinced me it was final. I knew my father; I knew the look on his face. It was the same look he had when he shot Dragon our Alsatian. This was not like before when he would refuse to touch me because I misbehaved. My father had never hit me or scolded me; his punishments were usually more severe and silent. He would simply refuse to touch me for days on end. Such days were hell for me. I could barely survive without him. When he was pleased with me, he really would take his time and give me much pleasure that I never knew was possible.

I was a very well behaved child; I had all the proper manners for a proper lady. Thanks to my father.

But this was no punishment. This was a cessation. This was my death. I tried to make him see reason, to convince him that we were to be forever. I told him of our joys, our laughs and how love couldn’t be any better. I begged him not to kill his beloved and only child.

The man was like a stone.

It is true what they say. Men are beasts; unfeeling beasts.

How could he end something so wonderful, something so perfect? He said he still loved me, but I didn’t believe him, I couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t even look me in the eye when he said it. There must have been a reason, but I didn’t care for whatever it was. I knew it wasn’t about right or wrong, there is no love that can be wrong, especially the kind we had. It was beautiful; we were one, my father and I. Our love transcended that of a father and his daughter. It was the stuff of heaven. No, His reason wasn’t religious, not at all, my father wasn’t that sentimental. I was his sole religion, he worshiped me.

There was no one else either, I knew that much. My mother died while birthing me. Ever since, I had been my father’s heartbeat. And he was my breath. I never missed my mother. I never knew her, never would meet her. I would, perhaps, have liked to know her, but somehow I thank God she wasn’t with us. It would have been awkward. I don’t think I could have shared my father with any one.

My father gave no reason for killing me. He couldn’t explain why we could no longer have what we had. There was nothing I didn’t think, there was no thought I didn’t wish to explain his decision by. Something, perhaps, must have happened to his hormones. I couldn’t believe this was my perfect father. I couldn’t believe my day could ever become so dark.

He only said he was doing it for me, that it was for the best, my best. How could I have ever believed the man loved me? He even looked sad that day, so sorrowful and tired. In better times and in our previous world, I would have taken him in my arms as I was wont, and work my magic on him. Over the years I had learnt his special recipe. I was the only one who knew his mix. I had never asked him, but I sensed that even my mother didn’t take him to the heights I took him.

But his words belied the sorrow on his features. He had said the break up words so casually, so matter of factly, as if he had thought it through and found it a simple matter. There should be a special kind of voice and words for pronouncements of that nature, something equal and suitably terrible. The normalcy and casualness of his words were a negation. It was like mockery. I didn’t know I could ever stop being what I was to him; I had never thought our relationship would end. But end it did, and in so shocking a manner. Good things shouldn’t end that abruptly. Relationships don’t die at once. Death is not a casual occurrence.

The most painful part of it was that I didn’t die. I felt like dying. I wanted to die. But I didn’t know how to go about it. I should have killed him too; I should have hurt him too. He looked like he was hurting, but I should have made sure. It is too painful to feel the pain of death and yet be alive. There is no pain worse than the pain of death.

And then, the man wanted us to be Father and Daughter, just father and daughter. I couldn’t understand why he would want to reduce our love to something merely biological and normal. Why on earth couldn’t he see that I could never be happy as just his daughter, and that I could never be remotely happy with any other arrangement? We were happy, I made him happy. Why do some people reject their own happiness?

For a long time I had believed my father loved me. On my twentiethbirthday, I knew the truth. That day was my awakening to the heartlessness of men, and the absurdity of love. That day, I grew up, I grew old and I died.

It was the last day I spoke or saw my father. He killed me, so I made sure I remained dead to him. I became a living dead, dead inside and alive only in looks.

As I left him that evening, I looked back a lot of times. He didn’t recant, he didn’t rethink. He watched me leave. The tears were streaming from both our eyelids. I could feel his sorrow; it was thick enough to touch. The feeling was apt; death had occurred.

The man came for me twice, later. But he came as a father coming for his daughter. He should have come for me as a soul for its soul mate, like breath for air, like the dying for life. That was what we were; romance and its love.

He came, just that twice. I waited for him too, but he never came again. I gave up.

I made a new resolve. Men would learn from me, the very hard way. I have what they want. My beauty is the glaring kind that every body agrees with. But my heart would be a different matter. I knew most men wouldn’t resist me; they can’t be as tough as my father, my looks were not enough for that man to change his mind and do the right thing, the best thing.

It wasn’t easy. It took a while before I could stand the touch of any other man, but vengeance helped me detach my body from myself.

I would forever be grateful for my looks; it was my ultimate shield. It helped me survive and helped my resolve. I set off on a mission, to hurt as I had been hurt. I soon became very successful. I brought both boys and men to their knees. I killed them and still left them alive. I remember the families that fought themselves over me, the brothers that would never forgive each other, the scandalized churches and governments, the suicides, the bankruptcies. There is a lot a body can do when it is rightly motivated.

My father didn’t know what he unleashed.

Payback is a beautiful side of nature. There is no payback as sweet and profound as when it’s total and final, like death. No man recovered that encountered me.

But vengeance was not so much fun. I didn’t feel any lasting relief. Hurting men didn’t make me feel much better; it was a constant reminder to my own heartbreak. But I couldn’t stop. Sometimes I wondered what the whole point was. I could never lose the pangs I had for my father’s touch. Payback did not completely fill the chasm that my father dug in me. I doubt if anything ever would.

I would have easily given everything up for things to get back to what it was.

I lived like someone on a mission, and I wanted to be free from the service, but I just couldn’t. In moments of weakness, I would always think about what my father and I had. Thinking about our perfect love brought me tears and gave me joy. At such moments, I would really try to feel and have fun, I would let my guard down to see if I would be alive again. It was no use. No other man was like my father. No one even came close. No one was able to get me right, something was always missing. With my dad it was perfect, he knew just what I wanted, and how. No two people were ever in sync as my father and I was. No other man could bring me alive.

The last time I had pleasure was with my father.

This many years have past, since I lost my beloved father. And more recently the world lost him too. I just left his grave side. I have never been able to understand why I keep visiting his grave, despite the distance, despite all. And each time, I always leave with an exhausting longing, a fiery desire, and an intense craving.

I would do anything; anything, just to have sex with my father again.

By kenechi Uzochukwu
www.kayceeuzor.wordpress.com
@kc2031uzor

Comments

comments

43 COMMENTS

  1. Your father was a pedophile and stopped having sex with you because you got too old for his sexual preferences. He stole your innocence/childhood and what you wrote indicates that you are a very disturbed lady. Please get help and stop hurting innocent people. Your father is sick- you don’t have to be like him (a monster).

    • I think this was a beautiful story. I ate it up like dessert. Love is love. Doesnt matter if they were related. By the sound of it she doesnt even consider him as a father. She looks at him like a lover, a soulmate, maybe even her true love. Put yourself in someone elses shoes. Forget the fact that you have the same blood. If you love them, you love them.

  2. Stupid bitch. Get over it. I’d share you with my 2 brothers and cast you aside just as quickly as your perverted dad. Then we’d go have a beer and talk about the better pussy we’ve all had.

  3. Wow. Wonderfully written, I felt as a part of you as I read it and I almost shed a tear for your loss. The loss of your love. But consider that your father maybe wanted to let you free, to find another man to continue your life with and not hold you back. I am sure it was not easy for him either…. I hope you find happiness one day.

  4. If this is even remotely true, your dad “dumped” you because he is a sick pedophile and you got too old for him. Please see a therapist ASAP and hopefully you can still press charges. This was not your fault; he took your innocent love and twisted it. Please know that this is NOT normal of healthy; he should rot in prison.

    • Obviously, you did not read what she said carefully. How can she “press charges” against a dead man? I point this out, because someone in her position needs a sympathetic and ATTENTIVE ear!

    • I don’t want to blame the slippery slope argument but it appears this world is growing more and more openly corrupt

    • I am a 21 year old man and have the same kind of relationship with my father we started when I was about 8 years old and I loved him and still do I believe that no one else really knows what sex is I can’t believe anyone could experience any more joy than I do when my father and I have sex his touch is so tender his big hands exploring my smooth body and the love I feel and he is inside of me takes my breath away and I achieve a higher plane of consciousness as I gasp for breath as I lay beneath him my legs open for him to enter my body to put his love deep up inside of me to look up into his eyes as our mouths crush together. I truly believe that there can be no greater love between two people on this earth then between what my father and I have as I take him into my mouth to swallow his warm seed of life it is true love in the eyes of God

      • Peter… dude you are dsame person Kelechi uzochukwu..
        no meed to even trace the ip. the writing pattern tells it all. horrible write up.

        this stupid story is not real; never happened. and this stupid dude who wrote this, is a pedophile. how can a human being sit down think of this and write it.. sick fuck

  5. Your dad is a fucking pedophile. 12 years old? That’s fucking messed up. You do realise that’s illegal? And the only reason he enjoyed it is because of your age and when you reached 20 you were no longer a child and he no longer gave a shit. Your dad is a sick fuck he definitely didn’t go to heaven hell more like it.

  6. So… as soon you become A Adult that when you father said it wrong…..
    Your father took advantage of you.
    Simply as that as you were young and UNDERAGE.

  7. Kenechi Uzochukwu is a dude for those people to solely base the nameless main character as the author. It’s a story about pedophila and a different view on it.

    • A different view? You mean the damage to the psyche that is more often than not permanent creating a person who will need years. Of therapy and will never have a happy relationship with a man.. incest and pedophilia do unknown damage to children. To their soul and mind. Ive known far too many women who have suffered this some as young as 4. Even if she consented as an adult it was onpy because she was groomed her entire life. To wqnt or need to make him happy much the same way you train a dog with treats..

  8. The person father head no correct. If say e still dey alive, I for recommend pastor, imam, lawyer, psychotherapist, babalawo for am. His grave should be a symbol of shame. 12 year old! Na wa o

  9. I doubt seriously that this is real. It was not well written. You aren’t a writer. You can get that out of your head. If this is real, how out of your mind are you? He liked having sex with children. You weren’t a child anymore, he was done. Maybe there was a little niece or a little neighbor girl he could start abusing. He never cared about you. He thought you were a thing. Again, doubt this is real but if it is, get help. You have no shot at being ok if you don’t. By the way, those of us who have actually suffered sexual abuse and or rape (I’m both) really are sickened by your lamely written story, true or not.

  10. To hell with such a father who make her daughter a sexual addict.He should b killed.If all fathers do the same the world will become a hell.

  11. I am sorry that is nasty i have a dad and two brothers and haven’t even thought about sleeping with the!!!! If you say that you are so petty then go find someone else because that is the most nasty thing in the world. It is good that your father stopped!!! You need to go to a mental hospital and your pedophile dad needs to go to jail and maybe after that dye you nasty bitch!!!!!!!!

  12. Tbh the girl is not the one with the problem she just doesn’t know better from what her father taught her. But where was her mom the whole time?????? Your father definitely needed to slow his roll cuz sleeping with 12 year olds is already illegal but ur own daughter?!!!!

  13. Ok I agree you can’t charge a dead person. But where was the mother this whole time? But it is good he stopped but the question is why. Like seriously if your dad was so turned on and already knew that it was wrong then why did he still do it and especially to your own daughter?

  14. i loved this kenechi Uzochukwu. very well written, i wish i was your father, i would have lived with you enhancing the relationship till you grow old or till i die.. i would have loved to have a daughter who would have loved me that much and sleep with me till the end of life. normally its the daughters who break up such relationship, u r the first daughter i hear who wanted to keep that going! ….. well am sad for you but did not like what u did with other men revenging for what ur dad did to you!

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