I held onto his arm as he headed to the stairs.To our bedroom.I felt so dizzy as I clung to him. The world seemed to spin around me. Only Daddy felt real. Solid. He was so strong. I felt the muscles of his arm through his suit jacket. I felt my little, black dress rustling around me. My mother’s diamond earrings swayed, brushing my neck. My naughty thong felt wet. I was so hot down there.I wanted Daddy so much, but he just saw me as his dumb daughter. I knew it. He was just giving me a treat, and I was thinking to much. He didn’t see me as a woman. I was his little girl. He would be horrified if I tried anything.But the way he held my hand across the table, the candlelight painting his face... The look in his eyes... If that dumb waitress hadn’t shown up... “Michelle,” Daddy said, his voice rumbling through my thoughts.“Yes, Daddy?” I asked, staring up at him.“We’re, uh, at your door,” he said, his voice soft.I blinked and stared at the door before us. I blushed at it. I grabbed the. My own modesty betrayed me as I sat fascinated by the spectacle happening around me. I saw a girl with a penis in her vagina, while she sucked on another man’s manhood. My boyfriend was still fucking the slut. Another man had his face between his girlfriend’s legs, licking her vulva. Sanity prevailed and I stumbled out the den of depravity. On weak knees I walked the six miles back to my apartment in town, my emotions in tatters.Angry and frustrated I tried to reason with myself: Was human sexuality so wrong that I would not let my boyfriend (now my ex) touch my pussy? Or that I wouldn’t kiss his cock. Did the sex upset me or was it because I didn’t get any?The weekend after the orgy, I went to the photographic studio of my beautiful artist friend, Chantelle. I wanted to capture my own growth to sexual maturity on camera. We were roommates at Varsity, she the artistic blond and I the geeky brunette. Chantelle tried then to persuade me to relax my narrow-mindedness and enjoy my female.
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