Nothing I Won’t Do


Author’s note: This story is purely fiction. I do not engage in, condone or support incest in Real Life- it is meant solely for the realm of make-believe. I wrote this only so that I and others could gain enjoyment from it. It should be noted that this is a STORY. There are plenty of sex scenes in it with lots of graphic sex, but the story is what makes this thing so special- read it all the way through and enjoy every aspect of it. Feedback and votes, as always, are welcome and encouraged.

The day my wife Lynn died was the worst day of my life. I’ve had a lot of bad days in my years and a lot of difficult experiences, some of them even life-threatening, but even the worst of those could not compare to the day I had to pull my daughter out of school so that she could say goodbye to her dying mother. We’d been somewhat prepared, intellectually, for the fact that her life would be cut short by a genetic blood disease that was beyond curing, but knowing a thing and experiencing it are two totally different realities. Beth, our daughter, was fifteen years old at the time and took the death of her mother, I believe, a lot harder than I did. For months she was inconsolable and cried herself to sleep each night. I wasn’t much better off, mind you, but as a widower with the responsibility of raising a teenage daughter by myself, I had to quickly learn how to shelf my grief and focus on my duties as a father. I had to go back to work, which was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I was used to a routine, a sort of rhythm in our household and with the loss of my wife, coming home from work each night just wasn’t the same. I didn’t mind cooking the meals or cleaning the house or taking care of the bills; it was the absence of my wife’s gentle humming when she cooked dinner, the funny pranks she’d leave for me or Beth while cleaning the house and the way she’d discuss every financial decision with me before committing to anything.

Things got worse in short order, unfortunately. My wife had been responsible for paying the rent on the house we lived in. That money was just above the monthly mortgage which belonged to the homeowner, an affable old woman who was now alone and couldn’t stand living in the house by herself and had rented it out to us on an open lease. The owner, however, had become forgetful in her old age and had gotten behind on the mortgage payments. When the housing market took a nose dive, her mortgage company foreclosed on the property and kicked me and my daughter out to the curb with hardly any notice. In a move of desperation, I put most of our belongings into storage and Beth and I moved into one of those extended-stay hotels while I tried to figure out a solution to our woes. In less than six months I had gone from being a happy family man to a widower father on the brink of financial doom with nowhere to turn.

Beth’s grades slipped some, but after a time and with the support of her friends, she started to slowly bounce back. After awhile I would come home to the apartment having been cleaned by her and the dinner table already set. She started to participate in making dinners and had paid close enough attention to start making them herself. She began to sift through my laundry as well as hers and, before I knew it, she’d taken over all the duties and responsibilities that her mother had when she was alive. All of this, on top of her homework and studying for tests. I don’t know what exactly happened in her mind, but the changes she underwent were remarkable. I’d often told her that doing those extra things weren’t necessary, but she’d always answer that if doing those things were good enough for her mother then they ought to be good enough for her. I didn’t argue the matter and made a point of it to be extremely appreciative whenever possible, taking it for granted that this was probably her way of coping with her mother’s death.

I wish I could say that my own ability to cope was as empowering and healthy as my daughter’s was, but the truth is that I couldn’t focus much anymore. I was struggling with depression and doubt more and more each day. Work was getting harder on me and my social skills took a nose dive. I knew that if things didn’t turn around for me soon that I would lose my job, which would put us in a very bad spot. I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent on our shoe-box-sized apartment, put her through college or help her find her own way in life. I would fail her as a father. This would not do.

Unfortunately, I’d never gone to college myself, so I didn’t have a degree to fall back on. The insurance money from my wife’s death was still wrapped up in probate, so I couldn’t touch it for another year at least. My wife and I did have SOME money in savings, but not nearly enough to sustain Beth and me for a full year. I had a few modest skills, but none that made me too terribly marketable on the job front. I was a whiz at computers, but without a degree to prove it, the best I could probably manage was to get a job selling the damn things rather than actually working on them. I was in my early thirties with no prospects, essentially homeless, lots of responsibility and no direction. With nothing really presenting itself to me as tuzla eve gelen escort a way out of my predicament, and after talking it over extensively with Beth, I decided to join the Army as a computer networking specialist, the closest thing to my skill sets that existed in the military structure.

In a time of war people join the military for lots of different reasons. Most of them, unfortunately, are related to money or education rather than patriotism. And so it was with me. Don’t get me wrong- I love my country and am proud to serve it, defend it and help to guide it towards a better future, but taking care of my daughter and not dishonoring the trust that my wife had imbued in me were my main reasons for joining. That first month of Basic training was by no means easy, mind you. A man in his thirties works almost twice as hard during Basic training just to keep up with the younger soldiers and there’s a lot more to prove to those who outrank you since you’ve spent most of your life as a civilian. But that’s only what I alone had to deal with. There was also Beth, who had to stay with my mother-in-law for the six months of Basic and AIT training that I had to go through.

We spoke whenever possible during that time away from each other, mostly about my experiences in adjusting to Army life and sometimes about her own experiences at school. Shortly after I started my Advanced Individual Training, Beth told me that she’d dated a guy for short while who she later dumped because he was pressuring her for sex. I was proud of her for looking after her own virtue and told her as much, which led to a couple of long conversations about relationships, dating, sexuality and personal responsibility. Even from so far away, I felt gratified that I could give her guidance on such topics. We spoke frankly and honestly about everything and I felt that we were developing an honest friendship that was separate from our father/daughter relationship. To be truthful, it was refreshing to be able to open up to her about those things without feeling awkward or uncomfortable. She definitely made it easier by being just as open and honest about her own interests and curiosities. When the topic of Army life came up, however, she always sounded despondent and depressed. I constantly had to remind her that I wouldn’t always be away from her, that our separation was only temporary and that it was all for her benefit. She didn’t like living with her grandmother, who she described as a “tyrant”, and begged me to get done with training as quickly as I could. I couldn’t get it through to her that the Army dictated my training schedule and that my training would be complete when they decided it was. I knew it was a trying time for her and that she didn’t fully understand what it was that I had chosen to do, all for her sake, but she accepted the situation for what it was and didn’t hold it against me.

When I got out of Basic I got some time off to go home, get my daughter and pack up our things: I was being stationed in another state, far away from Beth’s place of birth and her mother’s place of death. To say that my daughter wasn’t thrilled with the idea is an understatement, but we’d discussed the likelihood that we’d have to move before I ever joined up and she’d promised that she wouldn’t rebuke me if that turned out to be the case. True to her word, my daughter kept silent about her unhappiness at leaving everything she knew behind and even tried her stout best to put a good face on it. She put her best foot forward and followed me to Tennessee, where I was stationed- Fort Campbell, home of the 101st Airborne Division. All the while, and especially during the trip (we drove the distance from Dallas, Texas to Clarksville, Tennessee in two days’ time), we talked just like we had while I was away at AIT. It was a real treat to see how well Beth was recovering from her mother’s death and was turning into a bright, engaging young woman. I thanked my lucky stars that she was with me and was growing prouder to be her father every day.

We adjusted quickly to military life. Beth started going to school outside the base and I’d finally gotten my wife’s insurance settlement so that I could afford to buy a house in the area, which was something of a milestone for me. Meanwhile, I was getting familiar with the unit I had been assigned to and was making a good name for myself as a computer “go-to” guy who could get things done. That first year at my unit was filled with a lot of adjustments, some of them very tough but most of them very positive, and my relationship with my daughter became a lot stronger. She was proud of her father and, when she wasn’t in school, had literally thrown herself into the Family Readiness Group and made friends with a lot of the Army wives in my unit. She was seventeen then, but extremely mature beyond her years and everyone could see it. She was smart, articulate, beautiful and friendly, never saying a bad thing about anyone and always supportive of her single dad. Everything she did made me prouder and it was clear that she wanted to show everyone in the FRG that I’d raised her well.

Word came down, eventually, that our unit would tuzla otele gelen escort deploy to Afghanistan. At first this bit of news was frightening for my daughter to hear. She was scared for me and for herself. She worried that something might happen to me while I was over there and, if it did, she would be alone, which was a prospect that she wasn’t willing to face just yet. I assured her, up one end of the street and down the other, that nothing would happen to me. My position within the battalion was such that it was in everyone’s best interests to keep me safe and out of harm’s way. I was responsible for maintaining my battalion’s computer network and satellite communications equipment; without me, my unit wouldn’t be able to communicate with the rest of the world. They needed me to be in one piece and do my job. I wouldn’t be going out on any missions and I would be treated as an extremely valuable asset, essential and irreplaceable. Her fears for my safety were quelled, but not entirely squelched, and she made an even more concerted effort to make sure that I had everything that I needed while I was gone.

Being a good and loving father, I did my four-square best to do the same. Every bill was tied into my checking account for automatic payment, which ensured that she didn’t have to worry about it. I set aside a small portion of my military pay that would be deposited into an account for her, $350 every month for incidental expenses like gas and food and entertainment. I had a few Army buddies who were staying behind and had promised to keep a close eye on my daughter and house for me- guys who had families of their own and could be trusted to look after my daughter with the same level of care that they would devote to their own daughters. They wouldn’t be intrusive mind you, but they’d make discrete phone calls just to check up on her and get face time with her during Family Readiness Group meetings to make sure she was okay.

Beth continued to go to school and, since she was interacting so much with adults within the FRG, her maturity levels increased ten-fold. It was no surprise, then, that she got the attention of a young man who managed to keep her interest. He was older and struggling into adulthood on his own, but very respectful of her and treated her extremely well. Being under eighteen years of age, Beth had made it clear to him that she would not have sex with him and until she was ready, as long as he was okay with that, they were good as a couple. He didn’t complain and never put any pressure on her, much to my delight, and proved himself to be every bit a gentleman and honorable kid. His own father had been a military man who had died in battle, so he never once made a fuss about Beth’s support of me. We talked from time to time and I actually came to like the guy, most especially when he would wake up early in the mornings to give Beth a ride to school and vowed to me that he would make sure she was taken care of while I was away. As a male I had no illusions about how attractive my daughter was, so it was with some misgivings that I allowed Beth to stay at the house pretty much alone while I was gone. I had to trust in her wits and intelligence, which is never easy even under the best of circumstances, but Beth had done everything in recent years to prove to me that she was trustworthy and mature enough to stay out of trouble.

With a heavy heart and a good bit of trepidation, I left with my unit for Afghanistan and prayed to God every night that my daughter would be safe and sound in my absence. The first few weeks in Afghanistan were, as you might expect, a challenge on every front. Most of our time was spent in setting up the battalion so that we could carry out our missions and gain a clear understanding of our environment in all aspects. This meant that my time was devoted almost exclusively to creating our network and setting up computers for the entire administrative staff (roughly around 150 people all told). I was so busy, in fact, that I hardly got any time to myself. It wasn’t until our third week in the field before I could call back home and check in on my little girl. Everything, from what I could tell by her reports, was going fine without me and there were no problems to speak of. My daughter was holding up on her own pretty well, which was welcome news.

Phone calls to home were rare, but being the network administrator for the battalion afforded me the opportunity to send emails whenever I wanted. For five months straight my daughter and I corresponded on an almost daily basis via the Internet and she kept me informed of nearly every little thing in her life. School was going well, there had been a few bad rain storms but no damage to the house, the car was running without trouble, her boyfriend was making sure that she made it to school every day… all in all, she was learning how to live on her own and embracing her independence with flourish. She kept telling me that she missed me and that things just weren’t the same without me being around, that my absence kept reminding her of the fact that her mother wasn’t around, either- most times she had good news, but sometimes the loneliness tuzla sınırsız escort she felt came through like a cannon shot and was heartbreaking to read. Every day I kept focus on my job, going through my routines with care and trying my best to stay motivated. When things got tough or scary (we were, after all, in the middle of a war- the enemy wasn’t eager to leave our area and fought us every step of the way), I kept reminding myself what I was doing this for: my daughter.

I kept a picture of her on my cell phone (which was useless in that country except as an alarm clock) and looked at it to keep my spirits up. She was such a beautiful creature, my daughter. All the guys in my shop kept telling me that I was crazy to leave her home alone and one of them even remarked that if he was back there he’d be doing everything he could to woo her. I took that in stride and didn’t get upset about it. Intellectually, I could see why he’d want to: Beth truly was a gorgeous girl. She had long brown hair with natural, curly locks in it that came down to the small of her back; she was short at just four-foot-nine-inches; her figure was trim and athletic; her legs showed signs of strong thighs which met up to narrow hips and a small, tight rear end; and her 37-C breasts (I sometimes had to shop with her for new bras- one of the pitfalls of parenthood, I guess) were high, round and firm and showed lots of cleavage when she wore certain tops. Her face was just as appealing to look at with small, pouty lips, soft brown eyes and a cute nose. She kept in shape and walked with absolute grace, commanding the attention of every male who set eyes on her, even me. I knew my daughter was a “hottie” and was proud of that fact, but I made it clear to the rest of the guys in my shop that none of them stood a chance in hell with her, at least not while I was alive and had anything to say about it.

At the beginning of the fifth month of our deployment I got word that I was scheduled for some R&R. I was afforded 2 weeks of Leave time back home and, coupled with travel time, would be gone from the battalion for about a month in total. The timing couldn’t have been better since the time off would correspond with Beth’s birthday (she was born the day before Halloween). When I called home to give Beth the news, she just about cried with joy over the phone, she was so happy. Almost immediately she started making plans for things we’d do while I was home- going out to dinner, seeing movies, visiting local friends and family, staying in to rent videos of movies that I’d missed… all of it sounded good to me, but I told her that I mostly just wanted to stay home and relax as much as humanly possible and treat her to a great birthday dinner at a nice restaurant. I promised her that we’d do all of the things she’d planned, but I didn’t want to restrict myself to any set or specific plans, that I wanted to play things loosely and by ear. She understood entirely and promised me that she wouldn’t pressure me to do anything that I didn’t want to.

The trip back home was arduous and didn’t go half as quickly as I would have liked, but, as with everything else, the thought of being able to see my little girl again helped to keep me in a positive frame of mind. I bounced from place to place, travelling from one half of this planet to the other for three days straight, until my plane finally touched down in Nashville on October 29th. I was completely exhausted from the trip and probably smelled like a sweat sock when I got off the plane, but when she saw me walking through the terminal doorway, my daughter all but threw herself into my arms with a happy hug. I barely had time to register the fact that she was wearing a cream-colored summer dress that came down to her ankles and her hair was done up with ringlets. We embraced joyously for a long moment while she cried into my shoulder and repeatedly told me how glad she was that I was home again.

When we broke the hug, I took a step back to look at my daughter appraisingly. “You haven’t changed a bit,” I told her. “You look good.” Beth smiled sweetly, picked up my smallest bag and slipped the strap over her shoulder with barely a grunt. Even my smallest bag was by no means light and easily weighed as much as she did. “Well,” I said with surprise, “maybe you HAVE changed some.”

She smirked as she started to lead the way to baggage claim. “I’ve been doing some working out with your weights while you were away,” she explained. “I’m not, like, buff or anything, but I have been getting stronger. And I’ve been running, too. See?” She stopped to partly hike up her skirt on one side just enough to show me her left calf. It looked strong and well sculpted from exercise. And cleanly shaven. “Two miles a day. One in the morning before school and one when I get home. For the first month I kinda went on an eating binge because I missed you so much and I was moping around the house all the time by myself. At one point I saw your exercise equipment just sitting there and I was frustrated with nothing to do so I figured ‘What the hell?’ and started lifting the weights like I’ve seen you do. I worked up one hell of a sweat until I couldn’t do it anymore, but I felt fantastic, so I decided to stick with it. Thirty minutes every day, after my run. Before I knew it, I lost weight that I’d gained and I had more energy and was sleeping better. I’m not, like, addicted to exercise or anything like that, but I’ve decided that I like the way it makes me feel and I can’t complain about the things it’s done for my bod.”

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