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Becoming a dad was the greatest moment of my life. My wife and I married young, and Samantha (Sam) was our only child. We embraced the adventure of parenthood fully, and I think we did a great job in raising a happy, healthy young woman.
There were a lot of challenges along the way – not least of which when Sam was 11, and my wife passed away following a short illness. Her death was so sudden, and both Sam and I were devastated. But we drew strength from one another and between us we made it through.
I was only in my mid-thirties and suddenly a single father to an adolescent girl, going through all the trials and tribulations of puberty. I had to learn a lot along the way, to lose some of my natural inhibitions towards discussing openly with my daughter the changes she was experiencing both physically and emotionally; to talk about breasts and periods and sex and sexuality, despite how uncomfortable it made me at first to even consider those things in relation to my own child. I came to understand and know her more intimately than any father in a two-parent family, and ultimately I know she appreciated this and became comfortable with the idea that I was “mum” as well as dad; that she could be open with me about her emotions, her fears, her joys, and her curiosities. One by one, barriers between us were eroded.
Parenting Sam took up so much of my time that dating was never a priority. I had as much of a social life as I was able to, and did meet women. I had a few relationships and a few more casual things, but Sam never gained a step-mum; it was always just me and her. Privately I resigned myself to the fact that I would probably not be that active on the dating scene until Sam was old enough to leave home and go to university.
That would have been when she was 18. Sam at 18 was much as she had been for the past few years; quiet, studious, intelligent and caring. She wasn’t wild or a party girl – she’d done well in school and had ambitions to become a nurse. She had a loyal circle of friends but she often chose to stay in rather than go out on the town – reading, watching films or television shows (she was a big fan of a lot of the popular US cable shows which made it over here, and we used to sit together and watch Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones and others of that type), and especially surfing the internet. She’d always been big on online friendships – I had made sure that she knew how to be careful in that regard but I didn’t feel I had much to worry about, she was always sensible and never seemed interested in meeting her internet friends face-to-face – she was happy to just converse through the computer, with people in the US, Australia and Europe.
When she got her A-level results, they were excellent – I’d never been so proud. She had won her place at university but decided to defer for a year – not, like many young people, so she could go travelling, but so she could build up her experience working with others by doing voluntary work and even taking a small part time job at a care home. She was serious about nursing as a career and knew that she would do better and cope better with this demanding occupation if she had a good foundation of experience to build on.
So, while all her friends trouped off to university, Sam stayed at home, living with me as she had always done. But with school behind her, the Sam I found myself living with was more adult than previously – mature and confident, helping out around the house and behaving a little more independently.
She was still daddy’s girl though, sweet and loving, and very devoted to doing right by her dad. She always told me where she was going and asked permission for everything.
There were some changes to her behaviour, though, although at the time I didn’t think anything in particular of them. In hindsight I should have put them all together but I don’t think I could ever have guessed what was actually going on!
I noticed she was keeping her bedroom door shut a lot more. Sam had previously been 50/50 with her door – she only closed it when she wanted privacy, the rest of the time she was happy to sit at her desk or on her bed with the door wide open, even when chatting to her online friends. But now I noticed more often than not, the door was closed – and when on rare occasions I asked to come in, there would always be a short pause before I was allowed to enter.
I noticed too that whenever I came home from work or some other trip out, Sam was often not downstairs. In the past, I had become used to coming home and finding her watching TV in the living room, but much more often now, she would descend the stairs to greet me as I came home instead. Even if the TV was on, she would always seem to have just come from her bedroom when I got home.
The final clue I should have observed came when I realised she had stopped wearing a nightdress or pyjamas to bed. I brought her a cup of tea in bed one Sunday morning only to discover her shoulders were bare. She held the bedcovers to her chest so as to not embarrass me by revealing more of herself, but I definitely beylikdüzü escort became aware that she was not wearing much, if anything, beneath them. She seemed a little embarrassed but I didn’t question her about it – it was certainly a little surprising, but I reasoned she was an adult now, and if she had chosen to sleep in her bare skin rather than pyjamas in the privacy of her own bed, I had no reason to object. Plus, it would cut down a little on our laundry loads! So, I simply put it from my mind, as with the other changes in her behaviour. After all, there was nothing that gave me cause for worry – Sam remained as lovely and happy and well-adjusted as ever, so I never felt like there was anything harmful going on with her.
However, if I had thought about it more, I perhaps wouldn’t have got such a shock a few weeks later when she explained everything.
This was maybe 3 months away from Sam’s 19th birthday. We’d had a usual evening, a nice meal and a catch up on some television, before I had gone up to my study to catch up on some work.
I’d been working maybe half an hour when Sam came in to talk to me. I had my door open and was focussed on my work when she appeared, so I didn’t look up at first. But when I heard her say “daddy, I want to talk to you about something”, nervousness in her voice, I answered “of course, sweetheart” and looked over.
I was in for quite a surprising sight!
Sam was stood in the doorway to my study, completely naked.
Now, I’d seen my daughter without her clothes on before – what parent hasn’t? But I hadn’t seen her in the altogether for many, many years – not since the time when her mother was still alive. Since then, and the advent of her adolescence, I had seen Sam occasionally in her underwear, and more often than that in a one-piece or two-piece swimsuit – all perfectly normal and above-board.
But now? Now Sam was standing in front of me with absolutely nothing on, making no move to cover herself with her hands or arms, which remained at her sides.
To see my daughter’s body was that of a beautiful young woman was a lot to deal with. Sam’s long blonde hair was loose and swept behind her, reaching the middle of her back. Her figure was slim but shapely, her breasts full and firm. They were crowned with large nipples – darker pink and standing to attention. Her belly was soft with a slight swell, and the stud she wears in her navel glinted gold and sparkling in the light. Between her legs, her pubic hair – darker and much more brown than the hair on her head – had been trimmed to a narrow strip, no more than a centimetre wide. She sported tan-lines – white skin over her breasts and at her waist and crotch, in the shape of an invisible bikini, surrounded by slightly darker tone.
Her face was flushed, seemingly embarrassed, but she stood trying to hide any awkwardness or discomfort, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for her to stand naked in front of her father, wanting a chat.
In case I haven’t been clear enough already, it definitely wasn’t normal for our house!
“Sam!” I exclaimed. “You’re naked! What on earth?!”
“Sorry dad,” she replied, a little hesitantly. “I wasn’t sure the best way to do this…”
“What do you mean?” I said. “What’s going on? Are you going to put some clothes on?”
She was quiet for a moment. “No,” she said after a pause. “I’m not. You see, I… I want to be a nudist.”
“A nudist. It’s someone who believes that the naked state is natural and chooses not to wear clothes whenever possible.”
I shook my head, confused. “No, I mean, what do you want to be a nudist for? Where has this come from? What do you mean when you say you want to be a nudist? What are you asking me?”
At some length, and a little breathlessly, Sam excitedly explained what all this was about.
She had begun talking with some friends from overseas who she learned practised a nudist lifestyle. In the privacy of their own home, these friends didn’t wear clothes but instead went about completely naked all the time. She used words like “comfortable” and “natural” to talk about being naked, and described to me how, for nudists, being naked is their “preferred state” – so unless they have a reason to be wearing clothes, they will most likely choose not to wear them.
Sam told me she had begun to experiment with the “lifestyle” for herself. That had been, I realised, the reason she had often been upstairs when I had returned home from work – she’d been naked, and had rushed off to her bedroom to put her clothes on when she heard my car pulling up. Similarly, the closed bedroom door had been because she had been eschewing clothing while in her room and hadn’t wanted me to know about it.
Apparently now, though, she had decided it was time I knew! She wanted to stop wearing clothes at home and was hoping I would permit that.
“I really love this, dad,” she explained. “I feel so comfortable and happy. I feel this is the real me. I couldn’t imagine keeping beyoğlu escort it a secret from you once I knew it was what I wanted.”
I’ll admit, that got to me, and I started to think about this from a fresh perspective. My initial reaction had been to be appalled. I couldn’t have my 18 year old daughter walking around the house completely naked! It wasn’t right, it wasn’t modest. She wasn’t a little girl any more, she was a grown woman, with a grown woman’s body – it just didn’t seem appropriate to me for her to have it all on show around her own father. So I had planned to lay down the law and explain, with parental authority, that there was no way she was going to live in her birthday suit while she was under my roof.
I raised some of these objections though, and she had some counter-arguments ready. Modesty wasn’t related to clothing, she argued, instead it was all in how you behaved. Nudism wasn’t sexual – indeed, nudity generally could have no sexual connotations whatsoever. Rather, nudism was an innocent celebration of nature and the natural body, and she had come to feel that some parts of her body should be thought of as needing to be hidden, while others were not. As for the appropriateness of her being naked around her own father – who could she be safer nude around, if not the man who had changed her nappies, bathed her as a kid, seen her without her clothes countless times, who knew her intimately?
So, gradually, Sam started to encourage me towards giving her my permission. I started to find that many of my own objections just didn’t stand up to logic. She was right, why should a father be ashamed or upset at seeing his daughter without her clothes on? “Whole families can be nudists, dad,” she told me, “everyone lives naked together.”
It was obviously something that was making her happy, something that was important to her – I couldn’t stand in the way of that. And really, Sam no longer wearing clothes at home would mean no harm to anyone.
Deep down, too – although I didn’t admit it at the time – there was a frisson of excitement that her proposal contained. She had stood there for 20 minutes now, fully starkers, animatedly enthusing on the virtues of nudism. Whether just a father’s pride or perhaps something more, I had to acknowledge that she had grown up to be a beautiful woman, and that she looked fantastic without her clothes on. Did I really want to tell her to cover up, when the alternative was so aesthetically pleasing?
In the end, although a little reluctant, I agreed. There were some ground rules – stay away from the front windows if the blinds were open, don’t answer the door without covering up first, and don’t walk around naked in front of visitors – but for the rest of the time, when it was just the two of us in the relative privacy of our own home, if she didn’t feel like wearing clothes, she didn’t have to.
“Thank you, daddy!” she beamed, hugging me tightly. “Thank you so much! You’re the best, dad, I knew you’d understand!” I returned the hug, despite her nakedness – her skin was soft, warm and smooth beneath my hands. I had thought it might feel uncomfortable to hold her nude, but it was actually rather pleasant.
Over the next few days, Sam took to her new nudist lifestyle like a duck to water. I rarely saw her with clothes on – only at times when she was going out or coming home from somewhere, or when we had company, did she bother to dress. And as soon as she was through the door or the visitors had gone, she would disrobe again. She did everything naked, from her household chores (including the times she would cook our meals) to sitting down to dinner and even our television watching sessions. She behaved exactly as she had before all this, completely natural, happy and at home – the only difference was her nudity.
And me? Well, once I got over the unfamiliar sight of my daughter roaming the house in her birthday suit, I found that a different set of feelings quickly replaced it.
I first noticed this on the second full day of Sam being a nudist. I sat in the kitchen in my robe and nightclothes, eating my breakfast, when Sam came down to fix her own food. As was already the norm, she was completely nude, and as she busied herself preparing her breakfast, I found myself watching her intently. She was completely lacking in shyness and seemed completely un-self-conscious about her lack of clothing. She was revealing her whole body to me, her beautiful, young, shapely body, and I observed every motion, every inch of bare skin. I took in her perky breasts, her cute little bare butt, the strip of hair on her mound, even the brief glimpses of the smooth lips in the gap between her legs. I was so absorbed that I didn’t realise I must have been obviously staring, but if I was she didn’t seem to mind, certainly not enough to show any embarrassment or discomfort at my gaze.
As I sat and watched, I felt a pleasant stirring at my crotch. Before I knew it, my cock began to stiffen, and in no time at all I was sporting quite a hard on. Shocked at bomonti escort myself and my body’s reaction, I tore my gaze away, shifting in my seat to conceal my arousal from Sam. Seeing my own daughter naked had given me an erection? What kind of sick pervert did that make me? I had never viewed Sam and felt any sort of arousal before, even when she wore things which revealed a lot of her body, such skimpy shorts or a bikini bathing suit. She was my daughter, and it would have gone against what I had thought would be a normal biological and psychological response to experience sexual attraction when looking at her. But here she was, skipping around the kitchen naked, and I’d gone stiff as a board!
I didn’t feel happy or comfortable about having that reaction, and I hoped it was nothing more than a one-off – my brain perhaps momentarily forgetting that I was looking at my own child and giving me the standard response I would have expected were it any other beautiful, naked almost-19-year-old woman in my house!
But later that same day, and on many occasions on the days which followed, I again found myself unable to take my eyes off of Sam while she was naked. I drank in every sight of her, relishing the chance to see her unclad, happy and full of life. Each time, I again found myself physically aroused by seeing her naked, and each time I found myself deeply troubled by that reaction.
At first I tried to ignore it, telling myself that as I got used to having a nudist daughter, I would find things returned to “normal” – but time and again I found no such outcome, as I instead I found myself distracted into lustful observations of her body and a never-ending succession of uncomfortable erections whenever she was nude in my presence.
In the end I succumbed and did what, I told myself, was just my way of restoring control and order over my body – I headed off to the bathroom, locked the door, then took my hard cock in my hand and began to jerk off. I took myself in a strong grip and my arousal was very great, so it didn’t take long before I came, hard, release and pleasure intensified, thick spunk squirting from my cock into the tissue I held there to receive it.
I flushed the tissue, cleaned myself up and returned to rejoin Sam. I felt guilt that I had masturbated specifically because I had seen my daughter naked, but I tried to soothe that guilt by telling myself that it was a one-off, that it wouldn’t happen again – that it wouldn’t need to happen again, that my base horniness would not return just because I could see my daughter’s naked breasts and butt and everything else.
But, of course, it did return. Again and again I found myself looking at Sam, or longing to look at Sam. While I didn’t always experience the physical arousal, the actual erection, I always felt that stirring within myself, that desire. I knew her as my daughter, I never stopped thinking of her as such, but I divided her up in my mind. Her breasts, her nipples. Her bottom, small and shapely. Her shape and form, the movement of her body, her torso, her limbs. Her neatly-trimmed pubic hair and the all-too-brief glimpses of her cunt as she moved. I focussed on these things, on her beautiful physical form, and each time I would find myself off to the bathroom, or the bedroom, to masturbate. I would cum thinking of her, trying to focus on the one part that had triggered my arousal, trying in my mind’s eye to recreate what I had just seen. I would achieve release but a truth began to dawn on me, an uncomfortable one, but one that was necessary. Jerking off while picturing her body, like some horny teenage boy with a crush on his classmate, was a way to deal with these feelings, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to simply imagine her, even though I had literally just seen all I needed to see – I needed to observe her as I pleasured myself, needed to see her directly with my own eyes, the way I would with a lover – or a woman in a pornographic picture or video.
The solution wasn’t obvious at first, but was easy enough once I thought of it.
I’m a technically-minded man, with plenty of spare cash, so it was easy enough for me to purchase some really quite sophisticated spy cameras on the internet. I didn’t skimp on the quality – each one I bought was as small as possible, while still delivering full colour HD quality images.
I took a day off work while Sam was out volunteering, and set the cameras up. I concealed them well, mainly around the living room and kitchen. I didn’t fit any in the bathroom or in Sam’s bedroom – I told myself that would be an invasion of her privacy, whereas what I was doing now was simply recording something she had given me permission to see anyway; namely, my daughter walking around the house completely naked.
The cameras installed, at a variety of angles and positions chosen to best capture what I wanted to see of Sam, I moved to my study and set up the accompanying software on my PC. The cameras were motion activated – they would start recording when someone walked into the room, and stop when that person left. They would feed in to a programme on my computer which would record the video to my hard drive, I could then play it back at leisure; either watching one camera feed, or seeing many at the same time in a grid on the screen, like a security guard watching CCTV. I could even watch live if I wanted.
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