Daughter Dearest

Julie couldn’t believe her eyes.

But there it was, right in front of them.

At first, those soft, brown and green tinted doe eyes couldn’t even blink. Her mouth was slightly open and crooked ajar. She was frozen. She couldn’t breathe. And finally, she swallowed the lump in her throat and lightly inhaled.

Was she really looking at a naked selfie of herself on her father’s laptop?

Her FATHER’S laptop.

The first question that hammered her with confusion was how the hell it even got on there. It was on her phone, and her phone only. She didn’t even have her own laptop or computer. That was why she had gone into her father’s office to use his, so she could work on a report for her history course.

But she never expected to find something like THIS on it.

It was the only self-taken naked photo of herself she currently had, as she wasn’t in the habit of taking those regularly, or at all, for that matter. She wasn’t like any of those other early-20s bimbos passing by her in the halls at her local community college who probably took seven a day and made themselves unwitting nameless internet stars on some cheap selfie porn site due to the moronic guys who got off by nefariously uploading them without their permission or knowledge.

It was a spontaneous act of feeling and promoting her sexiness that she had done for a guy she was barely seeing months back and no longer even talked to. It wasn’t even that memorable of a photo, sure to be disregarded in the quality ranks of a Playboy or Hustler pose. She simply snapped a full frontal, full body shot of herself standing at the full length mirror hinged on her bedroom closet door.

She didn’t even remember she still had the damn thing on her phone until that moment, as it became buried within months of other more practical and interesting shots she snapped through the eyes of her daily life.

She thought she deleted it, but after pulling her phone from her pocket and scrolling through folders, there it still was, in all of its naked glorification verification.

She knew the “who” and “what”. It was the “how”, “when”, and more prominent “WHY” that sparked her confused Nancy Drew driven brain presently being bombarded with mass hysteria.

He had to transfer it directly from her phone. There was no other way. She wasn’t tech-savvy, so she didn’t understand all that “cloud” uploading and hacking stuff, but for all she knew, every photo she took, every thing she did on that phone got automatically saved in some kind of backup he could have easily accessed through her network, since he was the primary account holder of both their phones.

The thought of him taking her phone at some point while she was indisposed in the bathroom, or outside, or doing something for an extended period caused her to be washed over with a wave of violated paranoia.

Again, unlike her mindless female peers, her phone was never attached to the hip. She used her fair share of it, even for stupid videos and the like whenever she was bored, but she could breathe perfectly fine without it for five minutes, leaving it in plain site on the kitchen counter.

So he could have swiped it at anytime, for any AMOUNT of time that it took to discover the photo and copy it onto his laptop.

She was a blender of emotions. Confusion. Anger. Surprise. What probably upset her most was that they had such a great, trusting relationship together, even stronger since her mother had left them seven years earlier. So she wondered what caused him to even take her phone in the first place.

Julie considered herself a headstrong, rational person, always trying to put herself in other people’s shoes to better understand their motives. He was, after all, her father, and fathers tend to worry for their daughters.

She was a mature twenty-years-old. More mature than most, due to having to harden her bones when her neglectful mother bailed.

But that was something he should have done when she was a teenager, and he never came off as overprotective or investigative. She never caught him in her room, snooping for a diary of confessions or hidden drugs which she never partook in. He always respected her boundaries and gave her considerate personal space.

So WHAT THE HELL was her bare naked ass doing on his laptop in a folder titled “SPANK BANK”?

She knew what that term meant. She wasn’t stupid. But the silly naivety she felt she was always cursed with as her personality downfall caused her to open the folder anyway.

Maybe it was a strange or funny code for something work-related. But that notion was kicked out the window upon grazing her eyes across the two dozen or so nude photos of women, some probably adult film stars and some selfies like hers he had probably found on the ‘net.

She tried to stay calm. Maybe he copied it and was readying to present it as some kind of lecture for safety. A “don’t tempt the wolves out in the woods” kind of warning to keep his former princess in line, going the whole nine yards to transfer it onto his laptop in a more profoundly effective tactic to show and scare her into not doing promiscuous things like that.

Maybe he accidentally tossed it in the wrong folder. Simple but embarrassing mistake.

Julie ran a hand through her soft, straight dirty blonde hair and then brought it to her mouth.

She wished her curiosity never opened the folder.

Because all she could muster up in thought was that her father was masturbating to a naked picture of her. He was jacking off to her… thinking about her… sexually.

She had made the illustrious spank bank hall of fame folder.

The pompous and prissy Disney princess angel of herself popping up on her right shoulder tried to sing that maybe he hadn’t done anything with it yet; that maybe it was a harmless mistake or worst case scenario some weird but harmless perverted curiosity of interest and nothing more.

Yet the scantily-clad Victoria’s Secret lingerie devil version of herself on her left shoulder was shouting that it was his new favorite picture to beat off with and he was shooting endless ropes of cum from his dick while moaning out her name to himself.

Julie closed the photo file and subsequent folder before turning the laptop off and firmly shutting it. She sat there for a full three minutes in blank thought and silence. She was glad he wasn’t presently home. It would be awkward passing by him in the kitchen or some place with this newfound knowledge of discovery.

Of course, this didn’t make the elephant in the room vanish for her. What the hell was she going to do? How could she even be around him from now on knowing this?

Any simple meal at the table, or movie viewing in the living room, or car ride would be plagued thick with awkwardness from then on, and solely on her side only, considering he would be clueless on her unearthly uncovering.

Should she confront him? Should it be in outraged anger? She couldn’t even remember the last time she had been mad at him for anything. They were practically best friends, considering she always distanced herself from having any serious ones her own age.

Julie left the office and went up to her bedroom. There was no way she could concentrate on accomplishing any of her school report, but it wasn’t due for two weeks, so no big deal.

She watched some TV and floundered around a little on social media for a few hours, but couldn’t shake her mixed feelings on the whole discovery. She figured maybe the best thing to do was confront him.

She figured she could maybe eventually brush it off and forget about it over time, but it was really bugging and gnawing at her, and she knew it wasn’t going to subside.

Not unless she confronted him. As cumbersome and uncomfortable as it would be, at least it would be over with. Like ripping off a Band Aid. Besides, even if his motives were truly of a sexual nature, he would probably do his best to cover it up with bumbling excuses or a masking ignorance of innocence.

It didn’t matter. She just wanted to confront him.

She heard him come home not long after, shuffling around downstairs in the kitchen for a bit, but she hesitated in rushing down there. She didn’t want to come off like some insanely crazy accuser fifteen seconds after he got in from a long day at work, no matter how justified she may have been in anyone else’s mind for doing so.

So she hung out in her room for a while longer. She figured he would probably pop into in there anyway, like he often did, to see how she was doing, but his footsteps signaled a trail up the stairs that led straight to his own room instead.

Maybe later, she figured, when he was settled in and she was more calm.

She got caught up in a movie on TV which did ease her tensions a bit but eventually she nodded off to sleep in her bed, and when she awoke it was a good two hours or so later into the evening. She yawned and stretched, rubbing her eyes and getting up. It was now or never.

The TV in her father’s room was on, and the door was slightly closed over, with a slim crack open. She took a deep breath in the hallway, centering herself. She could handle this. She was a big girl.

“Daddy?” she softly called out as she craned her neck to look through the open door crack.

There was no response. Just the sound of the TV. She softly pushed her way forward but sharply stopped seeing movement through the tall mirror tucked in the corner of the room, reflecting the adjacent bathroom within.

Her father was moving around in there, and she was just about to open her mouth to call out for him again when she saw him slightly turn in the mirror’s reflection.

He was drying his hair with a dark green towel facing away, revealing his bare backside and rear end as Julie slightly gasped. He pulled the towel off his head and turned to unintentionally face the direction of the mirror, and that’s when she caught a glimpse of his hanging penis, slightly swinging in his swaying body motion.

She was frozen in place like a deer caught in the headlights. She couldn’t pull herself away. Maybe it was the sudden shock. But she watched as he wiped a post-shower wetness from his chest with the towel, then lowered it to rub his groin as the penis flopped up, down and all around with the towel’s movement before it ventured lower to dry his legs.