Your father

You knew it was wrong, but you couldn't resist your feelings. Eventually, just after you'd finished school, it happened. Your father had a few too many beers. It was just you and him, sitting in the yard and he rested his hand on your thigh. You looked at him and bit your lip, before resting your hand on his thigh. Your hand traced its way up, his eyes wide but too drunk to stop you. Your hand rested on his bulge, feeling his hardness. Slowly, the two of you seemed to shift, until your clothes had fallen away and all that mattered was your skin on your father's. And then he filled you and made you a woman.