My wife and I have been through a lot in our sixteen years of marriage. We tied the knot while I was just completing my first year of college. She was still in high school then, and got pregnant shortly thereafter. Things got tough when she had to get a job to support us, but fortunately her parents helped out by watching our baby. Somehow, we made it through.

With single-minded determination, I not only made it through college, but an additional three years of law school as well, while also holding down part-time jobs. I really wanted everything for our family’s future. Later, I also had the normal decency to send my wife through college, herself. It was hard for her because of all the interruptions in her education. Fortunately, our daughter Andrea was a little older by that time, attending elementary school.

Apart from money problems, we also had some tough times in our relationship. My wife had an affair in college with a teacher and later with a classmate. When I found out, I moved out of the house for awhile. We kept talking, however, and she assured me that there was no emotional attachment involved; it was purely sex. It still was hard to take. Eventually, I forgave her, admitting to her that I’d also had a brief fling with the wife of a golfing buddy. That revelation surprised her because it was so unlike me. She’s the one who’s oversexed. She has always openly admitted it. Even though I’m fairly well-equipped in the love department, or so my wife has always told me, and we often have had sex more than one time a night, she simply never has been able to get enough.

In fact, her sexual appetite has seemed to grow stronger every year. In the twelfth year of our marriage, she was twenty-nine by then, she had another affair, followed by another. This time, she tried to keep them very well hidden, meeting over lunch and having love in the afternoon. Unfortunately for her, I was having a late lunch with a client one day when I saw her with another man, exiting a hotel. I moved out again.

This was also tough on our pretty daughter Andrea, who became very emotionally upset when I left. We knew that she was hurting, because Andrea was usually rather unexpressive around us. I spoiled her a great deal, as did her mother, and she had developed a little chip on her shoulder, particularly because of her beauty. Both my wife and I look quite good and the combination of our genes in Andrea really created something spectacular. Andrea really tried hard to keep us together and, for her sake, we gave our marriage another try.

I got back together with my wife on condition that she attend counseling with me. We tried it, but the counselor didn’t really seem to have an answer for solving my wife’s out-of- control sexual behavior. He emphasized communication with each other, and that’s how we spent most of our sessions. It didn’t work.

That’s when my wife brought up the idea of swinging with me. She assured me that there would be no more secret affairs or hiding. It would all be out in the open and I could be there. After several occasions of prodding and suggesting on her part, I broke down and agreed to try. I think I was a little intrigued about it myself.

Our first time was with just one couple in a motel; a girl my wife knew from college and her husband. I admit that I enjoyed myself with the girl. From the noises and obscene carrying- on of my wife, however, it apparently was indescribably pleasurable to her. She liked sex on the edge and performing with another man in front of me was not only better than her previous secret encounters, it was ‘awesome’, as she later related to me in private. In addition, she then discovered sex with women.

Melinda, her girlfriend from college had had lesbian sex before. In fact, while in college she had tried to get my wife to experiment with her. At the time, my wife was definitely a girl hooked on men and their penises. But her first sexual encounter with Melinda in that motel completely changed her mind. For the next week, that’s all my wife would talk about. In fact, we watched a couple of lesbian sex videos every night in the week following her first introduction to girl love. She told me that there was something luxuriously nasty and wanton about her own female flesh coming into sexual contact with other female flesh. It just sent her through the roof. She said that she still liked men, but that sex with a woman was just exponentially more pleasurable to her, especially with men around to watch. Maybe it was just the thrill she derived from the whole forbidden nature of that first swing session in the motel, but my wife definitely became hooked on swinging, particularly the girl-on-girl kind.

Don’t get me wrong about my wife. She’s wasn’t a monster. In fact, she was the sweetest, most caring person in the world. Many were the times when she had me stop my car in traffic just to put money in the cup of a panhandler. She donated major time to several charities. She was beautiful and her heart was beautiful. She took care of the house, the bills, and everything else and I couldn’t have lived without her. But she had a serious sexual addiction.

We kept seeing Melinda and her husband. Melinda seemed to enjoy sex with me, but she loved the sex with my wife. The feeling was very mutual. Eventually, she invited us to larger swing parties, with at least a dozen couples. It was nirvana for my wife, because of all the different women. Some of them were absolutely beautiful. Her lesbian desires reached a new plateau and I watched her doing things with her female partners in front of others that I could scarcely believe, using food and other objects, urinating on each other, and even taking her lovers into back yards for semi-public demonstrations at night. In fact, after our third such party, she almost stopped paying any attention to the men at all. She wouldn’t even bother wearing any clothes on the ride over and would walk into the party through the front door, totally nude. This behavior was very disturbing to me, because I just could never get into the swinging lifestyle. I enjoyed sex, but preferred it one-on-one, with the woman I loved. I also wondered if my wife might require psychiatric treatment. The funny thing about it, however, was that she was so great to be with at all other times.

We then had a serious talk. I told her that I had spent many sleepless nights pondering our marriage. I told her I still loved her. I reminded her of all the things we had gone through together and that I could not live without her. I also spoke about our daughter and her need for a father and mother’s presence. I finally told her that this had to stop; it was a dead-end; it was self-destructive and that I would file for divorce if it continued. I suggested that my wife seek some type of more serious counseling. I didn’t really mention the word psychiatrist because I cared so very much about her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I was hoping she would get the message. My wife grew very silent and walked away. I slept on the couch that night.

In the middle of the night, I got up and went into our bedroom to wake my wife, but found that she wasn’t sleeping.

“Honey, honey. Are you awake? I think we really need to talk again,” I said.

“I think you’ve said everything,” she answered.

“Honey, I love you. I don’t want to hurt you. You’re hurting yourself.”

“Isn’t that something for me to decide? I’m an adult, right?” she said.

“Darling, impulses can be controlled,” I assured her. “You’ve got to try. One day at a time.”

“That’s easy for Mister Perfect to say,” she retorted.

“Perfect?” I answered. “I have a hard time fighting my own urges. Hell, do you think it’s easy spending ten hours a day at a desk, listening to the nonsense of my clients? Or sitting in the courtroom while some drunken judge who hasn’t even read my brief tries to dismiss my case? Just keeping myself from killing someone often has me right on the edge.”

“That’s different. When you leave the office, you leave that behind. With me, I have this urge all day, all night, all the time,” my wife said.

My wife was lying on her stomach, her arms folded beneath her head. I reached out to stroke her hair. My voice began to quaver as my tone took on a solemn quality. “My love. I’ve been wanting to tell you something about myself for quite a while. But it’s so personal, so dark, and so ugly that I could never in a million years mention it to you. You might stop loving me. But right now, even at the risk of earning your hatred, I’m coming clean with it because it might help you. It just might show you how it’s possible to fight your urge.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, in a tired tone of resignation.

“It’s about our daughter Andrea,” I said. “Andrea is a very beautiful girl and we love her very much. It’s just that, since she became a teenager, and even a couple of years before that, I’ve had these secret feelings about her.”

“You? What kind of feelings?” My wife’s voice suddenly rose a notch in intensity.

“Please listen and don’t jump to conclusions,” I assured her. “Andrea is very beautiful. Hell, she’s probably the prettiest girl at her school. With her long blonde hair and perfect figure she reminds me very much of you when you were fifteen and we first started going together. Remember?”

“I remember,” said my wife.

“It was that week in April when you went to see your sister about her miscarriage. Andrea was out on Spring break and she asked me if she could invite some friends over to the house. I suggested we go ahead and have a party. I invited my friends and she invited hers.”

“Go on,” said my wife.

“Andrea and her friend Beth were looking at me the whole time while we were out by the swimming pool.”

“So?”

“They were eyeing me, not just looking.”

“How do you know they weren’t making fun of you?”

“I wish they were, but they weren’t. That night, Andrea came into my room. She asked me if she could use the shower, since she said she was having trouble with hers. I was naked in bed, under the covers, reading. Now, I don’t know if I should go on.”

My wife reached out and touched my arm, reassuringly. “Honey, there’s nothing you should hide from me.”

“When Andrea came out of the shower, she had only a towel around her body. She stopped in front of the full-length mirror of our bedroom, admiring herself, playing with her hair, rising on the tips of her toes. She saw me looking at her in the mirror. She asked me if I thought she was beautiful.”

I paused.

“Don’t stop now,” said my wife.

“I told her she was very pretty. Then Andrea said, ‘But do you think I’m beautiful? You do think I’m beautiful, don’t you?’ She continued playing with her hair and primping, acting completely natural in front of me although she was wearing just a little pink bath towel that covered very little. I answered her ‘All the boys in school must tell you that.’ ‘They do,’ she said. ‘Even some of the girls like me,’ and she chuckled when she said that, as she kept playing with her hair. She continued pressing me, asking ‘But what about you, Dad?’ ‘Yes Andrea’, I finally answered her, ‘you’re a very beautiful young girl.’ I couldn’t take my eyes off her and she knew it. She kept glancing at my face through the mirror.”

At this point in my story, I paused and stood up. My wife took my hand reassuringly and guided me back onto the bed, next to her.

“Andrea then twirled around to face me. The towel was just barely long enough to cover her genital area. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her and I hated myself for it. She began casually sauntering around the room on the tips of her toes, one leg in front of the other, pausing at the dresser, picking up objects, coming closer and closer. She asked me which part of her I thought was beautiful. She wouldn’t stop talking to me, and in the sultriest tone. It sounded so indecent. ‘Is my face beautiful? Well is it?’ she kept pressing me to answer. ‘And what about my hair?’ she asked. ‘Do you like it?’ I couldn’t answer her. ‘Do you like my thighs?’ she said. ‘Are they beautiful? What about my hips? Are they beautiful too?’ She kept pressing me for an answer and all I could do was watch. She was like a cat playing with a mouse for Christ sakes.”

Now I put my head down into my hands, unable to face my wife. She rubbed my back reassuringly. After a deep sigh, I then turned to her, saying, “Honey, I’m sorry for what I’m about to describe. Every detail is still burned into my memory and it’s so very hard to talk about.”

“Please go on,” she said. I nodded.

“‘You’re my little girl and I’m very proud of the way you’ve grown’, I answered her. Andrea kept slowly coming closer and closer. She finally arrived at the edge of my bed. She smiled down at me and then sat up on the desk just next to me, facing me. Then she unwrapped her towel and tossed it behind her back, asking me if I was sure there wasn’t anything else I liked about her. Now, she was so naked, so casually and completely naked. Then, and it’s so hard for me to go on with this, but she asked me if I liked her...” I looked away from my wife and deeply sighed. She ran her fingers reassuringly behind my neck.

“Honey, it’s all right,” my wife said softly.

“Her genital area. Her pussy. I’m sorry to have to put it into her own words, but that’s exactly what she said. And to her own father. ‘Do you like my pussy, Daddy?’ she said. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful pussy?’ She began raising her legs one at a time in the air, running her hands slowly down each, from her thighs to her ankles, luxuriating in the feelings she produced in her own body as she touched herself before my eyes. She was utterly and completely without shame as she parted her legs, showing me everything between them. Then staring brazenly into my eyes, she followed my gaze to her own genitals and moaned as she began rubbing the mound between her legs, after which she started tapping her vaginal area with a finger, producing the most obscene wet sounds I have ever heard. She threw back her head, saying to me, “Oh God, Daddy, my beautiful pussy feels so good. Don’t you think I’m hot, Daddy?’ I felt so ashamed, so very ashamed at the way I watched. I just couldn’t turn my eyes away, like a man possessed.”

“Well? Then what did you say? What did you do?” said my wife.

“I told Andrea that the word ‘hot’ is not appropriate for a father to use. I said this as I continued staring at her in a daze, like in a waking dream, no longer in control. Then our daughter said, ‘Me and Beth really think you’re hot, Dad. We watched you today out by the pool. We’d really like you to fuck us both. Both at the same time.’ She scooted off the desk and sensually strolled to the telephone on the dresser, looking back at me nonchalantly. She began dialing Beth’s phone number, turning her head to me every few seconds to smile seductively.”

“And you didn’t do anything?” said my wife, bringing me back from the visions of my story.

“That’s why I’m telling you this. I did nothing, because I’ve had this hidden desire for Andrea ever since she became a beautiful young girl. I’ve masturbated over thoughts of her. The sight of her naked body just had me frozen in place.”

“Did you have sex with our daughter?” asked my wife.

“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t. Andrea called Beth on the phone and said to her, ‘My Dad’s here naked in bed and is going to fuck us tonight. Come on over.’ I could tell that Andrea was thrilled each time she used the word ‘fuck’, the way she said it. It sounded so indecent coming out of our daughter’s mouth. Anyway, it was at that point that I summoned the strength to get up from the bed and walk over to her. I grabbed the phone from her hand and slammed down the receiver. With the same hand in which she had held the phone, she reached out to graze my penis as she walked over to the bed, swaying her hips and buttocks provocatively, smiling over her shoulder at me like a whore. At the foot of the bed, she stood facing me, lifting up her long hair and letting it toss down carefree across her shoulders while all I could do was stare. I was staring at her and she was enjoying it! She lay down in the bed, spread-eagle, and raised her legs up in the air. ‘Come fuck me, Daddy’, she said. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, honey, about our daughter and about myself.”

“What happened then?” my wife softly whispered.

“I went over to her. For a moment, I had blood rushing to my head and the heat of passion overtaking my senses. I wanted to sleep with my own daughter, more than anything. I’ve thought about it for years. I sat next to her on the bed. That’s all I did, I just sat. After about a minute, Andrea said, ‘Well, don’t you want to fuck me? It’s a privilege I’ve accorded only to the happy few. I mean I’m not talking romance, Dad’, she said. ‘I have my boyfriend for that. It’s just sex. That’s what the pill’s for.” I told her that fathers and daughters don’t do that. She told me, ‘Where have you been? It’s going on all across America. This is the 90’s’, she said.”

“Did you or did you not have sex with our daughter?” my wife said flatly.

“No. I summoned up the strength to go to the shower. When I came out, Andrea was gone. I mean, she just caught me by surprise. I had no idea our daughter was like this.”

Still lying on the bed, my wife buried her head in her hands. I thought I heard her crying.

“I’m so sorry to have to say this to you, darling,” I said to my wife. “The only reason I mention it is to try to help you. You see, it’s possible to control your urge. Having sex with Andrea would be pleasurable to me. To her as well, apparently. But it wouldn’t be right.”

Suddenly, my wife threw her arms around me and buried her head in my shoulder. I heard her sobbing. In fact, I was shocked by the fact that she was crying to the point of having a nervous seizure. Her head was going up and down on my shoulder and her entire body was violently shaking and convulsing. After a few seconds, I realized that she was actually having a major laughing attack. She fell back onto the bed, nearly strangling with laughter.

“Oh honey, that’s so funny,” my wife said between side-splitting outbursts. “She’s just like me!” After yet another sleepless night, I managed to fall asleep through my alarm. On my way to work, I received a call on my cellular from my secretary, telling me that the Clerk in Department 23 had called. One of my cases was on calendar and about to be dismissed. My secretary apologized for having failed to calendar it. After a harrowing drive through morning traffic I made it just in time to Court. Fortunately, I played golf with the Judge every other Thursday. The rest of the day was no better, but at least it kept me from dwelling on my real misery. Late in the afternoon, I received a call from my wife, who told me she was very excited about something and would talk to me about it when I got home.

That evening, I dragged my weary body into the kitchen where my wife had hooked up the VCR to a small TV set we kept there. “Honey, I’m so excited,” she said. “I’m sorry I bothered you at work but I think I may have an answer to my problem. In fact to both our problems.”

“Darling, I’m willing to listen to just about anything at this point,” I said wearily, pouring myself a Jack Daniels and grabbing a stool at the kitchen counter.

My wife popped a video into the VCR and it started to play. “This is something my friend Melinda gave me this morning. It’s just fabulous. Fabulous.”

On the screen, I saw the blue waters of an ocean, sandy beaches, and a palm-lined drive. A narrator with a suave English accent welcomed the viewer to Eden Isle, a modern-day resort in a small island nation in the Caribbean Ocean. The private road ended in a secured compound with high walls surrounding it. Inside the walls was a very luxurious resort, with swimming pools, gyms, beautiful gardens, stylish apartments, and a private ocean beach. There were also hundreds of people moving about: all of them totally nude. I looked over at my wife a bit askance. She was enraptured.

At this point, Andrea entered the room, quietly sat at the stool next to me at the counter, and also watched the video. I reached out to tap my wife on the shoulder, pointing out to her that her daughter was present. My wife just smiled and waved her hand up and down, indicating that I should stay put.

The narrator said that with the new liberalization policy on the island, such a resort as Eden Isle was now possible. He clearly explained that Eden Isle was the most daring and free resort of its kind in the world. Nowhere else could such organized activities occur in civilized society. He indicated that at Eden Isle, all was possible, each and every fantasy that could be fulfilled. He stressed the fact that Eden Isle was definitely not a nudist resort nor a naturist resort. It was a sex resort. As he put it, a ‘brave new world of fulfilling pleasure to greet the new century’.

He said that the only limits were those of age and violence. The youngest age accepted was twelve years old and sex had to be consensual. He indicated that one of the most popular activities in the resort was incest. ‘The opportunity for a free and recreational environment for incest has given Eden Isle a world following among an elite and discriminating class of guest’, he said. He stressed that not only was incest allowed, but that it was highly encouraged and fostered.

It was here that I began feeling very warm all over. In fact, I was starting to break out in a sweat. I worked up the nerve to look to my right at my beautiful daughter Andrea. She was looking at me out of the corner of her eye from the fringe of wavy blonde hair at the edge of her soft face. Our eyes met and locked for a moment.

There was no overt sexual activity depicted in the tape itself. There was however image after image of men and young girls, completely naked, holding hands as they walked, waist deep in the surf as they waded into the sea, or looking wistfully into each other’s eyes in extreme close-ups. There were also beautiful women everywhere, obviously lesbian or bi-sexual, also walking hand-in-hand, nakedly hugging and kissing, or lying nude on the same blanket at the beach. I looked over at my wife who was in a daze; as was I.

Finally, the announcer indicated that Eden Isle was high-priced but that it was everything promised and ‘oh much more’. The announcer also indicated that an application had to be made for entry, along with a video tape of the applying guests to determine if they met their high standards of physical appearance. He also stressed that all identities of guests were kept in the strictest confidence.

The tape ended and the TV screen went to static, but my wife kept watching, unmoving, as though having an out-of-body experience. Finally, she turned to us. “Well. Certainly something you don’t see on the 10:00 o’clock news,” she said, finally turning off the set. “What do you think?” Neither myself nor my daughter uttered a word. “Surely you two have something to say? Don’t you get it?” my wife said. “This is the answer. We can all be together as a family. No swing parties. You and Andrea can be together and I can do my thing.”

“This sounds like one big swing party. Just what are you suggesting?” I said. Andrea was giggling and I turned to watch her red face. It was flushed with a teenage girl’s nervous sexual delight.

“What I’m suggesting,” continued my beautiful wife, “is that we do this twice a year. If we can all get away, it will cure my problem. I just know it will.”

“Honey, the very opposite is true.”

“Don’t you understand? You two want more than anything to be together. I know it. I had a talk with Andrea this afternoon. She’s had the ‘hots’ for you for the longest time. You’ve had this fixation about her. You two can be together. You can finally ‘do it’. What do you think about it Andrea?”

“Well, summer vacation is almost here. I promised Tad to go up to the mountains with him and his parents,” my daughter said.

“You’d rather go somewhere with your boyfriend?” said my wife.

“No. This makes it different. This makes it really different.” She smiled broadly. “I’ll go call him right now and let him know I can’t go.” With that, she hurried off her stool to her bedroom down the hall.

My wife now turned to me. “Still nothing to say?” I just shook my head, wiping the perspiration from my brow. “Honey, you don’t have to say a thing,” she told me. “I’ll get our video camera and we can send in our application right away. But can you get the time off from work?” I made croaking sounds in my throat, unable to get out the words. “What, honey? I didn’t hear you,” said my wife.

“I’ll manage something,” I stammered.

My wife shook her head at me, smiling. “You can’t stop thinking about her, can you?” said my wife. I just shook my head and then buried it in my hands. “Honey, I don’t know why you don’t just take Andrea back into the bedroom right now. But if this is what it takes then I may just be able to teach you something for a change,” said my wife. I looked up at her soberly. “Acting on your urges can be fun,” she said.

“Incest is wrong,” I told her.

“Why is it wrong?” she said. “Do you know why it used to be wrong? Because of pregnancy. The pill changed all that.”

“But it’s sex,” I said. “Is sex wrong?” she retorted. “Is it wrong with me?”

“You’re my wife.”

“And Andrea is your daughter. If your hand touches her hand is that wrong?” I shook my head ‘no’. “Then why is it wrong if your penis touches her vagina? You can’t get her pregnant. You can only get her hot. She’s having sex anyway. With her seventeen year old boyfriend.”

“It just doesn’t seem right,” I said.

“You’re right. It’s dirty. It’s nasty. It’s forbidden lust. And it’s oh so beautiful, honey. Letting her break the taboo with you will only heighten your daughter’s pleasure. But will it hurt her? And will you love her less as your daughter?”

Looking down at the floor, I softly whispered “no”.

Andrea came back into the room. “Okay, it’s all set,” she said.

“Oh, and one more thing,” said my wife. It’s a one week stay. You get Andrea for six days. I get her for the seventh. Is that fair?”

Andrea put her hands on her hips. “Mom, I’ve only done it a couple of times with a girl. Just kissing and touching, mainly. I don’t really like it that much. Unless there’s a guy there too.”

“Believe me, honey,” said my wife. “You’ll like it. You’ll really like it.”

I looked down again at my feet as I said, “I just can’t believe we’re having this conversation. What’s happened to my better judgement.”

“Honey,” said my wife. “Life’s too short to take so seriously. Sex is so much fun. And this is a chance for a once in a lifetime thrill. Take it.”

Three weeks went by. Sometimes it seemed as though I had dreamt the entire story about Eden Isle, another one of my highly immoral and secret fantasies about my daughter. During this time, there was barely a word said between Andrea and myself. She hardly even looked at me and I wondered if perhaps she had changed her mind, feeling both relief and disappointment together. Finally, we received a long distance call telling us we had been accepted, giving us an admission date, and requesting an immediate monetary wire transfer to a private account in a Swiss bank. The price for a one week stay for three people at Eden Isle was astronomical. Fortunately, money was no longer a problem in my life. Time however was. I had to hand over my cases to a colleague, offering a very sweet cut in any attorney fees earned during my absence.

On a sunny Friday morning in the middle of June, Andrea, my wife, and myself took a taxi to the airport and boarded a plane headed for Nassau, from where we would take a connected flight out over the blue Caribbean.

On the flight to the Bahamas, all three of us sat in the same row, with Andrea in the middle. I noticed her holding her mother’s hand. I also noted that during the six-hour trip, Andrea left her seat to go to the restroom at least five times, staying approximately fifteen minutes each time. When she came back to her seat on the final time, we locked eyes as she sat back down next to me. She slyly smiled at me from the edge of her beautiful face, flashing her pretty white teeth, and quickly cupped her hand to my ear, pressing the softness of her pink lipsticked lips to my flesh as she hotly whispered: “I just can’t wait for you to fuck me Daddy.” Then she closed her eyes contentedly as though going to sleep.

When the second portion of our flight finally made it to its destination, a sleek black chauffeured limousine was waiting at the small airport. It carried us across several miles of lush tropical terrain, resembling the panorama we had seen in my wife’s video tape. Andrea pointed out blue and red exotic birds in the trees. The richly verdant and luxuriant setting, even the fragrant sweetness of the air, seemed to be made for seduction. When I turned to my left where Andrea and her mother were sitting, I saw them kiss each other lightly on the lips. My wife’s hand was on the rich creamy flesh of Andrea’s inner thigh, just below the limit of her brief denim shorts. I suddenly felt a very warm feeling of arousal rush to my head.