Chrissy's Little Mistake

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3

Chapter One


I was sitting at the computer, finishing up some work. I turned to look at Chrissy, my seventeen year old daughter and one of the lights of my life. Her brother, Bobby, was the other one. He was in his eighth week of basic training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, in what he called the scenic Ozarks in the one phone call he'd been allowed so far. He said he'd finally found that place everybody talks about where you can't see the forest for the trees. The locals all called it "Fort Lost-in-the-woods."

"What's up, pumpkin?" I asked. She looked worried. In fact, now that I looked at her more closely, she appeared to have been crying. "What's wrong?" I asked, worriedly. Parents always fear the worst for their children and since Marie had left us to "find herself" I was doing double duty in the parent department.

"I think I made a mistake," she said, her voice sounding very young.

"OK," I said. I had images of her having broken something. I just waited for her to go on.

"Please don't hate me, Daddy," she pleaded.

"I might get mad, Chrissy, but you know I could never hate you."

"Maybe you could," she said. A tear ran down one cheek.

"Just tell me, baby," I urged.

Her fists clenched, and then released. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Finally she blurted it out.

"I think I might be pregnant."

As I said, parents always fear the worst. Usually, the 'worst' involves some horrible disease, or drugs, or prison or something that unalterably changes a promising life into something more along the lines of a trial. But this one caught me off guard. I mean I knew she was a vibrant young woman, not gorgeous, but awfully attractive ... in ways a father isn't really supposed to view her. And while there had always been an undercurrent of uneasiness in my thoughts since she'd started looking more like a woman than a girl, I knew she was sensible with boys. We'd had several conversations about boys.

OK, I'd given her several lectures about boys.

But she'd taken them pretty well. I suddenly remembered one such time when her response had been "I know what boys want, Daddy, and I know how to handle them. Don't worry."

Of course I had still worried. I wasn't happy that it turned out I had been justified in that concern.

"You think you might be pregnant," I said. Denial is always the first step.

"I missed my period last month," she said, her voice trembling. "And I'm late again now."

I remembered how Marie had acted when she got pregnant both times.

"Nausea in the morning?" I asked.

She looked at me peculiarly. "No."

"Any vaginal discharge? Are your breasts tender?"

Her cheeks stained red. At least she wasn't crying any more. "Daddy!" she moaned. I raised my eyebrows. "No," she finally said.

"I'll call the doctor," I said.

"No, Daddy! I don't want anybody to know!"

"Sweetheart, believe me, if you're pregnant, in a couple more months everybody's going to be able to tell. This isn't something you can keep secret."

She slumped. "I know. It's just that ..." She trailed off.

I was surprised at the fact that I felt sorry for her ... kind of. I mean it takes two to tango. That led to the realization that she had ... tangoed. I looked at her again, this time with male eyes instead of Daddy eyes. At five-six or seven she looked a little taller because she had the slim body of the cross country runner that she was ... had been. She bought her own clothes, and did her own laundry so I didn't know her sizes, but I estimated her to be maybe thirty-four or a little bigger in the bust. Her breasts rode high on her chest. Standing there in jeans and a T shirt her legs looked long and slim. There was nothing about her appearance that suggested she was with child. Her hair was down now, though she often had it up in a pony tail.

"Who's the father?" I asked, eager to find out who I was going to have to kill.

"I can't tell you," she said. She looked scared again.

"Can't ... or won't?" I didn't want to even think about the possibility that she didn't know, but it was one of the options and couldn't be ignored.

She dithered again and the tears were back. "Won't ... I guess," she said.

"But you know," I said. The inference that she might not know was clear.

She looked surprised and then something like shock or maybe anger flitted across her face.

"I'm not a slut, Daddy!" she yipped.

"Well that's good," I said. I wasn't sure exactly how I felt, to be honest.

"I only did it once," she complained.

"Once is all it takes," I said. "I seem to remember saying that, one time or another."

"I knoooow," she moaned. "It was an accident. Things just got crazy and it just sort of happened."

"I seem to remember telling you about that too," I said tightly.

That's what had happened with Marie and me too, though I hadn't told our children that. When Marie told me she was pregnant I did the right thing, which turned out to be the wrong thing. Marie and I were never really in love. We tried, but you can't force that kind of thing. That brought to mind another question.

"Do you love him?" Yet another question popped into my mind. "Does he love you?" Then I realized both were stupid questions. How would they know? Whoever he was they were both too young to know whether what they felt was really love or simply lust.

"Yes," she said. She said it with that firmness youth have when they think they know what they're talking about. Of course in reality they are probably clueless.

"Well, I guess we'll see about that," I said. "Have you told him?"

"No." Now there was a wary edge in her voice. "Aren't you going to get mad and yell at me?"

"Trust me, pumpkin," I said wearily. "That won't make you un-pregnant." I sighed.

My daughter must have heard something unsaid because she backed up. "I won't get an abortion, Daddy."

I didn't know how to feel about that either. I hadn't even thought of that until she brought it up. I knew I should think about that, but the concept wasn't attractive to me on the face of it. There would be time to think about that later, if need be.

"First, let's find out if you really are pregnant," I said. "We can decide what to do after that."

"I won't get an abortion, Daddy," she said again.

I already knew she'd inherited her mother's gene for stubbornness. I also knew that she had a lot of thinking to do ... whether she was pregnant or not.

We both did.

She was pregnant. The doctor delivered the news in a peculiarly flat and unemotional voice, like he was trying to be as neutral as possible. He looked at Chrissy.

"You're in good health. You'll need to come back for regular checkups, depending on what you decide to do.

"I'm not getting an abortion," she said firmly.

"Tell the nurse I want to see you again in two weeks," said the doctor, without blinking an eye. "She'll have some pamphlets for you about vitamins and exercise and a proper diet. Read them, Chrissy. This is a stressful time in your life and it can affect your health ... and the health of the baby. Your job for the next seven months is to take care of yourself and your baby." He looked her straight in the eye.

"I will," she said, seeming to relax.

It was very quiet on her side of the car as we drove home. Actually, it was pretty quiet on my side too. It was beginning to sink in. I was going to be a grandfather. At thirty-six I was going to be a grandfather. It didn't make me feel any better that I'd actually be thirty-seven when he or she actually made an appearance. I looked over at Chrissy.

"You sure you want to do this?"

She looked back and her eyes glistened.

"Yes, Daddy. I have to have this baby."

"You need to tell the father," I said, wishing I didn't have to say it. I hated the little bastard who had done this to my little girl. I hoped he choked on the next French fry he crammed in is mouth.

"I can't," she said. The tightness was back in her voice. "He can't do anything about it."

I had a horrifying thought. "Don't tell me he's married," I groaned.

"He's not married!" she said quickly.

"Then why can't we tell him?" I moaned. "Help me out here, Chrissy!"

"I can't, Daddy," she said softly. "You have to trust me."

"I have to trust you," I repeated angrily. "Isn't that what I've been doing the last four or five years? I trusted you not to get pregnant, didn't I?"

"Please, Daddy," she said. I could hear sobs building up inside her.

I thought about what the doctor had said. All I was doing was adding to her stress level.

"OK, pumpkin," I said, trying to force myself to relax. "I love you, no matter what happens. We're in this together."

She did cry then, but it was the good kind of crying. I actually felt a little better. Little did I realize how prophetic my words were. I did love her.

And we'd be in it together in ways I had no concept of. Not then, anyway.

It's kind of strange when you're trying to prepare for your whole world to change, but the change comes so slowly. It was different, somehow, than when Marie and I had been waiting for her to give birth. Maybe that's because Marie was supposed to have a baby. In her case, the anticipation was part of the fun.

But Chrissy wasn't supposed to have a baby. Not yet.

So for the first couple of weeks or so there was still some tension between my daughter and me. She took the doctor's instructions both literally and seriously. She checked out books at the library and spent a lot of time on the internet getting educated. She started eating better, which meant I started eating better too.

As a CPA I ran my business from home. I could pretty much work when I wanted to, unless it was tax time. It was July, though, so the crush was over and I could take it easy for a while.

About a week after the doctor's visit she came into my home office again. She was dressed for a run.

"I need somebody to run with me," she said. "Bobby was doing it to get ready for the Army, but now he's gone and I'm tired of running alone. Will you come with me?"

"You're going to run?" I asked skeptically. "In your condition?"

"My condition," She stressed the second word "doesn't prevent me from doing any of the things I'm used to. Not yet. The experts say that you should keep doing the things you normally do, including exercise. You're out of shape, Daddy. You should come with me."

"Why would an old man like me want to publicly embarrass himself by lurching along, gasping for air, looking like I'm chasing after a cute young girl?" I asked.

"I'll take it easy on you," she said. "Come on. I don't want to run by myself. You said we were in this together."

There it was. She was testing me. We still hadn't said more than half a dozen sentences about the fact that she was a woman now, whether she wanted to be or not. My grandchild was developing in that barely pooching belly of hers and she was taking him (I don't know why I decided it was a him, but I did,) along for the ride. And she wanted grandpa along for the ride too.

"Do you know CPR?" I asked, standing up.

She laughed. "You're not that old, Daddy. Or that out of shape."

"Tell it to the coroner," I groused.

I got changed and off we went.

It turned out we were able to "talk" about things while we ran. I suspect that's because she would have had no trouble reciting the Gettysburg address while she ran. I, on the other hand, husbanded every breath. That meant I stayed silent, for the most part. Maybe she knew that would happen.

"I love this baby," she said after the first half mile. She really was taking easy on me, just loafing along while I stretched every ligament in my legs trying to keep pace with her.

"That's good," I huffed.

"And even though I can't tell you about the father, I love him too," she said. "He means almost as much to me as you do."

"Great," That took all the air I had, but it was on the way out of my lungs anyway.

"And I love you for sticking by me, Daddy," she said, looking over at me. "I love you more now than ever before."

"So when ... are you ... going ... to tell ... your mother?" I gasped. That took probably thirty feet to get out, so I left out the part about how her mom, once she got over being furious, would probably help too.

"Don't know," she answered easily. "Did you know she told me not to get married until she was at least fifty."

"Kidding," I gasped.

"Nope," she said. "She said not to make her a grandmother until then."

"Nice." I hoped it sounded as sarcastic as the thought that produced it.

"It's really hard for me to love Mom right now," she said. "She really turned into a bitch."

"Not fair," I panted.

She slowed. "You're kind of red in the face. Let's stop and do some sit-ups."

I wanted to stop. I looked around. We'd gotten exactly six blocks. Half a mile and I was dying. But the thought of all those muscles cradling my grandson jerking around while she did sit-ups was bothersome.

"Sit-ups good?" I said in what would have sounded like pidgin English to a casual observer.

"Would you stop worrying?" she said. "I did my homework. Sit-ups are fine for a long time yet. You're just not supposed to start doing things you never did before."

She picked a grassy area and stopped, lying down and telling me to hold her ankles. I was all for that, because it involved not moving a lot. I got in to position and she started smoothly sitting up and then lowering herself back down in a measured, easy cadence.

Her running shorts were loose.

She wasn't wearing anything under them.

I discovered this when, completely innocently, I glanced at the area of my daughter's body that had so recently, relatively speaking, been trespassed upon. There it was, in all its bare glory. Just looking at those tight closed pussy lips, under a fringe of hair that was decidedly darker than her head hair, you couldn't tell that some little prick's ... well ... prick ... had slid between them, only to spurt a baby into her sweet, young belly. It was good she was counting, because if she'd been talking I wouldn't have heard a thing she said.

I felt bad, staring at my daughter's sexual opening, until I rationalized that it had already been seen by another male, who got a lot closer to it than I was. That brought on completely unwanted visions of her, lying on a bed somewhere, with a faceless guy on top of her, his butt rising and falling.

I had the sudden realization that I hadn't worn anything under my shorts either. I hadn't owned a jock strap since college, and who wears boxers under gym shorts, you know? I had this realization as I felt fresh air caressing my stiff cock. Now when had that happened? The epiphany that I'd gotten hard looking at my own daughter's pussy about laid me low. It was embarrassing, more than anything. I didn't feel like a pervert, exactly. I mean those pussy lips had been involved in having sex! And part of me was just plain male. And she did have a very pretty pussy.

Her hands came off of the back of her head and went down behind her to hold herself up. "Your turn," she said.

I managed to adjust things so that my traitorous penis was lying on my belly as I got into position. During the first three sit-ups it occurred to me that my shorts were kind of loose too, but she was looking at my face, counting for me since I wasn't doing any counting myself. I sat up a grand total of eight times before my stomach muscles rebelled. I didn't go up smoothly either. I sort of lurched up and then flopped back, thumping onto the grass until I couldn't lurch any more.

"You're in terrible shape, Daddy," she scolded me. "We're going to have to do this a lot more."

"I'm not having a baby," I complained.

"True," she said, standing up and staring down at her pitiful father. "But you said we're in this together."

I rolled to my side and staggered up. She grabbed my elbow and helped me.

For the next half mile she ran circles around me. I mean literally. She ran in circles while I ran straight. It was all, "You're doing good, Daddy!" and, "Keep going, Daddy!" and "We're going to get you in good shape, Daddy!" About the time I was ready to snap at her I realized the house was up ahead. She'd taken us around some route she knew.

When we got to the yard she started running in place.

"I'm going to go another couple of miles," she said, still not breathing hard. "You need to get in a hot bath and soak."

"Who's the parent here?" I groused.

"I am," she said promptly. She patted her belly. "Or I will be. I'm just practicing." She grinned at me. "Do what I said. You'll feel better and you won't be as sore."

"Yes Ma'am," I sighed.

Then she was off, and this time she was really running. I'd seen her run during meets, of course, but it was different after having run with her. That girl could run, let me tell you that.

That became the pattern for us. She ran every day, but started me out on an every other day schedule. She ran me until she could see I needed a break and then we did sit-ups, or maybe a few pushups. I felt better when I could do more of those than she could, but I shouldn't have been surprised, really. I had the muscle. I had just let it get all flabby.

I know you're wondering if I kept sneaking peeks at her. OK, I did. She never wore anything under her shorts. And I'm a man, so sue me. I only peeked. It's not like I was doing anything other than looking.

OK, I masturbated when we got home. There. I admit it.

I have to explain something here. I've always been turned on by a pregnant woman. There's something about such women that fires up the part of me that wants to reproduce. And if a woman is pregnant, that is prima facie evidence that she wants to reproduce too. I know it sounds silly, but the only women you can just look at and know have welcomed a man between their legs are the pregnant ones. I suppose you could say that about any mother too, though it's not quite as obvious. At least to me. Maybe that's what fires up all those MILF lovers.

So it wasn't odd that the more Chrissy showed, the more often I ended up with an unwelcome erection. She was so full of joy about her impending motherhood, and she had that glow that you hear about pregnant women having. She was vivacious, and sexy, and before long I no longer blamed whoever the son of a bitch was who knocked her up. I mean if I hadn't been her father I couldn't have resisted her either. Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, that's why I didn't feel so horribly bad about masturbating after seeing my daughter's only-once-but-extremely-well-fucked pussy.

The first burp in the happiness that settled over our household was when Bobby called and gave me the date of his graduation from advanced individual training, at the end of boot camp. He had signed up to be a military policeman, for who knows what reason, and was all gung ho and grown up sounding. He wanted us to come to his graduation.

When I told Chrissy, she wasn't happy.

"I can't go," she said. She looked unhappy for the first time in weeks.

She was then four months pregnant. You could tell if she wore something tight, but in loose clothes she could still pass for un-pregnant.

"You didn't tell Bobby yet, did you," I suggested.

"No, and I can't."

"Why not? He's not going to yell at you any more than I did," I said.

"He's got things on his mind already," she said. "I don't want him worrying about me while he's trying to get through school."

"Why would he worry about you?" I asked. "He knows I'm here taking care of you."

"I just can't tell him, OK?" She sounded angry, but she looked pale. "You don't understand."

"You're afraid he'll go AWOL and come home and go looking for the father," I said. "Now that he's almost an MP maybe you're right."

"Yes," she said. "And he'd get in all kinds of trouble. You go. School's about ready to start. Just tell him that I had to start school and couldn't come."

"His graduation is this Friday. School doesn't start for another week," I pointed out.

"He won't know that," she said. "Just tell him I love him and I'm proud of him."

"OK," I said, with some reserve. "You're going to have to tell him sooner or later, you know."

"I'll deal with that when it happens," she said.

It was amazing how she could be so grown up about all this in some ways, and so much of a little girl in others. But this was part of the deal, and she was right that he'd worry about her.

Chrissy thought she had all the bases covered by swearing me to secrecy. And I kept the secret when I went to possibly the hottest, muggiest place on the face of the earth and watched my son graduate. He graduated with honors, which I didn't understand the significance of, but then I expected him to do well anyway.

It was the change in his physical appearance that was the most shocking. He looked taller somehow, though I knew he couldn't have grown taller in just sixteen weeks. He had the appearance of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors, with tanned skin and sun-bleached hair. He also looked like a young lion, broad-shouldered, confident, ready to take on anything. He was a man now, and it was obvious. What was funny was that he noticed the improvement in my condition.

"Man, Dad," he said when he waded through the crowd of well wishers to where I was standing. "I almost didn't recognize you. What's Chrissy been feeding you? Where is she?" He looked around.

"She had to start school," I lied. "She said I have to tell you she loves you and that she's sorry she couldn't be here. She's also proud of you. She's been making me run with her," I said. "And our diet is better."

"That explains it," he sighed. "I know what it's like trying to keep up with her on a run." He laughed an exuberant, happy laugh. "I can't wait to get home. She's never going to see it coming until I smoke her. I can run ten miles now, and maintain the first eight at six minutes a mile. For once I'm going to leave her in the dust."

"Get home?" I was confused.

"I get leave before I have to report in to my new duty station," he said. "They're sending me to Fort Lewis Washington. I get two weeks off. All I need to do is pick up my gear and you can take me home."

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