Sleepwalking (part 1)

‘Sometimes I think about how odd it would be to catch a glimpse of the future, a quick view of events lying in store for us at some undisclosed date. Suppose we could peer through a tiny peephole in Time and chance upon a flash of what was coming up in the years ahead? Some moments we saw would make no sense at all and some, I suspect, would frighten us beyond endurance. If we knew what was looming, we’d avoid certain choices, select option B instead of A at the fork of the road.’

These words, the beginning lines of ’N is for Noose’, a novel by one of my all-time favorite author Sue Grafton, describe the thoughts that have clouded my mind better than any other could have. Yet, even if I *had* foreseen the things that happened to me in the past few days, I wouldn’t have chosen ‘option B’... not for a million in gold.

My name is Kelly Newquist, and I’m seventeen. I live with my 41 year old father Tom in a nice house on the outskirts of a small town. My mom died in a car crash when I was 4, so I only have a vague recollection of her. My dad never re-married, though he did date a co-worker for a while and sometimes even spent the night with her. I guess it just never worked out for them. He’s not bad looking or anything, far from it, and I know some of the local ladies would have considered him a highly prized catch, if only they weren’t married already. Anyway, this story is about me and my father and the things that happened last weekend. A weekend that would have gone by like any other, if it weren’t for my school-friend Joan...

Before I tell you all about it, you have to know my father has a benign medical condition, namely somnambulism a.k.a. sleepwalking. Apparently about 10 percent of all humans has sleepwalked at least once in their life, mostly in their childhood, but my father still does it quite regularly. According to my grandmother, it all started when my dad was about 6 years old, and I’m told the annual family reunions haven’t been the same since: his subconscious adventures are the source of many funny (as well as some not so funny) family sagas. I’m sure these stories grew taller over the years, for I myself haven’t seen a lot more of it with my own eyes than the occasional nocturnal walkabout in the kitchen, the bathroom and back again. And only then I can tell he’s been sleepwalking when he leaves the toilet seat down while he’s peeing - he’d never do that when he’s awake - and I have to clean up after him when I need to go and want to sit dry. At first, I felt a bit uncomfortable to wipe off my fathers piss, but somehow I grew accustomed to it. Well, he’s my dad, and I love him more than anything. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and I don’t want him to feel embarrassed in the morning. That’s why nowadays, whenever I hear him at night, I follow him downstairs to clean up after him, even if I don’t need to go to the bathroom myself.

Last weekend my friend Joan slept over. We went to bed rather early, just so we could spend some time talking girly stuff. It must have been about 1 AM. when I heard my father leave his room, which is next to mine. Without thinking I got up to go after him.

‘What are you doing?’, Joan asked.
Realizing she didn’t know about my father’s condition, but not willing to tell her about it I said ‘Oh nothing, just some odd job. I’ll be right back’ and went out of my room.

When I got downstairs, my dad, wearing nothing but a boxer short, was in the kitchen fiddling about some stuff, obviously not awake. He hadn’t been to the bathroom yet, so I decided to wait for him to finish, before going back up.
I took a good look at him. My dad’s well built, and normally his motions are self-confident. A sleepwalker’s stride though is a lot like that of a blind person: although he knows what’s in his path, he still seems a bit hesitant about it. Knowing my father isn’t blind, this looks quite funny, and I enjoy watching him in this absent-minded state. The walk from the kitchen to the bathroom passes two doorsteps, and seeing him overcome these hurdles is hilarious. I could hardly manage to smother my laughter.

Just as my father had taken the second one, the bathroom one, I heard Joan sneak up behind me. ‘What’s so funny?’

Obviously she had come down, and now I had to tell her about my father and all. So I turned towards her, and said as plainly as I could ‘It’s my dad, he’s sleepwalking’. Although this was news to her, I didn’t think it would have a major impact, so I was a bit surprised to see her jaw almost drop to the floor. But it wasn’t what I just said that made her pant for breath, Joan looked right past me and her eyes were glued to the bathroom. ‘My God...’ she stammered.

I turned back and saw the bathroom door wide open, and through it my father, in full view, taking a piss. But what was even more shocking, his spout was way off target, spraying the floor and the walls, hitting the inside of the bowl only by accident. It was a mess and it didn’t seem to bother him at all. After he finished, he simply pulled up his shorts and walked past us towards the stairs to go back up.

I was embarrassed. I looked at Joan, but she didn’t seem to be that shocked. She smiled at me and said ‘Come on, we can’t leave it like this until the morning. Can you get some cloths?’.

When I got back from the kitchen, Joan was in the bathroom, kneeled to the floor. ‘When freshly poured it isn’t bad at all, don’t you think?’, she said. ‘What do you mean?’, I asked her, not sure if she meant what I thought she meant.
She did mean what I thought she meant, though. She dipped her finger in one of the small puddles on the floor, smelled it, and then held it in front of me. ‘Piss’, she said, ‘especially male piss. It’s kind of musky, rather nice. Here, smell this’. She laughed out loud as I turned away in disgust. She was my friend, but she could be so gross sometimes...

After cleaning up we went back to my room, and I didn’t think anything other of her little display than it being gross. Until later that night...

I must have fallen asleep, for I woke up hearing my father leaving his room again. I got up, and with that I noticed Joan’s bed was empty. When I got downstairs, I saw my father go into the bathroom, and after a few seconds I could hear the sound of him taking a piss. The sound was not like usual, though. It was not the sound of a fluid hitting a hard surface.

I took a peak through the opening of the door, and I froze at what I saw: Joan, sitting on the toilet, naked, being pissed on by my father. She moaned aloud, and was rubbing my fathers juices all over her tits and into her pussy. When the golden flow subsided, she bent forward and took his dick in her mouth, drinking every single drop of piss as if it was a precious liquor. She licked and sucked and milked it with her hands and it didn’t take long before my fathers cock was rock hard; although he seemed to be sound asleep, he was obviously getting aroused by her jerking and sucking his rod. Although at first it seemed odd, I soon was fascinated by the look of my dad being blown by my friend, and I too was getting aroused. Instinctively I began caressing myself, started pinching my nipples and eventually began rubbing my clit. I couldn’t help it, I was watching my father having sex and my cunt was wetter than it had ever been. I closed my eyes thinking of him. I wanted him, I wanted to touch him, I wanted him to touch me, I wanted to take his dick in my hands, in my mouth, in my cunt.

‘Oh yes’. Joan’s cry woke me from my fantasies. She too was franticly rubbing her pussy while licking my fathers cock along the entire shaft... My eyes were glued to her motions as I continued to frenzy my clit, as I started to finger fuck myself to the sound of her getting off, moaning and groaning in her high-pitched voice. I was ever so horny...
‘Would you like to join in?’. That wasn’t Joan’s voice... I looked up, and saw my father looking me straight in the eyes. He couldn’t be more awake.

To be continued...