Into the Red Zone

The film is on the grainy side and there isn't much sound. But Glenn Horvath has no doubt what he's watching; namely, Marissa Martin and her dad Jim having sex in a hotel room. How disgusting, how awful, how disgustingly awful. And he can't get enough of it!

Jim and Marissa are "performing" on Family Relations XXX, Glenn's favorite porn site, one among the many he watches when wife Amber and daughter Kelly aren't home. The Horvaths have a son also, Brody, but he's now got his own place. How the fuck did Marissa and Jim end up on Family Relations XXX? Glenn would sure like to know. The site is mostly role play, actors pretending to be related. Allegedly, a few are the real deal, but FR watchers can't know for sure, not unless they take the actors' DNA or know them personally.

In all the years he's been watching porn, Glenn's never recognized anyone, not sure he could even if he tripped over one of these characters. Glenn hardly knows the Martins. They live around the corner in Pleasant Plains, a suburban, middle class neighborhood where things like this don't go on, aren't even mentioned except maybe in locker rooms or in the bowels of dark hovels, and then only in whispers and chuckling asides. A few months back, Glenn had heard that Brenda Horvath, Jim's wife, had moved out, leaving just Jim and Marissa alone in the two-thousand square foot split-level. Glenn surmises that what he's witnessing might have had something to do with the family's breakup. He does know that if the Pleasant Plains Neighborhood Association ever found out, they might be forced to move as well.

Glenn shakes his head, still trying to process what he's seeing. And what he's seeing is "so hot, so fucking hot!" he cries. He's plopped in his desk chair, shorts and underwear pulled down below his knees, his hand stroking his cock, savoring every moment. Even if he didn't know them, he might guess that Jim and Marissa were a real father and daughter couple. They have matching body types. Both are on the burly side, not fat but husky and solid, with big legs and butt. Their coloring is another giveaway. Both are dirty blond, Jim with his close-cropped haircut (no part), Marissa with her hair tied back in a thick ponytail that drops below her shoulders when flipped in back, then to her smallish boobs when flipped in front. A TV that sits on a wood shelf in a corner near the ceiling plays with the sound turned down. Glenn can't make out what's on the screen, but thinks it might be some porn show they watched to get things going.

Jim is lying on one of the double beds, hands folded behind his head, while Marissa is on her knees, giving him an intense blow job. She's working fast, head bobbing, ponytail swinging. Jim lays there as if he's relaxing on a hammock on a summer day. With his earbuds in, Glenn can just make out his moaning, soft, almost imperceptible but it's there and it adds to Glenn's excitement. Moments later, when Marissa pulls away, Glenn can see that Jim is fully erect, taking note of his penis. It's of "average" size, he reckons, though he can picture big, swaggering Jim bragging how well hung he is. Average or not, Marissa seems to be enjoying it. She's face-down on the bed, wide butt in the air, while Jim does her from behind. The sounds of Jim's loins banging against her butt, in addition to the butt slaps he delivers while pulling on her ponytail, reminds Glenn of firecrackers going off. "Give it to me, daddy, give it to me!" Marissa cries.

Then they change positions. Marissa, on dad's lap, facing away from him, works her pleasantly plump bod on his cock, while Jim sits on the edge of the bed, holding his hands over her boobs. Marissa alternates her position on her dad's lap, from sitting straight up to reclining against Jim's chest. Less than a minute later, Jim again does her from behind, only this time standing up, with Marissa bent over, far enough to where she could touch her toes if she wanted to. The video ends with dad and daughter in missionary—Marissa on her back, legs spread wide apart; Jim on top, fucking her hard, pile-driving his pelvis in battering ram style. "Oh daddy, yes, yes, I just love the way you fuck me!" Marissa cries. Then there's the loud, staccato slapping of their bodies. Smacksmacksmacksmack... Jim announces his climax with a loud grunt, then pulls out and spills his cum on her belly.

Glenn's too worked up to hit replay. He shoots his load just seconds after watching Jim shoot his. Wow! That was one of the hottest fucking videos he's ever seen. But how the hell did Jim and Marissa Martin end up on Family Relations XXX? He still finds it hard to believe. Should he confront them and ask? He ponders that while cleaning up.

*****

Family Relations XXX works like many other porn sites in that they get their material from folks who send it in—the amateurs who make their own videos and contributions from people with film from studio-made movies from defunct web sites. "Blame the perverts of the world, not us," their intro reads. There's a story behind all the real couples, stories hidden from FR viewers. Some of them, like Glenn, would love to know the why and wherefore, what goes on behind the camera, what possessed them to indulge in incestuous relationships in the first place.

In the Martin's case, it was partly because of a bond formed through their shared love of rugby. Both had played in college, then continued playing. Jim didn't quit until his mid-forties following an ACL tear. His athleticism had always been an inspiration to Marissa. Her body is a feminine version of his, thick legs and waist, broad shoulders, light complexion. Marissa's cute, not beautiful. A Playboy centerfold she isn't. A cover girl for Outside Magazine she could be. And Jim? No matinée idol he. You've heard of ruggedly handsome. He's ruggedly rough looking, with a nose slightly askew from breaking it once during a rugby game and a few facial scars left over from when he had acne as a kid. He's a burly five-foot ten, about three inches taller than his princess.

Daughters inspired by their dad's athleticism don't normally end up in bed with said dads. Of course, the reverse is also true: dads who mentor their daughters don't wish to screw them, however hot looking their offspring might be. So what happened with Jim and Marissa Martin?

Nothing overt through most of Marissa's teen years. They were what you'd call a "normal" family, at least on the surface. Jim was always closer to his daughter than his son Rusty, mainly because Rusty wasn't much for athletics. He'd be more interested in watching sports than playing them, where Marissa did both. "Marissa's more man than you'll ever be," a frustrated Jim said more than once to his non-athletic son. The two clashed, sometimes joined by Brenda who jumped in to protect Rusty against Jim's barbs. Both Jim and Brenda were relieved when Rusty got an apartment with two of his friends.

Jim and Marissa got closer when she took up rugby and closer still after he began mentoring her. Their sexual intimacy began with "innocent" flirtations. Innocent is used in quotes here because no flirtation is really innocent. It might go no further than that, but there's something genuine behind the flirting, feelings, inappropriate feelings when it happens between relatives.

Marissa was dialed into Jim's sense of humor, the ribald jokes he told her and she told back, jokes that would turn most women off. Most women. Not Marissa. One thing led to another, as the cliché goes, and one true enough for this dad and daughter.

The First Thing that opened the door to subsequent things occurred on a Saturday afternoon. Rusty and Brenda were out. Marissa, in her bedroom with the door open, was changing out of her rugby uniform, a pink and black stripped jersey and black shorts. Jim, fully dressed in an old pair of corduroys and sweat shirt, his "lawn chores" outfit, came out into the hall. He was on his way downstairs and normally would have kept going. Instead, he stopped in his tracks. Marissa, in the process of stepping out of her shorts, said, "Oh, hi, daddy," followed by a giggle. She then stood up, smiling as she watched him stand there, gawking like a horny, hormone-raging middle-schooler seeing a naked girl for the first time. "Dad, you look as if you've never seen me in panties and bra before."

Jim wiped his beefy, callused hand over his mouth, looked her up and down. Regaining his composure, he said, "Well, I kind of am. You were much younger the last time I saw you in your underwear, not yet developed."

She dropped her sweaty uniform on the floor, placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. "I hope you're not uncomfortable, cause I'm sure not."

He grinned and scratched the back of his thick neck. "Marissa, did you leave your door open on purpose? Most girls would have their door closed, if not locked, with a man in the house."

She pursed her thin lips and shifted her weight from her right leg to her left. "Most girls would, I guess. But I'm not like most girls. And, let's be honest here, you're not like most dads."

He stepped forward and leaned against the doorpost, with his right arm above his head. "In what way am I not like most dads?"

Marissa sat down on the edge of her bed, crossed her legs and folded her hands over her knee. "Come on, dad, we both know there's been this weird, suggestive vibe between us for a while now. We tell each other these sexy jokes to cover our feelings, to perhaps keep us from acting them out. You find me hot. I know that. Most girls would find that disgusting. For me, though, it's a turn-on."

He stared at her for a few seconds, nodding. "Are you ready to act them out?"

She giggled. "Kind of. Are you?"

He stood up, then pulled his work gloves from his rear pocket. "Look, I've got work to do. We'll continue this later."

*****

So that was the First Thing—a mutual acknowledgment that something rare and strange, if not wonderful, was happening with them. Their "vibe" created a tension between them that took the form of furtive glances and sexual innuendos, in addition the ribald jokes. In passing, Marissa would say things like, "I'm ready when you are" and "I'd love to scrummage with you." 'It's nothing' was their pat line when questioned by Brenda.

A few weeks after that seminal Saturday, Jim knew he was fooling himself by thinking he could resist indefinitely what Marissa was apparently suggesting. Even though he was pushing fifty, his sex drive was through the roof. He had outlets—occasional sex with Brenda and masturbation (to incest porn mostly). But his final thoughts before he climaxed were doing it with his luscious Marissa.

He made his move on another Saturday when the two of them were alone in the house. They were on the sofa, watching football together. He was in shorts and a T-shirt. Marissa wore shorts also, but hers were tight and pulled up to the top of her smooth, curvy thighs. "So, it appears that you might finally be ready," she said when Jim began rubbing her legs. They began to smooch. Then, the next thing he knew, she was on his lap, dry humping on his rising cock and belting out phrases like, "Ohmygod, dad, I'm so fucking wet."

Moments later, she was on her knees, pulling off his shorts and underwear, and then wedged between his legs, giving him one terrific blow job. He held one hand on her head as if it were a ball he was bouncing on his lap. He watched her head bob, her ponytail swing, making no sound save for an occasional moan—not the high-pitched moan of a woman but the moan of the sort of man he was, rough around the edges, even gruff at times. As Glenn would note later, his penis wasn't particularly long or thick, even when erect. After a few minutes of Marissa's handiwork, he was erect to the point where it curved slightly, not unlike a banana, a smallish banana.

Marissa looked up. "Ready dad, ready?"

"Honey, I've been ready," he said. "Off with those shorts and panties, girl."

"Actually, I'm not wearing panties," she chuckled. She then complied with his "order," hopped on his lap and went to town. "Yes, dad, yes! Ohmygod, you feel so good inside me. We're scrummaging!" she shrieked. She threw off her blue pull-over blouse, giving Jim an eyeful of her "boobies," as she called her smallish breasts. Jim didn't seem to mind, not by his actions, his hands fondling, his tongue licking, his mouth sucking.

Jim was so caught up in the excitement of the moment that pregnancy never entered his mind until after he climaxed. "Not to worry, dad, I'm covered," Marissa said when he brought it up. Her assurance left him free to indulge once more that day, the second time with him on top and Marissa lying spread-eagle on the sofa. She fondly called him the "thunder thruster" for the rough way he fucked her, pile-driving his loins into hers that produced a loud smack when they met. "There's no way we could do this with mom and Rusty home, even in the basement," she joked. "They'd hear us all the way upstairs."

*****

As noted, one thing led to another. Their incestuous fun took off from there, though they were discreet enough not to indulge unless they were alone. A couple months after their first time, Jim came up with the idea of filming them, then sending it in to Family Relations XXX. Marissa was hesitant at first. "What if people who know us see it?" she asked.

To quell her concerns, Jim scrolled to the FR site and asked if she'd be able to identify any of those characters out in public. "Seriously, honey, would you recognize any of them on the street?"

"Maybe not," she said, "but maybe if I knew them, if I saw them often enough."

"Besides me, do you know anyone else who watches this stuff?" She shook her head. "And even if you did, they'd be too embarrassed to admit it. My guy friends all watch porn but we never reveal what sites we're on, what exactly it is we watch."

Marissa gave in, and so one day when she and Jim found the time and privacy, they ensconced themselves in a motel room just outside Ocean City. Jim set up his camera and turned on the TV just for background noise. What became the video that ended up on FR, the same video later seen by Glenn Horvath and most likely thousands more, was made in this cheap, non-descript place offering only basic amenities, including paintings on the wall that looked as if they came from a 1950s paint by the numbers set.

No matter, it gave Jim and Marissa the time and freedom to film what they had been doing at home for weeks. What the video didn't show, before Jim turned on the camera, was the tender, loving way he treated Marissa before things got down and dirty, smothering her with kisses and undressing her, one garment at a time. Marissa's "preliminary" actions weren't on the video either. While Jim sat on a bed, Marissa made like a striptease artist, hitting a variety of poses. In one, she spread her legs, zipped a finger over her shaved pussy and then licked it. In another, she bent over and wiggled her big butt in Jim's face. In still another, she lay on the carpeted floor doing stretching exercises (not unlike a gymnast before a competition), showing off her large, shapely thighs and calves, the latter tapered to thick ankles. Had the sound quality been better, viewers would have heard Jim telling Marissa how great she smelled and how much he loved her, with Marissa voicing like terms of endearment.

For all Brenda knew (Rusty had moved out before they shot the video), Jim and Marissa did nothing more than spend quality father-daughter time at the beach for a few hours (Jim kept his camera in the car's trunk until it was "safe" to bring it in the house). Never mind that neither of them looked as if they had been at the beach. It added to Brenda's suspicions. The marriage deteriorated; months later, Brenda moved out and filed for divorce.

*****

Which brings us back to Glenn Horvath. He knows that Jim's wife moved out, just not exactly why. He also suspects that Marissa and Jim are the people in what has become Glenn's favorite incest video. He's excited about confirming his suspicions. How would he do that? Well, he could approach either Marissa or Jim, open himself up to embarrassment. What Jim had told Marissa was correct: most people would be loath to admit enjoying incest videos. Of course, people who "star" in those videos have no room to moralize. Then there's what Jim might do if Glenn approached either him or his daughter. Glenn, bald, in his late forties, isn't a big guy. Soaking wet, he weighs around one-forty at a height of five-eight. He's not a fighter either; he imagines that Jim could make mincemeat out of him if it came to that.

Still, he can't resist. On a late hot and humid Sunday morning, he sees Marissa attired in a white bikini, washing the Ford SUV, one of two vehicles that Glenn has seen parked in the Martin's driveway. Her body looks familiar as it should for as many times as he's seen the video. He sees her from a block away, bending and stooping, soaping up the Ford, then spraying with a garden hose. He loves the way she bends over, and the way he can see the crack in her wide booty when she stoops down to wash the fender wells. She's let her thick, dirty-blond hair down, too; no ponytail this time. He wouldn't mind doing her himself. He finds her sexy in a raunchy kind of way, bets her big, strong legs would feel like a giant vice wrapped around his small waist. She's got a nice tan to boot from sunbathing in her backyard. Look at that skin—smooth and golden and with a scent he can only imagine. Yum.

He can sort of see why Jim was so turned on. Sort of, because Glenn, like most men who watch incest material, have no desire to screw their own daughters. In fact, the very thought is repulsive to many of them. Yet watching people like Jim and Marissa doing it is another matter; they find it irresistibly exciting.

It's one of the many strange incongruities of human sexuality, Glenn thinks, when he notices Marissa catching him looking at her. She smiles and waves. He waves back. She seems friendly enough, appears in a good mood. In his khaki shorts, plain white t-shirt and flip-flops, he takes a tentative step forward. Then another step and a step after that. Now he's halfway across the street. She stands, sponge in hand and smiles. "Hi."

"Hi. I'm Glenn Horvath, your neighbor."

She chuckles. "Yes, I know. What's going on?"

He fidgets, sticks his hands in and out of his pockets. "Going to be a hot one today, huh?"

She nods. "No kidding. I'm dripping with sweat already." She grabs the hose and squirts her chest. Then, playfully, she points the nozzle at Glenn "Want some?"

He grins, sticks his arm out. "Ah, no thanks. I just came over to ask you something."

"Sure." She puts the hose down, stands by the Ford, her small mouth slightly ajar.

Nervously, he looks around as if to check for eavesdroppers. "Well, it's kind of personal and I hope you won't become offended. By the way, is your dad around?"

She narrows her almond shaped, hazel eyes. "He's inside, why?"

"No reason, other than it might involve him also."

"Want me to get him?"

He feels a chill shoot down his back. "No no, that won't be necessary." He's trying not to gawk, but it isn't easy while standing in front of this virtually naked young lady, she with the golden tan and luscious body, she with the skills to do wonderful things to please.

She blows out a deep breath and slaps the soapy sponge on the hood. "So, you had a question? Don't be shy, Mr. Horvath, I'm not easily offended. Well, at least about most things." She grins.

He senses she's getting impatient. "Yes, well, like I said, it might involve your dad as well, and it's in regard to a certain video that you two may or may not have made and then released on the web."