The Past in Colorado

Literotic asexstories – The Past in Colorado by jtmalone70,jtmalone70 When I was four years old, my mom died in an automobile accident. I had no brothers or sisters; it was just my dad and I. Both of my grandparents passed away when I was in my early teens. My dad was an only child and my mom had a brother and sister, neither of whom my dad particularly cared for. So, in the end, it was just the two of us.

For as long as I can remember, he taught English Literature, starting out at community colleges and steadily working his way to the university level. On the side, he also wrote extensively.

His job took us all over the country, sometimes living in one place for two or three years, and then packing up to move to another town and another college where he would teach. Throughout it all, I managed to get by well enough, even with the lack of long-term friendships. To be sure, I did have friends, but always in the back of my mind was the prospect of having to pack up and resettle in a new school and start over again. I enjoyed it somewhat, however. I met a lot of people and saw places I probably would otherwise have never visited.

The one constant in my life was my dad. He was always very attentive and knew the moving was hard on me, so we did many things together. And all these years later, I look back and can see just what a wonderful father he was.

Right after my mom died, I spent a lot of time sleeping in their bed. Soon it became a regular habit and lasted until I was about twelve years old. I was entering my teen years and spent more time in my own bedroom, chatting with what few friends I had on the phone, talking about boys, movies, and all the nonsensical things teenage girls enjoy gabbing about.

When my dad wasn’t at school, he was tucked away in his study in front of his typewriter, and then later his computer, spending many long hours writing and editing. I’d sometimes come in and pester him; just sitting on the floor talking about how my day went and asking him about his. He’d type away, lean in and stare at whatever he was working on, smile and nod, and ask me questions. I knew I was being a bother, but he never said anything otherwise. He seemed to enjoy the company, even if it was a distraction.

***

I had my first date with a boy when I was fourteen. I was very excited that evening, running around the house, frantically getting myself ready. My dad would follow me around, trying to keep me calm, but never quite succeeding. And when my young suitor arrived, he walked me downtown to the movie theater – neither of us old enough to drive. On the way home that night, he gave me my first kiss. It was a romantic Saturday evening in May, and I had goose bumps the entire way home.

I told my dad all about my date when I got home, and he was nearly as happy as myself. When I explained how the young man had kissed me, he tilted his head down and gave me a stern expression, although the smile growing on his face betrayed his thoughts. He was genuinely happy for me. But I could sense he was perhaps a little sad, too. His little girl was growing up.

That night lying in bed, I searched my mind, trying to recall every detail of my date. I recalled the expression my dad gave me when I told him about that first kiss. There was just a hint of disappointment, when I gleefully exclaimed how I was becoming a woman before his very eyes. And then I thought about how he never dated. I’d never put too much consideration into it before, but now that I was beginning to date, I wondered why he didn’t. I thought it might be because of my mom. Although I only have vague memories of her, I still have pictures; of her and me, her and Dad at their wedding, the both of them together in college. She was a beautiful woman and, going by how highly my dad spoke of her, she must have been a wonderful person. So growing up, I tried to be just as good for my dad, as she was for him. I did everything for him, as my age would allow; making dinner, keeping the house neat and orderly, and doing the laundry. It was hard enough being a single parent, let alone one with a fulltime job, so I did my part to make life at home easier for him.

When I had my second date with this same boy a week later, I felt a twinge of regret at leaving my dad home alone. In fact, as the night wore on, I found myself wanting more and more to be at home with him. And by the end of the evening, I couldn’t get in the house quick enough. I ran to my dad’s study and burst in, while he sat his desk, working on a manuscript. He turned to me with a big smile, as I grinned, standing in the doorway breathing hard. Then he turned off his computer, stood, and walked me out to the kitchen where he got us two bowls of ice cream and asked me all about my evening.

That night, when we went to bed, I was standing in my room about to crawl under the covers. I paused, and then walked out of my room and over to Dad’s, knocking softly on his door.

“C’mon in,” he said.

I opened the door and found him sitting up in bed reading. He put a hand in his book and closed it, smiling at me.

“What’s up?” he asked.

I stepped in and asked if I could sleep in his bed. It had been quite a while since I had and seemed to take him by surprise, but he nodded and pulled back the covers. I grinned and hopped in next to him, and we sat there for a moment, both of us silent, and me grinning from ear to ear.

“Whatcha readin’?” I asked.

“Oh, uh…” Then he held up the cover so I could see it. “Probably something you’d find boring,” he said.

I craned my neck to get a closer look, and then curled my lip.

“Yeah, probably,” I replied.

I sat there under the covers with my hands on my lap, not quite sure what to say, but happy all the same to be there with him. He finally glanced at me, saying, “So, uh… you mind if I…?” And he held up his book.

“Nah, go ahead,” I chirped.

He gave me a warm smile and opened his book.

From that night on, not every night, but on occasion, I asked if I could sleep in his bed. I’d done it for most of my life and, in a manner, missed the closeness. And now, in my naive way of looking at it, I was doing it because I didn’t want him to be lonely.

***

We moved two more times, before I finally graduated from high school. During those years, I managed to become a cheerleader. My dad wasn’t much of a sports person, but he went to every game I was at. That is, every match – wrestling match. I was a cheerleader for the wrestling team at the school where I first became a cheerleader. It was during my freshman year and most of my sophomore. And then, of course, we moved again. But during my junior and senior year, I was able to become a football cheerleader.

Even though I knew it was torture for him, my dad showed up to the games when he could. Sometimes he’d have work to do, papers to grade, something going on that would prevent him from coming. But, nine times out of ten, he was there in the stands.

It was during my senior year, not long after I turned eighteen, that my dad had his first date since my mom’s passing. He was at a home football game, just to come see me cheer, and some of the girls sitting on the bench with me saw me waving to him. They asked if he was my dad, and I nodded happily and gave him another wave. One of the girls remarked that he was attractive and another added the same sentiment. In a word, they referred to him as “hot!” I guess in the back of my mind, I’d always considered him handsome. And as I sat on the bench, everyone around me chattering loudly, yelling out words of encouragement to our team, I thought about what they’d said about him. I slowly turned and looked up in the stands. He saw me and smiled, giving me a little wave, and I grinned sheepishly and smiled back, then quickly turned away.

That was the first time I ever consciously thought of him in terms of his sexuality. I couldn’t bring myself to refer to him as “hot”, though he was certainly handsome. But I also knew I shouldn’t be thinking about my own father like that. Still… I had to force myself not to turn and have another look. He may not have cared for sports, but he did take care of himself. He worked out in our garage all the time; as far back as I can remember. He jogged, had a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do, and even fenced in college.

While I was thinking of him, someone shook my shoulder, bringing me out of my trance. It was one of the girls sitting next to me. The game had ended and everyone was walking off the field. Apparently we had lost. As we left the stadium, one of the girls asked if my dad was single. I laughed, saying something about how he was probably too old for her. She giggled, replying that her mom was single and she thought maybe he could ask her out. I considered it for a moment and thought it wasn’t a bad idea, so she and I quickly arranged for them to meet in the parking lot, under the pretense of discussing our next cheerleading practice.

I practically had to drag him with me to see my friend and her mom. He kept asking why it was so important and, when we were standing by their car, he figured it out. My friend and I introduced them, and then made an excuse to stand a few feet away, forcing our parents to converse, if only briefly. A few minutes later, we returned. They finished chatting, and my dad gently shook her mom’s hand, and then we went to our car and drove home.

“So, what’d ya think?” I asked happily – perhaps too happily.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and smirked.

“About the game, your cheering… or Janice?”

I furled my eyebrows. “Who’s Janice?”

My dad chuckled, replying, “Your friend’s mom, ya doof. It was a little obvious what you two were up to back there.”

Rather embarrassed, I tried not to grin and said, “Sooo… what’d ya think of her?”

He laughed again. “What’d I think? I think you need to be a little more subtle, that’s what I think.”

I reached over and poked his leg.

“No! C’mon, you know what I meant. Seriously, what’d ya think of her? Interested?”

He smiled broadly, as we turned into our driveway.

“I dunno,” he replied. “Maybe. You think I should ask her out, is that what this is all about?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. I guess it’s up to you.”

He shrugged, too, and turned off the headlights. “Ok,” he said. “Maybe I will.”

As we got out of the car, I don’t know why, but I wasn’t as happy about this as I knew I should be.

***

A week later, Dad was in his bedroom getting ready for his big date with Janice, as I sat on the bed watching him put on a tie. He turned to face me and held out his hands.

“Well, how do I look? Presentable?”

I smiled. “Yeah,” I said, trying to look happy for him. “Very handsome.”

He grinned and walked over to his closet for a jacket. While he plucked through the hangers, I watched, thinking he was a fairly nice looking guy. And in that moment, in an instant, I felt the slightest hint of jealousy growing in my heart. Feeling a bit dejected, I pushed myself off the bed and walked out and down to the living room. A few minutes later, he came tromping down the steps and stood in front of me, as I sat on the couch.

“Well,” he said, adjusting his tie and looking in a mirror. “You know where we’ll be. I dunno what time to tell you I’ll be home. No later than… I dunno… midnight?”

He turned and glanced down at me. I looked back to the television and held up my hand. “Yeah, ok,” I replied with a sigh. “I might be in bed.”

He gave me a funny look, saying, “Bed? On a Friday night?”

I picked up the remote control and shrugged. “I’m tired,” I lied. I wasn’t tired. In fact, I was becoming more and more jealous of this other woman with each passing second. I just wanted this night to be over.

He looked at his watch, and then came over and leaned down to kiss my forehead.

“See ya later, kiddo.”

“Ok,” I mumbled, as he walked to the door. “See ya.”

He was standing with one foot out the door and looked back at me.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Go have fun on your date.”

I glanced at him, still aiming the remote at the television. He had a puzzled expression on his face, but grinned and closed the door with a wave. Then I lay back on the couch with a heavy sigh.

There wasn’t anything interesting on television, which worked out well, because I wasn’t interested in watching it. I tossed the remote off to the side and sighed again. I missed him already and it hadn’t even been five minutes. I wondered if he ever felt the same way, whenever I went on a date. I stood and walked out to the kitchen to get a drink, and then went over to my dad’s study to look for a book to read.

His walls were filled, top to bottom, with hundreds of books. Most were fiction, though a few non-fictions could be found here and there. I slowly walked around the room, letting my finger skip from the spine of one book to the next, finally landing on my mom’s old college yearbook. I hadn’t looked at it in a long time. The pages with his and mom’s pictures were marked with little strips of paper so they could easily be found. I pulled it down from the shelf and flipped through it. My parents met in college, and this yearbook had their graduation pictures in it. She had a big circle drawn around my dad’s with little hearts encircling it. I smiled, as I gazed at his picture, running my finger over it. Then I turned to the page with my mom’s picture. She and I looked so much alike. Not exactly twins, but I did inherit some of her facial and physical features; her red hair was the most obvious. I definitely had her eyes; hazel with little dimples under them. And we both had a sprinkle of freckles around our noses. In another picture, she was standing with a group of people, members of a drama club. She was laughing and had her arm around a girl. My mom was wearing shorts and a t-shirt with a big peace symbol on it. She and I could have probably passed as sisters, if not mother and daughter. Sadly, I didn’t appear to have inherited anything from my dad.

I looked at a few more pictures, and then carefully returned the book to its place on the shelf.

In the bottom drawer of my dad’s desk, he kept a box of family photos. I sat on the floor next to the drawer and pulled it open, and then fished out the box.

I went through all the pictures from my childhood, mostly of me with my dad on birthdays, holidays, or just random pictures of us together. The more I looked at them, the more depressed I became. Why was I feeling like this? I should be happy he was finally out on a date, having a good time, being with someone more closely his own age. At the time, I didn’t know why it bothered me, but it did. I wanted him home with me.

I put the lid on the box and returned it to the drawer. I’d never snooped through his stuff, but now I began to wonder what else was in the drawers. I carefully pulled one open – just a stapler, a few pens, a little box of paperclips, index cards; nothing very interesting. In another drawer were two boxes of envelopes and some manila folders, printer paper, and a book of stamps. Then I pulled open the last drawer. It was full of random items: a dictionary, thesaurus, and a bag of pens. As I searched through it, I found a small white envelope. I reached in and carefully opened it. Inside were a handful of photographs. I plucked them out and fanned them in my hand. They were various pictures of me, from when I was very small to the present, the most recent being a few of me in my cheerleader uniform at the last football game not a week before. I smiled. Some of them I knew he had taken. He’d call my name and I’d turn just in time to see a bright flash. But my favorite picture was one of us standing together, our arms around each other, as we smiled for the camera. It was at a football game, and one of my friends took the picture for us. I removed this one from the rest and set it on his keyboard, leaning it against the monitor so it would stand upright where he could easily see it. Then I put the envelope back in the drawer and closed it.

Out in the living room, I plopped down onto the couch and sighed. An hour had passed since he left. I tried to wile away the time by watching television, tried to watch a movie, but couldn’t and finally forced myself up and went to the bathroom.

I turned on the water and filled the tub, resigning myself to a nice bubble bath. I took plenty of showers, but not many baths. As the tub filled, I chuckled, thinking the reason I didn’t take baths was because my dad seemed to always get into the shower before me and used up most of the hot water. He didn’t do it on purpose, but I would sometimes scold him for it. Now seemed a good time to take advantage of his absence. I poured some soap into the water and swished it around with my hand, lathering up the water until the surface was covered with a layer of white foam. Then I stood and undressed. As I watched the tub fill with water, I glanced into the bathroom mirror. My breasts weren’t very big, small and poking out like soft white cones from my chest. My skin was very pale with a few freckles laced around my neck and shoulders, tapering off down my arms. My hair was in a ponytail, and I reached back, removing the rubber band, and shook my hair out. It stopped just below my neck. As I looked into the mirror again, I thought back to my mom’s college pictures; we did look rather alike.

When the tub was filled, I gingerly stepped into the hot water and eased myself down, letting my body get use to the heat. And when I was completely seated, I gently laid my head back and sighed, closing my eyes. After a minute or so, I let my hands roam across my body, rubbing the bubbles over my chest and arms. I smiled; it felt very relaxing. And then I began thinking of my dad, wondering what he was doing right at that moment.

To me, he was the best dad in the whole world. He was kind and thoughtful, very sweet to me. Other girls my age probably would have taken advantage of his parental kindness, but I never did. I couldn’t. He gave me so much love and respect, and I felt I owed him as much, if not more, in return. He never raised his voice to me and only spanked me once when I was very little. I was six years old and don’t even remember what it was I had done. All he did was give me two swats on the butt. But he always said he felt bad about that, and I guess I behaved so as not to put him in that position again.

As I lay in the warm water, my hands drifted up to my breasts. I gently massaged my nipples, feeling them harden under my fingers and began thinking of some of the guys I’d been on dates with. They were all nice to me and very cute. The most I’d ever done with a boy was kiss him. If they tried to bring a hand up to my breasts, I’d giggle and slowly push it away. And I was still a virgin. A lot of my friends weren’t, having traded it in for a moment’s worth of selfish pleasure. But I wanted to save myself for the right person; someone I was deeply in love with, someone who was as passionately in love with me, as I was with him. My hand drifted down from my breasts, down across my belly, and between my legs. I moaned softly. Then the vision of my dad suddenly appeared in my mind and my eyes shot open. I jerked my hand away and lay very still in the water for a moment. Far in the deep recesses of my mind, I could feel it trying to process what had just happened. I tried to ignore it and sat up, leaning forward to unplug the drain. Then I stood, as long sheets of bubbles slowly slid down my body, and turned on the shower to rinse.

While I dried, I used the towel to wipe away the steam on the mirror and looked at myself. I was simultaneously thinking about how similar I looked to my mom and thinking I should pretty myself up for my dad when he came home. Then I quickly turned and went my bedroom to get ready for his arrival.

Standing before my closet, I tapped a finger against my chin, trying to find something to wear. Usually I wore a t-shirt and sweatpants, unless it was summer, and then I wore shorts. I flipped through my hangers until I found what I was looking for: a purple nightie my dad had bought for me a few months before. I found it in a Victoria Secret catalog and had to beg him to let me buy it. He seemed unsure, saying he thought it might be a little much for someone my age. But I begged and pleaded and he finally relented, albeit with a great deal of apprehension. This would be only the second time I’d worn it. It wasn’t very revealing at all – just a simple two-piece nightie. It was very tame, compared to everything else in the catalog, but looked plenty sexy all the same.

I dropped the towel around my waist and slipped it over my body. Then I went to my mirror and worked my hair with a brush and blow dryer. The clock on my dresser said it was nearly quarter till eleven. He could be home any time, so I rushed along. When satisfied with my hair, I sat at my dresser and applied a tiny amount of makeup. I didn’t care for it and rarely wore any, but thought if I was going this far, I might as well do it right and have some fun. No lipstick, however. I didn’t want it to get on my pillow, when I went to bed.

When I was ready, I stood and looked at myself in the mirror, my hands on my hips, turning from side to side. I grinned, thinking, damn, what man in his right mind could resist this! But my smile faded. The “man” in question was my dad. I turned and walked briskly out of my bedroom, turning off the light and going down to the living room to wait. As I sat there, my conscience was beginning to gnaw at me. I was doing this for my dad, but so what? I just wanted to look nice for him, I reasoned. My conscience tried to continue the debate, but I ignored it. I was in a good mood and wanted to keep it that way.

I sat on the couch, pulling up my legs, and flipped through the channels. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a little past eleven. Just as I began to wonder when he was coming home, I saw headlights moving across the curtains of the living room window. It was my dad pulling into the driveway. My heart began to race. I shot upright and placed my hands on my thighs, fidgeting, trying to find a good pose. Then I heard the car door close. He’d be walking through the door any second. Frantically, I flopped around on the couch, quickly sampling one position after the next. The keys were in the door. I flopped some more and, when the door slowly opened, I was in the exact same position I had started in – leaning down against a pillow on the couch. I propped my head against my elbow and put on a happy face. Then he stepped inside and grinned when he saw me.

“Hey, still awake.”

I sat up and smiled, my heart thumping madly.

When he turned from closing the door, he saw me in my nightie. My chest rose, as I took a deep breath. He fumbled with his keys for a moment, looking down at them, and hung them by the door. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he turned toward me.

“Have a nice evening?” he asked. “Not too boring, I hope.”

Still smiling nervously, I shook my head. “Nope,” I replied. “Not too painful.”

“Good, good,” he chuckled.

I just knew he had to be wondering why I was dressed like this.

We were both silent. I hadn’t thought about what I was going to do when he was actually home. He finally broke the silence and gestured to me, saying, “So… isn’t that the, uh, lingerie you bought a while back?” I smiled and looked down my body, running a hand across my midsection and pressing the satin fabric against my chest. When my nipples poked out, I quickly pulled my hand away. I smiled timidly and nodded, beginning to feel embarrassed.

“Um, yeah…”

I tried to think of something to say; some excuse for why I was wearing it. But I knew exactly why. My conscience had been reminding me from the moment I put it on.

“Um… This is only the second time I’ve worn it,” I replied sheepishly.

I looked up to gauge his reaction. The little wrinkles around his eyes deepened, as he smiled.

His head slowly bobbed. “Well,” he said. “Looks really nice.”

I took a deep breath and grinned, my chest pushing out. But when I felt the tips of my breasts straining against the fabric again, I quickly sucked in my stomach.

“So,” I stuttered. “It, uh… it looks ok? You like it?”

He shrugged. “Sure,” he replied. “For what it cost, it better look good.”

I giggled and rose from the couch. As I stood in front of him, I let my fingers pull out on the sides.

“I dunno,” I said, looking down at it, almost too embarrassed to make eye contact with him. “I was just thinking… I dunno… I took a bubble bath and just sorta felt like… wearing it, I guess.”

I glanced at him and he smiled, his hands still in his pockets. He slowly nodded.

“Looks nice,” he said.

My grin twitched, at hearing that word again: just “nice”.

He hooked his thumb toward his bedroom, saying, “Gotta take my jacket off.” Then he turned and went upstairs.

I stood there for a minute staring down at the floor. The depression I had fought off all night was slowly returning. I looked up the steps, down the empty hallway toward his room, and could see the door open. Then I gazed down at what I was wearing. I felt like a dope. What in the world was I doing? I turned to the television, and then leaned over and picked up the remote, turning it off. Slowly I trudged to the stairs and, no sooner had I put my foot on the first step, then my dad appeared in the hallway above. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. As he approached the steps, he stopped and looked down at me. I tried to smile in reply, but my heart wasn’t in it. I let my eyes drop and took another slow step up the stairs. Gazing down my body, I thought, “God, you’re an idiot, Jessica.”

As my dad came down the steps, he placed a hand on my shoulder, as he went to pass me.

“Somethin’ wrong?” he asked.

I forced a smile and looked up, shaking my head.

“Nope,” I replied.

He raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I was just gonna change for bed,” I said softly.

This time, he raised both eyebrows and nodded. “Oh… well, ok then.”

As he continued on, I slowly raised my foot to the next step, and then heard him speaking to me from the hallway by the kitchen.

“Hey, Jessie?”

I stopped, staring down at the carpet, and said, “Yeah?”

“Well, come down where I can see, when I talk to you,” he replied.

Sighing and wanting to put on my regular clothes, I grudgingly turned and stepped down, peering around the corner into the kitchen. Dad was opening a cabinet and pulled out a bowl. When he saw me, he turned and said, “You look really nice, sweetie. You’re a very beautiful young lady.” I forced another smile, knowing that was the sort of thing a parent was supposed to say. Then he pulled open the silverware drawer and reached in for a spoon.

“Want some ice cream?” he asked, stepping over to the freezer.

My head slowly wagged.

He opened the freezer and reached in for the tub of ice cream. Holding it in his hand, he called over to me. I raised my eyes and he smiled big. “You’re beautiful, no matter what you’re wearing,” he said warmly.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

He didn’t seem to think my gratitude was convincing, so he took a deep breath and set the ice cream on the counter. He walked over and put his hand on my arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, gently squeezing my arm. “You’re just as beautiful as your mom. Same eyes, same pretty red hair. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, ok?” Then he brushed the hair from my face.

“You look very lovely,” he said with a tender smile, and I felt the sour mood enveloping my heart slowly ebb. “Don’t change, ok?”

“Ok,” I muttered.

“Want some ice cream?”

I shrugged.

He grinned. “That a yes or no?” he asked.

When I shrugged again, he wrapped his fingers around my arm and pulled me into the kitchen. As he went to get another bowl, I stood leaning against the counter.

“Dad?”

When he looked at me, for an instant his eyes drifted down my body, down my legs and slowly back to my face. It seemed to be an unconscious reaction on his part, to seeing me standing dressed like that. A surge of adrenaline shot through my heart, as my hands fidgeted nervously.

“Can I just share yours?” I asked. “I don’t want much.”

He nodded and closed the cabinet.

“Sure,” he replied.

We sat on the couch, side by side, with our legs crossed and knees touching. Every now and then, he’d hold out the spoon for me, as I leaned forward and took it into my mouth. By the time the bowl was empty, the depression that had tried to make a second assault was now firmly in retreat. I was feeling good – very good, very romantic.

When we were both yawning, he helped me to my feet and gave me a soft smile.

“You’re a very beautiful young woman,” he said, and I felt myself blush. “Ready for bed?” he asked. I nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go to bed, sleepy.”

The way he said that made my heart flutter. I followed behind him all the way upstairs, up to his bedroom. As he stepped into his doorway, he suddenly stopped and turned, causing me to nearly bump into him. Apparently he thought I was going to my room. Startled, we both took a step back. He gave me a curious grin, and I hesitated for hardly a second and gestured to his bedroom, mumbling, “I was gonna…” It seemed to take him by surprise. After all, I was eighteen years old and asking to sleep in the same bed.

My dad’s eyes roamed, as he thought about it.

“Oh… ok,” he replied, seemingly befuddled, and then turned and walked over to the bed.

I knew the feelings welling up inside me for him weren’t normal, but at another they felt right. They certainly didn’t feel wrong. Perhaps in my mind they were, but not in my heart.

We crawled under the covers and, after a few minutes of lying in the dark, I turned and looked at him, as he faced away from me.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

I smiled in the dark.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He strained to look over his shoulder, thinking about what I’d said. And in the faint light, I saw him smile.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

I leaned over and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. He grinned again, and then turned away and closed his eyes. I pulled the blankets up over us and curled up behind him.

***

Over the next several weeks, I felt really good. I couldn’t wait to come home and see him after school. I’d sit on the floor next to him, as he sat at his desk typing at his computer. I felt giddy, yapping about this and that and nothing in particular, content to be in his presence and happy with his genuine interest in hearing all about my day.

He only had that one date with Janice, his reason being they didn’t seem to click. I didn’t care what his reasons were, only satisfied it didn’t work out. And for my part, I began dating less and less, until one day, not long before my senior prom, my dad questioned me on this.

“Gotta date for the prom?” he asked, as he dumped the spaghetti from the pot into a strainer sitting in the sink.

I was standing next to him watching. “Nope,” came my curt reply.

He set down the pot and picked up the strainer, shaking it a few times, and gave me a puzzled expression.

“Why not? Didn’t anyone ask you?”

I nodded. “Yeah, a couple guys asked.” But then I shrugged. “I dunno… they just don’t interest me, I guess.”

Dad chuckled and gestured to the cabinet. “Wanna get a couple plates?” I turned to retrieve them and came back, setting them aside one another on the counter. He used a big fork to dole out the long wet strands of spaghetti.

“Were you hoping for someone in particular?” he asked.

I shrugged again. “I dunno.”

He smirked, replying, “Geesh, Jess, you don’t sound real enthused about this.”

I shrugged once more and said, “I am, I guess. I just don’t know who I wanna go with.”

He handed me a plate and we went to the dining room table to eat.

“Well,” he said, jabbing a fork into the mound on his plate. “You better ask someone soon. The pickin’s are gonna get awful thin.”

I poked at my spaghetti with my fork, thinking quietly to myself. Then I had an idea. I looked at him, anxiously saying, “Dad?”

He looked up, just as he pushed the fork into his mouth, and raised his eyebrows.

I smiled and said, “Ok… here’s what I’m thinking.” I laid my hands flat on the table and giggled nervously. He swallowed, and then asked what my idea was. “I’ve had three guys ask me to prom, ok? And I like them all, but my problem is, I’m friends with all three of them. I don’t wanna take one and have the other two mad at me. Sooo…” And then I grinned meekly.

Dad raised a hand, as he held another load of spaghetti up to his mouth, replying, “So…?”

I giggled again. “So,” I said. “I was wondering… and you don’t have to, but I was wondering, if maybe you would like to take me… to prom.” He stopped chewing for a second and stared at me. I was smiling from ear to ear. Then he blinked and slowly set his fork down and reached for a napkin, dabbing it against the corners of his mouth. He glanced at me, and then set the napkin down. Suddenly I was scared he might decline my offer.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, and then reached for his glass of water. I watched, as he slowly raised the glass to his mouth. He seemed to be thinking about it, as he took a sip, and then set it down.

I leaned forward and bobbed my head a little, saying, “Well?”

He looked across the table at me and smiled. “Wouldn’t that seem a little odd?” he asked.

I furled my eyebrows, as if shocked he would think such a thing. “No,” I replied. “Why should it be? I think it’d be fun. You’ve never danced with me, anyway. Plus, this way, they can’t be mad at me… because I came with my dad. See how that works?” I wiggled my eyebrows and nodded happily.

He chuckled and pushed his fork into his spaghetti. “Oh, all right,” he said, as if this was such a terrible bother to him. But he was smiling. I clapped my hands together gleefully and jumped from my chair and dashed around to give him a kiss on the cheek. As I sat back down, he was shaking his head, but still smiling.

***

A few weeks later, I was in my bedroom getting ready for the dance, while he did likewise in his room. I hadn’t let him see my prom dress and, in turn, I had no idea what he would wear. I assumed he’d rent a tuxedo.

I sat nervously in front of my mirror, making last minute adjustments to my hair and makeup. I pinned my hair back, leaving two long, curly strands to hang down in front of my ears. My dad had never really seen me all dolled up, so I wanted his first time to be special. I opened my jewelry box and pulled out a string of pearls, delicately lacing them around my neck, and looked in the mirror and smiled. Then I stood and took a few steps back so I could see my dress. It was white satin with puffy shoulders and a large billowing skirt. I giggled nervously, thinking how it almost looked like a wedding gown. Carefully, I then lifted the skirt to reveal my white low-heel shoes and sheer white stockings. There was one last item I needed to install. I stepped over to the dresser and opened my sock drawer. Reaching far in back, I pulled out a small box. Inside was a white and red garter. I took it from the box and stepped to the bed. Putting my foot on the mattress, I slipped the garter up my leg, halfway between my knee and hip. With everything in place and satisfied I was presentable to my date, I walked over to the bedroom door and slowly opened it.

I peered out into the hallway. The door to my dad’s room was wide open.

“Dad?” I called out. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” he replied. He was downstairs waiting.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, holding my skirt up, as I made my way to the top of the steps. I stopped before reaching the stairs and said nervously, “You ready?” I saw my dad’s head suddenly come into view down below. He could see my face, but nothing else. And when I grinned, he did likewise.

“Ready,” he said.

My heart raced, as I took a step forward, letting myself come slowly into his field of view. When he saw me standing at the top of the stairs, he whistled.

“Good God, Jessie,” he mumbled. “You look beautiful.”

Hearing that put me on the verge of tears, but I wore a broad smile. Very carefully, I made my way down the steps, holding my skirt up high so as not to trip over it. And when I came within reach, my dad held his hand out. As I took it, he guided me down. When I was standing in front of him, I felt my face flush red with embarrassment. My teeth were showing, as I grinned, my eyebrows high. He held my hand out to the side and gazed at me.

“Thank you for asking me,” he said softly.

I giggled nervously, my teeth chattering – a strange quirk I have whenever I’m grossly nervous.

“You’re welcome,” I squeaked.

He made no effort to hide his delight, letting his eyes roam up and down my body. God, I was nervous. And when our eyes met again, he smiled and held out a box to me. Inside was a red corsage.

I gasped, having not thought of this moment. It didn’t even dawn on me that he’d get one. He opened the box and pulled it out, stepping over to me. As he went to put it on my wrist, I asked him to pin it on instead. His eyes met mine and he smiled. “Ok,” he replied and carefully, but cautiously, brought the corsage to rest just above my breast. I felt the tip of his finger slip under the fabric of my dress, as he pinned it to me. When it was firmly in place, he stepped back.

“Looks a lot better there,” he said. I felt so nervous; all I could do was giggle. “Matches your eyes,” he said with a grin. My stomach muscles contracted, bending me slightly at the waist, as I fell into fit of nervous giggles.

He took a few pictures of me in the living room, and then I took a couple of him. He had the tripod set up and put the camera on it, so we could get some of us standing together. In the last picture, I stood just in front of him, both of us looking at the camera. My hands were clasped together, hanging down in front, and then I wondered what his were doing. I looked and they were just hanging limp at his sides. I reached down and brought his hands to my waist and rested mine atop his. We smiled and there was a flash.

As we walked to the car and were just about to get in, I stopped abruptly and cried out.

He was about to open his door, when he asked what was wrong.

“I forgot something!”

“What?”

I dashed to his side of the car and grabbed him by the arm, towing him back to the house. Inside, he questioned me again, as I walked over to a chair and placed my foot on the seat. He cocked his head, as if puzzled, and I snickered. I wiggled my finger for him to come closer. When he was standing next to me, I slowly hiked up the skirt on my raised leg to reveal my garter. As I worked my fingers on the fabric of my dress, I smiled at my dad. An anxious expression crossed his face, as he folded his arms, holding a hand to his mouth and trying to hide an embarrassed grin.

“Gotta do it, dad,” I said menacingly.

He wiped his hand over his mouth and shook his head.

“Oh God,” he groaned.

I chuckled.

With the garter in view, and nearly my entire leg exposed, he sighed and dropped his hands and stepped closer. Then, very carefully, he put his fingers around my thigh and grasped the garter. I pulled back on my skirt just a wee bit, so he could see I was wearing stockings. When the white strap of my stocking came into view, his hand paused for but the briefest second, and then resumed its descent.

Deep in my mind, I couldn’t believe I just teased me own father.

When the garter was off my leg, he stood and twirled it around his finger. “I think it’s a tradition or something,” I said with a devious smile, brushing down my dress. He rolled his eyes and slipped the garter into the pocket of his jacket.

We pulled into the school parking lot and had a tough time finding a spot near the doors, but finally parked near the football stadium. I was just about to open my door, when he held up a hand, saying, “No, no. Let me. I’m the guy.” I grinned and he added, “I think it’s a tradition or something.” I giggled and said ok. Then he came around to my side, opened the door, and held his hand out for me. I laid mine atop his and thanked him, as he helped me step out. Then he shut the door and we walked to the gymnasium, my arm in his.

Several other couples were walking in with us, one of them a friend of mine. She had her arm through her date’s, the same as I held my dad’s, and she smiled and waved.

As we walked into the building, a teacher was there to greet everyone. He taught biology, but since I was a senior and he taught that to sophomores, I only knew him by name. He asked if we’d like to sign the register, and my dad seemed a little embarrassed at first, but leaned down, penning both our names. The teacher craned his neck down to look and he smiled. It was almost a smile of pity, as if taking my dad to prom was a sign of my inability to find a date. I wanted to grab him by the neck and tell him I had three offers, but turned them down in favor of my dad. Instead, I gave him a phony grin and we continued on to the gym.

Inside, it was crowded. People were milling about, dancing, sitting and chatting. The music blared loudly. My dad leaned down close to my ear, saying, “I feel outa place here.” I swatted his hand and pulled him closer.

We walked around for a few minutes, as I waved to various classmates, stopped to talk for a moment with others, and then lead my dad over to the archway to have our picture taken. The photographer asked if I’d come with my dad, and once more I forced a smile and said yes. Then he ushered us under the arch and tried to pose us side by side; my dad with his hands behind his back and me with mine in front. As he returned to his camera, I muttered, “This pose sucks.”

He chuckled, replying, “Have him change it then.”

Just as the camera flashed, I held up a hand. Blinded, I blinked my eyes wide, while my dad rubbed his. The photographer didn’t look happy about my sudden movement.

“What’s that?” he sighed, putting a new photo plate in his camera.

“Um… can we try a different pose?”

“Sure,” he muttered. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

I turned to my dad and smiled.

“How ya wanna do this?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. It’s your prom.”

I stepped up to him and giggled nervously, as I awkwardly put one arm around him. He held up both his, trying to figure out what I was doing.

“Ok,” I said, trying to direct him. “Now you put your arm around me… No! Not on my shoulder! God, I’m your date, not your drinkin’ buddy. Around my waist… yeah, like that… no! Dad, c’mon, work with me.”

I finally stepped back, grabbed his hand and wrapped it tightly around my waist, as we clasped our other hands together in front.

There was another flash.

Blinded once more, the photographer shuttled us out of the way, making room for the next couple in line.

We ended up over by the buffet table next.

“Care for something to drink?” he asked very gentlemanly.

I smiled and nodded, and he poured us two glasses of punch.

“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip.

Now came the uncomfortable silence. As with my lingerie, I hadn’t thought this far in advance. I just knew I wanted him to take me to prom, but hadn’t thought about what would happen once we got there. Then my friend from the parking trotted over. She smiled when she saw me and held her arms.

“Oh gawd, Jess,” she cried. “You look so beautiful!”

I hugged her and returned the compliment, and then she gestured with her eyes in my dad’s direction.

“Oh, uh… Becky, this is my dad. Dad, this is my friend Becky. We’re in the same English class.”

“And study hall,” she laughed. “Oh, and lunch.”

My dad smiled and held out his hand to her.

“Very nice to meet you, Becky. I’m Stephen. You look very lovely this evening.”

She giggled again, as she took his hand, replying, “Nice to meet you, too.”

We chatted for a moment, and then she invited us to sit with her and her date and another couple at their table. I looked at my dad and he smiled.

“Sure,” he said.

I grabbed his hand and Becky took mine, leading us away.

When we arrived, she introduced us, thankfully referring to my date as Stephen and not the mortifying “her dad”. And since he and I didn’t look anything alike, he could have easily passed as a legitimate, unrelated date.

Dad helped with my chair, and then stepped over to help Becky with hers. As he went to have a seat, she smacked her date’s arm and gave him a glare.

“What?” he cried.

A conversation that had been put on hold was now resumed, and I jumped in when the opportunity afforded itself. We talked for what seemed a long time, but my dad sat only smiling, never complaining, and even refreshed the drinks of all three ladies present at the table. Becky and the other girl glared at their dates, as my dad walked away with their cups.

We chatted some more, but I was starting to sense maybe it was making my dad uncomfortable. I glanced at him and he smiled. As I turned back to my friends, I reached under the table and softly placed my hand on his leg, giving it a gentle squeeze. I wasn’t sure how he’d react, but a moment later, I felt him place his hand atop mine, squeezing in reply. As I sat and listened to my friends, a broad smile swept across my face.

Then the moment I’d been hoping for finally arrived: a slow song. The two girls, still smarting from the lack of courtesy from their dates, reluctantly followed them to the dance floor. I turned to my dad and blushed. Glancing down at my hands in my lap, I stuttered and said, “Dad, would you…” But before I could finish, he stood and held out his hand.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked.

My chest heaved, as I breathed in deeply. I took his hand and nodded, and then he led me to the dance floor, putting his hand around my waist and pulling me close.

As I grinned up at him, letting him sway me along in time with the music, I suddenly became conscious of his height. He was a good six inches taller than me and could look right down the front of my dress. I didn’t have nearly huge breasts, being somewhat petite, but I had enough to have cleavage and he was getting an eyeful from his angle. And it didn’t help that I was wearing a push-up bra.

I looked away, my face flush with embarrassment.

“Those pearls look nice on you,” he said.

I strained my eyes to see them on my neck.

“I bought those for your mom when I took her to a dance,” he said. “Just before I proposed to her.”

I smiled up at him.

“They look just as nice on you,” he said with a grin.

I leaned my head against him and sighed softly.

The remainder of the night followed along this simple theme. At one point, though, when a fast-paced song came on, he did pull me out onto the dance floor. I was pleasantly surprised to see that my dad, at the age of forty-one, could still cut a rug.

When the festivities came to an end, we walked out to the car. I was happy, but, at the same time, a bit dejected that it had to end so soon.

***

Dad helped me out of the car and held my hand, as we went into the house. We were standing just inside the doorway, as he hung up his keys. When he turned, I was standing in front of him, my hands hanging down and fingers interlaced. Then he stepped up, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“You looked beautiful tonight, Jessie.”

Then he leaned down and softly kissed my forehead. I took a quick breath and thanked him, saying how handsome I thought he looked. He was about to walk away, when I reached a hand out for his. He stopped and turned to me. I looked up and went to speak, but hesitated. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened, as he grinned. Then, very quickly, I propped myself up on my toes and softly kissed him on the lips. I stepped back, staring down at my hands, and nervously whispered. “That was supposed to be for my date,” I mumbled. “So… I guess you’re supposed to have it now.” He put his hand on my arm, and then leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and then gave me a warm smile and walked upstairs to his bedroom.

I undressed in my room, while Dad did the same in his. I was wearing a white lace push-up bra with matching garter and stockings that I’d bought for my date. In fact, I’d planned on losing my virginity on the night of my senior prom. Unfortunately, I didn’t find someone I felt deserved something that special.

Just as I was about to unclasp my bra, I stopped and looked at my door. I walked over to the closet and put on my robe, and then carefully opened the bedroom door. The hallway light was still on and the door to my dad’s room was open a crack. I tiptoed over and knocked softly, peering inside. My dad was sitting in bed reading.

When he saw me, he slipped a hand inside the book and closed it, saying hi. Only the small reading lamp next to his bed lit the room. My heart began pounding, as I licked my lips and jammed my hands deep in the pockets of my robe, slowly walking in and stopping at the foot of the bed.

He stared at me for a moment, and then finally asked if I had a nice evening. I nodded, and then looked to him and stuttered, “Dad… c-can I show you… something?”

He adjusted himself, as he leaned back against his pillow, and smiled. “Sure,” he said. My knees were trembling, as I slowly stepped around to his side of the bed. My trembling hands came out and I hooked my fingers into the belt of my robe.

“I… I d-don’t want you… to freak out, ok?” I whispered.

He smiled, but gave me a puzzled look. “Ok… I won’t.”

“P-promise?”

He squinted his eyes and slowly nodded, wondering what I was up to.

“Ok,” I said. I licked my lips again and swallowed, saying, “I got this for my date… for the guy who was supposed to be my date… but, I uh… I guess that ended up being you… but I didn’t know it was gonna be you… ok?”

He nodded once more and quietly asked if I was all right. My head jittered up and down nervously, and then I slowly pulled my belt loose. I lifted my eyes to his, and he gave me a curious smile, but then looked down at my hands. I let the belt fall apart and brought my hands up to my collar and slowly pulled open the robe, letting it fall down my shoulders where it hooked onto my elbows. I stood before him in my negligee, my hands shaking and held up just high enough to keep my robe from falling to the floor. Then I swallowed hard and looked up at him. I felt like I was going to throw up.

Dad seemed to be staring right through me, as if in a deep trance. There was no expression on his face. My eyes drifted down my body. My breasts, pushed up as they were, jiggled as my body trembled.

“W-well?” I asked, my voice cracking.

He sat staring blankly at me.

“Dad…?”

Then he took his glasses off and carefully set them and his book on the nightstand. He swung his feet to the floor and stepped over to me, carefully bringing my robe up my shoulders and tying it shut. With his hand still on the belt, he put a finger under my chin and lifted my eyes to his.

“You’re a beautiful young woman, Jessica,” he whispered.

I felt like crying for humiliating him like this.

“Thank you,” I replied with a whimper.

“You oughta get to bed,” he said.

I nodded and turned to walk away, but stopped and glanced over my shoulder.

“Dad… I love you… you’re very handsome.”

And then I quickly walked to my bedroom and shut the door. Inside, I fought back the tears and took off my robe. I looked at myself in the mirror and sniffled, and then removed the negligee, placing it in my dresser drawer and silently vowing never to wear it again.

In the middle of the night, I awoke to go to the bathroom. My dad’s door was still open, and when I came back down the hall to my room, I peeked inside his. The light was out and he was sound asleep. Wearing only panties and my robe, I quietly entered his room and slipped into bed next to him. I lay facing him for a while, and then closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

***

The next morning, I awoke to sunlight flooding through the open windows. Still groggy, I slowly sat up, shading my eyes from the bright light. The bedroom door was closed, and I glanced to my dad’s side of the bed. He was gone.

With much effort, I flung my feet to the floor and looked down my body. My robe had come untied during the night and my bare chest was exposed. And then memories from the night before slowly drifted back to haunt me. My eyes fluttered and I grunted, wagging my head in disgust and cinching my robe closed. I stood from the bed, mumbling, “God, probably saw my tits.” Then I trudged to the bathroom. Inside, I took off my robe and panties and turned on the shower. Outside in the backyard, I heard the lawnmower start. I peeked out the window and saw my dad pushing it around the yard. Then I went back to the shower and stepped inside.

A short time later, I was in my bedroom, standing at the closet naked and trying to decide what to wear. There was then a soft knock at my door – my open door. Before I could react, my dad poked his head inside, saying, “Hey Jess, you know where the…” And then our eyes met and went wide. We were both mortified, as he looked me up and down and I gulped. Then he quickly pulled away and shut the door. It all happened very fast.

“Sorry!” he called from the hallway.

Utterly stunned, I clasped a hand to my chest, breathing hard. My dad had just seen me naked. Worse yet, he checked me out. Or so I thought. I gasped nervously, and fell back onto the corner of my bed.

“It’s…. it’s ok,” I yelled back.

I looked down at myself, at my naked body, and sighed. As incredible, or idiotic, as it may seem, when I saw my bright orange pubic hair, my first thought was, “God, I really need to trim that up.” Then I chuckled and fell flat on my back, my heart still racing wildly.

A few minutes later, I walked downstairs – this time, fully dressed.

“Dad?”

Outside, I heard the lawnmower start up again. I had butterflies in my stomach, as I walked to the backdoor leading out to the patio. Through the sliding glass door, I saw him pushing the mower. He finished one row and, as he turned, happened to look in my direction. I giggled and stuck out my tongue. There was a moment of hesitation, as he lifted a hand and waved, then continued on his way, shaking his head, likely from embarrassment.

Half an hour later, I heard the mower stop. When he didn’t come inside right away, I walked out the back door and found him pushing the lawnmower into the garage. I walked down the steps in my bare feet, my arms folded, and headed toward the garage. As I stood in the doorway, he placed the mower behind our bikes, and then turned in my direction. I leaned against the door and give him a knowing smile. When he saw me, he stopped and brushed his hands together with an anxious chuckle. He tried to grin and mumbled, “I, uh…” But he was clearly uncomfortable with what had happened, and said, “Sorry ’bout that.”

I smirked, replying, “What were you gonna ask me?”

Then his demeanor changed dramatically, obviously an attempt to bring things back to a normal plane, and said, looking back at the mower, “Oh, I was just wondering if you knew where the oil for that thing was. I found it.” As he walked past me toward the house, he patted my shoulder. I gave him a pretend glare and came up behind and smacked him on the behind. He yelped and gave me look of surprise.

“Bad boy,” I grumbled, still pretending to be mad at him. But the truth is, I was the bad person here. What he did was an honest mistake, an accident. What I did the night before had purpose and intent behind it, only I was too ashamed to admit as much.

In the kitchen, I made us sandwiches for lunch. Dad walked in and took two glasses from the cupboard and asked if I wanted something to drink. I smiled and nodded. After he poured the drinks, he came over and set mine on the counter next to me. Then I heard a slight sigh from him.

“I’m really sorry about what happened earlier,” he said. “I, uh… I shoulda knocked and waited for an answer.”

I was cutting our sandwiches in half and paused. I shrugged, saying it was ok, and then quietly apologized for what I did the night before. He was taking a drink and set his glass down, resting a hand on my shoulder.

“Nah,” he said. “Don’t have to apologize. It was your special night.”

I glanced at him and smiled. Dad squeezed my shoulder, and then turned to go out to the living room. But then he stopped in the doorway and looked over at me.

“Say, uh… Jess?”

I set the knife in the sink and looked to him.

He was standing slightly sideways, like he didn’t want to face me directly.

“You looked, uh… very beautiful… last night.”

I took a deep breath and smiled, as he glanced at me. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the glass he held, and after a short pause said, “I want you to promise me something, sweetheart.”

“Sure… ok.”

Then I watched his chest rise, as he inhaled. He looked right at me and said, “Jess… I want you to save yourself for someone special, ok?”

My heart leapt into my throat, and I nodded quickly, replying, “Yeah… ok. I will. Promise.”

His face relaxed and he slowly nodded, and then walked out to the living room.

***

For the next few weeks, there seemed to be a lurking tension between us. Nothing that left you feeling bad or awkward, rather it was something unacknowledged, something we both knew existed, but tried to ignore. We went on with life as usual, but this strange feeling remained haunting in the background. I spent many long hours thinking about it; thinking about my dad and the feelings I had for him. I knew it was wrong, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. Why was it wrong to love him? But more specifically, why was it wrong to be in love with him? And that’s what it was: a romantic inclination I was developing for him. At first I thought it was merely a phase, something I’d get over in short order, but it had been slowly growing over the last few years. In fact, it seemed to have always been there, only now coming to fruition where I could recognize it for what it was. When I went out on dates, I always felt awful about leaving him behind, for not being with him instead. He went on two more dates with other women, after the one with Janice, and all three times I felt nothing but sadness and jealousy. And when he came home, I was practically all over him; talking with him, talking about anything other than his date, subconsciously reminding him of me – of what he already had at home. I didn’t even think of him in terms of sexuality. Sure, I thought he was a nice looking man and, judging by the remarks of my friends, they seemed to think so, as well. But it was more than that. I admit to being attracted to him, but it wasn’t something of a solely sexual nature. I was becoming greatly attracted to him on an emotional level. Everything about him seemed perfect to me. He was kind and generous, thoughtful and courteous. He was interesting to talk to and fun to be around. I enjoyed his company tremendously and looked forward to being alone with him every day. Even if all we did was rent a movie and order pizza, I was happy as could be, sitting next to him on the couch and sharing the last breadstick. I felt bad when other teens my age talked ill of their parents. I simply couldn’t, because I had no reason. What was there to complain about? In my eyes, he was perfect.

What I finally admitted was not that I was falling in love with my dad, but that I was already there. I was in love with him and had been for some time, only now willing to accept it for what it was. I also knew I wanted to stay along the course I was heading. It was definitely thin ice I tread, going into uncharted, perhaps even dangerous, territory. In the end, I feared my actions might destroy our relationship. But the feelings I had for him were strong and persistent, gathering strength with each passing day. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted to be with him, and the more courage I mustered to continue onward.

***

After I graduated from high school, I spent the first few weeks of summer sitting around at home with little to do. Every day, I’d head into town to meet Dad at his office on campus for lunch where he was an associate professor of English at the university. Sometimes we’d walk downtown to an outdoor cafe and other times I’d bring us something to eat. And he was always happy to see me. I’d put my arm through his and we’d casually stroll down the sidewalk talking. Then one day, while sitting on a bench outside his building, he asked if I decided on a college to attend. I shoved the remains of a bagel into my mouth and nodded.

“What’d ya decide?” he asked.

As I chewed, I pointed my finger downward.

“Here?” he asked.

With my cheeks bulging, I nodded and tried to smile.

“Thought about a major?” he asked.

I swallowed, nodding once more, and took a sip of my soda. Then I smacked my lips, replying happily, “English.”

Dad grinned and put his arm around me.

“Now why would you pick that?”

I took another drink and shrugged.

“Lemme guess,” he said. He brought a hand to his chin and affected a look of careful consideration. “Would I have anything to do with it?” he asked.

I nearly choked when he said that. I hadn’t actually thought of that as my reasoning, but in a way, he was right. I had to admit it. Choosing English as my major would bring me into closer contact with him. But I also picked it, as it was something in which I had a genuine interest. After all, our house was filled to capacity with books, and when you’re the only child in a single-parent household, sometimes your best friend is a good book. But I didn’t want my dad to know any of this.

“You want me to pick something else?” I muttered.

He hugged his arm around me and chuckled. “No, no,” he replied. “It’s a good major. I think you’ll enjoy it. Plus I’ll get to see you more, huh?”

I leaned against him and smiled.

“Been thinking where you wanna go on vacation?” he asked.

Every summer, come hell or high water, we always went on vacation, and he always let me choose the destination – within reason, of course.

“Let’s go back to Colorado,” I replied. “That was fun. We could go whitewater rafting again, camp out in the Rockies. That was a lotta fun.”

He crossed one leg over the other and nodded. “Yep, ok,” he said. “Sounds good.”

We talked for a while longer, and then strolled back to his office. I was in such a blissful mood, as I held his hand on that sunny day, swinging our entwined fingers.

***

Over the next month, I filled out all the requisite paperwork to become a student at the university. I also worked out an itinerary for a weeklong vacation to Colorado. This would also be the time that I, for lack of a better way of putting it, would make a move on him. Not necessarily in a sexual way, although the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to. What I wanted was to advance the relationship we shared. And, being so far from home, we would be forced to deal with it; unable to simply walk away and pretend like it didn’t happen. This vacation would be the turning point, one way or another. I was scared, unsure of what would happen, but felt an instinctual determination to take the next step.

In the meantime, I continued to take little steps in that direction. I’d meet him for lunch and hold his hand whenever I could. If he put his arm around me, whether we were sitting or standing, I’d move a little closer. And I spent less time in my bedroom and more in his. I made every effort to be with him, to let him I know I was there for him.

***

One night as he sat in bed reading, I was sitting on the edge of his bed brushing my hair. I was looking in the direction of his dresser and had an idea. Without looking, I asked if I could keep a few things in one of his drawers. There was a momentary pause before he answered.

“Well,” he said. “I guess that’d be ok. How come?”

I continued to slowly brush my hair and shrugged. “I dunno,” I replied meekly. “Guess I’m just in here enough, it’d be nice to have some socks and stuff more handy.”

Socks. That’s not what I had in mind to put in there.

“Ok,” he said. I slowly turned to look at him. He smiled, adding, “Just pick a drawer, I guess. You can move around whatever you need.”

I grinned. “Thanks,” I replied.

The next day, while he was at work, I opened his top dresser drawer. It was filled with socks, t-shirts, and boxer shorts. I put my hands inside and carefully pushed everything a few inches to the left, trying to create enough empty space on the right for my stuff. I wasn’t sure what I could remove from his drawer in order to create more room, so I settled for the eight or nine inches I was able to scrounge. Then I went to my bedroom, opened my top drawer, and picked out a few items.

Socks, a couple t-shirts… then I thought about my panties and bras. Then I thought about my lingerie. The lingerie might be going too far, so I settled for socks and t-shirts, a few panties and bras. Surely he’d see these. I picked out the items and carried them to Dad’s room, and, one by one, arranged them in their new home. Socks in back, t-shirts on the bottom, panties and bras on top – where he couldn’t miss them.

Satisfied that everything was in place, I closed the drawer and went to meet him for lunch.

That night, as he laid in bed reading, I crawled under the covers next to him, and he asked if I had enough room for my stuff. I rolled over, my face planted against the pillow, and smiled up at him. “Yep,” I replied. He turned his eyes to mine and smiled. “Unless you wanna gimme an entire drawer,” I happily suggested, wiggling my eyebrows up and down. Dad went back to reading his book and chuckled. But then he took me by surprise.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “Just make sure you put my things where I can find them again.”

Elated, I reached out under the blanket and gripped his leg. My hand landed on his hip, my fingers not a few inches from his groin. Startled, he looked down at me and smiled fitfully. I grinned and thanked him once more.

Then next day, I awoke about an hour after he left for work. I swung my legs onto the floor and hopped over to the dresser and pulled open the drawer. A smile crept across my face: he’d been in there that morning. Some of his socks and boxers had been moved around. There was no doubt about it – he’d seen my panties and bra.

I ran to my bedroom and pulled out some more panties and bras and socks, and then hauled them to his room. For the next half hour, I tried rearranging things in his top drawer so that everything would fit. In the end, the left half was his and the right mine.

That night, as he sat in bed reading, I walked to his bedroom door and softly knocked. I peeked inside and Dad smiled, waving me inside. As I closed the door behind me, he said, “Ya know, you don’t have to knock. Just come on in.” I stood at the side of the bed and giggled nervously.

“Ok,” I whispered.

He went back to his book, as I held my hairbrush in my hand.

“Dad?”

He turned to me.

I held up the brush and timidly asked if I could keep it in his bedroom. He nodded and returned to his book. I went to the dresser and slowly opened the drawer with my clothes in it. There was a mirror on the dresser, and I could see him sitting on the bed behind me. I gazed down into the drawer, running a trembling hand over my bras and panties. Well, I thought, this is it. If I’m going to move into his room, I might as well take full advantage of it. My lips formed into a tight circle, as I breathed in and out, and then I grasped the bottom of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head. I was too scared to lift my eyes and look into the mirror to see if he was watching. I carefully folded my shirt and set it on the dresser, and then reached back to unclasp my bra. I let it fall down my arms and quickly folded it, placing it in the drawer with the others. Curiosity got the better of me and I carefully raised an eyebrow, looking into the mirror. He was still reading. Feeling relieved, but also a bit disappointed, I suddenly put my hands over my breasts and turned slightly in his direction.

“Dad?” I said nervously.

He didn’t look up, only nodding his head. “Hmm?” he mumbled.

Subconsciously, I was thinking, “Look at me, damnit!” But then I thought, wait – what am I going to say? Once again, I hadn’t planned that far ahead. As I frantically searched for something to ask, he looked in my direction. When our eyes met, he seemed alarmed. I could feel my face burning red and glanced nervously down at my hands covering my breasts.

“I, uh…”

Think, damnit!

He was staring at, stunned or mesmerized – I had no idea. Only my hands covered my otherwise nude torso. I wasn’t quite facing him, but he could definitely see that I was naked from the waist up.

“Do you, uh… do you think maybe I could…. Could I get something to drink? You want something to drink? I was just thinking, I’m thirsty and was gonna go get a drink. You want one?”

I winced. That sounded stupid. Especially given that I was standing there in front of him with my hands covering my breasts. It was a very surreal scene.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled. “That’d be, uh… fine.”

I smiled and quickly turned back to the dresser, releasing my breasts and resting my hands on the drawer. I closed my eyes and sighed, trying to control my breathing. “Jesus, what’re you doing?” I thought. When I opened my eyes, I was looking directly at the mirror and saw my dad’s head turn back to his book. My heart skipped a beat. He could see my breasts in the mirror. I snatched a t-shirt from the drawer and pulled it over my head.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

Dad glanced at me, but didn’t smile right away. Instead he gave me an odd expression, one I hadn’t seen before and it frightened me. He didn’t appear angry or upset, just surprised, uneasy.

“Ok,” he replied.

***

Over the course of the next few weeks, before we left for our vacation, I gathered more courage to do little things like this around him. I wanted him to become comfortable around me, even seeing me at least partially nude. Some might say I was trying to seduce him, and on a subconscious level, perhaps that accounted for some of my motivation. But I convinced myself that I was attempting to make it easier for us to live together. Although I accepted that contrivance, I also knew there were ulterior motives that were less than exemplary.

I did these things in an attempt to deepen the bond between us, not really caring how it happened. At times, my conscious would pipe in and question my motives, but I tried to pass it off as innocent, knowing this wasn’t entirely true. I knew what I was doing and why, even if I was reluctant to accept it.

When I visited him over the noon hour, I went from merely holding his hand, to putting my arm around his waist. If we were sitting on the couch watching a movie, I’d lean against him or hold his hand whenever I could. Sometimes I’d leave my bedroom door open a little, as I changed clothes, and eventually left it wide open, even if he wasn’t around. I talked to him about what he was doing for his classes and which I should take come fall. I engaged him in conversation, trying to make an honest effort to get to know him as another adult, a friend, and not simply as my father. And the wonderful thing is I didn’t have to force myself to do any of this. I was genuinely interested in getting to know him better, and the more I learned, the happier I became with my decision to continue along this path. And for his part, he actively engaged me in conversation, as well. He seemed as interested in me, as I was in him, and this served to embolden my determination to press forward.

***

One afternoon, I was online from home and saw him log into the university’s BBS from his office. Just as I sent him a message, one from him popped up on my screen.

Me: Hey daddy!!! Him: How’s your day? Me: Hi *smooch* I’m fine. How’s your day going? Him: So-so. Just updating my health insurance here. I keep putting it off. Me: Sounds fun. Is something wrong with your health? Him: No, but you’re 18 now and if I want to keep you on my policy, I have to update this thing. Me: Do you want to keep me on your policy? Him: Yes Me: You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Him: No, that’s fine. Me: Just “fine”?! *glares at him* Him: Ok Ok! It fills my heart with joy to have you on my health insurance policy! Happy now? Me: A little happier… I guess! Him: How much do you weigh? Me: God, dad! That’s kind of personal! Want my bra size, too? 😛 Him: Weight will do. I have to fill it in here. Me: I see. 114lbs. Him: How tall are you? 5’6″? Me: 5’5″ Him: Smoke or drink? Me: Gross! No! You know that. Him: Just checking. God only knows what you do when I’m not home to keep an eye on you. Me: Oh right! I think it’s the other way around! Me: 34b Him: “You sank my battleship!” What’s that? Him: Never mind. Me: What? You asked! Him: No I didn’t. Me: Oh. Well, now you know. But you probably could have guessed it, anyway. Him: How on earth do you figure that?? Me: You’ve seen them! Duh! Him: *rolls eyes* Jess, that was an accident. Me: Hey, speaking of my boobs, want to know what I got today for our vacation? Him: What’s that? Me: I bought a new bikini! 😀 Him: What you mean, dear, is – you bought it, but I paid for it, right? Me: No! I didn’t use ANY of your money. 😛 Smartalec! Him: That must be a first. How much was it? Me: Too much, but I think it looks nice. Want to see it when you get home? We should get you something. Him: I don’t think I need a bikini, but thanks. Me: You want to see it? Him: Ok Me: That’s not very enthusiastic! I tried to find something nice for you, mister! Him: *rolls eyes* Me: What?! I’ll just take it back then. Fine. Sorry to be a bother. Him: Oh Jess, come on. I was just kidding. Of course I want to see it. Me: You sure you want me to model it for you? Him: Yes, sweetie, I’m sure. Me: *swoons!* Yea!!! 😀 Him: You’re silly. 🙂 Me: Yeah, but you love me all the same! Him: True Me: I love you, too. Him: I love you more. Me: No way! 😛 I love you a BUNCH more! Him: Nuh uh! I love you more than a bunch more! Me: I love you ten times ten more than a bunch more! Him: *scratches head* Is that possible? Me: Of course it is!!! *jumps in his arms and smooches him* Him: Ah! Ok, if you say so, lady! *is smothered in smooches* Me: I’m IN love with you, so there!!!

Oh crap! Did I just say I was in love with him? There was a brief moment of silence. My words just came out of their own volition. I thought fast and tried to bring the conversation back to a normal level, before he could think too much about what I just said.

Me: What time are you coming home? Him: Same as always I guess. About 5:30. Me: Still want to see my new bikini? Him: Yes Me: Okey dokey, Pokey! I’ll have some dinner ready when you get here! See you then! *smooch*

I waited a moment for a reply, and then, just as I was about to log out, a message popped up on the screen from him. I caught but the briefest glimpse of it, before it disappeared.

Him: I love you, too, sweetheart. *hugs* … *kiss*

I sat staring at the monitor for a long time. He kissed me. Well, sort of. Any other time, he’d say “*hugs & kisses*”, but this time it was a simple “*kiss*” all by itself. Maybe I was reading more into it than I should, but it made my heart soar, nonetheless.

When he arrived home that evening, I was in the kitchen fixing dinner. I walked out to the living room to greet him, giving him a hug. As he set his briefcase down, I stepped back smiling, my hands in the back pockets of my shorts.

“Wanna see it?” I asked, grinning nervously.

“What’s that?” he replied.

With trembling knees, I swiped a sweaty hand across my mouth, saying my new bikini. He pursed his lips and nodded.

“Well, uh… sure. Ok,” he said.

I had him sit on the couch, as I stood in the middle of the living room. He held up his hands, saying, “Um… Ok, where is it? You gonna go get it?”

I chuckled nervously, replying, “I, uh… I got it on. I told you I’d model it for you.”

The smile on his face slowly waned. “Oh,” he said. “Alright then.”

I breathed in and held my breath, as I put my hands at the bottom of my t-shirt and, in one swift motion, pulled it over my head. His eyes drifted down my chest to the two small red triangles of thin fabric covering my breasts. Dropping my shirt to the floor and trying to mask my anxiety, I said, “I thought red would, uh… I dunno… match my hair better.” He slowly nodded. Then I brought my hands to my shorts and carefully unzipped them, keeping my eyes down, too embarrassed to look him in the face.

I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this, but at the same was pleased that I’d been able to muster the courage. I knew I was really pushing the envelope, and I could scarcely believe I was doing something so tawdry, so out of character, but my blind, naive courage drove me forward.

Wiggling out of my shorts, I let them fall to the floor, and then stood straight and stepped out of them. I placed my hands on my hips and tried to affect a decent pose, silently hoping he wouldn’t notice my wobbling knees.

“So… what do ya think?” I asked skittishly.

Dad took a deep breath and softly clapped his hands to his knees, slowly bobbing his chin and staring at my body. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with my callow performance, and I began having regrets, as a sense of shame fell over me. Now I simply wanted it to end.

“That’s, uh… That’s really nice. Looks good,” he replied.

“Seems like a good fit,” I added tensely, clearing my throat.

I stood motionless, letting my image burn into his mind, but after a few seconds, bent down and stepped into my shorts. As I put on my t-shirt, I asked for his final opinion, not that I cared any longer. I just wanted to bring an end to this childish display. He rubbed his hands on his knees, replying, “Yeah, ya know… It, uh, looks good. I’m sure you’ll turn a few heads.” Then he gave me a silly wink and looked over toward the kitchen. “Somethin’ burning?” he asked.

I sniffed the air. “Oh crap!” I exclaimed.

Fortunately, none of the food was too damaged.

***

As we ate in the dining room, we talked about work and school and our last visit to Colorado a few years back. My dad suggested we get an air mattress to bring along, seeing as how last time we simply rolled our sleeping bags onto the hard floor of our tent. As he took a drink, he said, “I must be gettin’ old. My back can’t take lying on the ground like that any more.”

“Yeah,” I replied sarcastically. “You’re really old for only being forty-one.”

He grinned, saying, “Well, you make me feel younger.” I stopped chewing and stared at him. Then I slowly swallowed and smiled back. My heart skipped a beat. As he ate and talked about what we could do in Colorado, my mind was stuck repeating those words he just said to me. I sat there watching him, listening to him, but not hearing anything else. That was the moment I first consciously admitted to myself that I was falling deeply in love with my dad.