My Best Friend's Father

Do not Copy me its not nice! ADULTS ONLY!! If your not an adult, where the hell are your parents? ##Please send any feedback you have to the link below or IM me on yahoo messenger! I love to hear from people so feel free.

Based on my life: Names and places have been changed to protect privacy.

*****

I hadn’t seen him in close to seven years. Amazing how even now, as a grown woman, I still avert my eyes when he looks at me. It wasn’t until that moment, standing there at my childhood friend’s wedding that I realized the seriousness of what had happened between us; the immense effect that what he had done to me - what I had allowed him do - has had on my life.

Standing there in a surprisingly tasteful bridesmaid’s dress, I listened to the readings “When I was a child I spoke at as child, understood as a child…” he was looking at me - I could feel his eyes burning into my back from his seat in the pew. “..I became a man and I put away childish things...” Was I ever a child? Here, almost twice the age I was when our relationship had first changed, when I’d gone from being a child to being his lover. Now memories were flooding back into my head at an alarming speed.

“…Now I know in parts, but then shall I know even as also I am known...” the voice recited. Memories that had been pushed far back into my mind came crashing into my reality: One of his hands on my stomach, the other around my neck pulling me into him. His soft voice whispering in my ear, “You’re so beautiful…” My muscles spasming violently around his cock.

I really hate weddings.

I don’t need to hide this anymore. Here is how ironic life can get - well at least my life.

It all began on the way home from a high school football game one Friday night. I was so young then, very different than the woman I am today. I looked pretty much the same, same dark hair and skin. My body seems very small compared to the one I inhabit these days. Very thin, maybe 110 pounds stretched tightly over my 5 foot 11 inches, the muscles and curves that I see in the mirror now were barely there. I was in high school. My girlfriends went to a party after the football game, but I had to be up early in the morning to run in a race so I didn’t want to go. My friend’s father gave me a ride home, like he’d done many times before…

“Have a good time?” He said quickly, glancing over at me then returning his eyes to the road.

“Yeah… I’m nervous about the race tomorrow, sorta distracted. You ran, you know how it is.”

“No one expected me to finish” he laughed, “let alone win the race.”

I smiled nervously. I hated it when anyone mentioned anything to me about “winning”. I was a “winner” though. I’d always been top 3, but that year, I’d been unbeatable. Every time someone mentioned winner, win, first, champion, number one, I could hear my mother’s syrupy sweet voice whispering “I didn’t come to see a loser, Lola...”

I shivered unconsciously. “Too cold, Lo?” Lisa’s father said, turning the knob of the heater.

I shook my head, “No, I’m fine.” I took a deep breath and laid my head against the leather of the seat and closed my eyes. We didn’t speak until he pulled into the drive of my house.

“Mom and Leo gone again?” he said, stopping the car.

“They’ll be back sometime tonight,” I murmured, eyes still closed.

“Hey” he said reaching over touching my cheek softly “you’re gonna do fine...” When I turned to look at him I was startled. I’d always known he was handsome, but suddenly I felt my body shivering as he looked at me.

“Thanks” I said into his hand, as it still rested on my cheek. I looked at him as he looked at me. Suddenly, he kissed me! His lips were soft, and I could feel the stubble on his face scratching my skin. My body was responding to his kiss, and I was kissing him back - although I didn’t have any idea how. His tongue slipped between my lips as my own explored his mouth. I felt my hand reaching for his neck.

Suddenly my brain caught up with the moment and set off the catholic guilt alarm. I pulled away quickly, my hands searching for the door handles “Thanks, Mr. Jones!” I said, managing to make the words come out in the same way they had every time he’d taken me home since I was eight. I ran into the house, slamming the door behind me, my heart pounding. I was breathing fast. The father of one of my best friends had given me my first kiss!

That night I cried myself to sleep from guilt. Not because I had kissed Lisa’s father, but that I had lain in bed that night, rubbing the soft wet special place between my thighs until my body exploded in pleasure. Masturbation was a big enough sin, according to everything I learned in Sister Helene Joseph’s Sex Ed. And touching myself to orgasm by thinking of my best friend’s happily married father was certainly going to send me straight to Hell. Ahh, good old Catholic School angst.. Those of you who have been there understand; those of you unaware of the handicap of catholic guilt never will.

I was sure that I was going to Hell for touching myself while thinking about Lisa's father, but I certainly didn’t stop…

A few weeks later, after the homecoming dance and parties I found my self-alone in Lisa’s kitchen. The other girls had long since fallen asleep, but having been a full-fledged insomniac since the age of twelve, I was of course still awake.

I was standing at the counter with a cup of water staring at the tile pattern on the kitchen wall. I shook off the gaze and turned back to the sink. Then I saw him. He was at the door. I hadn’t even known he was home! Startled, I dropped the glass into the sink, shattering it. He was looking at me, his face blank except for something - I can’t recall if it was fear or pain or something else. I stared at him. I had no idea what to say; it was the first time since the car we'd been alone. I was frightened and excited, but I couldn’t smile - I couldn’t say a word! I think I leaned back against the counter, both my hands on it. I saw him take the first step towards me. It was like in vampire movies how quickly he moved across the room. He was against me then, kissing me. I was kissing him back, my mind was screaming for me to stop, my heart pounding so loud my ears were ringing. I felt his hand, gripping me firmly on my hips, sliding slowly up my stomach to my breast. He touched me gently and I cried out in pleasure or shock or something. Suddenly he let me go and walked away.

I just sat there against the counter, not breathing, then gasping - the wind gone from me, my body ON FIRE. He was there, then gone, as if it was a switch - on then off. All the while, he said nothing. Not a word. I couldn’t speak. My breasts were much smaller; I recall so well his hand on me, most of all his fingers - his thumb and index finger gently putting pressure around my nipple. It sent heat searing through me, making me lose my thoughts, even now. God, this man’s hand on my tummy, under my navel up to my breast – ahh, I was shaking the whole time!

There I was, hot, wet and terrified, standing there in that huge black and gray kitchen. I wanted more but everything about it was wrong.

I prayed and prayed for the urges I felt for Lisa’s father to go away. During daily mass at our school’s chapel, I stood in the line at communion, my conscience racked with guilt for accepting the host (catholic symbolism or the lamb of god, Jesus, the man, what have you... we feel the need to physically ingest part of the lord daily... I don’t know, its how I was raised - don’t ask questions just listen...). How could I take something so pure into a body steaming with impurity? As the weeks passed and I continued to torture myself with guilt it faded away like most things do when you are that young. The guilt from enjoying what Lisa’s father did to me may have faded away but the enjoyment of recalling it over and over at night in the darkness of my bedroom didn’t!

Midnight Mass is a big holiday thing where I am from. My catholic prep school choir always sang during that mass, all classic Latin chants, and then for the big finally after communion was Handel’s Messiah. That seven-minute ode to the lord, that as a soprano I found gut wrenchingly painful. Of course, during the 3 hour holiday guilt trip of that mass, (which I attended alone, seeing as my parents - the divorced and remarried sinners that they were then - wouldn’t dare show up at church.), Carrie and I had gotten into trouble.

Carrie felt it necessary to voice, “I WANT YOU...” - and other much more inappropriate phrases to the visiting seminary student (priest in training). It was either my own hysterical silent giggling or the seminary student's blushing that caught the attention of our choir director, Brother Kay, but Carrie and I were busted. We were punished by getting the dreaded job of putting the choir’s folding chairs away. Lisa’s parents had always dropped me off at my house after midnight mass. Since Lisa was an alto she’d only witnessed the debauchery, not joined us; she told me she would have one of her older brothers drop the family off and then come back and pick me up, since my mother was, as usual, not likely to wonder where I was.

Carrie’s brother Chad, who was older than us, was also in the choir. When he found out that Carrie and I had to stay after church he was furious. It was 3am on Christmas morning, and he and Carrie lived about an hour from the church, over in the bad side of town, so I told them both to go home. I explained and that by the time Lisa’s mother returned I’d have everything done and Father Luke would never know.

The basement of the huge of church was a cavernous place, a catacomb of ancient catholic icons. There among the paintings of dead pontiffs, broken marble virgins, and oak and cherry altars, I began my daunting punishment. As I put the chairs away I was trying not to be afraid, or even notice the eyes of the old stained glass saints and angels were following me as I folded up the chairs.

I was almost done when suddenly I felt like someone else was in the room, like someone was watching me. I tried not to look because God knows what or who it could be. In the back of my mind I’m hoping it’s him, but I tell myself I’m imagining things. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. He was in a black suit and damn, he was so handsome. My body went weak, and I dropped the chair. It clanged loudly on the ground and I jumped back quickly. He laughed, and asked, smiling if I am all right. I’m so nervous that I’m shaking but I nodded yes. The bottom of my choir robe tickled the bare skin of my ankles. I felt like every nerve on my body was firing in some weird sexual response.

He stood a few feet away and eventually began helping me put away the last few chairs. We finished and I was standing there, too terrified to speak. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time; I was terrified but not of him. I slowly took off my choir robe to hang it on the hanger. I looked at him while I was taking it off, I didn’t realize that my gaze could be thought of as sexy, but I know now. He's a few feet from me and I’m trying not to shake.

"I shouldn’t have done that that night Lola." he said. "You’re a very pretty girl… I’m sorry"

“Its OK,” I said softly, but we kept just looking at each other.

"Ready to go?" he said, walking towards me and I back up until my thighs are against the table that the old women put there purses on. He moves slowly, putting his hands on the back of my neck and he slowly kisses me, like in the car.

I don’t know how, but my arms were suddenly wrapped around his neck. His chest was touching mine; I could feel my nipples hard against his blazer. I don’t know if he lifted me, or if I sat down on the table but I was sitting there, helping him pull his jacket off. His hands were on my neck, my arms, then my thighs. I pull him into me, kissing him - I loved kissing him. I’m not sure if he was between my thighs or next to them; I felt his cock hard against me. Still kissing me, I feel his hand rubbing my inner thigh slowly moving up. I pull him closer to me, kissing him deeper as his fingers trace over my panties. I moan into his mouth - I’m so ashamed tears were running down my cheeks. “You’re so beautiful … we have to stop this,” he whispers between kisses. He's crying too, but his fingers are pulling my panties to the side and I’m reaching down rubbing what I know is him through his pants.

He cannot stop. I can’t and don’t want to try. He gasps when I touch him and he begins to rub my pussy under my panties. He uses just his thumb; I shiver. Slowly my body moves without me knowing, pressing on him. I put pressure on his hardness with my hand, rubbing it, amazed and aroused, but then I open my eyes and the stained glass saints are staring at me. His fingers are rubbing me and my hips are moving into his hands. He’s kissing my neck; I moan. I’m terrified. It’s ecstasy! I’m going to Hell!! I cum on his hand, shaking and crying, my legs jerking up to stop the sensation. He’s telling me to stop him, saying he’s so sorry, I’m so beautiful, he’s sick and he hates himself, but I’m so pretty…

He stops and removes his hand from in between my legs. I’m sobbing and tears are running town his cheek. He says he's sorry, he's so sorry, and helps me to my feet. He hands me my coat and grabs his, he hugs me and I still feel his hardness against my leg. I go to touch it, my hand moving on its own. He moans grabbing me hard, kissing me. Then we both panic a little, pulling apart. We walk to the car and he takes me home. That fifteen-minute ride on the way home was the longest 15 minutes of my life.

And, to this day, I still can vividly recall the florescent lights, the old church smell of myrrh, the eyes of the stained glass saints and his ivory soap smell and the feel of his hard cock against my hand.

******************

It was an odd winter that year. We’d had a heat wave; all the snow had suddenly melted and the river was high. We’d gone to Lisa’s family cabin for Easter; it was a huge brand new log cabin - must have cost a fortune. Outside, it was humid and damp; when there is an Indian spring, 60 degrees feels like summer.

That night it was very dark, and raining those fat raindrops (which still to this day make me also get me hot). I couldn’t sleep. Carrie had snuck out, to fuck a neighbor boy, some townie kid, and Lisa was asleep. I went with him, I met him. He didn't ask me to, but I went - I couldn't help myself. I knew he was there on that porch. I went to him, I wanted his touch; I wanted him badly. It felt wrong, but so good, too. I was so young, no boy had ever kissed me, or even had held my hand, just this 43-year-old man.

It was late, I could hear the raindrops hitting the roof of the cabin. It was raining hard, fat pounding drops of heavy spring rain, making icy holes in the remaining patches of drifted snow. I fumbled with the beads of my rosary, reminding myself to concentrate on my prayers. Lisa was sleeping beside me. I heard her soft shallow breaths coming from her peacefully resting body. I again tried to focus on the worn plastic glow in the dark beads between my fingers, but all I can do is think about the way he had touched me that day.

I was walking down the hall. He grabbed me, kissed me hard then pulled me into the office-library. He sat on his desk chair and pulled me onto his lap. He kissed me; I kissed him back. I felt his erection under me. I knew what it was; I wanted to touch it but he was so fast. He said nothing, until temptation got to me and I reached down to rub his cock and he stopped me. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t do this!" With that he sat up and walked out of the room.

I was left there, my knees weak. my body stinging with desire. And shame! So much shame! A painful, burning, wonderful shame. A shame I hated, but carried with me and I longed for it to continue.

That night at dinner he was quiet. I was quiet. Carrie, Lisa, and Lisa’s mother laughed and talked, but no one noticed our silence except Carrie.

I lay there in bed listening to Lisa’s breathing, and the rain hitting the cabin. I heard the door open and shut; the doors were heavy and weren’t loud but shook the house when they shut. I thought it was Carrie returning, but it was the back door, the door that lead out to the pine deck, the plain flat pine deck that faced the woods, where they kept most of the fire wood. I had to know if it was him. I had to see what he would do. I had to feel him. I needed him, I hated him. I longed for the burning to stop, and all the while the rain was taunting me, pattering fat drops onto the black window pane. I got out of bed, walked to the door, the sound of the rain growing louder as I approached it, my heart was pounding, my body burning.

I opened the door and he was standing there in a sweater - an itchy wool sweater - and jeans. The sweater was green blue like his eyes. It was black except for the porch light that reflected the rain making the fat drops seem violently blinding. I stood there for what seemed like forever in the rain with the door shut gently behind me. I must have been there a long time with him looking at me, because my nightgown was soaked through. I could see my stomach through it. I’d looked down and shivered and when I looked up the light was blocked and he was there. He kissed me and I kissed him back - I think I cried out in relief; I’m not sure.

We stood there kissing, our tongues violating each other’s mouths. His hands moving over my rain soaked nightgown. I was so dizzy, and I must have stopped breathing. I’m there on the porch, I’m on his lap. Thee rain hitting my face was kissing my neck. I was sopping wet. I pulled his sweater off; it was wet and itchy and his skin was so soft and hard underneath. I felt the hot wet skin on his back and the raindrops hitting my closed eyelids. It made me squint. With his itchy wool sweater gone the skin on his back was wet. I was straddling him, rubbing against him, rubbing myself against his jeans. He rubbed his hands over my ass and up my waist while he sucked my nipple through my wet nightgown. I felt him so hard on me, my labia spread over the fly of his jeans. He kissed my breasts through the fabric; I whimpered against him. He never said a word - only my name - as he pulled my nightgown over one of my breasts and sucked the bare flesh. I felt my body lifting to him. He pulled his cock out. The head of his hardness was rubbing between my legs, was rubbing my aching slit.

I think he just meant for me to touch it, but I was all over him, rubbing my body against the head of his cock. He slipped the head in between my labia and moaned when he felt how wet I was. He shook as he rubbed himself in between the lips of my pussy and I held his neck tightly. He had the base in his hand, he pulled me apart with his fingers and then left it there. I was moving on it, shaking - damn it felt so good! He grabbed my ass with one hand and held his cock with the other. He whimpered my name and pushed into me, pulling my ass down onto his cock, hard, breaking me. I know I screamed, but he kissed me and no sound came out. It hurt - it burned something amazing - and I felt him break through me, tearing through my muscles, shaking in me. It hurt, but it burnt so good! I felt blood leaving and my wetness coming in and it relieved the pain. He held it in me untill I began to move, shaking hard, unable to stop my body. I was fully broken and burning, but I couldn’t stop. The heavy wet air, the bright light, the black sky and the fat raindrops were all there to witness my sins.

He sat up, still in me, as he laid me back on the dirty pine deck, the planks hard on my back. He moved in me, slowly at first, looking at me. He’s whimpering something, but I never said a word - I was so shocked and in so much pain and pleasure, numb all over. Then slowly, from my pussy outward, pleasure came through me and I realized he was fucking me. That he was in me, with his cock and not his finger this time, and not my own. I couldn’t believe how it felt. He rubbed my thighs and pressed his weight into me as he thrust. Suddenly I felt his cock in me, moving in and out of me, and my brain finally registered that it felt amazing, over and over, in and out, my eyes closed. His head was between my neck and shoulders. It all felt so good! He was pushing into me at a good pace; I had my legs round him my feet on the deck, my thighs clamped against him. His arms were around me, I could feel his jeans against my thighs as his belt buckle cut into me. I began to cum as he pushed in and out of my torn muscles. My cheek was on his chest. I came hard with him in me, over me. My body arched and I screamed quietly. Suddenly he began to cum, pulling himself from my broken body in time for his semen to shoot all over my stomach and onto the pine deck, gasping, looking at me like I was crazy or an animal or something.