The day started just like any normal day in my parent's home, but by the time evening came around, it suddenly felt like being stuck in a dream.
My name is Jessie, and I'm twenty-three years old. I'm 5'8" and I have an ample set of jutting breasts and a well proportioned ass. My hair is the same as my Mom's – red, though wavy. Much of my character I inherited from Dad's Irish side, while my physical qualities I got from Mom. This story that I'm about revealing to you is stuff I've had hidden inside my diary for a long while. I don't know how I came to forgot about my having written it when it happened even though the memory remains very fresh in my thoughts. I hope you will bear with me and believing that it's true ... and who knows, maybe such would happen to you too.
Like I said, the day started just like any normal day. It was the month of July – the middle of the summer holidays so I wasn't troubled at all about being away from my books. I'd gotten off college and that day my plan was to head down to the beach to catch some sun and some fun with my girlfriends and who knows, maybe catch the eyes of some staring boys ... like I said, who knows. That was supposed to be how I'd predicted the day was going to be like, though never would I have thought the day would end up how I'm about to tell it. I got home and noticed Dad's Mercedes in the driveway; there was another car – a custom-made SUV – behind his. I couldn't help but frown at this. I knew most of my Dad's friends and knew he didn't have any who drove an SUV.
I went into the house, called out his name and got an answer inside the den. He sat on the long sofa watching an episode of CSI: Miami at the same time nursing a Coors beer in his hand. Though the way he looked I doubt if he was actually concentrating on the TV. He had a weary, haggard appearance about him like that of an English sheepdog. I came over and sat next to him, holding his hand in mine.
"What's up, Dad?" I asked.
He seemed distracted while he looked at me. "Oh ... nothing much, Jessie. Thought you'd be off with your friend Linda to the beach by now?"
"I was going to, but I thought I'd stop by and drop some stuff off before heading over to her place. Hope that's alright?"
"Uh yeah ... yeah, sure ... of course. Of course."
He drank his beer and returned his eyes to the TV screen. Truly I could tell his mind wasn't there with me. I was about asking if everything was alright when I thought I heard a sudden bumping like kind of sound coming from above my head. I glanced around, my body tensed, thinking that maybe it was the start of an earthquake or something ... but my Dad made as if he hadn't heard anything; he went on sipping his beer and staring at the TV like nothing seemed amiss, like he wasn't hearing what I was. It sounded like that of a bed bumping against the wall, followed with someone crying out. The voice sounded very much like my Mom's. I rushed out of the den, heard my father call sharply for me to come back, but it wasn't until I got halfway up the staircase that my feet pulled me to a stop. My face must have looked silly with me standing there as right away I realised the sound and voice of my Mom actually meant. How stupid I must have felt when I should have recognised what my Mom's cries meant right away – that right there and then, in my parent's room, my Mom was getting banged up pretty good.
But if that was Mom getting fucked the she was, and Dad was in the den downing a beer ... then who was it then upstairs with Mom?
Uh-Oh!
I came down the stairs feeling like someone that's sleepwalking and returned to the den. My father had his hands over his face, crying. I sat beside him, for a moment unable to think up what to say. I was just as plastered with shock at what I already figured was going on. Eventually I did.
"Dad?" I said softly, a little afraid of what I really wanted to say. "Dad, what's going on with Mom upstairs?"
Then I saw something that I never in my whole life thought I would ever get to see, and to this day I pray nothing ever makes me see such again. My father broke down into tears. He came and knelt before me and held my hands. Tears sputtered from his eyes and he shook all over as if he had a fever. It was so hard for me to believe, I thought I was having a nightmare and I pinched myself to wake up but no such thing happened. I tried to console him, but it was no use. He went on crying in ways I'd never thought I would ever live to see my father cry at all, and it made me so very afraid.
"Oh Jessie ... Jess ..." he sputtered uncontrollably. He soon began to calm down, took out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes which now appeared red-rimmed from his crying. All the while the bumping sound mixed with my Mom yelling out what could only be an orgasm floated down to us.
"Dad, please, what's happening? What's really going on here?"
"Jess ... honey, I'm so sorry," he paused to wheeze into his hanky before continuing. "This was something I prayed I'd never expose you to. I hope you'll find the heart to forgive me later ... please, I hope you will. You see ... your Daddy did something very bad ... a bad, bad thing."
Then he went on and told me all the bad stuff he'd done and how the led to that day. My father unknown to me, had become something mother had always feared he would become – a degenerate gambler. Horse races and dog tracks usually were his favourites ... always ready to let it ride even when the juice got too high. For the past couple of months, unbeknownst to Mom, he'd realised how much in the red he was, and the fact that he owed some thuggish pimp called Morris Knight nearly fifty-five grand with interest. Morris as of last month had informed him of how badly he wanted his money, and if my father wasn't due with it yesterday that he was going to have to resort to some other measures to get his money back. Measures that were ... a bit more drastic than my Dad could accept, which he had no choice but to. It was useless involving the police – Morris had warned him that that would only make matters worse for him and his family ... especially for his daughter, me.
He told me that he'd confessed to Mom late last night about everything. Had as well told her about the other means with which Morris had told him he could use to clear his debt – that his wife, my Mom, was to become his sex slave. He once again broke into tears when he was done telling me everything, apologising while he did.
What was I to say in such circumstances? How was I to even react to all what my father had just confessed to me? At that moment, if I recall correctly, I felt like I was walking through space ... like I was in some type of suspended animation, if you know what I mean, and still a part of my head kept telling me that this was nothing more than a dream. Some weird, crazed dream I'd had nuzzling in my unconsciousness all this while.
If only.
