My father had got used to the idea: his daughter (that is, me), had REALLY "that" problem.
But he was keeping acting with me the same way as before. As if I was always his little child. Bearing in mind the fact that I was not a child anymore.
When I was really a little child there was my mother with us. And my father loved her, the same way as he loved me. Or thereabouts...
When I asked him why I could not stay away alone late in the evening he told me why, and very clear.
"Because you are Red Riding Hood, And there are lots of wolves, out there."
"What wolves? There are no wolves, there are people only, out there." I answered, thinking that he was treating me as If I was younger and sillier than I was.
"People are wolves, sometimes. Especially MEN are wolves."
"And what do you are? Are you not a man?"
"Yes, I am a wolf too. But a wolf who have found someone who has domesticated him. You can't domesticate anyone yet..."
It was clear WHO had domesticated him. My mother. And when I grew old a bit, I understood HOW he shad domesticated him. Giving him bit by bit what the "wolves" out there would have tried to take from me all at once... her body... the sex...
And I had heard and seen how my mother kept "domesticating" him. That morning when I heard my mother laugh and shout.
"Oh, no, come on, quit! We will wake up Crimi!"
"Crimi" was me. "Crimilde", or "Kriemhild", as the Wagnerian heroine, "Crimi" for my friends. My father liked Wagner, and the name was quite original, but that night his mind was very far from classical music. He was trying to "submitted" my mother "to his lechery". Maybe I should have understood that my mother was not totally averse to get "submitted", listening to how much she was laughing. But when I got into my parents' room, I just saw them as if they were caught in a brawl, under the blankets, and my father was over her. Help! Alert! Beat quarter!
I jumped on the bed, climbed on my father's back and started beating it with my little fists, as if I wanted to stab him with non-existing daggers. He started laughing.
"Leave my mom alone!" I shouted. As a largely pre-adolescent girl could "shout", of course.
"Hey, we have a real warrior princess!" he said, cheerfully. He took me by a hand, before I could fall from the bed, and careful rolled on his side. "You are brave! That's good! But I was not hurting your mom! Isn't it right, dear?"
Even my mother was laughing, a bit embarrassed by the situation. She was blushing, her nice adult body scarcely covered by the unbuttoned padjamas. Her breasts were swollen, her nipples erected. And she was looking at his man with shy but shining eyes. Clearly he had not mistreated her...
"But I heard you saying "no"!" I said.
"Oh! It was a play! You dad wanted to play!" my mother laughed. "I just did not want to wake you up too soon! It's Sunday! You could sleep!"
"What kind of "play"?" I asked.
"Well..." my mother said. She looked at my father, but he did not help her to answer me: he just looked at her and smiled.
"Do we tell her, now?" he asked her. "It's the right moment..."
So that was the day I knew the facts of life. That thing about the birds and the bees, you know. And how I came to the world. I was not upset at all. It seemed to me a nice thing. I even asked to see WITH WHAT my father and my mother had "made" me... Especially, with what my father had took part in the process. But my mother adamantly forbade him to show me that. And my father had to go along...
It seemed to me impossible, then, that all that love between my father and my mother could come to an end. But it came.
Yes, I thought it would have happened, someday in the distant future, a sad day at the hospital, and then, at the graveyard. "Till death do us apart", "ashes to ashes, dust to dust"... But I was wrong. It was worse. My mother fell in love with another man.
Yes, for me it was very worse. When someone dies, it's sorrowful, but it's natural, it happens to anyone, no one is to blame, there are the good memories... But that way!
They divorced, of course, and the judge gave me to my father, and I was happy. I hated my mother, then. For me, she was worse than dead. What that other man had, more than my dad? Why she had left him? Why she had hurted him? Why?
"Don't take it bad." my father told me. We were at our house. He had put some comedy in the DVD reader, to distract me, but I was crying. Crying with rage, and with sorrow for him. He had cooked good things, for both. He was able to do that too. How many men could do it? And my mother had left him all the same. Why?
"Because", he said. "We have talked about it. I prefer she has gone, if she really loved that man, If she would have remained with us, only out of sense of duty, it would have been worse. Always recriminating, thinking she had sacrificed herself, her new love, her freedom, her life... Unbearable. I am sure she had thought about it, very well. It has been her choice, she had the right to take it. So let her go, don't think about it too much..."
"And you? You are alone..." I said. He sighed, shrugging.
"Stories come to an end. Life goes on."
And life went on. My father looked for another woman that could "domesticate" him, and after a few, he found her. She was a work colleague. I think she was waiting for nothing else. She surely liked that man, first, loyal to his wife, and then free, and able to suffer with dignity. My father had serious intentions towards her, so he let us meet each other. I had a good impression of her. She was beautiful, quite tall, in his thirties. The body of a mare, wide hips, big breasts, nice face, calm and reassuring. I felt she was really able to love, not only in the sexual sense, maybe. "Loving" as "taking care". She was the kind of woman my father needs. She had noticeable eyes too. Eyes of a she-wolf. But she looked at my father not as if he was a prey. She looked at him as at a pack leader. Her own pack leader.
After a while, my father and his new woman started to sleep together. He preferred to "do it" at her house, for not to "embarrass" me. He did not tell me exactly what he went to do, when he ordered a pizza for me (he still did not trust my cooking skills so much). But I was not a children anymore. I knew what sex was already, from that famous morning. And I knew that sex is a normal fact, between a man and a woman, married or not. And my father was a man.
"Do you go to make love with her?" I asked him. He blushed, but I smiled. Come on, dad, I'm sixteen, you can tell me that... He did not say me "yes" nor "no". He just smiled, wave his hands, and went away.
So I remained alone at home, and this did not disturb me a bit. I was happy for him, and for her. I fancied them in bed, he above, she below (I had no idea it was possible to do it otherwise yet). It was fine. I hope she could be a better mate for him than my mother. And I was quite sure about it.
Yes, I was in full-blown puberty already. The boys had noticed it, someone had tried to pick me up, but I was not interested, by the moment. I looked at my father, and then at my schoolmates... No match. And I wanted a man like my father, for my first time. Or at least, someone as he was, when he was a bit younger...
And of course, I fancied that "first time", when I was alone, at night. Call it "masturbation", call it "exploration of my body", in a nutshell, I did it, quite often. I dreamed a man who knew where to touch me, how to touch me... and in the meantime I touched myself. My nipples, my vulva... my clitoris... slowly, as if my fingers were feathers, or stronger, simulating the hands of a man, the lips of a man. Or trying to do it, at least...
My favorite fantasy? Guess it... I dreamed to be the woman of my father. It was not jealousy, I liked her, I wished her all the best. But I tried to figure what she felt under him, kissing him and being kissed, touched, explored, penetrated by him... Yes, penetrated too. I was still a virgin, and I had chosen not to deflower myself. If a man would have deserved to be my first winner, I intended to let to him the honor and the pleasure to do it, on his own... But I imagined...
And slowly, very slowly, I learned to let it all go, to not be frightened by the sensations of my body getting closer and closer to orgasm. No kidding. The first time I got close to that, I felt my head turning around as if I was on a roller coaster, and I stopped short to get the real climax. An awful thing. Then I started again, thinking that I was laying on my bed, so there was no place where I could fall and bang my head: I was horizontal already. And then there was my first, big, big, big, big "O"...
Maybe it was for the elation (or call it giddiness, drunkenness, you name it) due to that experience, bu then I lowered the drawbridge with the boys. With one boy, more specifically. It looked less crude and less half-baked that the others. We started talking, adolescent talks, two kids, both in mourning for their childhood, but trying and fancying to be tough guys who had seen all the evil of the world already...
Talking about "evil", I started cursing my mother, when was with him. For what she did to my father. And I cursed her as only a teenage girl can do: ultimately, harshly, mercilessly... All is absolute, then, black or white, no in between... And he was listening me, nodding, understandingly. Someone has said that the simplest way to seduce a woman is to listen her lamenting till 4,00 AM in the morning... Well, he did it, and he did not need to wait for the wee wee hours. I invited him at my house.
When he rang the bell at my door, I wanted to open and introduced him to my father. I had asked his permission to meet him, and to be alone with him. He looked at him and classified him as "harmless", I understood it when he nodded, mumbling a greeting.
I knew my father had to leave me alone: his woman waited for him. Before to leave the square, he faced my schoolmate with a serious face.
"So, now I have to leave. Have a nice time. But just two things: no blows below the belt and DON'T unfasten HER belt. Got it? Or else..."
I snorted. My father greeted me and went away. My schoolmate asked me, wether my father was joking. And I told him no: he was NOT joking at all. "Or else"...
My program was simple: a bit of music and a bit of petting. I liked that guy, but it was just the first contact. I was willing, longing to be touched by a male, but nothing more: just "touched", not necessarily below the dress.
A girlfriend of mine, of 18, had found a guy she liked a lot, and had met him at her house. He had acted very well, touching her, kissing her, but when she had said "stop", he had stopped at once, and had kept touching her where she allowed him to do it: not below her breasts, and just through her dress. My girlfriend was very happy of it, and she had told me how good it was, when a MAN touches your body. How strong and warm and careful were his hands... She was very excited, recalling it, and she just wanted to be touched by him, again and again. She can't wait to meet that boy, for to let him touch her even more. She wanted to feel his hands over her skin, maybe between the legs, on her sex, his fingers touching her sex, inside... And the second time they met, she let him do all the above and more. Shortly, that boys became her first male. He made her come, many times, kissing her everywhere, from her breasts to her sex, and then he possessed her, with her consent, slowly and surely deflowering her. She told me that too, even happier and more grateful to him, describing his warm penetration inside her as the best experience in her life. And she never regretted it.
I thought my schoolmate was at least as intelligent as the man of my girlfriend. Unfortunately, he wasn't. He mistook my limited acquiescence for a free-for-all, and so he shoved his hand between my thighs. It could even be fine. But he wanted to go forth. He unsnapped my jeans, touched my pubes through my panties and then tried to push aside my crotch and to poke his fingers in my vulva. And all this in less than a minute. Too fast, too furious!
"Come on!" he panted. "I know you want it!"
That was the last straw. "You want" WHAT? To be deflowered by two clumsy fingers, when my cunt was not even dump, let alone wet? I was not ready! I was a virgin, after all! To touch a virgin's cunt is a job for mine cleaners, not for assault troops! What the hell do you think to do? You don't have even the basics for sex!
