*Note to readers: All characters involved in sexual activity are 18 and over.*
My curfew was midnight and I hadn't come home that night at all. I came home the next day at around 11 a.m. I had made an effort to look presentable when I walked in the door, but my Dad saw that I had been with Jim that night. His face was red. He looked like he was going to scream and cry at the same time.
"Katie, sit down," he told me angrily, pointing to the kitchen table. I did as he said. "I've been worried about you all night. I almost called the police. You never called, you never came home, nothing, I didn't know if you had gotten into a car wreck, I didn't know what had happened. Do you know what the imagination does to a worried parent?"
I lowered my eyes. I felt bad that I had worried him that much. I didn't realize it would hurt him this much.
"I'm sorry, Dad," I said quietly.
"And I see," he said angrily, eyeing my frizzed, unruly hair, "that you haven't exactly been collecting cans for the needy."
This is the way he expressed himself. Whenever he felt a vulnerable emotion - sadness, worry, uncertainty - he always expressed it in frustration and anger as a sort of shield. But his comment made me angry.
"I can be with whoever I want," I snapped and got up from the table.
"Not in this house!" he yelled at me. "Not with someone so much older! I don't care what I said last night, that's all over with now. Maybe I thought you had more class than to put out on the first date. You're not going to see this Jim anymore!"
I stood, listening to him and looking him dead in the eye from across the room. My anger was setting me on fire. "I can screw whoever I want!" I screamed. "I enjoyed it! I enjoyed every second of it!"
"I'm not going to allow him to take advantage of you and I'm not going to allow you to act like a slut!"
I walked up to him angrily, staring at him. I was shocked he would say that, not only as a father, but as a man. I slapped him across the face and he let out a yelp. I grabbed my purse and ran out the door. I caught the bus just in time and took a seat. I was breathing heavy from our argument. Both my Dad and I knew that his last comment was out of line and I was extremely hurt by it.
I took a pair of sunglasses out of my purse and put them on. I started to cry behind them. I could've just ran up to my bedroom, but I just wanted to get away from him. My cell phone rang and it said "Dad" on it. We both knew he regretted what he had said and I pressed the "ignore" button. I wanted to call Jim, but I also didn't want him to see me so weepy and down.
I rode on the bus for a while, never really having any kind of destination. It was a Sunday and there were very few people riding. I noticed a man at the back of the bus. He was dressed well and he was holding a paper, but whenever I looked at him I saw that he was looking at me. He had a gentle look to him. Like Jim, he also had dark hair and dark eyes, but he was also good-looking in his own way, especially with beautiful lips that I imagined would be nice to kiss. He was much older than even Jim - he looked maybe late 40's or early 50's. He smiled at me gently. I was suspicious when he walked over to me. He didn't take the seat beside me, but he hung onto the pole and dug out something in his pocket.
"I don't know if you need these," he said. "Maybe I should've offered them earlier," he said, taking out a few tissues.
I looked up at him through my sunglasses and took the tissues from his grip. "Thank you," I said quietly. I took my sunglasses off and wiped my eyes that were wet and I'm sure puffy and unattractive.
He smiled. "I knew I'd like your eyes."
I looked up at him callously and pulled the cord. The bell rang and I got off the bus. I didn't need some old lech who tries to pick up vulnerable young girls on the bus. I called Jim and asked him if I could come over. He said I could.
Once at his house I explained the whole confrontational day. I was pretty composed by that point, but I told him about the fight with my Dad and the old lech that tried to pick me up on the bus. He held me.
"I'm sorry it's been such a rough day, Baby," he said, rocking me.
Over the next several weeks, Jim and I saw each other usually 5-6 days a week. We had grown closer both emotionally and physically. My Dad and I both knew he had a problem with Jim, but we tried to subdue our conflicting views and maintain a peaceful home. Our relationship was rocky because of my taboo love life, but I knew it would solidify again once he accepted Jim as someone I deeply cared about.
Jim and I explored our amazing relationship and our amazing sex life. Whenever we saw each other those 5 or 6 days per week, we always had sex. I joked that he was my "sexual liberator." I was desiring things I had never before desired. I found I was an extremely physical person and learning that Jim was too and nothing felt better than the two of us using each other to the utmost pleasure. He knew that every time I saw him that I was desperate for what he had in his pants, but he rarely had the willpower to taunt or tease me with it because, he said, whenever he eyed me he wanted to "go to bed" and "show Baby what grown-ups did." This particular phrase stuck in my head and I very gently broached the subject one day in bed. Those kind of phrases of his were common, referring to my youth, so I was hoping what I wanted to say would be taken well.
In his bed, we were cuddling and kissing after having sex. I kept kissing him to keep myself from talking, but finally I decided to tell him one of my fantasies.
"Jim," I whispered. "I like that you're so much older than me."
"Me too."
