My eyes fluttered open. I knew what time it was without looking at the digital clock that illuminated the area around the nightstand in a reddish glow. Instead there was a different glow, and a muffled sound that came with it, beneath the door to my room that told me it it was around 1 a.m.; the TV. That was when Becky's dad often settled down for some late night — or I guess early morning, depending on how you look at it — television watching. I wondered why he did it: did demons keep him from sleeping? Was he unable to quiet all the thoughts that must come with running your own — successful — business? Did he get in a fight with Margaret? Did she roll over when he ran a hand suggestively up her thigh, hinting that he wanted to do more than just sleep?
I, for one, could never understand why he was with her. She was nothing like Becky's mom, who'd passed away when we were in middle school. Margaret — never Maggie — was frost to Sylvia's warmth and all ostentation to Sylvia's class. Maybe Rick just didn't want to be alone. Maybe he liked the "arm candy" status she gave him. Sure, she was good looking, but she was so thin not even the best Victoria's Secret had to offer could give her cleavage, and so neurotic Ambien and wine were her best friends. There was also a 99 percent chance she was only with him for his money. And wasn't a shitty personality supposed to dampen one's appearance? Margaret put the "B" in bitch, and only respect for her dad kept Becky from telling that B exactly how she felt — Lord knows it wasn't out of respect for
her
.
As for me, I sure as hell didn't have any respect for her either. I'd had nothing but respect for Sylvia, and only fond memories to think back on. But with her no longer here, and
Maggie
instead... well... let's just say thoughts about Rick that I probably would have squelched were instead allowed free reign.
In fact, there were times, mostly when I was spending the night, that those thoughts completely took over. Outside of Becky's house the usual teenage distractions meant there wasn't much time for thinking about Rick. Distractions like friends, shopping, school, parties, boys... although, when it came to the latter, sometimes thoughts of Rick — older, mature, experienced, god damned sexy — would flit through my mind. Like when I was on my knees with my mouth around my boyfriend's cock, who I knew wasn't likely to return the favor once he finished; when the boyfriend before him was groping my size C tits and treated them like stress balls. Yeah, I couldn't deny wondering at those times how different it might be with Rick.
He made the switch from "my best friend's dad" to sexual fantasy when I was a freshman. I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and headed in only to find the room filled with steam and Rick standing there post shower, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Oh! Sorry." I'd squeaked out sleepily. I'd started to turn to leave, but he grabbed me by the wrist to halt me, his hand still warm and damp.
"Hey, no worries Tay. I'm done here — sorry about that. I should have locked the door, but it's so late I didn't even think about it."
I made some sort of noise I hoped would convey "it's cool, no problem," but I couldn't be sure I made any sound at all. He'd left then, all nonchalant, like the encounter hadn't been a big deal — I mean, it really wasn't — but to me, the damage had been done.
I sat down on the toilet to pee, feeling dizzy, inhaling the scent of his body wash and idly noticing my nipples were hard through my tank top — had he noticed that? Did that happen while he was still in here or after? He was so hot! The "dad" title seemed ill-fitting now that I'd seen him without his shirt on; he was bigger than the guys at school — more solid — and definitely lacked that stereotypical "dad bod." His slightly toned biceps and firm abs caused an automatic twinge between my legs, and I couldn't be certain I hadn't started blushing at the sight of him. There was no way I'd be able to unsee what I'd seen, and my mind almost instantly started to wander, and wonder what else there was to be found just a bit lower, behind that snowy white towel he'd hung low on his hips.
My mind had been wandering and wondering ever since. Naturally, nothing ever happened; I was 14 and hadn't done more than kiss a guy at the time, but that didn't stop me from thinking about him when I'd sleep over Becky's, and the idea of him so close, especially at nighttime, drove me wild — did he sleep naked? It wasn't long before thoughts of him led to me exploring my own body while I did so, and I gave myself my first orgasm by playing with my clit and thinking about my best friend's dad. And from getting to know my body, I started appreciating my body, and from appreciating my body I gained a kind of confidence when it came to the guys at my school... I wanted more of the feelings I'd given myself with my fingers. And yet, I had an inkling the way the high school boys made me feel and the way Rick probably made women feel was drastically different. God, I wanted him.
For years, sleepovers meant Becky and I stayed in her room together, but a couple years ago she asked if I wanted to sleep in the guest room downstairs instead, saying I'd have much more room in the queen sized bed, and privacy with the attached bathroom. I said yes, of course, even though the idea of never running into her dad in the bathroom again made me sad. I couldn't say no though, especially since I didn't think it was a coincidence this happened shortly after I told her — shy, sweet Becky — about how you could pleasure yourself by using your fingertips to rub your clit, figuring out the perfect speed and pressure, and by pushing your fingers in and out of your pussy, mirroring how a guy's hard cock — ideally much larger — would feel. Girl needed her privacy.
Besides, it was true I had more space in the guest room, and when I wanted to think about Rick and touch myself, I didn't have to do it as secretly as I did when I was in the same room as his daughter, making sure to move as little as possible as my fingers drifted down my body. So I guess I needed some privacy, too.
My sadness at not having the chance to venture out and bump into Rick in the bathroom again was also quickly alleviated when I learned about his late night TV habit. Despite my guesses, I really couldn't be sure why he did it, but I didn't really care. All I knew was: A. He was closer to me, and B. If he was in the living room watching TV he wasn't upstairs with that bitchy twig Margaret. I was fine with both things. What I wasn't fine with, at least not any longer, was subpar sex with my high school boyfriend or thinking about Rick. That is, I was no longer ok with ONLY thinking about Rick. I wanted him. Bad. And I intended to have him.
If I'd thought for a second he had legit feelings for Margaret, I wouldn't have slipped my feet out of bed and onto the cool wood floor. If Sylvia had been alive, I was certain my thoughts wouldn't have ever gotten to this point, never mind my intentions. But neither of those things were true. What
was
true, on the other hand, was that I'd be graduating high school in a few months and heading off to college a few months after that; my sleepovers at Becky's were limited. What else was true was that I'd turned 18 just a couple of weeks prior, and the one birthday/graduation gift I wanted could be found right outside my bedroom door.
