Tessa And Her Big Butt
Sometimes... You know, things get out of hand. You don't mean for things to go so far, and you're taking chances that you shouldn't be taking, because it's risky and you're getting away with something that nobody else even thinks about. I guess it was the rush of adrenaline that got me started, and I was hooked on that rush later. I just... You know, I kept pushing things along, when I should have stopped and tapped my hands together for a Time Out. I took too many chances, and now I'm in the spot I am.
I don't know if I regret it. If I had to do it all over again, I'd probably still do things the same way. Most of it, anyway. A lot of it would have probably happened the same way no matter what I'd done. It was the adrenaline and the excitement, and the... Oh, wow. I can feel my body getting hot just thinking about it. It was fun, too. It was always fun with my dad.
I guess I should tell you a little bit about me. At the time this took place, I was nineteen. I mean, don't get me wrong, because this didn't happen all that long ago. It was just, you know, just a few years ago. Before I got married. Maybe I got married so I could create some distance between my dad and me, but... Wow. This 'eyewitness account' is coming out all messed up, isn't it?
I don't want to start this over, because I've tried to write this down a couple of times already, and then I erase it when I get stuck and if I keep doing that I won't ever get it all down.
Okay, what I'm going to do is get up and go have myself a cup of tea. I know, I know, you're going to say that young people like me should drink coffee at the trendy cafes. I'm not the trendy type, okay? I'm sure you will figure this out as I go along. Trendy is not me! I like my Earl Gray and my Black Tea and my Chamomile...
Off topic! I'm rambling now. I think it would be best if I went and had my tea.
Okay, I'm back. I have my cup of Chamomile sitting next to me. I'm not drinking it yet because it's still hot. The little packet came in a pink envelope, and the box is mostly yellow with a little bit of green on it. As you can see, I can jot down details now, and I'm much more composed than I was earlier.
My name is Contessa. I know it is a weird medieval-sounding name, but that's what my parents gave me. My mother's name is Fiona, which is also weird in my opinion, but you can see how this sort of thing runs in the family. When I was a girl, I went by Tassie, but now that I'm older I go by Tessa.
At the time this was going on I was nineteen and living in... Maybe I shouldn't mention exactly where, just in case this sordid tale runs amok. Let's just say it was in the Pacific Northwest, and not in the big cities that first come to mind. The houses around here have huge yards compared to city houses, and our nearest neighbors are a couple of hundred feet away. The back of our house is a forest, which is pretty cool. I spent a lot of time running around in the woods with my friends, and I still go out there a lot just to enjoy nature. I love doing that.
This Chamomile is pretty good, by the way. I put a lot of milk and only a little sugar in it. That's the way I like it. I could drink this all day!
So... I was nineteen back then. My average-height father managed to nab my mother, who is a couple of inches taller than he is. Oh, wait. I forgot to mention my dad's name. His name is Leonard (Yuck!), but most people call him Lenny. I just call him Dad. I got most of my height from my mother, so that I ended up as tall as my dad. I remember how when I grew the same height as he was, he'd make jealous or resentful faces at me. Dad was just kidding around, and I ended up laughing all over the place.
So... I stand at five foot eight. I have B cups and forty-inch hips. Yes, yes, you read the title of my story. It was my hips that got me in a lot of trouble!
My dad is an introvert. He's usually quiet, even around people he knows and hangs out with. My Dad and I can just sit in the same room with each other and not say a thing all day, because we are that comfortable just being in each other's presence. My mother, on the other hand, is an extrovert. She does all the talking when we go out, and she waves her arms around like a sorceress so that people's eyes end up following her hands as if they're about to fly off into outer space or something. As far as their bodies go, my dad is stocky and usually has a trimmed beard. (He always reminds me of a big teddy bear when my mom hugs him.) My mom has long arms and legs, and she has her nice curves. I'm jealous because Mom can eat anything she wants and not gain any weight, while I can munch on one cupcake and immediately it goes to my caboose. You don't know how hard it is to find pants for me! Basically, when I'm around my Dad I'm quiet, but when I'm around Mom I can be a chatterbox just like her.
That's the setting, and here is the story:
The grocery store is half an hour away. My Dad works for a diesel mechanic shop, and usually he has a steady shift with normal nine to five hours. My Mom works as a hostess at a casino. Her shift jumps around a lot, but mostly she works in the evenings and late into the night. The result is that Dad usually goes grocery shopping instead of Mom, because of the long drive and the sunlight and everything. Mom thinks she's a vampire who can't leave the house!
My Mom has a part-time hobby so she can make a little extra income on the side. She creates necklaces and bracelets out of colored glass beads and little pieces of wood or whatever. Sometimes I help her make jewelry. When we have enough, we take our pieces to a souvenir shop in town and later make a percentage of whatever gets sold. It wasn't a whole lot of money, okay?
Dad and I had just gone out shopping that day, while Mom was at work. We stopped off at the post office, since we don't have mail couriers like they do in the big cities. Mom had ordered a big box of beads and trinkets to make more jewelry with. Like a dumb ass, I opened up the box just as we were getting home, and right when Dad's SUV hit a stupid pothole. Well, you can guess what happened. Half the shit in the box jumped out and all over the floorboard.
"Pinchay cabronay!" I yelled out. Yeah, Mom and I cussed a lot. We cussed so much we even cussed in other languages. If we cussed in English, Dad would make us put a dollar into a jar for every cuss word he heard us say. So we filled up jars pretty quick and shifted over to using foreign vernacular. At this point in time, Mom and I were using a combo of Pig Latin and Spanish to vent our many, many frustrations.
Dad was laughing up a storm as he parked his SUV in front of our house. "You take care of that while I get the groceries out."
"Gee, thanks, Dad." I huffed. "There are only like a million little pieces I have to pick up!"
"Too bad for you." He said.
"Ee-ho day putah." I grumbled, as I started snatching up any beads and shit I could see. I was just throwing them back into the box, even though I knew I'd have to sort it later before Mom got home, or else I'd have to deal with her shit, too.
I managed to get all the pieces from the front seat area, but wouldn't you know it, a bunch of other tiny pieces had bounced under the seats and all the way to the back seat floorboard. So there I go, leaning through the back door to scoop up more pieces. That's where all of the groceries were. My dad got some of them out, clearing up enough room for me to lean on the seat, while I reached down to grab more pieces and kept a firm hold on the box so it wouldn't tip over again. Then I had to actually climb on the seat to reach out even farther away.
Well, Dad came back for more groceries. I didn't see him come back, and because he's a quiet guy, he did not say 'Hey, Tessa, get your fat ass out of the way so I can grab more groceries.' Instead of pulling stuff out of the other back door, my Dad absently went to the open door I was in. I don't know how long he stood there. Maybe it was just a few seconds, or maybe it was a couple of minutes. I was in there bent over with my ass in the air, and my head and one arm between the front and back seats grabbing runaway beads.
I guess I felt his stare or his presence behind me. When I looked over my shoulder, I could see Dad standing there, only a couple of feet from my backside. He was transfixed. I had to look that word up, okay, so I could describe that look. He was mesmerized while he was back there looking at me. He even had his mouth open. I'm surprised that drool wasn't hanging out!
"Dad, you need to go around the car to the other door." I told him.
Even then, it took Dad a couple of seconds to shake out of it. He said 'Right' before he nodded and made his way around. I paused my hunt for refugee beads, just to watch Dad for a moment. He took another two arms full of stuff and headed for the front door.
That was pretty odd, I thought. For that short time, Dad looked like a witch had cast a spell to freeze him in place. And what was he staring at? It took me a good minute to understand that my Dad had been gawking at my behind. My Dad checked out my ass! It clicked then, as I had seen that same look on horny guys before. Guys would stare at my friends and I when we were in town. They'd look at our tits or our butts, and their short looks would stretch out and become longer gazes and outright stares. My friends and I joked about that. We even asked some of our boyfriends what they were thinking when they stared at girls like that. The boys said they'd imagined our bodies nude, or they would visualize having sex with us.
No way, I thought. Dad would never look at me like that, would he? Impossible! I say again, impossible! Then again, there weren't that many good-looking women in town, and I had seen Dad checking out my girlfriends before. Still: No Way!
If Mom had been there, I would have cracked a joke to get rid of this weird feeling I had that Dad had ogled me like a pervert. Because Mom was out of the picture, I stayed quiet and kept picking up my beads, while Dad made a couple more trips for the rest of our purchases.
"Cool-oh gran-day." I said, after dad went inside and I was still out there picking up all those stinking beads. In case you didn't know, that means Big Ass in Spanish.
I feel like I have to interject something here, in my dad's defense. I don't want you to think he was some kind of big scoundrel or womanizer or something. He did look at other women occasionally, because I would catch him doing that. I already told you he was an introvert, so I doubt he would ever cheat on Mom, even if some woman came up to him and started rubbing her tits in his face. I swear to you that my Dad would be totally repulsed by any woman who did that. He's more like one of those guys who takes tiny steps to get anything accomplished. A seductress would have to rub her tits on him fifty times before he would work up the nerve to touch her, but more than likely he'd run away and tell Mom about it the first chance he got. Oh, and Dad and Mom weren't fighting or not getting along or anything. You could say that what happened between us was 33% him and 66% me.
