In a rush of movement, I exploded from my bed. Tossing my covers onto my sloppy mattress, I spread it out enough to cover the mess I was going to go check my appearance in the mirror, but my alarm started blaring, which freaked me out even more! I smacked the snooze and saw my hoody lying on the floor and snatched that up quickly.
"Honey?" my father repeated.
"J-Just a second," I stuttered as I zipped the dark-colored hoodie up over my hard nipples. It was baggy enough that it dangled just below my wet panties, hiding them. In a panic, I dove over to the door and opened it for him. "Hey--hi," I said, breathlessly.
My father was a handsome man. He started as a mechanic years ago but was more of a businessman now. He grew his auto shop business into nineteen different shops across the entire state, so he spent most of his day behind a desk, but still the hard body and calloused hands of a blue-collar worker. It wasn't uncommon for him to come home from work, sweaty, greasy, and needing a shower because one of his stores was down a mechanic, and rather than making customers wait, he got underneath cars to help.
He was a confident man who knew how the world worked and seemed to always have an answer for any question I had. But seeing him now was a different look than I had ever seen before, and it scared me. He hung his head, and his height seemed half of what it normally was.
"May I come in?" he asked.
"Um, yes, sure, of course," I said, remembering, through the panic, that the awkward conversation was fast approaching.
He stepped inside and stole a final look downstairs, where my mother still slept, before closing my door. My room felt much smaller with the two of us inside and the door closed. Much messier too. I kicked a pile of dirty clothes deeper into a corner.
Daddy let out a deep sigh and rubbed a hand over his face, "Sit down, honey," he said.
I sat on the edge of my bed and already wanted to cry. Not from anything that happened last night but from the way my father was acting. He seemed disappointed and I hate disappointing him.
Daddy grabbed my computer chair and wheeled it over. I blushed a little at the three pink bras hung on the back of it. He ignored them and sat facing me.
"Listen, honey... I..." he started and stopped, running his hands over his face and trimmed beard. The dark circles under his eyes made it seem like he hadn't slept yet. "Jesus," he whispered to himself. "I remember bits and pieces of what happened last night... I drank far too much and... I'm so sorry. I thought this still your mother's bed and mine."
Seeing my typically unemotional father so distraught and teetering on the edge between rage and tears scared me more than a little. This wasn't a thing in my family. Men typically didn't show emotion unless they were fighting someone, but that was another story.
"Oh, we don't have to talk about it, um, it's--it's okay," I said and squirmed uncomfortably. My instinct was to lie and pretend that I slept through the entire thing, but then I remembered I masturbated to Daddy last night, too.
