My childhood was a dichotomy. On one hand, I had my loving father, who was always pleasant and sweet and did everything for the family. On the other hand, I had my shrew of a mother, who was always mean and nasty and bitching about everything, mostly my father. I can remember night after night of her harping on him for one stupid thing after another. As much as I wanted the family to stay together, I sometimes wished that she would just leave. She was always the cause of the fights, and was never satisfied by anything that anyone else in the family did. You would have thought that a mother would want to bond with her only daughter, but that wasnât the case. She was never nice to me at all.
But enough about Mother. This story isnât about her. I mention her because it was her constant shrieking that brought me and my father closer together over the years. We had a common enemy. I didnât know what he saw in her. Perhaps she was different when she had been younger. Perhaps he liked the challenge. I donât know. But for whatever reason, he stayed with her and he loved her and he did his best to please her. It wasnât enough of course. After years and years of being displeased, she finally left. Dad, being the kind of man he is, took it hard, really hard. He was almost inconsolable. I felt really bad, but there wasnât much I could do about it. I tried to tell him that it was for the best, and now maybe he could be happy, but he wouldnât listen. He started staying out late at night drinking, and I was worried for him. Several nights he didnât come back at all.
I was very protective of my Daddy, and I didnât want him to get hurt. I couldnât even really sleep knowing that he was out there, somewhere, doing god-knows-what. I had been trying to sleep in my own room, but it wasnât working. When Dad came home drunk he wouldnât wake me up. I was afraid that he would get in trouble if there wasnât someone to watch him. Then one night, I had an idea. Iâd sleep in my parentsâ room. That way, when he got home, Iâd be there and he would have to wake me up. That idea made me feel better, so that night, after waiting up for him as long as I could, I crawled into my parentâs bed and fell right asleep.
My scheme worked perfectly. At about one in the morning, Dad came home, stumbling around, but trying to be quiet. I wouldnât have noticed him if Iâd been in my own room, but his bouncing around woke me up, at least a little. I opened one eye as I saw him struggling to get ready for bed. I was too tired to actually get up and help him, but he was doing an ok job by himself. I just remained in the bed, half-asleep. I had intended to get up, help him to bed, and then go back to my room, satisfied that he had gotten home safely. But, now, in the middle of the night, I was too tired to move.
He didnât turn the light on the whole time he was getting ready. I could only see him because there was a full-moon that night and because he had the hallway light on. I supposed that he had been conditioned not to wake up his wife, so he was used to getting undressed in the dark when he came home late. He was so considerate! I heard him go into the bathroom and then I drifted off to sleep again. As I said, it was pretty late.
A little while later I felt him get into bed and put the covers over himself. I was lying on my side, where Mom used to sleep, and he got in on his side behind me. He reached over and mumbled something. Then he put his arm around me. It felt so comforting to have Dadâs arm over me. He hugged me close and then began to âspoonâ me. Since I never got too many hugs from Mom, I had always been deprived of cuddling. It was so nice to have Dadâs warm hugs around me. I smiled.
We lay there for a few minutes in silence. Dad was snoring a little. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He had hit the bottle pretty hard that night. I was glad that he had made it home alright and that I was here for him. He really needed someone. I shudder to think what would have happened if he had been alone when Mom left. Slowly, in his sleep, Dad began rubbing my stomach. Up and down. His big hands crossed my tummy. Iâm a pretty small girl, and Daddy is a big man, so his hand almost completely covered my stomach. I loved getting my stomach rubbed. Sometimes, when Iâm alone, Iâll even rub it myself it feels so good. Daddy snuggled closer to me. He began to mumble something. It was inaudible at first, but he got clearer. âCome on Ellenâ, he was saying, âHow about it?â Ellen is my Momâs name. He was evidently dreaming about being with Mom. Maybe in his drunkenness he didnât remember that Mom had left him. He reached under my nightgown and put his hand directly on the skin of my stomach. His hand was cold, and it gave me goosebumps. Then he moved it up, and cupped my breast.
I opened my eyes wide. I didnât really know what to do. I didnât have the much experience sleeping with guys. His cold fingers made my nipples hard as he sensually and softly kneaded my breast. I just lay there in shock for a few seconds. Then he snuggled me tighter. I felt a poking sensation around my butt. âOh no, heâs nakedâ, I thought. I didnât realize that my father slept in the nude. He started rhythmically pressing his hips up against my ass. His hand began squeezing my breast in time with his gyrations.
I was a little scared. I mean, a father shouldnât be doing this to his own daughter right? It was weird, and a little sick. Of course, he had no idea what he was doing. As far as he was concerned, he was just trying to have sex with his wife, which is a completely natural thing to do. I wanted to wake him up, to tell him to stop. To warn him what he was trying to do to his own daughter. But then I decided that I couldnât do it. If I embarrassed him like that, he would get even more depressed. He would feel like a complete pervert. Finding out that not only had he failed as a husband, but that he also tried to screw his own daughter would completely ruin him. I couldnât do that to Daddy, he was a good man.
I tried to scoot out of the way a little, but Dad followed me across the bed. âPlease Ellen?â, he said, âItâs been so long.â He sounded so sad. He sounded like he really needed it. I didnât want to deny my own Daddy, he was such a great guy. He had been through so much. I wanted to be a good daughter to him, to make him happy, to make him feel good. I was the only family he had left. The only person he could trust. âYou know, I could just let him do it.â I thought. Who would know, right? I mean, he thought that he was having sex with his wife, so for him it was perfectly ok. I would know what happened, but as long as I kept quiet, it would be ok. After he was done I could just sneak back to my room, and when he woke up tomorrow, he would just think that it was all a dream.