Coming Home 64

Kerri had not seen her father in three years.

Driving up the narrow mountain road in her Jeep, she felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. The last time she had seen her father had been just before she'd left for college -- she remembered his gentle hug, the smell of his flannel shirt as he held her close, and that had been all.

When she was growing up, the two of them had been close -- aside from her turbulent teenage years, which put a predictable strain on their relationship, they had always gotten along well. But then her mother, Karen, had fallen ill the year she turned seventeen, and her father had grown distant as his own life became consumed by taking care of her mother. Then Karen had passed, a little over three years ago, while Kerri was in her freshman year at college. She had made it through the school year, feeling fragile and breakable, only to collapse with grief during the summer.

Now, her junior year behind her, she had decided to see her father again.

His house was on the end of a winding mountain road; a sprawling two-story log house flanked by evergreens. Kerri wore her khaki shorts and a tank top, her blonde hair tied back in a curly ponytail. The season had been wet, and the roads were soft and lined with deep tracks.

The butterflies in her stomach increased as she pulled up to the front of the house. It was as impressive as it had looked in the photos he had sent her during their brief correspondence. She put the Jeep in park and stepped out, brushing her hair back from her eyes.

She mounted the front steps, her boots clunking on the wood, and raised her hand to knock, when a voice called out. "Over here."

She looked to her right and saw him walking towards her; tall, his hair blonde like hers, but cut short. He wore the same flannel shirt she seemed to remember -- was it the very same one? -- and his blue eyes were still the same. Most of all, she was struck by how young he looked. She knew that he and her mother had married very young, but somehow she had expected something else -- gray hair, perhaps, or a beard. He had neither.

"You made it," he said, and hugged her close. Kerri caught a whiff of that same smell -- a peppery whiff of sweat, woodsmoke, and lumber -- comforting and stimulating all at once.

"Hi, Dad," she said, trying the word on for size for the first time in a long while. He took her hands in his and looked her over, his eyes running down and up her once. She caught his eye and felt something ineffable -- something between affection and adoration that made her smile and avert her eyes. When she looked back, he was still smiling.

"What?" she asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that you look so much like your mother. It's amazing." He took her hand briefly, squeezed it, and let go. "Come back here, I want to show you something."

The smell of fresh-cut wood and varnish hit her nose as he led her behind the house. Just in front of the treeline was a modest stable, unpainted, with three box stalls and the beginnings of a fence. Kerri grinned helplessly as she saw it.

"You know how much your mother loved horses," he said. "I started building this in the early spring. I've got the fence almost finished, and by fall, well... maybe you can help me pick out some horses."

"I'd love that," she said, and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his chest. She pressed herself to him a little harder than she'd expected, and let the smell of him overwhelm her memories again. He held her affectionately, but after a long moment, he took her shoulders in his hands and gently pushed her back.

"I still can't believe how grown up you are," he said. "You've become a lovely young woman." He kissed her on the cheek, and she felt herself grinning foolishly, her face growing warm.

"Come on, let's get you unpacked," he said.

# # #

"So Dad," she said, unzipping her duffelbag on the bed. "Not to be the interfering busybody daughter or anything..."

"Please," her father said. "Your younger sister takes care of that."

She smiled. "So have you been dating anyone?"

Her father smiled. "You're as bad as Kim. She's always after me to get out there, start seeing people..."

Kerri giggled, a bit nervously. "That sounds like her, all right. So, have you?"

"No," he said, leaning against the wall casually. Kerri marveled again at how young he looked -- almost boyish in the way he stuffed his hands into his pockets -- but the light caught his face and she saw the emerging gray in his stubble, and a little at the temples.

"I never was really interested," he said. "No one could ever compare to your mother. Karen was an extraordinary woman."

Kerri smiled. "Yeah," she said, wanting to think of something to say, but unable to.

"I still think about her," he said. "A lot. I don't think I could ever date anyone else -- it just wouldn't seem right."

"Sure, but... you can't live the rest of your life alone, Dad." She leaned herself against the other wall, hands in her back pockets. "You're still a man..." She blushed, looking down at her shoes. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

He laughed. "I'm not sure how you meant it!" he said.

"Neither am I," Kerri said, and examined her shoes. But, of course, she was, and she knew it.

"It's all right," he told her. "I'm going to start dinner. I'm making your favorite."

"Oh, yeah?" she challenged. "What's my favorite?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me," he said, and smiled as he tipped out the door.

# # #

"So," Steve said over pasta, "how is your sister?"

Kerri swirled spaghetti around her fork. "Kim and I talk a lot -- we share everything. She thinks it's great that you and I are talking again. But -- "

"She thinks I should date," Steve said, and chuckled quietly. "She's been calling me once a month and telling me that for years, you know. She keeps threatening to come up here and take matters into her own hands."

"God forbid," Kerri laughed. "It's because she cares. She is always talking about you. You know, when we were little, she always worshipped you. She said that when she grew up, she was going to marry you. She was completely in love with you."

Her father laughed. "She was? I never knew that."

"She was. She made me swear to never tell you."

"What about you?" he asked, picking up his wine glass.

Kerri laughed softly. "Yeah, I was in love with you too for awhile. When I was little. But then Kim told me that you and I couldn't get married. I was so pissed at her."

Her father laughed again, more quietly this time, and drank his wine. "I wish your mother had lived to see what beautiful young women you all became," he said, and suddenly finished off the glass. "More wine?"

"Sure," Kerri said. "Dad, it's been such a long time. Don't you miss... I don't know, the physical side of things? Being with someone?"

"I don't know." Steve poured wine for the both of them. "After such a long time, I don't even remember what it's like anymore. I guess I don't miss it."

"I doubt that," Kerri said, feeling bold for reasons she couldn't quite pin down. "Human beings aren't wired up that way. People have needs."

"Oh? Where did you learn about that?"

"College," she said. "I took a human sexuality course."

"Oh my lord," her father said, and drank theatrically. "My sweet little girl, corrupted by the system..."

"I'm not a little girl anymore, Dad."

"Well, clearly not." He shrugged and drank his wine. "So, what about you? Why aren't seeing anyone?"

Kerri shrugged. "I just never met the right man, I guess."

"Well, you'd better hurry up," he joked. "You're twenty-one now -- practically a spinster."

"Shut up," she said, and feigned throwing a roll at him. He ducked to the side and smiled.

"But really," he said. "You're young, you're beautiful, you should be dating. I know I'm not supposed to be saying that -- I should be the overprotective father who thinks no one is good enough for his daughter..."

"Aren't you?" she teased.

He shrugged. "Maybe a little."

"I know, it's been a while," Kerri said, playing with her food idly. "I haven't been with anyone since high school. I don't know, though. I guess I'm just not interested in the boys at college. They're all so dumb and... young."

"Oh god," her dad said.

"What? Afraid I have a taste for older men?"

"We're not having this conversation anymore," he told her. "And that's final. Time for dessert."

"Ice cream?"

He smiled. "Neapolitan. Your favorite, right?"

She smiled. "Right."

# # #

After dessert, Kerri took a shower to wash the dust of the road off her. The sun had gone down, and the night was warm, so she put on a cotton undershirt and pajama shorts. She padded barefoot out to the deck, to find her father sitting on their old orange couch and drinking another glass of wine. He wore a pair of boxers, his tee shirt, and his flannel shirt.

"Well," he said, looking at her wardrobe choice. "Great minds think alike, it seems. You should put on a robe, though."

"Who are you, my dad? It's way too warm for that," she said, and sat down next to him on the old couch. "My god, I can't believe this old thing is still around."

"I'll bet you remember it from the old days," he said. "Do you want something more to drink?"

"Maybe a little," she said, and he handed her a glass, already a little under half-full.

"Well, you came prepared," she said, and drank. The wine, along with what she'd had at dinner, was making her light-headed and effervescent. "Do you always drink this much?"

"Every chance I get," he said, and put an arm around her bare shoulder. "I laid in a hell of a wine cellar, and I intend to use it."

Kerri drained her glass and nestled into him, putting her head on his chest. Again, she smelled that comfortable smell of woodsmoke and lumber, and underneath it, the scent of his sweat, alien and familiar at the same time.

"They say you shouldn't drink alone," she said, giving him a hug. She felt exquisitely comfortable, and yet her heart fluttered a bit when he squeezed her arm and leaned his head against hers. "You'll end up a total alkie, drinking Scope and writing manifestos."

"They teach you that in college, too?"

"Manifestos? No. Drinking, yes."

He laughed. "Anyway, there's not much choice," he said, and drained his own glass. "It's pretty lonely out here."

"It's so quiet," she said.

"No one around for miles," her father said. "Just the way I like it."

"Really?" she asked. "You don't really seem that happy."

"I'm happy to see you," he said, and squeezed her again, stroking her arm. She smiled and cuddled closer to him, drawing her knee up over his leg. She realized she was testing the waters, seeing how familiar she could get with him, seeing if he would push her away or distance himself. So far, no sign of discomfort on his part.

"I'm happy to see you too," she said. "But it seems like maybe... maybe you're really lonely out here."

"I am," he sighed, and silence fell for awhile. "I get lonely, but I don't know what to do. I miss you girls so much, but I don't relate to other people. Sometimes I feel like I don't want to be in the world anymore. I love you, and your sisters, but the rest of it... I could take it or leave it."

"Oh, dad," she said, and stroked his chest with her hand. She leaned up to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head, and somehow their lips met. They kissed, chastely, and she drew back, looking into his eyes. His expression was unreadable, but he still didn't turn away. She bit her lip, weighing the moment, looking into his eyes. Slowly, she leaned in and kissed him again, longer this time, and she felt her heart begin to race.

For a moment, he responded, drawing in his breath and pulling her close, and when she put her hand on his chest, she could feel his heart racing. But then he pushed her away, gently, his hands on her shoulders. His big strong hands. It had the opposite effect of what he'd intended.

"Kerri --" he said.

"It's okay," she said, and put her hand on his cheek. "Let me do this. I want to do this for you."

"Do what...?" he looked at her, befuddled.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Of course," he stammered. "But--"

She cut off his words by kissing him again, letting the tip of her tongue touch his lips. He tensed, but didn't push her away this time.

"Just relax," she said between kisses, and stroked his cheek lightly. "Relax and trust me." She ran her hand down his chest, slowly, over his stomach -- a little softer now than she expected, but still muscular underneath -- and down over his boxers. He was hard, and when she squeezed him there he moaned under his breath, but didn't move. She stroked him through his boxers, feeling him grow harder.

"Kerri," he whispered, and reached for her hand. "You can't--"

"It's okay," she whispered, burying her face in his neck. "It's okay to want this."

"We shouldn't be doing this," he said, but his hand curled around her shoulder, squeezing. She heard a quaver in his voice and felt a sudden rush of pleasure at how powerful that made her feel. Slowly, she eased his cock out of his boxers, putting her hand around it, squeezing slowly and rythmically. She felt him tense, and a little gasp escaped him.

"But I want to," she said in his ear. "I've wanted to for a long time. And I think you might want that, too."

"It's wrong," he said weakly.

She leaned forward and kissed his ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

He didn't answer for a long moment, his hands moving up and down her body as if searching for an answer to that question.

"No," he finally whispered.

She grinned and slid down his body, down to her knees in front of him. She wrapped his fist around his cock -- bigger than she'd thought it would be -- and positioned herself between his knees, pushing them apart with her body. She looked at his cock up close, studying the gentle curve of it, the shape of the head, the curls of his pubic hair. It felt to strange to see his nakedness like this; strange and exhilirating. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, her breath coming fast. She felt her own breath quicken with his when she squeezed; felt a thrill rush through her when his body responded to her touch.

"Kerri, this is crazy," her father gasped. She looked up at him. He was sprawled back on the couch, eyes closed, breathing quickly. He had one hand over his eyes.

"Dad," she said, and then, feeling both mischievous and cruel, said, "Daddy. Look at me."

He opened his eyes, and she lifted her pajama top over her head, revealing her breasts. She tossed it aside, and it landed on the edge of the balcony, slipped between the rails, and was gone. Oops, she thought absently, and giggled. When she met her father's eyes again, he was staring at her, and then averted his eyes uncertainly.

"You can look at me if you want," she said, and hooked her fingers through his boxers. She pulled them down and hiked up his shirt, revealing his belly. "You can look. It's okay." She curled her fist around his cock again, and this time he didn't protest any further.

She held it in her hand. Her father's cock. Her father's body. The tabboo of it roared in her head. Was she really going to do this? The question turned in her head as she stroked him gently. Would it cross a line to put it in her mouth, to take it inside her body, to make him come? Obviously she had crossed a line already. She was kneeling half-naked before him, wanting him, making him want her. Did a little further matter so much?

His cock throbbed in her hand. She leaned down and gave it an experimental lick, tasting the flesh. He shuddered and called her name, touching his hand to the back of her head, ever so gently. She smiled, taking it as a signal, drew in her breath, and took him in her mouth.

His response was instant, electric. His fingers curled into her hair, and his hips tilted up, driving him further into her mouth. She squeezed, pulling away before she gagged. He tightened his fingers in her hair, pushing her down gently, and she obliged, taking as much of him as she could, feeling his body quiver, reveling in his pleasure.

"Kerri... we... oh god! You have to..."

"Nuh-uh," she said. She began to move her head up and down, using her tongue, squeezing rhythmically again. He groaned loudly, putting his hand on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing into her bare flesh as she worked on him. She put her hand on his belly and felt his breath pick up, his groans growing louder, echoing out into the empty night around them.

"Kerri... I can't..."

"It's okay, dad," she said, and looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "I want you to." She squeezed and went down on him a third time, taking him deep into her throat, moaning a little as she sucked.

His groans reached a high pitch, and she actually felt him pulse a moment before he came in her mouth in a hot flood. There was more than she'd expected -- far more -- and she pulled away reflexively, a spurt of semen painting her cheek and neck. Even as she drew in her breath, he spurted again, splattering her breasts, and she gave a little cry of surprise.

"Oh wow," she said, and looked up at him, feeling a sudden surge of joy. He gazed down at her, his expression a mixture of ecstacy and disbelief. and she looked down to see a little bit dribbling out of him. Leaning down, she took him in her mouth one final time, cleaning him off. She felt his wetness dripping down her neck, down her breasts, still warm.

"Kerri," her father gasped. "Jesus Christ..." He reached out to touch her cheek gingerly, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

"Did you like that?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to say something, then just nodded silently, trying to catch his breath.

"Good," she said, and smiled at him. "I'm, um, going to go clean up... you made kind of a mess of me." She stood up and padded to the screen door, suddenly feeling awkward. She didn't look back at him as she went inside the house.

# # #

Kerri went into the bathroom, cleaned off, and pulled on a fresh pajama top. She was still quivering from what she'd done, her heart beating heavily. She felt aroused, confused, satisfied, doubtful, all at the same time, a torrent of emotions that left her feeling too much energy. She brushed her hair briskly as she looked in the mirror, letting the action give her focus.

She wasn't sorry for what she'd done -- she knew now it was what she'd come here to do. She'd wanted it since she was too young to want it, and now that it was done, she could admit it. She'd crossed that line forever, and he'd let her cross it. Did that mean he'd felt the same way about her?

Most of all, she knew she wanted more -- she wanted to feel him inside her, to feel his body pressing down on hers. She set down the hairbrush and drew in a deep breath. All of this depended on what her father chose to do next. She considered the possibilty that he didn't, and that she'd just done something horribly destructive. But somehow, she didn't think that was the case. She just felt it, an instinctual response, like the one her father had whenever he knew she'd lied to him.

Kerri made herself wait a few more moments before she padded back out to the balcony. She opened the screen door and found the couch empty. Frowning, she came back and checked the kitchen and the living room. Nothing.

"Dad?" she called out into the empty air. No reply. Quietly, she made her way up the stairs to the bedroom, and found the door closed. She thought of knocking, then surreptitiously tried the knob. It wasn't locked.

Shit, she thought, and suddenly found herself more worried than satisfied. She put her ear against the door, listening for some sound, some clue that it would be all right to knock. She heard nothing but silence.