My father was looking at me funny. I know, I know. How eloquent of me. How incredibly well worded. But that's it, really. That's how it started.
I was at my parent's house for dinner. It's a monthly "tradition", a feeble attempt made by my mother to keep our family close. But, the problem is... we were never actually close. Definitely not one of those tight-knit families you see on TV. Anyway, I am twenty-four and have been living on my own for five years, and now my brother was away at college, my mother had started to freak out. Empty nest, and all that. So, she imposed this stupid monthly get together rule that we all pretty much hated.
This happened on the sixth month of this new ritual gathering. My mother was called away, thirty minutes into our dinner, because my aunt had been in a car accident. That sounds cavalier, I know. I should say she left in a rush, or that she was in a frenzied hurry to get to her sister's side. She wasn't. She never is. My mother is cold and meticulous. That's how she's been since I was born, as far as I know. She took the time to set dinner in front of us, she picked out a book to pass the time in the hospital, she changed her clothes and refreshed her makeup. And then she left.
Absolved of his familial duties, my brother left soon after she did, to go see his girlfriend of one year. And so, for the first time since I can't remember when, it was just my father and me. We ate dinner in near silence. I think he asked me about my job, but he always does, so I don't really remember. I helped him clear the table and rinse the dishes. After that, I didn't know what to do. It was only seven. Usually, we forced ourselves to play a card game or watch a movie before my brother and I left for our respective houses.
With out my mother or my brother, a card game was pretty much pointless. But I felt bad leaving my father at home alone, so I helped him pick a movie. My parents, when I moved out, had turned my bedroom into a media room. It was halfway down the hall in the back of the house... the only room past it was their bedroom. When I walked in the media room, he was crouched on the floor in front of the bookshelf where they kept the movies.
That's when he looked at me funny. Like he'd never seen me before, or like he'd just been thinking about something he really wanted and then there it was. He wanted me. That much was clear. My heartbeat accelerated and I felt my face and neck go flush. The minute our eyes met, I stumbled back into the doorframe behind me. He rose from his crouching position and stalked forward; eyeing me like a wolf might stare down a deer it was hunting.
There were no words. I met and held his piercing gaze, and when he stopped in front of me I bit my bottom lip. He knew me well enough to realize that I'd looked at him this way before, he knew well enough that I wanted him the way he wanted me. His hands reached up and grasped my arms, the tips of his fingers burned into my skin like a hot iron. They moved down my arms, leaving a tingling trail behind them, and stopped when they wrapped around my waist.
And then he lowered his face to mine. His hot breath smelled like red wine, and the closeness of his lips was making me dizzy. When they finally touched mine, I nearly fainted. I'd been waiting for this moment for years. I hadn't even been old enough to understand my own desires when the fantasies of being wrapped warmly in my father's arms began.
The heat from his lips ran down my neck and settled in the pit of my stomach. I had butterflies. Delicious butterflies. My father moved his hands up from my waist to grip the sides of my face and hold me to him. His tongue, hot and moist, ran across the top of my bottom lip, and when my mouth opened to emit my cry of pleasure, he thrust it inside. His fingers threaded into my hair, pulling me closer while his tongue moved greedily in my mouth.
I wrapped my arms around him. I pressed myself into him; I could not get close enough. Plus, I needed his strength to support me... I was shaking like a leaf in the wind. I grew bolder as his kisses got hotter and more intense. Soon my tongue was matching the strokes of his, my fingers were clawing their way under his shirt and scratching at the skin on his back. And I was purring. Moan after moan vibrated from my throat and into his mouth.
He broke the kiss and pulled my head back softly by my hair, exposing my pale neck. I cried out when my father's tongue touched the base of my throat. I couldn't breathe for five excruciating seconds as he ran his tongue boldly up to my jaw, stopping just by my earlobe. His breath was heavy, slow, and it tickled the hairs at the nape of my neck. His fingers and lips blazed trails all over my tingling throat. Then his warm fingers reached the top of my shirt. They hooked around the edge, and pulled it down, leaving the top of my chest bare.
He kissed down the front of the bare skin, leaving goose bumps everywhere they touched. My breasts, still covered by my lacy pink brassiere, begged wantonly for his touch. I moaned angrily when his lips stopped just shy of the rise of my creamy breasts. He raised his head and stared at me, his eyes flaming.
Then my father left the room. Left me, leaning precariously against the wall of what was once the room I'd spent nights touching myself and pretending my hands were his.
I felt like crying, but then I heard his voice, floating on the air from the living room. He was on the phone. I could tell, by the terse responses and simple questions that he was talking to my mother.
He came back. This time he didn't look at me. He wrapped his fingers around my much smaller hand and led me back, down the hallway through the door to the bedroom he shared with my mother. That's when it dawned on me. He'd been checking on her. He wanted to see how long we had together. My passionate acceptance of his wandering caresses had not left him dry and disappointed. My obvious innocence, my pliant woman's body and my willingness to be led rather than to lead had him wanting me more.
My father stopped me in front of the bed and smiled into my eyes. "I love you, baby girl." He whispered. The first words either of us had spoken and they rang in my ears like sweet bells.
