Daddy was waiting for me at the door when I pulled up. He looked at me with some pity in his eyes, but I could tell that he was excited to have me home, as he ran to the car to open the door and give me a hug.
"Hi Daddy," I said, trying to hold back tears "thanks for letting me come home."
"No problem, sweet pea. It's good to have you back."
At the age of 25, I was moving back in with my parents. My girlfriend and I had broken up, and I was left with the baby she had wanted so badly. To clarify, I am a lesbian. Up until that point, I had only slept with women and had never questioned my sexuality. If only I had known how much that was going to change. When I was 24, my girlfriend and I had been together for three years and started to plan our lives together. We had stable jobs and wanted children, so we found a sperm donor and I got pregnant then quit my job. Apparently the stress of a newborn was too much for her, and she left without so much as a word. I couldn't afford the apartment we had shared by myself, so here I was, back in my childhood bedroom, with a child and without any clue what I was doing.
As Daddy unpacked the car, I took my son Jason into the house and tried to get him to feed. He was very picky and often wouldn't take my milk. After several attempts, it became clear that he wouldn't eat, so I resigned myself to making a bottle for him and using a breast pump on myself. As I reached the end of pumping, the pump stopped working and had the odor of burnt rubber. I sighed and was too exhausted from the drive to think about fixing it just then. I would be fine to wait a while, I was empty and hopefully Jason would feed next time.
After a quick nap, I went downstairs to talk to Daddy. He was not exactly handsome, as the years and pounds had started to creep up on him. His 54-year-old body was typical for a man his age, round belly and a bit of chest hair that always poked out from the top of his shirt. He was a bit bald, but always had a traditionally attractive face that had not faded with time. Waitresses had a certain fondness for him, and he frequently got free desserts and a wink at the local diner. His 6 foot 2 frame gave him an air of approachable authority. My mother, who was away on one of her many business trips, was the opposite. She was a short 5 foot 3 and sharp-angled. Her dull brown hair was kept short. Her breasts were a small B cup, which felt tiny compared to my full D cup. I fell somewhere in the middle of my parents, genetically, soft and curved but blessed by a fast metabolism. I stood a respectable 5 foot 6, with shoulder-length blonde hair.
Daddy and I sat on the couch and sipped some wine. I had changed into my pajamas, a short tanktop and a pair of boyshorts, and he was in his usual boxers, with no shirt on and his belly sticking over the waistband. Neither of us had eaten dinner, and the alcohol started to affect me more than it usually could. We started talking about our lives and the conversation got much more personal than our standard light topics.
"I'm so lonely, Daddy. Taking care of Jason is wonderful, but I miss having a partner to share it with."
"I understand, honey. Your mom has been going on more and more trips, and when she is home, it feels like she is still far away in her head"
"I'm so sorry, Daddy. I didn't know that it had gotten that bad."
"It's ok, I shouldn't be telling you this, it's just so nice to have someone around to listen. I'm glad you're home"
"I'm glad I'm home, too. You always took such good care of me."
Daddy put his arm around me and I snuggled into his shoulder, feeling safer than I had in a long time. My breasts felt full from milk, but I was too comfortable to mind the slight pressure. Just when I started to get sleepy from the wine, I heard Jason crying upstairs.
