Brianna
My mom passed away 5 years ago, and I was devastated. We had no idea she was sick. One day she was fine, or so we thought, and the next day she was dead. We found out later she had been suffering from pancreatic cancer but decided not to undergo treatment and not to share the horrible news with her husband or me, her only daughter. I was only thirteen at the time so I was really hard not to have my mom to talk to about girl things, like my first period, boys, sex and all the things a teenage girl talks to her mom about.
My step father, Derrick, was so supportive, well at least for the first few years after my mother's death. He tried his best to fill my mom's shoes. He has been in my life since I was six years old and I loved him dearly. He cooked and cleaned. He took me to school and picked me up every day. He attended my after school functions and my parent teacher conferences like a pro. He continued the responsibility of raising me even though he didn't have to. He could have easily passed me off to my grandparents or pawned me off on my no good biological father but he didn't. He didn't miss a beat. He tried his best to keep my life as normal as it could be under the circumstances.
He was a police officer and admired in our community, even more so when he stepped up to the plate for me after my mom's death. Derrick was very handsome and he lit up every room he walked into. He was masculine and had an air of authority, partially because of his career choice and partially because of his sexual preferences. His presence demanded attention and as a little girl I was in awe of how woman basically fell at his feet, I just didn't understand at the time, how literal that was.
I knew he and mom dabbled in kinky sex, but I wasn't sure to what extent until I saw the playroom. I was always told the room in the basement, kept under lock and key, was a bomb shelter. Of course the older I got the more I questioned what the room really was. I would see them coming up from the basement from time to time, always a guilty look on their faces when they discovered I was home. One day, I got the opportunity to see for myself. Daddy forgot a set of his keys on the counter, he was working and I decided to snoop. My hands were shaking when I put the key in the door and heard it click.
My eyes were wide as saucers when I saw the playroom. I didn't truly understand what I was looking at but I knew it was a room for sex. I assumed that all mommy's and daddy's had these type of secret rooms and I all but forgot about it until I became interested in sex myself. As my hormones started to take over, I would think about the playroom. The toys and the implements I saw intrigued me. Daddy would go downstairs from time to time and he always came back up looking so sad and broken. I secretly wondered what it would be like to be in that room with him.
When I turned eighteen, still a virgin and still living at home to attend community college, he started to pull away from me. It was so confusing to me and I often wondered if he really wanted me there anymore and maybe he just felt obligated to do the right thing by my mother. I remember the night everything changed and I blame myself for the distance that developed between us.
I had just come home from a date and the boy I was seeing was being very pushy about having sex with me. I wasn't about to give myself away to a boy I barely knew who just wanted sex and nothing more, I wanted my first time to be special. Cliché I know. I felt like I could talk to Daddy about my problem and he would give me good fatherly advice like he always did. I found him in the living room watching TV, drinking a glass of bourbon and waiting up for me. Handsome as ever. Pitch black hair, emerald green eyes, five o'clock shadow, chiseled jaw and a body like a Greek God. He was the type of step dad that all my girlfriends giggled and tripped over.
He insisted on meeting any boy I dated so he could lay down the "ground rules" and scare the shit out of them. He would always be cleaning his service gun when they came in, I laughed to myself as I thought about it. Putting on a deep, serious voice, he would pat the couch for them to sit next to him and his gun and have his "chat" with them while I finished getting ready. I don't know what he said to them, but most of my dates left our house nervous and frazzled. It was endearing and cute the way he protected me.
I curled up in his lap like I have done since I was six years old and I lay my head on his chest. He smelled so nice and his chest felt so masculine and comforting to me. An arm wrapped around my waist and the other draped over my leg.
I let out a long dramatic sigh.
"What's wrong Princess?" he said as he turned off the TV, giving me his undivided attention.
"It's Randy, Daddy, he says he is going to dump me if I don't start having sex with him. The problem is I don't think I like him enough to give myself to him. I am saving myself for someone very special, you know?" I wiggled nervously and nuzzled into his neck, not sure how he would respond since we really hadn't talked much about boys or sex yet. I usually talked to my friends or their mom's when it came to girly things and sex, in an attempt to spare Derrick the horrors of girl drama. His evening stubble was prickly against my cheek, but I loved the way it felt. His hands were large and warm making me feel so safe in his arms.
Derrick pulled my shoulders back so he could see my face and he smiled, flashing his pearly whites, the smell of bourbon warm and spicy on his breath.
"Brianna, you are a beautiful girl, you are going to be flinging guys off of you left and right. They will all tell you wonderful things to get in your panties. You are a smart girl, like your momma. You and only you will know when you are ready. The right boy will come along one day and be worthy of your love but don't be in a rush, Princess. Any guy who tells you he will leave if you don't have sex with him, isn't worth keeping."
