Author's note: This work is a work of fiction... blah, blah, blah. You get the idea. In my mind, Lisa is about 19.
Dear Lisa,
I cannot begin to apologize for my actions earlier tonight, and please know that none of it was your fault. I've started this letter a hundred times in the last four hours, trying to find the right words to express how truly sorry and remorseful I am.
Please, at least read this letter through, and then I will accept any decision you make and admit my guilt to anyone you request of me.
Tonight, when you came home so obviously upset again, your mother and I felt that one of us should talk to you. Lately it's been happening a lot more and we're very worried about the cause. We've tried to talk to you about it, but neither of us has been able to get much out of you. In the end, we decided that since you and I have always been much more open with each other, it should be me.
As your father, I have always taken great pride in how close we are, how much we talk and how much you confide in me. We have discussed so many things in the past, and I felt this time would be no different than any other. This was my first mistake.
After seeing your mother to bed, I assured her I would have a long talk with you and see if we could get to the root of the problem. Lisa, please understand that this really was my intention when I knocked on your door tonight.
I felt that I could get you talking as I have in the past - just like when you were fighting with Kennedy last year and we sat up for half the night to talk it through. You didn't want to talk at first then either, but after a while you told me everything.
You told me how you weren't sure boys were really for you, how you'd tried to talk to Kennedy about how you felt for her, how she'd rejected you and the hurtful things you'd both said to one another. I could see the relief painted all over your face as we talked, and I can't express how much joy that had given me - knowing that you trusted me so much to reveal some of the most challenging moments of your life.
Anyway, I was sure this time would be no different. I knocked on your door; the same door I had mistakenly stepped through finding you and Kennedy in an intimate embrace. The same door I installed a lock on to give you your privacy and ensure your mother never made the same mistake. I think we both know he wouldn't have understood.
"Click" Came the report from the bolt, and the door slid open a few inches.
"Hey Dad." You said.
In spite of myself, and all the effort I've put in over the years since you developed into a woman, my eyes drifted down for a fraction of a second. You were dressed in your traditional nighttime attire - one of my old T-shirts two sizes too big for you that draped down to your knees.
I admit, I had a not-so-fleeting thought (Actually one I've had far too many times) about whether there were panties on underneath.
I could clearly see the outline of your breasts through the old material, even your large hard nipples were easily visible at such close distance.
You looked up at me and I felt, more than saw, the torment behind that false veil of a smile you tried to put on. In what I can only describe as a moment where we truly connected, I felt your pain and I knew it was over between you and Kennedy.
I pushed the door open, and wrapped my arms around you. You melted into my arms as if you were ten years old again.
"Shh..." I whispered, holding you tight. I could feel the firmness of your body press against me, and I was reminded of the countless sports you had engaged in over the years.
I could feel you begin to softly sob into my shoulder, and as you started to sag into me I lifted you up and carried you over to your bed, sitting you down on the edge, I nestled in beside you.
You nuzzled into my shoulder and began to cry in earnest, pulling yourself into me with a strength I hadn't anticipated.
"What's wrong honey?" I asked, rubbing your back as I'd done a thousand times before.
All I could get in response was a renewed outburst of tears and you twisting away to crash onto your bed, turning into a fetal position.
I couldn't bear the thought of you being in such pain and I lay down behind you, wrapping my arm around you. Whispering reassurances in your ear, I pulled you in tight. This is perhaps where I made my second mistake.
At this point, I think it's important to tell you I was just there to comfort you in any way I could. As any parent would, I just wanted to protect you from whatever evil you were faced with. I didn't think for a second that the evil would be me.
At some point in that embrace, you began to regain control and I was relieved to feel the change. Unfortunately, it was about that same time that I noticed a completely unfatherly stirring. In my haste to wrap my arms around you, I had (I swear) accidentally placed my right-hand on your breast. It was the gradual realization that the flesh within my hand was soft and supple rather than like the firm arm I thought I was holding.
