It was late summer. I was driving to the Super 8 which was two towns over, right off the freeway. I couldn't tell you why I was going there. Maybe he has some deep-seated control over me. I had just turned eighteen that year. In August my father called me to wish me a happy birthday seven months late. I don't think he knows my birthday. The phone call was startling, dark, and terrifying. I hadn't spoken to my father in nine years. He said he was in town, that I should come see him. Why the fuck did I obey him?
I was wearing a tanktop, cotton shorts, and no bra. It was a pervasive August afternoon. Out of high school, no plans for college, I was adrift as an adult woman if you could call me that. I pulled into the parking lot, all the rooms had a door that led outside like a strip mall for people who didn't want to be found. I found the 100 block, room 132 all the way at the end. I pulled up. I want to say I could have turned around, left, never seen him again. I would like to say I had a choice. But I'm not a strong independent woman. I don't have respect for myself. I smoke, drink, and get high. I fuck strangers. I cling to aggressive men.
I was standing in front of the door. My heart was raging like it didn't want to be a witness to what was going to happen to me. I knocked. He answered, looking exactly the same as I remembered him. I felt like a hooker he ordered. My nipples were hard. I wanted to cry. He closed the door behind me and did all the locks. I was locked in a cage with my dad.
"My god..." he whispered, resting his hands on my considerable hips, "you got fucking sexy."
He clasped his hands over my mound, barely covered by cotton shorts and panties, and started sucking my neck. I could feel his cock pressed against my ass. He grabbed my breasts like an attacker or animal, biting me neck, my shoulder, dry humping me. I was scared and humiliated.