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This is once more about the summer of 2006, which was an eventfulsummer in many respects. You already know what happened at the end ofit: my last happy moment in the back garden and then the wholeunpleasant thing with my parents finally breaking up for real. It’s notlike things had been peaceful in any way before that; fortunately, in away, I’d been away from the scene of the fight for the previousschoolyear (i. e. September 2005-June 2006) because I was in Germany withan international student exchange organization, and when I returned,things were already beyond saving.
So this is the story of my coming home. I won’t dwell on how muchthings had deteriorated, both physically (the house and garden were acomplete mess) and socially (my mother refused to talk or even be in thesame room with my father for weeks after my rearrival, so I had to tellall the stories about my exchange year twice); instead, I’ll tell youabout one of the most important days in my life, one of those memoriesthat still make me wriggle and twitch each time I think of them, evenand especially when I’m sitting in the subway and there’s no chance thatI’ll get release anytime soon. Happened to me today again, so I decidedI really needed to take a break from studying and write this down.
So it’s the end of June, 2006. I’ve been sixteen for more than fourmonths now and I’m awfully proud of it, ridiculously proud inretrospect; I feel like sixteen is some sort of magic age whereeverything is possible all of a sudden. I’m a real woman now, I think asI pull up my shirt and once again appraise my breasts in the mirror ofthe tiny airplane toilet. They’ve grown a lot during the last year, andnow they’re finally on the verge of losing their conical shape androunding out for good. I now find that I actually like it when peoplelook at me, when men look at my breasts and at my bottom, and I’vegotten pretty good at wiggling both of them in a way that will attractattention. More than ever, I’m a sexual being, and I’m fully aware of mysexual powers.
The guy in the seat next to me must be about thirty, but still heobviously doesn’t feel above asking me for my phone number as the planebegins its descent to the airport. I decline, albeit flirtatiously, andlet him give me his.
The plane’s wheels hit the ground and my heart gives a little jump. I’m back home– almost back home now; I can hardly wait.
I’m the first out of my seat; on the overcrowded bus to the airportbuilding I stand with my face pressed to the door just so I can be thefirst one to get out and run to the baggage claim area. I step from onefoot to the other while I wait for my suitcase to come, then snatch itand run out, hastening through the checkpoint and arriving in thearrivals hall with my breath going wild, my hair dishevelled and myshoes almost falling off my feet at every step.
My eyes scan the crowd; there he is. “Daddy!” I cry as I hobbletowards him, dragging my suitcase behind me even though it’s fallen offits wheels and grinding along on its side. As soon as I reach him, Idrop everything and wrap my arms around him, pressing the side of myface to his shirt, clawing at his back with my fingernails, inhaling thescent of his deo and aftershave and skin; even wrapping one leg aroundhis in sheer joy, trying to envelop him as a whole, while he laughs andstrokes my hair and pats my back with his big, tender hands.
When I finally, reluctantly let go of him, I look up at his face andfind that I just can’t stop grinning. I can see the happiness in hiseyes, in the wrinkles on each side of his nose and in the dimples on hischeeks; my left hand slides into his right almost automatically as wetake up my bags with our respective free hands and start walking, unableto speak for joy and anticipation. It’s not necessary, either; ourfingers are talking eagerly, interweaving and alternately pressing andletting go of each other, then mingling again in a different way,tickling the other’s palm or caressing the length of one finger afterthe other until each one has gotten its fair share. Time and again I letmyself fall against his side to be closer to him; on the escalator Igrab his arm with both of mine and hang on to it like a baby to hismother.
Speaking of mothers, I probably should mention this. My mother isn’tthere because she’s gone on vacation with her sister, aunt Katy whom Ireally can’t stand, because she’s mad at my father and apparently thinksshe can punish him that way for whatever she thinks he’s doing wrong. She’ll be back in a day, but unfortunately, as she told me on the phoneonly a few days ago, she can’t be here to pick me up when I return aftera year (!!) of being away from home because the vacation she’s bookedis a bargain offer and it would be “exceptionally expensive” to book anearlier return flight.
It’s not complicated now. You see, my parents only have one car, and that my mother took to the airport — the otherairport, because we have two — when she ran off with her sister, takingthe keys with her just out of spite to leave my father stranded whileshe’s gone. But that’s no problem with me; I would hate to share Daddy’sattention with the traffic anyway. We’re taking the train from theairport, then the subway through the city, and I love it.
In the train, we find two opposite seats and I talk and talk about myflight and the creepy guy next to me and the food and whatever, thegrin never once leaving my face. In the subway, all the seats are taken,so we cluster my stuff and ourselves around the grab pole and ridestanding, from one terminus to the other, twenty-seven stops in all.
People come and go, some staring at us, some even voicing theirmisgivings at our taking up so much space in the middle of the car, but Ihardly notice them. I’m standing as close to Daddy as I can, so closeactually that my left breast presses slightly against his chest everytime the train sways a little, which is often, and my gaze never onceleaves his face, his lips, his freshly shaven chin, the way his eyessparkle whenever they look into mine. We exchange little pleasantriesalong the way, he leaning down to kiss my cheek, me stretching up to dothe same; me letting my head rest against his breast again, he holdingme close with one hand until a jerk of the train suddenly pulls us apartagain. More than once, as I look up at him and he looks down at me, ourfaces are only inches away from each other and I’m acutely aware thatwe must look like lovers about to share a kiss to everyone around us;and I love it. More than once I consider just doing it, standing up onmy toes and pressing my mouth to his, and I think I see in the twitch ofhis lips that he would like to do the same thing; but of course wecan’t, not here, in public. Even though I do look like a woman now, andeverybody knows of these couples where the woman could be the man’sdaughter by her age, I’m still obviously not eighteen yet, and besideswe can’t be sure that we won’t run into someone who knows us or at leastknows what we are.
But the possibility alone is exciting enough to make me blush as thetrain jerks once more and his lips brush against my forehead.
“I love you, Daddy,” I say.
He looks at me for a long time, smiling a thoughtful smile, then leans to me and whispers: “I love you too, Risa darling. ”
It’s been so long since anyone has called me that — and besides Iwould let nobody but my father call me that — that I blush yet again;and even more when he leans down again and breathes into my ear: “You’vegrown so much this year… you’re a beautiful woman now. ”
I can’t hide my excitement as I wave him down to me again. “Daddy,” Iwhisper, “Mom won’t be home tonight, right?” He nods, the sound of hischeek rubbing against mine loud in my ear. “We have the house toourselves,” he says.
“Can I–” I begin, but the words catch in my throat. Swallowing, I try again: “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”
My heart is pounding like a hammer while I wait for his reply. “We’llsee about that,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. “But I have asurprise for you. ”
A surprise? I can’t imagine what that would be… but the context ofthe conversation and the way he said it make it sound exciting enough. For a long time I just breathe into his ear; then I finally say, “I’vemissed you so much, Daddy. ”
“And I you. But we’ll make it all up tonight… I promise.
I have to hold on to his shoulder and the grab pole with all mystrength to keep my knees from suddenly collapsing under me. Did hereally just say that? “I love you,” he adds, stretching the syllablesuntil the words are so much warm air brushing past my earlobe, thenstraightens up and looks me into the eye. I see the earnestness inthere, and the affection; and I feel like I’ve never been so much inlove.
I close my eyes as soon as he breaks the gaze, because I don’t wantto see anything but him. Leaning my head against his chest and one armaround his waist, I wait for the bustling and noise around us tosubside, signifying that we’ve passed the penultimate stop on the line. Almost nobody goes to the last stop; when I open my eyes and lookaround, we are alone in the car except for two old men facing away fromus. Sure, there are the windows to the other cars, but nobody everreally looks through them.
Looking up at my father, bringing my face close to his, I whisper: “Kiss me. ”
I see him blush just a little, and his eyes darting around. “We’re not–”
“Nobody’s looking. ” With that, I close my eyes and keep my headstretched up, my mouth pouting ever so slightly. When I feel his drylips touching mine, it’s like an electric jolt going through my body; heinstantly retreats again, but I won’t let him, I slide my free armaround his neck and stretch myself as far up as I can, finding his lipswithout looking and kissing him hard. This time he gives in; when I pullback a little to moisten the insides of my lips with the tip of mytongue, he is upon me again in an instant, brushing his tongue againstmine, his lips half open and very nearly sucking me in, gluing me tohim. In a frantic, almost panicky kiss, we explore each other’s tenderwetness; I feel like I’m drinking him in deep drafts after almost dyingof thirst for a whole year.
We stop just in time before the train slows down in the station andthe two old men get up from their seats and see us.
The trip in the crowded bus is filled with little hints, glances andtouches whose secret meaning only we can read; to everybody watching, weprobably look just like some strange half of a family with stupidinside jokes being tossed back and forth between us. Then we’re finallythere; we get out and drag my suitcase, rucksack and travel bag over thefront lawn and into the house, where my father turns on the light andkicks the door closed after dropping my stuff where he stands, and Ifeel a shiver of anticipation running down my back.
What now? I think, excitement running through my body.
Flitting past me and into the kitchen, Dad pours each of us a glassof water, hands me mine, and says, “Maybe you want to take a shower?I’ll definitely want to, after this–” he plucks at his sweaty shirt —“ordeal. ” With a twinkle in his eye.
My heart, already racing, picks up another pace. Will you come with me?I want to ask, but before I can muster the courage to even start, headds, “I’ll finish preparing your surprise in the meanwhile. ”
Nodding quickly to conceal my blush, I hastily dig the last of myclean underwear out of my travel bag and scurry into the bathroom. Ileave the door unlocked as I undress and step under the shower, myexcitement heightening with every second. For a while I’m torn betweentaking my tame, maybe even taking a bath in the hot tub I’ve missed somuch (my guest family in Berlin only had a small shower cubicle) andhoping for my father to come in and catch me in the nude; but then Ithink again of the surprise he talked about, and even though I stilldon’t have even the slightest idea what it could be, I can’t wait to seeit.
So I quickly wash and towel off, blow-drying my hair just far enoughthat it doesn’t cling to my head, and don my underwear with shakingknees.
My father is waiting in the hallway, looking me up and down with anadmiring glance while I tremble under his gaze. “My god, you’rebeautiful,” he whispers, shaking his head as if in disbelief; and thistime I have nowhere to turn to to hide my blush. To my relief, he sparesme the obligation to reply by adding, “If you don’t object, I’ll occupythe bathroom for a few minutes; you can look at your surprise in themeanwhile. ”
“But won’t you–” I start, then don’t know how to finish the sentence. “Alone?”
He smiles. “I think it’s better if you see it on your own first. ”Stepping closer, he runs a hand down my bare arm and I feel a shiverrunning through my body. “But don’t worry,” he says, leaning in close tomy ear again so that his breath tickles the sensitive hair at the backof my neck.
After he’s slipped into the bathroom, not even shutting the doorbehind him, just closing it halfway and disappearing behind it, I standtransfixed in place for a few seconds, too anxious to move either way. Only when I hear the shower going do I dare to move again, slowlysneaking up to the door to my room.
I’ve not seen my room for almost ten months; my parents promised notto change anything while I was away, but actually I’m not sure Iremember where everything was in the first place. I recognize the smell,though; I don’t know what makes it so unique, but I would know my roomjust by its smell anytime.
And there’s something inside the circle, a square of somethingwrapped in plastic with a post-it note on top of it. I don’t quiteunderstand it until I’ve opened the plastic wrapping and taken it out:it’s a sort of nightie; more a neglige, really, semi-transparent silkystuff with delicate lace at the rims, incredibly soft and lightweight tothe touch.
The note reads: DON’T WEAR THIS IN PUBLIC, with a little heart below it.
It’s a gift of love, the heart tells me; and a gift for love.
My knees weaker than ever, I slowly take off my bra and panties,hanging them on the backrest of my clothes chair, before letting thesilk neglige slide down along my skin. It fits me perfectly, feelingmore like a cloud enveloping my body than like any garment I’ve everworn before. It reaches to just below my buttocks, and as I look downthe front of my body I can see my nipples poking out through the thinfabric, the brown aureoles slightly visible beneath it. This is not agarment to conceal anything; it is meant to tease and reveal in part,heightening the desire to see it all. At the back there is a long slitin the fabric, almost down to the small of my back, that is closed onlywith a pair of silk threads in a loop; by opening it, one can let theneglige drop to the floor or let one side of it fall away to revealexactly as much as one likes.
It’s a gift from my father. And here I am, standing in my room withmy back to the door, my eyes closed, my breath shallow withanticipation, more naked than not, dressed in the most seductive thingI’ve ever seen… waiting for him to come and have his way with me.
I’m sixteen, just back from abroad, wet between the legs andtrembling for my father’s touch. And not one second while I wait, notone instant does it strike me that what the two of us are about to domight in any way be wrong.
This is what I’ve been longing for the whole year; no, longer thanthat. This is what I’ve been aiming at, what I’ve been dreaming of, whatI’ve been masturbating at in all those lonely hours in Berlin.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes me flinch involuntarily;but I don’t waver and don’t flee. I stay, with my eyes closed, my backto the door, patiently waiting for my father to discover me.
Touch me.
Take me.
I hold my breath as the steps reach my door, stop for a moment, thencontinue. The nearer he gets, the more distinctly I can hear hisbreathing; it is deep, controlled, reassuring. I feel it touching thehair on the back of my head, sending a tingle down my spine and into myevery nerve; and the shiver I’ve been trying to suppress finally takes ahold of me as the breath turns into a gentle whisper:
“I love you. ”
As if to steady my shaking frame, he lays a hand on each of myshoulder, soft and warm. Then, in the hushed moment that follows, myfather plants a kiss into the nape of my neck, where the skin is themost sensitive, and I shudder again, finally letting out the breath I’vebeen holding since he entered the room. The spark coursing through mybody is now setting it on fire, bit by bit, starting between my legs,where a ball of heat seems to expand and contract, then expand furtherand spread the heat through my belly, my chest, and finally to my head.
Meanwhile, my father’s fingers are untying the knot at the back of mynightie, slowly pulling at one strand until it slips loose and the softfabric slides down my shoulders, slowing as it passes the swell of mybreasts, then drops to the floor with the sound of a feather falling,the tiniest sigh. Every hair on my body seems to stand straight up,registering even the tiniest draft of air and screaming in sweet agonyas my father’s fingertips trace a line over my shoulders, down acrossthe collarbone and slowly up, up the swell of my breasts, where the skinbecomes more sensitive each millimeter… and simultaneously the thoughtsracing madly through my head make my heart beat even faster: it’sactually happening… my father is touching me, seducing me, I’m standingnaked before him, we’re alone in the house, there’s nothing that canstop us now…
When his fingers brush against my nipples, softly, almost in passing,but returning the next instant to trace lines around the tenderpapillae, I have to bite my lip and clench my fists not to collapse withthe shiver that comes over me. For a moment he cups my breasts withboth hands and I marvel at how perfectly they fit into his palms; then,suddenly, he whirls around me, setting my body hair ablaze with the aircurling in his wake.
That finally takes me past the edge, and with a soft cry I lose control over my limbs and collapse.
I would have hit the ground hard, had my father not reacted instantlyand swooped me up in his arms, carrying me to my bed and lying downbeside me as I struggle to recover. The world is spinning before myeyes; I see my father’s face, so close to mine, but I’m no longer sureit’s real. Some part of myself tells me that this can’t be happening;this must be a dream, no more.
But the dream continues. My father’s hands are caressing my body;they are a lover’s hands now, not a father’s, and they go where onlylovers may go while his gaze is locked with mine, his breath touches mylips which burn with the need for his… it is as if my head is beinglifted up by invisible hands, by no more than the pull of my desire, andI close my eyes in ecstasy as we finally meet, his rough lips againstmine, the tip his tongue sending electric tingles through my head… itfeels like he’s dragging me in, sucking me in while I’m pulling with allmy strength to get him, eat him, bite him…
This is at reprise and continuation of our first kiss in the subway,only that this time it’s not only our lips that are touching; I feel hisbody pressing against mine, his warmth against my naked skin, his handscaressing me, stroking my breasts and belly, gripping my hip andpulling me even closer while our breaths mingle…
And then it’s over, and I gasp for air as his lips pull away frommine, only to strike again in the curve of my neck, in the place wheremy collarbones meet, and then the tip of his tongue flicks against myleft nipple, making my body buckle as if I’d been tickled, and itactually feels a lot like tickling… I remember how Dad used to tickle mewhen I was smaller, and I find myself squirming under his repeatedkisses as he sucks at first one, then the other of my nipples, makingthem stand up hard, their sensitivity heightened now that they’re slickwith saliva and every draft of air feels like the touch of an ice cubeagainst my skin…
And once again the realization rolls over me like a thundercloud,making me dizzy with excitement and anticipation: I’m in bed with myfather, completely naked and exposed, and he’s kissing my breasts… no,he’s not kissing my breasts anymore, his head is moving down my bellywhile his hands, with shameless audacity, slide down my thighs and pushapart my knees, spreading me wide as he hoists his own body betweenthem, then gripping my buttocks from below while he runs his tonguealong the inside of my thigh, closer and closer to the center, holdingme fast as I squirm with ticklishness the closer he comes…
Then he presses his lips into my bush again, full on the lips thistime, his tongue boldly protruding to the source of my wetness, partingthe folds and finding the spot that makes me explode with lust, makes mebuckle and scream… and I mean scream, not moan sedately likewomen do when they’re faking an orgasm (don’t think girls don’t watchporn– we merely take a different kind of interest in it)… it’s a goodthing the house is empty save for us, and our neighbors have never takenany interest in what’s happening here… they wouldn’t recognize myvoice… wouldn’t recognize it even when I’m screaming “Daddy!– hey!–”with the unmistakable voice of ecstasy as he begins to suck on my clit,alternately flicking the tip of his tongue against it and running itaround in agonizing circles… and then, when my body falters for amoment, he audaciously moves one of his hands along my buttock, downunder my thigh, and sends his finger looking for the entrance to mywomb…
It’s not all pure ecstasy, though. As incredibly horny as I am, thereare moments during this when I feel almost disconnected from myself,looking at my father’s head as it’s working away between my legs,feeling his finger intruding into my most private place, and I think, What on earth are we doing here? How sick is that guy… how sick am I?— But then it hits me again: we are having sex… or we’re about to havesex, depending on how you look at it; and I close my eyes, giving in tothe feeling building in my stomach, in my heart, between my legs, in mywhole body, while at the same time hoping for my father to throw off histunic and come over me, take me, fuck me, put it inside me and fuck mybrains out…
Finally I can’t hold it any longer.
And the touch comes; and I collapse on my bed, flowing with sweat andjuices, and laughing like mad; when my father lifts his head frombetween my thighs and playfully runs his index finger over my swollenclitoris, I shriek and push him away with my feet, panting and laughingwith tears running from my eyes until I’m not sure anymore if I’mactually laughing or crying. He lies down beside me, propping up hishead on one hand and resting the other on my stomach, like a lover, likethe lover that he is, and looks at me with wide, half-worried eyes.
“You… you’re crazy,” I manage, panting hard and fighting for breath. “You’re…” I have to close my eyes and turn away my head to hide the sob,or laugh, that suddenly contorts my face. “You… oh my God. ”
“You taste nice,” he whispers into my ear.
“Dad!” Twisting with giggles, I playfully slap his cheek; it comes on harder than I thought. “What did you…”
“I love you, Risa. ”
A very different warmth spreads through my body at these words, thisheat coming from the heart rather than the sexual system. I try toanswer, but all I can do is stare at him, lose myself in his eyes, andlet the feeling of our closeness, our love, envelop me completely.
Maybe he misreads my stare, because a little while later he asks, cautiously, “Did I… hurt you in any way?”
“No–!” On the contrary!, I want to say; you made me feel so good!— but that’s one of these things you can’t actually say in real life. So I just stop there and smile, and feel my heart grow even warmer ashis worried look gives way to a smile of his own.
“I promised you that,” he says.
“You did. ” My smile grows to a grin at the memory.
“And I made good on my promise. ”
“Oh yes you did. ” I’m completely relaxed now, stretched out languidlybeside my father, the after-effects of the orgasm he gave me stilltingling through my body. Without conscious thought my right hand slidesbetween my legs to find the cooling moisture there; it’s an oddlypleasant sensation, dirty in a way, but in a sexy way. “That was…”
“But you know we really shouldn’t be doing this. ”
“I know,” I purr.
“So I’d say that makes for a good conclusion of the whole thing, and we…”
“What?”
“Risa,” he sighs, trying to forestall my protests by laying a hand onmy chest, just above my breasts, where my heart pounds. “Listen. Up tothis point we can still pretend that it was not such a big deal. I mean,obviously we shouldn’t have done any of this, but in our hearts we canstill say that we just made each other feel good, and that’s nothingbad. But if we go ahead from here…”
“No,” I say, hot tears making their way through my throat and up, upbehind my nose, collecting behind my eyes with mounting pressure. “No,no, no. ”
“Listen, I promised you… you know. And I thought we could let that bethe end, the final act, the high point of it all, so we’ll have goodmemory of it… I tried to give you a… oh, Risa. ” I am crying now, cryingwithout moving, it’s just the overflow of tears spilling out of my eyesand running down my face while I still stare at him, disbelievingly,disillusioned and disappointed to the core. I don’t know if men can evenunderstand that, this feeling of being abandoned at the critical point…this feeling of lying wet and full of hopes in front of the love ofyour life and then having to listen to some poor excuse for why it’sover now, over before it’s ever really begun…
“Oh Risa, I’m so sorry,” he croaks and tries to cradle me, but mybody won’t budge, it’s frozen in place with shock; until thedisappointment that’s been building somewhere above me comes down uponme, hitting me like a kick in the gut, and I cringe with a silent screamand turn away from him. I don’t want him to see me now; I don’t wanthim to touch my; but I do want him to touch me, hold me in his warmembrace and never let me go, take it all back, make it all good again…but he won’t, I know. Even when he does finally hold me, awkwardly ofcourse, sobbing into my shoulder as if he were the one hurt in all this,I feel distant, so far away from him, and I know that there’s no chanceI’ll ever be able to reach across that gap and be with him the way Iwas with him just a minute before.
“Risa,” he says after some time, “I don’t want to hurt you…”
Too late, I think, and I snort painfully. “I guess I justthought this was going to be a beginning, not an end,” I say.
It takes him some time to respond to that; somehow I feel that he isonly now beginning to see how deeply he has hurt me. “But a beginning ofwhat?” he asks in a plaintive tone. “How do you suppose this can go on?We can’t just live as father and daughter and lovers… as much as I’dwant to…”
No, Daddy, I don’t think you really want to. If you really wanted to,you wouldn’t be so cruel; we would find a way to be together, come whatmay. No, Dad; I think you’re weak. I think you’re weak because youcan’t control your blind desires, and it’s desire you feel for me, notlove; and you’re weak because you can’t make a choice for yourself, butyou let others make your choices. You just acted as if you were seducingme because you knew that I expected it from you; you let me make thatchoice for you, because you promised me, and you were too weak just totell me in advance what you had really been thinking all this time, youwere too cowardly just to tell me that you wouldn’t do it because it’sso wrong. No, you went half of the way and thought that I’d be contentwith that, that you would be absolved of your promise, which youfulfilled to the letter but no more, like a freaking bureaucrat. And youlet others make your choices for you because you say it’s so wrong, wecan’t do it and we can’t go on from here, because that is what everybodytells you, or would tell you if anyone knew of what we’re doing here;you just don’t have the guts to stand up and say, this is what I want, Iwant to fuck my daughter, I want you, Risa, I want to be with you andlive with you and…
I don’t say any of this, of course; that’s just what’s running aroundin my head as I lie there trying to ignore my father’s feeble attemptsat comforting me. Finally I get up to take a leak; when I return, he’sgone.
I lie awake for a long time, turning it all over in my mind, until Ifinally all asleep. In the morning, I find to my surprise that I’mactually somehow at peace, that I’ve accepted the idea that it’s overand that it couldn’t have been any other way. Remembering the orgasm Dadgave me last night turns me on, and it will turn me on for a long time;but there’s no bitterness connected to it, or at least almost none.
Still, it’s rather awkward meeting my father at the breakfast tableafter all this.
I guess we’re both relieved when we get up and part ways, and for theremainder of the day I stay in my room mostly and try to avoid Daduntil Mom comes home.
Even then, it’s not much better; the occasional glance going back andforth between me and Dad speaks volumes about the myriad things leftunsaid between us, about the pent-up desire and frustration and angerand love and whatnot, so we even avoid looking at each other; this addsto the already tense situation in the house, and things really godownhill from there.
But I won’t bore you with this. Suffice it to say that for the mostpart it is still that way today; that’s why I’ve called this nightperhaps the most important one in my life, because it was the night Ilost the ability to talk to my father, and vice versa.
All I can do now, is write.
.
