Daddy & His Little Baby
“Daddy & His Little Baby”
     
    I was too young to remember when Mom married
Tom. She got pregnant with me when she was in high school, and the
father wanted nothing to do with me. I’ve never even met my
biological father.
    Tom treated me just like I was his own. He
was kind, loving, gentle… all the things a father should be. We
were just like any normal family – until my mother died of leukemia
when I was sixteen. I even called him “Daddy” just like he was my
real dad.
    I started having nightmares not long after
Mom died. I’d wake up screaming and calling out her name. It was
killing me to be without her. I was lucky I still had Tom in my
life. I don’t know how I’d have made it through without him.
    The nightmares continued for two years. I was
eighteen years old, and I still couldn’t stand living without her.
She was always my rock, the one I turned to when things were
bad.
    One night, I woke up in a cold sweat,
screaming “Mom! Mom!” Tom came running into the room, flicked on my
lamp, and sat down beside me, holding me close as he always did. It
felt soothing to have his strong arms around me as the tears
streamed down my face.
    This time was different, somehow. Instead of
feeling the gentleness of a father’s love, I felt something strong,
rugged. His arms were muscular, and I put my hand on his bicep and
noticed it twitch. He smelled masculine, musky. I felt a warmth
inside my panties, and I suddenly wanted to kiss him. I resisted,
but not without difficulty.
    He rocked gently back and forth, stroking my
hair. I nestled against his shoulder, breathing in his intoxicating
scent, relaxing calmly in his embrace. I remembered when I used to
snuggle in his lap while the three of us watch movies as a family.
I burst into tears, the pain of my mother’s death still raw after
all this time.
    “Shh,” he whispered. “There, there. It’s
alright.”
    I felt his fingers under my chin, lifting my
face so he could look in my eyes. He brushed a tear away from my
cheek, and I stared deeply into his rich, brown eyes. I started to
look away, but suddenly, I felt his lips on mine. The roughness of
his five o’clock shadow was harsh against my skin. I gasped and
recoiled in shock, though the sensation had been entirely
pleasant.
    “My God, I’m sorry,” he said, backing away
from me slightly. “I don’t know what came over me.”
    He stood up and took a step toward the door,
but I grabbed his wrist and held tightly.
    “Don’t go,” I said quietly.
    He refused to look at me. His body was turned
toward the door, and his eyes were cast downward in shame. I tugged
at his arm.
    “Look at me,” I said. He refused, so I
demanded, “Look at me!”
    Slowly, his head turned to face me. His
cheeks were a deep crimson, and he looked thoroughly ashamed.
    “What is it, Tess?” he asked, his voice tight
with contrition.
    “It’s alright,” I said gently, pulling his
arm until he sat down heavily on the bed.
    I put my arms around his neck and pulled him
close, snuggling against him. I felt his warm breath on my
shoulder, and I shivered.
    “What’s alright?” he murmured.
    “I’m not angry,” I said.
    “You should be,” he told me. “I’m angry with
myself.”
    “No, don’t be!” I said. “Please don’t
be.”
    “How can I not, Tess?” he asked, sitting up
and looking into my eyes. “I’m your father. I shouldn’t be… I
should…”
    “Stop,” I said. “I… I wanted you to kiss
me.”
    For a moment, he sat frozen with confusion.
His brow was wrinkled tightly, bunched up and furrowed.
    “But… why did you pull away?” he asked.
    “I was just surprised, that’s all,” I said.
“I’ve… I’ve actually wanted you to kiss me for a long time.”
    He shook his head, clearly stunned.
    “I don’t understand,” he said.
    “Look, I’ve been wanting to kiss you,” I told
him. “I was just afraid. And when you kissed me, I was so shocked,
I didn’t know what to do. I wish I

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