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Oh Daddy! - Teasing Daddy

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I don’t know when I went from wanting his approval of my own body, to wanting to see his. Though it was only fair that I got to see him if he got to see me. It was a habit I kept for a long time after those days -- I'd make myself come but not in the presence of others. It was like a vestige of Daddy; for a long, long time, only Daddy would make me come. Chris gave me a lot: He replaced my father as the man who kept me front and center in his gaze, something I so desperately needed. But here's the catch, something I didn't think about until recently. How did the girls know? How had this rumor managed to get passed down? Who else played with Mr. Bernard? But the sex itself wasn't necessarily enjoyable for me. I wanted the sex, no doubt, but I also used it to keep feeling ashamed. I was casual and cavalier about having sex, refused to take it seriously -- and as a result ended up feeling awful about some of the sexual choices I made. Like autonomous drones, we both got up and went upstairs and into the secluded movie watching lounge area.

Well, once you became a teenager, you made it quite clear to me that you didn’t like hugs and kisses anymore.” My dad explained. “Though if you’re naughty enough, I might still spank you.” He teased. When I sat on his lap, his touch inched ever closer, until his warm hand covered the soft skin of my inner thigh and his thumb brushed the edge of my panties.When I was 12, my girlfriends and I sneaked in to see "An Officer and a Gentleman," a movie that explicitly depicts Debra Winger and Richard Gere having sex. It was the first sexual encounter I had ever seen outside of my father's bed, and it was tremendously erotic for me.

Short Story Writing | Writers | Read Online | Writing Contests | Writing Software | Writing Journals | Writing A Book | Writing A Novel There was a glass panel that would have protected me from his eyes; but it would have still offered a clear—though blurry—silhouette of my completely naked body.After a while, my dad did the same and we stood side to side, getting ready for the day. He wore a bathrobe, I just that towel.

This continued that whole week and the week after that. My dad would hand me my towel when I was done showering so I could cover up and we would share the bathroom after. This new morning routine had also renewed my interest in teasing him, so after school I would undress and roam the house in just my underwear. I've had friends and family telling me that they've seen her and the guy frequenting out the way travel lodges...No, it's actually the same half hearted one, telling me that he needed to use our bathroom. Which is weird by itself actually, especially since you are going to have to walk past two completely good rest rooms just to get to our bedroom door.

What I said was true though, those past few weeks, all those interactions had been initiated by me, not him. I saw my wife cheating on me, and having sex with her co-worker, in the bed that we have slept in for nearly over fifteen years now. Well, dad got in the tub with me, and I felt super awkward. He crept ever closer to me until we were side-by-side. Now, I didn't know what sex was at this point, so I really didn't know what he was about to do to me. All I knew was that I was incredibly uncomfortable by him getting in the tub with me. He put his hand on my shoulder and slowly started sliding it down. My mom and I moved when I turned 13, into a new house where my father had never touched me and would never have the chance. I began sleeping in my own bed immediately, and I gave up my relationship with Mr. Bernard shortly thereafter. Slowly, Daddy pulled His lips from mine, but I hungered for more. I felt so ashamed of how I was feeling, and how warm my body had gotten from just a simple kiss from Him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell Daddy that it wasn’t the other boys making me cry now, that it was Him. I wanted Him to be like that Daddy I knew He was, and not this monster taking advantage of me. But I kept silent. A thought occurred to me at that moment; maybe if I was good, then He would stop. Naïve of me to think of it now, but at that moment, it made sense.His other arm he wrapped around me, lower when I was wearing a bra but no t-shirt; but when my bare breasts were hidden behind a bulky shirt, he got high enough so that I could feel his arm brush up against them. Fiction Writing | Blog Writing | Creative Writing | Essay Writing | Letter Writing | Poetry Writing | Technical Writing | Story Writing Even at home with my mother, I would crawl into her bed to sleep at night. Meanwhile, at Dad's house, the abuse continued. I'd go to sleep, genuinely fall asleep, and he'd get in bed. I'd wake up and feel his warm skin, his erection against my bottom, his breathing in my ear, the slight scent of Budweiser on his breath. One afternoon, there was a spanking after a sexual encounter and the link between sex and shame became permanent in my brain. I believed that I had let the sex happen, and that it was my fault; I believed that I was the bad one.

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