Why Do You Hate Me, Daddy?

"Jesus," my dad responded.

There was a long pause. Neither of us spoke. It was like the confessions we had both voiced were becoming the air itself, choking us both into silence. My heart was pounding hard, but slowly. It felt almost painful in my chest. It was hard to breathe. My clitoris was tingling like crazy, trying to get my attention. It took every ounce of will I had to ignore it. Still, I squirmed uncomfortably. My dad was just a few feet away from me and we had both just admitted being attracted to each other.

Finally, I couldn't take the silence anymore. I opened my mouth and spilled the words as they came to me. It started as a stammer at first, "Bu-bu-but I... I-I shoved it down." Pausing to inhale deeply, I continued, "I put my emotions in a box in the back of my mind. I tried not to think about it. About you. I... I always thought you hated me, daddy."

A minute passed and he still hadn't responded to me. Forcing my eyes open, I looked at him and almost gasped.

My father was crying.

"Daddy?" I called to him softly.

He lifted his head and stared at me, tears streaming down his face. He spoke through his tears, "I'm so sorry, Gracie. That I made you think that." He swallowed and then wiped a hand across his eyes, gathering himself. Then he added, "I don't hate you. It's... it's completely the opposite of that."

We held each other's gaze for a long time. Until finally, I got up the nerve to ask the obvious next question.

"What do we do now?" I asked.

He shook his head slightly, sniffling. Then he whispered, "I don't know." After a pause, he shrugged and added, "Nothing, I guess."

"Ok," I whispered. I didn't know what else to say. Or do. I was petrified to even move. I just stared at my father. My body was buzzing with a strange warmth that didn't seem to fit the scene. My dad was attracted to me. And I was attracted to him. We had both confessed this fact to each other. Yet there was nothing for it. What could we possibly do? There was nothing to do at all. It was wrong, and we both knew it.

After what felt like hours, my father silently got up off my bed and walked out of my room. He paused at my door but didn't look back. A few seconds later, I listened to his footsteps as he ascended the stairs. They seemed to be timed in perfect rhythm with my heartbeat.

[Ch 15. Boundaries.]

My thoughts were filled with hope after that night. It may have just been a fragile daydream, but I clung to it nonetheless. I don't even know exactly what it was I expected, though. My relationship with my dad felt... different. We went over a week without a single argument. I wasn't entirely sure if that was just coincidence, or if our mutual confessions had jarred things for the better.

Either way, I slowly started letting my guard down. I ate dinner with the family several times that week. My conversations with my dad felt slightly forced, though. Almost superficial. But still, I would take that over the constant tension I had felt before that night in my room a week ago.

Finally, it was Saturday night. The four of us had all watched a movie together after dinner. Then dad and I each picked a different sister to tuck into bed. Dad went to Ally's room and I went to kiss Monica goodnight. She was smiling when I came in and she thanked me for making things better. I didn't want to tell her that I didn't think were completely in the clear just yet. But I just smiled at her and kissed her again before leaving her room.

Dad was just coming down the hallway as I stepped into it. We shared a significant look at each other and then he brushed by me, returning the living room where he immediately started surfing for something else to watch. I didn't think I had the stamina to stay up any longer, so I headed down to my room. He didn't say a word to me when I walked past the living room, but I felt his eyes on me all the way to the basement door.

Twenty minutes later, I heard my father's footsteps on the ceiling as he headed to the bathroom. Water gurgled down the drains which traveled just outside my room. I figured he was brushing his teeth. Ten minutes later, the only thing I heard was utter silence.

For the next half hour, I lay quietly in bed. My eyes were open and there was no chance that I could get myself to fall asleep anytime soon. My mind was constantly replaying the conversation I had with my father a week ago. It seemed like we were on the same page, and yet his actions this past week didn't seem to back it up. True, we hadn't argued at all. But I had hoped he might at least give me the slightest amount of affection. Something to show me that he truly didn't hate me.

Holding up my phone, I saw that it was after midnight. My sisters were surely asleep. And dad probably was, too. Yet I still found myself climbing out of bed in my pajamas and padding my way quietly to the stairs. When I reached the top, I didn't waste any time considering my actions. I just walked straight to my father's bedroom door. It was closed, of course. For a few seconds, I had second thoughts and I almost turned away. But I managed to get control of my nerves and finally twisted the doorknob and pushed his door open.

My dad's room was dark and quiet. That should have been enough to make me turn and head back to my own bed. But I was too determined to give up so soon. Stepping into his room, I gently closed the door behind me. When I turned around, I had to wait for my eyes to adjust to the low light. He had a clock on his nightstand, and moonlight filtered in through his window. Other than that, there was no illumination whatsoever.

After a brief dispute in my own head, I steeled myself and then tiptoed to the side of his bed. Listening, I could hear him breathing slow and deep. He was definitely asleep. And that totally gave me an out. I could just turn and quietly make my way back to my room and he would be none the wiser. I knew I had that option. Yet, I hesitated.

Finally, I forced myself onward. Forward. Lifting back the covers of his bed, I silently climbed underneath. He stirred despite my ninja-like entrance. When he rolled toward me, I knew I was caught. My eyes had adjusted enough that when I looked his way, I could see a faint halo in his eyes as they reflected the moonlight.

"Can I snuggle with you?" I whispered, like we were two teenagers trying to hide our clandestine relationship from our parents. Except, I truly was a teenager. And he was my parent. Oh boy.

My father responded, though, and it made me feel a little more at ease. He whispered, "Uh, I guess?"

Neither of us moved to be closer to the other. I was lying stock still on the opposite side of the bed while he was lying on the other. He had his head turned toward me, though. Five minutes went by and all I could hear was the sound of his breathing.

"Daddy?" I heard my own voice break the silence of the room.

"What?" he asked, sounding apprehensive.

Biting my lip, I said softly, "I've always found you attractive." In a way, it was a new confession. But at the same time, it was the same thing I had admitted to a week ago.

"Yeah," he said. "You told me you had a crush--"

"No," I interrupted him and he stopped talking. Then I lowered my voice and said, "It's more than a crush."

He was silent for almost a minute before he asked, "What are you saying?"

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to roll toward him. I felt extremely vulnerable. I was really putting my ego on the line here. When I was facing him, less than a foot away, I noticed he was looking at me. He was still lying on his back, though.

Feeling daring, I leaned my head a little closer and then said, "I think you're sexy." There. It was out there. I held my breath.

"Gracie," he said my name and nothing more. Still staring at him, I listened intently. Despite his obvious protest, I could hear his breath sounding funny. It was shorter than usual.

"Remember when mom died and I took care of Monica and Ally?" I asked suddenly.

"Yes," he said simply, still staring at me. I couldn't really see the expression on his face, so it was hard to determine if I was pushing things too far or not.

"Did you know that I did that because a part of me wanted you to still have mom in your life?" I confessed.

"Oh," he said softly. Then after a minute he added, "Well, it was really helpful. I... I liked it."

Biting my lip, I nodded at him even though I didn't think he could see me do it. My heart was like a thunderstorm in my chest, striking erratically. Trying to still my breathing, I said, "I liked it for more than that, though."

"What do you mean?" he whispered his question. I heard the sheets rustle as he shifted where he lay.

Still chewing on my lower lip, I spoke quietly, "I used to fantasize that we were married."

"What?" he asked, his voice dripping with confusion.

"When I was twelve," I clarified. "I used to think about what it would be like to be married to you." When he didn't say anything, I added, "I guess I was starting to get mature. I had my first period when I was twelve, you know."

"I remember that," he answered, sounding a little guarded.

Silence followed. It lasted long enough that I started to feel awkward. The only thing I could think to do was ask him a question.

"Daddy?" I whispered.

"Yes?" he whispered back.

"Do you really not hate me?" I asked, both fearful and hopeful about his answer.

"Of course I don't hate you," he answered immediately. Then he added, "You are... I... I could never hate you."

My breathing was coming irregularly. Try as I may, I couldn't draw in a deep enough breath to feel comfortable. I was so nervous! But I bravely pressed on anyway. "Then why have you been so distant toward me?" I asked finally.

He sighed, but answered in less than ten seconds, "Because I'm afraid of what I might do if I let myself get too close..." I could tell he had more to say so I kept silent. After a minute, he added, "With how much you remind me of your mother. And..." he trailed off again. I had to bite my lip to keep myself from talking. It paid off because he lowered his voice even more and said softly, "And how gorgeous... how gorgeous you are. Just like her."

My body started tingling at his words. Most of it was centered on my crotch, but the whole experience made it difficult to breathe. My dad had just confessed that he thought I was gorgeous. Just as gorgeous as my mom. And his words seemed to imply that his attraction to her had somehow transferred to me. Could a girl hope?

Scooting closer to him, I moved until my body pressed up to his side. This was so not me! I had never been this bold in my life. But I knew I wanted to do it. To test the waters, so to speak. And so I felt my heated crotch pressing hotly against his hip. Could he feel how hot I was?

My dad didn't move a muscle as I lay next to him. He felt warm. Very warm. A minute went by and it was a struggle to breathe. I was shaking. Another minute went by and, when he didn't say anything about how close I was to him, I started moving my hand. Crossing the short gap between us, I let it rest on his hip. He flinched at my touch but didn't shy away. For what seemed an eternity, I held perfectly still. Then, slowly, I started sliding my hand over the top of his hip. When I reached his crotch, inches away from where I presumed his penis was, I stopped.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding out of breath.

My hand started sliding down, reaching between his legs. He wasn't swatting it away, which I hoped was a good sign. Whispering, I said, "I just want to see something."

Then my hand brushed across my father's penis and he grunted, his body jerking as he twisted away from me, forcing my hand to break contact with his crotch. He spoke, sounding out of breath as he asked, "What exactly are you trying to see?"

My hand moved, sliding once more onto the significant bulge I felt through his sweats. I felt it twitch at my touch and he gasped quietly but otherwise held still. I realized with shock that he was hard. Very hard.

"I wanted to see if I turn you on," I whispered throatily. I was being so bold! This was so naughty, and completely out of my comfort zone. But I kept my hand on his crotch, just resting it there without moving. After a few seconds, I whispered, "You're so hard!"

My dad's breathing sounded strained. And his body kept shifting, although he still hadn't exactly pulled away from my outstretched hand. Finally, he spoke with a hoarse voice, "Of course you turn me on."

Unable to resist, I started stroking my father through his sweatpants. "Gracie," he hissed my name, but didn't tell me to stop. He squirmed slightly, and I felt his erection grow even stiffer between my groping fingers. His breathing sounded shallow. Feeling a little more confident when he didn't tell me to stop, I tried to pull myself even closer while I continued sliding my hand up and down the length of his erection. My vagina was throbbing, tingling like mad. I knew I was shaking, too.

My dad let me stroke him for almost a minute, right up until he sucked in a sharp breath and I felt his hips lurch upward. I felt his boner twitch between my fingers but then he put his hand on top of mine, clamping down on my wrist and halting my movement. He sounded out of breath, but he whispered, "We should stop."

"Ok," I said, yanking my hand out of his crotch immediately. It almost felt like rejection, but not quite. He had let me do it. He could have stopped me right when I first put my hand there. But now that I had stopped, I felt a shock of horror at what I had done. Embarrassment rose up within me, wrecking my emotions. I couldn't believe what I had done! It was completely opposite from my normal behavior. Oh god.

My struggle to breathe took on new meaning suddenly. It was no longer from arousal. It was from a warring mix of embarrassment and dejection. I had to get out of there. I didn't know if I could face my father again after this incident.

Feeling panicked, I pushed myself away from him and practically fell out of his bed, stumbling into a half-walk, half-sprint toward the door. When I turned the knob and pulled it open, the door swung wildly into the room and banged hard against the wall. I felt like I was hyperventilating. Without looking back, I fled down the hall and didn't stop until I was in my own bed with the covers pulled over my face.

Lost in thought, I barely slept at all that night. Had I seriously just touched my dad's penis? I had never been so forward in my life! As I lay there in the quiet of my own room, I made a strong resolution in my head. Never would I try something like that again. Ever.

[Ch 16. Reciprocation.]

The next few days, I avoided my dad as much as possible. Neither of us brought up what had happened and I still felt completely mortified about the experience. Things around the house felt awkward, to say the least. I think my sisters knew something was up, but they didn't say anything either. All around, it was just an uncomfortable few days.

Unfortunately, something else was going on in my teenage mind. Despite my chagrin over what I had done, I couldn't stop thinking about how it had felt. How aroused it had made me when I touched my dad's penis. And it clearly had an effect on him, too. His erection seemed to be proof of that. But the question was, did it make him aroused because he truly was attracted to me? Or was it just the fact that I had been stroking him? Boys could get aroused from anything, so I had been told.

But then he made me stop. Why did he stop me? Probably because I was his daughter. That was weird. Daughters and fathers shouldn't be attracted to each other like that. Right?

My resolution lasted all the way until Wednesday night. It was almost one in the morning. Everyone had gone to bed hours ago, although I couldn't fall asleep. I was wearing a soft, cottony shirt and a pair of silky shorts as I lay in bed, unable to sleep. My body was flushed with warmth. I couldn't help the images that kept dancing through my head. Replaying the scene over and over, I kept remembering what it had felt like to run my fingers up and down my dad's penis. The more I thought about it, the more distracted I became by the growing itch I felt between my legs.

Finally, I gave in to my feelings. Getting out of bed, I made my way quietly upstairs. Padding softly down the hall, I went to each of my sisters' doors and listened for a few seconds. I heard rustling from Ally's room, but decided she was just tossing in her sleep. Monica's room was quiet.

The last door I went to was my father's. I stood in front of it for almost five minutes, contemplating. My heart was racing in my chest. I shouldn't be there. And more importantly, I shouldn't have the kinds of thoughts in my head that I couldn't seem to shake. But in the end, I chickened out. Or maybe a wave of rationality swept through me. Either way, I turned to go. And of course, the floor made a loud squeaking sound. I froze, eyes wide with fear. I held my breath for a count of ten. When I didn't hear anything, I lifted my foot to take a step away from his door.

"Gracie?" my father's soft voice drifted through his door.

Fuck. What do I do? Trying to calm my breathing, I hesitated, foot poised on the air to walk away. When I felt my balance teetering, I put it back down as softly as I could. The floor squealed and I cursed silently to myself. I knew he knew I was there. With a sigh, I leaned close to his door and called out quietly, "Yeah?"

I heard some rustling noises from his room and then my father said, "I want to talk to you."

Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back and mouthed several more silent curses. Then I finally reached out and grabbed the doorknob, twisting it and pushing his door open. The lamp on my father's nightstand was glowing dimly, illuminating the room enough that I could see him pretty clearly. I started in shock when I realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt. He had the covers pulled up to his waist and he was sitting upright, his back against his pillow. My eyes betrayed me and stared at his bare chest. He had a faint hint of muscles, but otherwise he had one of those "dad bods" that everyone seemed to talk about anymore. No six pack or anything. Although his stomach was relatively flat instead of sporting a beer belly. I also noticed that he only had a little hair on his chest.

"Hello Gracie," my dad said and I snapped my head up, my eyes opening wide in embarrassment. He must have seen me staring at his naked torso.

"Uh, hi," I said back. Then I bit my lip, feeling extremely nervous.

"Close the door and come here," he said, almost sounding like he was using his "do what I say" voice.

For a split second, I thought about just remaining right where I was and forcing him to talk to me from across the room. That way I would have an easy escape route. Instead, I obeyed his request with a quiet sigh. As soon as the door latched shut behind me, I walked nervously across the room until I was standing next to his bed. He still had the same king bed he used to share with my mom, and he was all the way on the other side where she used to sleep. The side closest to the door was empty.

We stared at each other for a silent minute until he finally patted the bed and beckoned for me to sit. I reluctantly climbed onto his bed, sitting on top of the covers, a couple feet away from him. I didn't trust myself to get any closer. My eyes kept trying to stare at his naked chest, but I kept my head locked in position so I couldn't see much of it. I kind of stared past him, over his legs.

After another minute passed, my dad finally spoke. His voice was soft and almost sensual. Not like he was trying to sound seductive, but I found it very pleasing to listen to. There was none of the usual antagonism I had come to expect for the past many years. He almost sounded... compassionate. "I'm not upset about the other night," he said.