When I was 19, I started my first year of college, but doing so meant I had to move away from my mother's house. Now, I know that's not a big deal for lots of people, but that house was where I'd lived with her and my sister since my parents divorced when I was 9 years old. We had countless hours of plain happiness in that house, and now I was forced to move all the way across the country, where I'd be living with my dad instead of staying on campus to save on costs. Again, lots of people probably just think I'm complaining for the sake of complaining, but to a young girl who likes to party a little harder than average, moving in with your ultra-Catholic dad, instead of on-campus accommodation with like-minded students, is about the worst thing in the world.
Every single Sunday since I started living with him, he's nagged and nagged me to come to church with them, usually with some snide sentence about giving me a chance to "repent for my life choices." Naturally, I always refuse, but I never had the heart to tell him that I'm a strong atheist. I can imagine a lot of questions about "What life choices is he talking about, Anna?" Well...since I'm not afraid of receiving a little male attention and affection, it goes without saying that my dear old dad certainly didn't approve of that, especially when it happened "under his roof," as though it's my fault I get hit on so often. That said, though, I understand why I get hit on constantly - at 5'4" with a petite frame and a B cup bra size, I fit almost everyone's definition of "super cute". Add in my naturally blonde hair, "sparkling" green eyes, and my personality that usually walks the line between "bubbly" and "quirky" and I've probably ticked every single box on most guys' "ideal girl" checklist, for better or worse.
Anyway, I've probably spent more words on myself than any modest person should. Back to the story you came here for. So, I normally wear some rather revealing clothing - low-cut shirts and dresses, short shorts and skirts, and so on. Some people say I openly invite the looks and sexual propositions I get from men. Whatever. I dress for me, not for anyone else. So, I naturally wore my outfits at home as well as out to class and to parties, and occasionally, I would catch my dad peeking looks at my body when he thought I wasn't looking. For ages, I thought nothing of it, apart from maybe "Oh, he's probably judging me for wearing something that shows off what little cleavage I have." And then I'd usually forget about it within five minutes. That is, until one night when I was walking past his room and heard him praying (yes, he's one of those weird people who prays aloud). I didn't catch all of it, but what I did hear certainly changed my opinion of my dad forever.
"And forgive me, O Lord, for having these evil, lustful thoughts about my daughter, and please grant me the strength to fight these sinful urges."
Two things happened after I heard that sentence. One, I turned around and got the hell out of there as quick as I could without being heard. Two, I realised I finally had the ultimate "Get out of church free" card. Well, okay, maybe three things happened. The third is that I suddenly started to realise why mum had been attracted to him all those years ago. He's not "classically handsome" by any means, but for 48 years old, he didn't look too bad. He stood at 5'6" tall, possessed a naturally slim body and a full head of dark hair. Personality-wise, he's always been quiet, bordering on timid. I'd always secretly found his nature kind of adorable, and naturally assumed that tons of women would feel the same, and I guess my mother was proof of that. Anyway, once I got back to my room, I immediately started my scheming. That Sunday, I knew, things would change. I seriously couldn't wait, and as a result, the rest of the week dragged like no other week of my life.
Sunday eventually came, and in the evening, Dad once again tried to guilt me into coming to church. I knew this week, I'd have to pull out all the stops.
"No, Dad, I'm absolutely sick of you trying to force me to come to church with you. Ever since I've moved in, that's all you've done. Well I'm putting my damn foot down, and I'm telling you I'm not coming, I'm never coming. There is no God." I put my hand to my chest, and his eyes happily followed it there. "I know in my heart of hearts that's the truth." Wearing my favourite (i.e.: tightest) tube top, I had baited him perfectly with that line. I could tell he wasn't staring at my heart.
"You going to pray for forgiveness after that little look, too, Dad?"
I'd never seen my dad's face a brighter shade of red. He spluttered a denial, "I wasn't- I didn't- I- What look? What are you talking about, praying for forgiveness?"
"I heard you, Dad." He tried to keep a blank expression. "On Wednesday night, I heard you praying to your God about your lustful looks." I paused for effect, knowing he was trapped. "Your lustful looks at me."
After that, the only words that adequately explain Dad's actions are "freak out." He tried to explain with about five different excuses all at once, his arms flailing, his eyes wide and his face that almost cartoonish red. I keep telling myself that I never planned to do what I did next, but I've never been able to lie to myself.
I calmly walked over to my spluttering, helpless dad, gently stilled his arms with my hands, and kissed him softly and sweetly on his mouth. It was fucking great. Sure, his face was hot with embarrassment, and he was still in denial about his feelings for me, but I loved every second of that kiss. My lips pressed ever so gently against his, my hands rubbing his upper arms, our bodies pressed against each other. Simply the best kiss I'd had in months. He initially gave in, clearly enjoying his first kiss with his hot young daughter. Enjoying it so much, in fact, that I felt something stirring and hardening in his pants, pressing into my lower stomach. But just as I pressed myself harder against that ever-hardening bulge, he unfortunately came to his senses. Dad quickly broke free of my hands' gentle caress and forcefully pushed me a couple steps backwards.
