The memories always used to blend into one, the dreams becoming less coherent, but so much more passionate, more primal, more urgent.
I'd gone to lie down after my shower, resting before the evening ahead. I lay down in my bath towel, hair still wet and now smelling less of my lust, I closed my eyes for a moment and began to remember.
A sofa appeared in front of me, it was brown, and as I walked towards it, the room began to shape and swirl around me, the memory so vivid after all this time. That sofa, that night, the first time I went to see my Daddy. I remember being so nervous to go up there, just for a smoke, say hey (like that was ever the plan?!), I texted something about the rain, saying I was really wet, I don't remember the response. I don't know what I was wearing, but it was probably black, lacy and short. At just 18, and 5'5, him being older in his 30s, God knows what anyone would've thought seeing me knocking on his door that night, I felt so small. As soon as I was inside though, there was an instant spark, something deeply fascinating, and I had to know more. He was eyeing me up and down, and the air was thick with antici . . . . . . pation. We kissed on the sofa, hands exploring everywhere. We stopped briefly for a spliff, not wanting to waste the night, and spend time on each other, when he dropped a bombshell.
