Dating Dad Pt 02

Thank you for patiently waiting, I am glad to have you back to enjoy Jessica's journey.

*****

I yawned as I sat there in the faux leather chair, pretty sure there were rocks under the foam. The steady whooshing sound coming from the ventilator was a constant reminder that my father still lived. He was intubated, laying on his back. His lips stretched around a plastic tube, chest rising and falling. They had brought him back to his room an hour ago, and he was still unconscious. This would be the last of two major surgeries, thankfully.

The last 24 hours had been a blur. I very much felt like a child staring at the ground from a moving car. Objects blurring and stretching in one continuous loop of color and chaos. I was not much help to the police as I had been so focused on my dad. I remembered no faces, just impressions of them. What I remember clearly were his eyes. Those eyes, so full of pain, and love. Why did he smile at me? Oh lord, why did he fucking smile?

I thought he was dying. I feel so much shame at my thoughts. Questions had plowed through my mind as I desperately clung to my father, his blood all over me. How could he do this to me? How could he leave me? Guilt, and shame from the moment still descend on me like a dark cloud.

He was here, alive, and the doctors told me he would do just fine. He was going to be well, and survive this awful tragedy. But he had looked into my eyes, I am sure that he saw my selfish thoughts. He could always see through me. When had it all become about me? At what point had I turned inward and lost my focus? How could I be so selfish?

The bullets, two of them, had been removed successfully. The doctor had stood over me while I sat in the ER, talking. My vision shimmered at the edges, and my head felt like a helium filled balloon on a string. His voice seemed to echo in my thoughts, as if on a delay. His words left impressions as the emotional storm raging inside of me tried to drown out reality. They were a low caliber, this was lucky, the doctor assured me. Both of the bullets had lodged in fatty tissues, and done minimal damage. One had nearly passed clean through, which had made surgery a bit complicated.

He was going to live. That is what mattered. That is all that mattered. Right? Then why did I feel so fucking guilty and angry?

I pushed the feelings deep inside of me, imagining that I shoved them into a room shutting the door. It felt silly, and was a hollow attempt at soothing myself.

I had my eyes closed during my self pity, when I opened them, I noticed two people standing in the doorway. One was a tall woman, with a natural elegance and beautiful face that faintly reminded me of Dad. She was decked out in jeans and a man's white t-shirt, too large for her frame, though it seemed to hang just right to accent her femininity.

She stood there, just staring at me, with round eyes and her lips slightly open, as if she was locked in some internal struggle. Next to her was a young man. He must have been close to my age, he was doe eyed and innocent, rather than looking at me, he stared at my father. I will admit Dad looked awful with his artificial breathing apparatus and all his wires and tubes.

She spoke to me then, and I recognized the voice rather than the face. She had changed, looking less like a girl and very much a woman. But when she spoke, her words came to me as if on the strings of a harp, harmonious and vibrant, a French accent running away with her vowels. I knew her instantly. I had not heard from her since Mom's funeral. She had always been a recluse.

"Jessica..." her vowels carried the a in my name as if on the wind. "I am so sorry." She held her arms open.

I cried out. "Aunt Isabelle!" And ran to her open arms. I felt like a little girl again, tears hot in my eyes. She wasn't really my aunt, she was Dad's cousin. My parents didn't believe children should call relatives by first names, so they gave her the honorific of aunt.

Embarrassed by my childlike outburst, I stepped back from the hug. Aunt Isabelle rarely left her property. I had fond memories of visiting her there as a child.

Smiling weakly, I apologized for my outburst. "I'm sorry... it's just been awful." I managed to get the words out before I burst into tears again.

"Shhhh... it is okay..." Aunt Isabelle said, pulling me into a hug again.

I didn't know that I had any tears left, but there they were, and they came unbidden. I sobbed silently, my face buried in her shoulder. Eventually I was able to relax. It had been many hours of being alone, and a friendly face was more than welcomed. Even if years had separated us.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"How did you get here so fast?" Her accent soothed me immensely. "You could not fly so fast eh?"

"I was there when it happened, I came to visit." My voice sounded weak and distant, I fought panic that was rising up in my chest. She couldn't know, nobody could know our secret, they would separate us for sure. "The doctor, he said he will be okay." A dry sob rolled through my shoulders as I changed the subject.

"This is good." She said simply. "Jessica, meet Jesse... Jesse meet Jessica... Jesse and Jessica... so similar you two should be great friends eh?"

The young man, standing next to her, raised his hand weakly and managed a smile. He turned to her and asked. "Tante Belle, you are her aunt as well?"

"No... no... Jessica is a cousin, but she has always called me tante." She corrected herself "Aunt."

I stared at my Aunt Isabelle, I felt like a troll or a gnome standing next to her. She was the very picture of femininity and beauty. There was never a moment where she wasn't poised and spectacular. Every movement, even the way her mouth moved was fluid and seductive. I knew, without a doubt, that she was every man's fantasy.

"You must eat, and rest." Her tone left no room for argument.

We headed towards the cafeteria, my panic trying to take the front seat as I walked away from my father. But Aunt Belle had me firmly by the arm, her touch somehow comforting. I wasn't alone. I felt as if a weight had been lifted, but also I worried about what was between me and Dad.

Our experience had been wonderful, our love expansive. We had done something so intrinsically wrong, that I was sure the guilt of it was written plainly across my face. We had broken all taboo and shared moments of intimacy no father and daughter ought to ever share. It was beautiful, and I worried that everyone would figure it out. Worse, I could not even talk to Dad for reassurance that it had been alright. That everything would be alright. That we would be okay. Fuck my life, Daddy please wake up. My panic smashed into me, I choked down my food, staring at the table.

I spoke little, and my aunt spoke less, Jesse spoke not at all. We were a silent trio. It was with great surprise that we found my father, awake and eyes sharp, when we returned. They had removed the tube from his throat, and he appeared to breathe easily on his own. His beard looked haggard and unkempt, but in its center he smiled with cracked lips.

"Princess!" His voice was raspy and he barely croaked it out. But it was enough to un-hinged me, I ran to his side. My hands clasped his face, caressed his forehead and cheeks.

He was going to be alright. It was more than words now, that one word, gave me more comfort than a thousand reassuring words from the doctor could. My tears were not born of sadness, but of joy.

The next couple of weeks seemed to fly by, Dad and I talked a lot. We found a lot of time to discuss our situation and future. He told me about the cabin he was buying from our cousin Isabelle, and how he was in the middle of remodeling it. He told me how he had found peace, holding a hammer and nail. There was something satisfying about tearing something a part and rebuilding it.

The cabin, it turned out was no place for recovery, as it had been stripped down to the studs. At the moment it was more of a bachelor pad. This was unfortunate, as it meant we would have to stay with Aunt Isabelle, she had a place built nearly a mile away. So it was decided, on the day he was discharged, we followed her ancient Jeep. Dad slept next to me as I drove.

I was assailed with irrational concerns and worries the whole drive. Driving let my mind wander free with no way to cage it. How could we possibly stay in her house and not get caught? How would we even be able to talk about "private matters"? What would happen if they found out? I felt like a witch, that if discovered, would be burnt at the stake. I was a mess.

Seeing the cabin made reality even heavier, its weight a heavy mantle, suffocating me. Dad and I had just discovered one another, all I wanted was to nurse him back to health, feel his skin warm against my own. I wanted the freedom to continue to explore one another sexually, without tiptoeing around.

"Don't be so glum" my father said to me, I hadn't realised he was awake. It startled me, and the car lurched in the gravel, and I winced as he groaned in pain from the unexpected movement.

"Sorry..." I said earnestly. "I didn't realise you were awake." My apology was heartfelt.

"Oh... I know... you've been trapped in your thoughts, I can see it. You furrow your eyebrows just like your mom did." He smiled at me, and I relaxed the tension in my shoulders. His smiles always made me feel better.

"I worry-"

He cut me off. "Don't... don't worry honey... I'm going to heal and we will move back to the cabin." He lifted a hand motioning behind us. "It will just be us, and life will be perfect, together... just us... okay?"

I sighed appreciatively, "yes... okay..."

My smile seemed to be all he needed, and he laid his hand on my knee.

I was not ready for the scale of her house, or the grandness of it sitting on the hill. It looked down over a lake, and its angles were sharp and architectural. Its walls were logs, and they shone with oil. The windows were impressive as they seemed to cover the entirety of the front side. The structure looked masculine and dominant, like it had conquered a mountain and sat upon its corpse.

"Impressive, isn't it?" My Dad asked me.

"It's huge..." I said, only faintly aware of the smile that broke out on my father's face.

"That's what she said..." he broke off in a fit of laughter, and I joined him, laughter felt good. We laughed together, his laughter warmed my soul.

"I need a grinnectomy." I said, as my smile began to hurt on my face.

We laughed some more, it was great, we were still grinning ear to ear when we pulled in behind Isabelle's Jeep. She had the wheelchair out and ready, and she seemed to smile approvingly at our smiles.

It was only four days later, Saturday, that things got turned upside down. I awoke early Saturday, my father still slept, and after checking on him I went to find Isabelle. The house was large, but mostly open, and not finding her as usual, in the main living areas, I went to her room. Knocking softly, so as not to disturb her, should she still be sleeping. I heard no reply. The door was not shut all the way, and had swung slightly open despite my gentle knock. It was dark in the room, the shutters still drawn. I saw a light beneath a door on a mirrored wall, and assumed it to be the closet. I made my way across the room, finding the door unlatched and thought, she must have left the light on. I entered it to turn off the light.

What I saw, froze me in place, involuntarily I made a sound of disgust. My cousin Jesse spun around, naked. In his hand was what I assumed to be Aunt Isabelle's panties, they were wadded up, and he was masturbating into them.

"Oh my god!" He squealed "it's not what it looks like!"

It happened in a split second, one, one hundredth of a second, nano time. But however slight it was, it gave me pause. He released his cock, and shrank quickly from his fear, he clasped his hands over himself, but less to hide his penis and more to hide his wrists. But I had already seen them. He averted his eyes, his shame plainly written across his face. White strings of cum dripped from him onto the carpet. I realised he must have been in the middle of climax.

I walked up to him, and grabbed him by the wrist, turning it over. There were livid pink scars, they looked swollen and angry. My heart softened as I looked him in the eyes. I saw there, a loneliness, one I was well familiar with. I sighed.

"If it's not what it looks like... then what is it?" My voice sounded foreign to me.

"I love her..." he whispered, his eyes were desperate and pleading. He needed me to understand, I could feel it in his intensity.

"I can't stand here and talk to you while you're like this..." I made a motion towards him. "Come see me, after you're dressed. I'll be outside... I need some air..."

I left him there, naked, penis dripping. I needed to think, needed to breathe, what was happening? He was in love with her? She was his aunt. The realization washed over me and I choked on my own breath, stopping to clutch at my chest and cough.

I knew exactly how he felt, it was just a little while ago that I had been dating my Dad over the internet. Hadn't he and I even fantasized about him masturbating into my panties? It's not the same though, was it? No, it wasn't the same, but it was similar enough. Those scars though, my heart had melted, what pain he must be feeling inside. To inflict such physical pain on himself, it must be terrible. Questions rained down like hail inside of my head, one after another, pounding their way into my mind.

Did Isabelle know? Had they already fucked? How kinky was that? When did he try killing himself and why?

So many questions, before I knew it I had made it to the lake. Before me was a bench, and I sat, hard enough that the wind pushed out of me with a satisfying sound. Life was heavy, intricate and highly complex. How in the world was I supposed to navigate these fucked up waters? The lakeshore in front of me was churned into mud, I stared at it for awhile until I faintly began making sense of the human footprints in it. Lots of them. A smile formed on my face when I realised someone had been swimming. I would love to fucking swim, my mind ran away with itself then, imagining the cool water in the evening.

He sat down next to me. We didn't speak for a few minutes, the sounds of bugs and a bullfrog, the only thing in the air.

"It's a long story..." he said. "Would you listen if I told you?"

"I would..." I said quietly, not sure why I did, or why I was even talking to him. But I felt compelled, and wanted to know everything. Maybe I wasn't alone in my sin.

He wove me a story that was so sad that tears ran down my face. I could not imagine a childhood so devoid of love and affection, as mine had been the opposite. His parents seemed like creatures that loomed in the shadows, and only came out of hiding to hurt him with judgement and criticism. But it wasn't all bad. His summers and vacations with his tante, which was french for aunt, sounded magical, and reminded me so much of my own fairy tale childhood. Only his lasted mere breaths, and was over with the seasons.

I learned about Rachel, his high-school girlfriend. Oh, how I grew to hate her. I never met this Rachel, but I knew if I did, I would not be able to contain my rage. I would fucking hammer her into the ground with my words alone.

Rachel had used him, manipulated him and abused him. She had used his love as a tool to control him. And had simply discarded him when he was no longer useful. I had known women like this before, they were an insult to all women. There was more to his story, and it invoked in me such an emptiness and sadness, that I could not help but pull him in and hug him. He cried, and tears burned down my cheeks as well.

My heart ached for Jesse. I could feel the damage in him, I knew that damage by name. My father had healed me and shown me love. He had held me, made love to me, made me whole. This poor boy, had none of that. He had nothing and no one. I held him to my breast as if he were a child.

His suicide attempt had been genuine, and not a plea for help, he had cut his wrists hoping for revenge, out of anger and pain. Only to discover while he was healing, that his parents thought it was selfish, that they had offered judgement and condemnation only thinking of themselves. I cried with him.

The whole story had been told, and his aunt being the only part worth telling. I understood completely, his obsession, I wanted to tell him of my own obsession. Of my own forbidden love of my father, of our sin, and how glorious it was. But I did not, this wasn't about me. Even though we were near in age, I had taken the more authoritative role. He had never been allowed to grow, and in many aspects was still just a boy. No, he had not slept with Aunt Isabelle, but he had held her love sacrosanct, and his desire had blossomed from there. Who was I to judge, really I was guilty of the same taboo, the same sin.

I wanted to tell him everything. "I... won't tell Aunt Isabelle" it came from my lips hastily, and wasn't what I'd intended to say.

"Thank you..." he breathed in a sigh of relief and laid his head on my shoulder. I lay my hand on his leg, patting him, and he laid his hand upon mine.

"I need to go back and take care of my Dad, he can't do for himself yet and will need me." My voice sounded weak to me, like I was making an excuse to leave him with his darkness. So I added, quickly, "why don't you join us for some late breakfast?"

He turned to me, his pale green eyes a reflection of youth and the pain that comes with it. "Yes... I would like that... Jessica."

I stood then, and offering a curtsy, as well as my hand said. "Jesse, dear sir, could you be so kind?" He giggled then, and took my hand leading me back to the house.

After our mishap, Jesse and I grew close, we became good friends. Often we would take afternoon jaunts around the lake, and pour our hearts out to one another. I told him many things, but I did not divulge the truth of things with my father. I am not sure why? Am I ashamed? I hesitate to dig too deep into these feelings, and easily push them aside. Jesse, on the other hand, was all too willing to talk about such things. I was a rapt listener, as the more easy the subject became the more comfortable I became. I had decided that I would tell him, soon, when the time was right.

Winter settled in and the first snowfall blanketed the ground. There is something magical about snowfall, the world becomes quiet, and it sparkles and gleams. The lake became ice, with dark splotches where it was deepest, and we all became stir crazy. I didn't know just how stir crazy or rather how crazy we had become, until one afternoon after being stuck indoors for days, Jesse and I took a turn outside trying to walk through the drifts. It was on our return that my world seemed to upend. We came back, and stumbled on Aunt Isabelle, giving my father a shower, where up to now I had bathed him with a sponge.. My world came crashing to a screeching halt.

"What the fuck!?" I blurted out, Jesse grabbed my elbow from behind me. I shook him off. Our bathroom door was wide open, and Dad was sitting in the shower on a chair. That wasn't the upsetting part. She was standing over him, she had taken off her pants, and her white t-shirt was wet in places, clinging to her body. She had a sponge in one hand, and the mobile shower head in the other.

"What...?" Aunt Isabelle, looked genuinely perplexed, as did my father. Was he putting on an air of innocence?

Water continued to pour out of the shower head, and rather than just stand there, I took off. Jesse followed me, I could feel him behind me.

"What's wrong Jess?" He said urgently behind me. My heels were thumping a hollow march across the wooden floors.