SUMMARY: This is a complete work of fiction. It's about a teenage girl who goes with her dad to a fertility clinic where he's supposed to have a vasectomy. But he becomes very uncomfortable and can't relax. She decides to help him.
All characters in this story are 18 or older.
DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction. Any character resemblances to real life personae are strictly coincidental. Copying, re-posting, storing (whether digitally or in print form) or redistribution of this material is prohibited.
STORY:
Chapter One.
Things changed between me and my daddy recently, and I wanted to get it all down before I start forgetting the details. But first, a little background. My dad and I live alone in a small, two-bedroom house. And up until two years ago, my mom lived with us, too. Unfortunately, she passed away from a rare disease that weakened her heart. We had all known it was coming, since we found out when I was fifteen. She lasted over a year past what the doctors originally predicted, but none of that prepared me and my dad for when the day finally came.
My dad is a handsome guy, in his early forties. He's got dark brown hair that he keeps cut short, but messy. I don't think he ever brushes it, to be honest. He's a lot taller than me, at almost six feet. He has a manly looking beard that he trims regularly to give him that "five o'clock shadow" look almost all the time. Occasionally he shaves it away, but it comes back within a day or two. He works out at home and goes running a few times a week, so he's pretty fit. And, since my mom passed, he works his ass off to make sure I have everything I need. In short, I love my daddy to death.
Now about me. My name is Danielle and I'm nineteen years old. I was super skinny through most of my teenage years, until my body started developing just the past two or three years. My breasts started to grow, and then they kept growing. I had never wanted to have large boobs. I mean, it's not like they are mammoth tits or anything, but I do wear a 34C bra and they fill it snugly. My body isn't very fleshy, but I'm not as skinny as I was in my early teens. The "little girl" look got replaced by an hourglass shape that most certainly seemed to attract the interest of boys at my school. My weight went from under a hundred pounds to a few pounds over as my breasts filled in. As for my height, I'm five foot, two. And a half. I don't mind being short, though.
I graduated from high school last year and decided to take my first year off instead of rushing off to college right away. That was partly because I felt like I owed my dad another year of staying at home with him while we got things settled after my mom's death. He didn't seem to mind, although we rarely talked about it, so I wasn't completely sure.
A few months ago, dad told me he wanted to get a vasectomy. I was floored, honestly. At least at first. But I didn't want to make him feel bad about his decision, so I didn't voice any of my doubts about it. I decided the best thing I could do was to support him. My mom had been the caretaker of both of us, and I had vowed to fill her shoes now that she wasn't around anymore. I was sure she would have backed his decision, so I did, too.
The day of his appointment came during the last week of June. My dad was wearing a plain dark gray t-shirt and relaxed-fit jeans. As for me, I was wearing a light gray half-shirt with shoulder straps and a built-in bra. It hugged my upper belly tightly, but I liked it. The cups of the bra were open on the top, leaving the upper swells of my breasts exposed, and a fair amount of cleavage. I didn't have any special reason for wearing that today, but it was one of my favorite tops. For pants, I had on a pair of tight-fitting washed-out jeans with some designer tears randomly along the legs.
By nine in the morning, we were on our way to the clinic. They recommended not to do anything extraneous for several days, including driving a vehicle, so I was in the driver's seat. But I was all too happy to help my daddy out, so I didn't mind at all. The clinic was almost an hour away, so we grabbed something to eat on the way and then had plenty of time to chit chat.
About halfway there, I decided to ask a question that had been brewing in my head ever since my dad had told me he wanted to have the procedure. I felt embarrassed to ask about it, but when I finally mustered up the nerve to put it out there, I opened with, "So..."
When I didn't say anything else, my dad turned toward me from the passenger seat and asked, "So... what?"
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I opened my mouth and then froze. Swallowing, I forced myself to spit it out. "Does this procedure make--" I couldn't get the rest of my question past my lips.
My dad cleared his throat and then asked, "Make what?"
Glancing at him, his face was very disarming. I knew he wouldn't judge me, no matter what I asked. So I asked in a rush, "Does it make your... uh, your stuff stop coming out?"
"My sperm?" my dad asked, not sounding offended at all.
My face heated up but I nodded, saying weakly, "Yeah."
He laughed softly. Then he said, "No dear, something still comes out. It's called semen. But it won't have any sperm in it."
"Oh good," I said before I could stop myself. Good? Why would I give a fuck if my dad's... semen stopped coming out? My cheeks grew hotter still.
"Good?" he asked and when I glanced at him, he had his brows furrowed. Crap. Now he probably thought I was a weirdo.
"Uh, that's not what I meant," I said, trying to ease my embarrassment.
It didn't help that my dad laughed again, and the rest of the drive was more or less filled with silence, and a tiny bit of small talk about nothing important. When I finally pulled the car into the parking lot and found a spot, I put it in park and was just about to get out of the car when I caught something from the corner of my eyes. When I looked over at my dad, his face was white as a ghost.
"You ok?" I asked, suddenly concerned.
He closed his eyes for a second but then nodded. Pulling the handle on his door, he got out of the car without a word. I followed him into the clinic where we were ushered to sit in a large waiting area. There were about a dozen other people in the room. This place handled all kinds of birth control, not just vasectomies.
After helping my dad fill out the medical forms, we sat quietly while we waited to be called. I had already decided I was going to go in with him. He was my daddy and I wanted to be there for him, to support him and make sure he was ok. But after almost a half hour had gone by without being called, I could tell my dad was having a rough time. When I questioned him about it, he admitted that he was extremely nervous about the procedure. Not long after that, he looked so pale, I was sure he was going to pass out.
Taking control of the situation, I went up to the counter and asked if they had a place where patients could lie down if they were feeling faint. I figured my dad couldn't be the only one to get cold feet before going through with something like this. Sure enough, the receptionist led us to a private room toward the back of the building. She assured me that he could rest there until he felt ready to go on and asked me to let her know when he was ready.
A few minutes later, I found myself sitting on a surprisingly comfortable chair in a private room while my dad laid down on a long couch. The room had two other chairs, a small kitchenette and a low-standing table. I didn't know how long my dad would need, but I was content to wait as long as it took. After twenty minutes, I got up and went over to the sink, filling a cup with filtered water for him. Bringing it over to my dad, I sat on the edge of the couch he was laying on and handed it to him. He took it from me and drank it noisily.
Staring at his face, at least some of the color had returned. But I still frowned at him. I was worried. Putting a hand on his hip, I asked quietly, "What can I do, daddy?"
