I have too much respect to feel sorry for you, so instead I got angry with Mom when she humiliated you because you didn't do so good at your job. Since I can remember, I wished there was a way I could undo what she did. Of course it wasn't your fault your boss was so mean to you. You would be upset if I got into an argument with Mom, so even though I wanted to stand up to her, I didn't. Besides, Mom never really cared for me, and this is not your typical self-pity of a depressed teenager, it was so obvious. She would only be there for my birthday every other year, making up with expensive presents, and she showed up at school events like once a year at most, and I'm not exaggerating. Even for my first period she was away, and you comforted me, telling me everything was going to be alright, even though you had already warned me it was coming any time.
Whenever I showed her how good I did at school she would say Good, as if it was only what I was supposed to do, so I stopped telling her. I suppose she checked the online report every once in a while, but if she did, she never mentioned it.
Of course I told you everything that happened at school, like my first crush. You tried to look happy about it, but I could tell you weren't. Of course I didn't like seeing you like that, even if you were trying to hide it, so later I told you I didn't like him anymore. I didn't really care about him anyway; he was just cute. I sure didn't care about him as I did about you. Again you said you were sorry I didn't like him anymore, but I could tell you weren't.
I wasn't even interested when kids showed porn on their phones at school. They giggled and said I was boring, but I didn't care. You had already told me everything about sex before the girls at school started talking about it, so I figured I didn't need anything else. It would be like saying what you were teaching me wasn't enough. I honestly wasn't interested in anything beyond what you taught me.
I was starting to grow boobs a little and when I hugged you I felt them pressing against you and I liked it so much, it was like this tingling feeling all over me, like something tickly was moving inside me. I felt like I wanted to go on hugging you forever. Then another time I noticed when you saw me naked you looked at me in a special way, and it also felt good, but then you looked nervous or ashamed, so I would cover up, but I still liked it.
So one day, thinking about how much I love you, I wondered whether Mom was as mean with you when you two were alone at night, like having sex, you know. At first I was too shy to even think of asking you about Mom, but then I remembered how you told me all the time I shouldn't be ashamed of asking you about anything, especially about that kind of thing, so I picked up enough nerve and made a plan. You would come every night to my room for my goodnight kiss. That night, when Mom was away on a business trip, as usual, I said,
"Dad, I need to ask you something."
"Yes my baby, what do you want to know?"
"It's something very important to me, so important you have to make three promises before I ask."
"What do you want me to promise you, Princess?"
I took a deep breath to build up the nerve.
"First, you must promise you will not get mad for asking this."
I would have liked to interrupt you when you were telling me you couldn't get mad at me for asking anything, but I know better.
"Second, you must promise you will not tell Mom anything about it."
You didn't say anything then. I was afraid I was doing something wrong by asking, but I was too deep in it to back down now, so I went on.
"And last, you must promise you will tell me the truth"
"Daddy always tells you the truth, my baby girl."
I love it when you call yourself daddy.
"So, here it is. When you are alone with Mom in your bedroom at night, I mean, when she's here, of course." I was getting so nervous! My ideas got all tangled up! "You know, doing those things you told me grown-ups did."
"Making love dear."
When you said "dear" it was because you meant to be extra serious, not mad, because you had never been mad. I made sure you never were.
"Yes, making love." I paused, and I think I must have blushed. I mean, you smiled, and you always smile when I blush. I like that it makes you happy. I calmed down. "So, that's what my question is about. You see, Mommy is so mean with you." That made you look down and get sad, and it broke my heart and I hated myself about it, but I was hoping I could make up for it. "So, what I wanted to know is if Mom is also mean to you when you are making love."
Long pause and a sigh.
"Well, dear, when you're making love, you can't really be mean."
I had to push a bit because you weren't answering my question.
"But Daddy, what I need to know is if she makes you happy, really happy. Remember, you promised you were going to tell the truth."
You gulped.
"My dear, my baby girl." you said, staring right into my eyes after clearing your throat. "No, my dear, she's not as good to me as I would like her to be, and she hasn't been for a very long time."
Now I was sure to do what I had planned.
"Dad, I really want to make you happy. You don't deserve not getting what you like. Please let me do it. Teach me how I can do it. Please, please, please. I don't ask for things all the time. Please?"
I had never seen you like I did that time. You always knew what to do and what was right, but now you looked lost, like you didn't know which way to look. I didn't like it, and I was afraid I was giving you trouble. I would hate myself so much if I did, but I felt like I could make you feel better if you wanted to. I touched your arm and looked you in your eyes.
It seemed like forever before you got up. I had seen your thing get funny before, but you would always move away before I could see or feel it well, like when showering or bathing together, or in the swimming pool, or dressing up, or in our pajamas. It happened a few times this last year. That made me feel like I could help you.
So you stood up and there it was, your pajama pants pitched up like a tent. I lifted my hand.
"Tell me Dad, what should I do?"
When you took it out your pants fell, and there it was, all of it, in the open. I was so happy to see I was going to be able to help you feel good. If it was hard it meant you really wanted me to do something to it.
"Take it in your hand, my baby girl."
I liked it a lot to keep on being your baby girl, even though I was growing up now, into a young lady, like Aunty used to say. So I did as you said and held it in my hand. It was nice, warm and smooth, so hard. I could feel it move in a funny way, all by itself, in my hand. You gasped, and it worried me.
"Like this Dad?"
"Yes, just like that. Now move your hand slowly back and forth, gently."
I was extra careful to do like you said.
"A bit harder now."
I felt your body shake and then the white stuff came spitting out. The whole thing was awesome, not awesome as in cool, but as it left me with my mouth open, like you've taught me "awesome" really means.
"Was it good Dad?"
All of a sudden you looked tired.
"Yes my baby girl, you did very well."
I smiled. You took a tissue from my night table and wiped away your stuff. Like every night since I can remember, you gave me my goodnight kiss and turned off my light. Though you looked a bit worried, I fell asleep happy because what I did for you was good.
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