I was too young to remember when Mom married Tom. She got pregnant with me when she was in high school, and the father wanted nothing to do with me. I’ve never even met my biological father.
Tom treated me just like I was his own. He was kind, loving, gentle… all the things a father should be. We were just like any normal family – until my mother died of leukemia when I was sixteen. I even called him “Daddy” just like he was my real dad.
I started having nightmares not long after Mom died. I’d wake up screaming and calling out her name. It was killing me to be without her. I was lucky I still had Tom in my life. I don’t know how I’d have made it through without him.
The nightmares continued for two years. I was eighteen years old, and I still couldn’t stand living without her. She was always my rock, the one I turned to when things were bad.
One night, I woke up in a cold sweat, screaming “Mom! Mom!” Tom came running into the room, flicked on my lamp, and sat down beside me, holding me close as he always did. It felt soothing to have his strong arms around me as the tears streamed down my face.
This time was different, somehow. Instead of feeling the gentleness of a father’s love, I felt something strong, rugged. His arms were muscular, and I put my hand on his bicep and noticed it twitch. He smelled masculine, musky. I felt a warmth inside my panties, and I suddenly wanted to kiss him. I resisted, but not without difficulty.
He rocked gently back and forth, stroking my hair. I nestled against his shoulder, breathing in his intoxicating scent, relaxing calmly in his embrace. I remembered when I used to snuggle in his lap while the three of us watch movies as a family. I burst into tears, the pain of my mother’s death still raw after all this time.
“Shh,” he whispered. “There, there. It’s alright.”
I felt his fingers under my chin, lifting my face so he could look in my eyes. He brushed a tear away from my cheek, and I stared deeply into his rich, brown eyes. I started to look away, but suddenly, I felt his lips on mine. The roughness of his five o’clock shadow was harsh against my skin. I gasped and recoiled in shock, though the sensation had been entirely pleasant.