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Slow day at work leads to fun in the back room.

My mother, and I suppose rightly so, blew up at him and accused him of sleeping with some woman at the bar. The argument got bad enough that the neighbors were privy to hearing their raised voices and the clamor of broken dishes, and before things got any worse, I left the house and went over to my boyfriend's.

Certainly, my father was not a stupid man, and after a few days passed, he figured out not only that he'd slept with another woman, but that the other woman was me. He never said a word about it to anyone, as far as I know, and he certainly didn't bring it up to me. Who could speculate what sort of shame would have fallen upon his head, if such a scandal were ever publicized in our close-knit, highly conservative neighborhood?

I tried to be pacified by my boyfriend, but he was so bland and he had no imagination whatsoever. He wouldn't put a hand on me when we went to the movies, unless I made him. He never went past the same missionary style of having sex, with the same motions and the same length of time, and the same attitude that even though we'd had sex, and enjoyed it, it was still some sort of sin for him and he had to feel guilty about it until the next time we got together. I needed more excitement than what my boyfriend was giving me.

I don't think anybody sees their parents as being sexual, unless the parents are somehow blatant about their sexuality. I know I didn't see my father that way, before that night. Something inside of me changed, however, and I started looking at him differently. Here I was, wanting a strong, manly figure to come into my life and take me, and here this man, my own father, had done just that. I stopped fantasizing about the men on the covers of the romance novels, and I started fantasizing about him.

I wanted him to take me again, but I wasn't going to tell him. I was much too shy for that.

Instead, I started sleeping on the couch, on nights when my mother had already gone off for work. My father would come in, and through the light from the porch he would discover that someone was sleeping on the couch. I wonder what thoughts ran through his mind, when he saw a person there. I know that he had trouble keeping up with my mother's schedule at the bakery, because it changed so often whenever a big order was being prepared for a customer, and sometimes it changed in the middle of the week. He could have imagined it was my mother on the couch, or that it was me, but he never laid a finger on me as he had that first night, at least not at first.

I was starting to wonder if I should change tactics on him, when he finally made the bold move I was hoping he'd make.

My father came home from work one night, and I was on the couch. He must have stood there for a few moments, in the doorway, letting the light from the porch brighten up part of the living room, long enough to realize that I was there. Then he shut the door as he always did, and he started his little journey across the room. Unlike other nights, he must have paused there, in the dark, to think about things. This time, his resolve came out in my favor.

I know he slid my legs off the couch again and moved me around. I ended up in a leaning-back position, with my thighs and half my butt hanging off the couch, my lower back on the cushions, and my upper back and head curved against the backrest. I was just rousing up, when I felt my father's hands sliding across my thighs and towards my middle. He was in a sort of rush, probably because he was afraid of getting caught by my mother, but as I mentioned, his resolve was in my favor tonight, so he wasn't going too fast.

He rubbed my sex through my panties, but he didn't go any further until I started to respond to him.

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