It Wasn't Like It Was Supposed To Be
**The Confession**
My name is Sarah, and I'm in my 30s now. Looking back, I realize how much my childhood shaped who I am today. It wasn't always easy, and it wasn't always "normal," but it was special to me. It made me who I am.
It started so innocently. My mom worked late shifts, so it was just me and Dad most evenings. We’d watch TV together, him on the couch with his arm around me, me curled up against him. His hand would rest on my thigh, and I never thought much of it. It was just how we were. Comfortable. Safe.
But then, one night, things changed. We were watching some movie, and his hand was on my thigh like always. But then his fingers slipped under the hem of my pajama shorts. I froze. It was new.
I glanced up at him, confused. He just smiled and kept watching the TV like nothing was happening. His fingers slid further up, touching me in a place no one had ever touched before. It felt weird at first, but then it started to feel… nice. Really nice.
I spread my legs a little, giving him more room to explore. His fingers were gentle, teasing, slowly just rubbing small circles on what I know now is my clit, playing with my little pussy until I felt this incredible rush of pleasure. My whole body shook, and I crashed through my first orgasm. It was mind-bending.
From that night on, things were different between us. We had this secret, this special thing that only we shared. And I loved it.
Dad started touching me more often, always when Mom wasn’t around. It became our little ritual. He’d sit me on his lap, and his hands would wander under my clothes, exploring my body. I loved the way it made me feel—special, wanted, loved. His big fingers would just play and tease me for as long as he could, sometimes backing off to not let me orgasm too quickly.
One night, I was feeling especially brave. We were sitting on the couch, and I could see the bulge in his pants. I was curious. I reached out and touched it. He looked at me, surprised, but he didn’t stop me. I unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. It was thick and hard, and I couldn’t resist and held it, it was so thick and so hard. He asked if I liked it and I just nodded as I started at it. He said I could kiss it or lick it and I did, both. The next night happened almost the same but then he asked me to suck him like a lollypop. I opened my mouth and took it in.
I felt like a girl on Christmas. There was something so thrilling about having his cock in my mouth, tasting him, feeling him throb against my tongue. Dad groaned, his hands tangling in my hair as he guided me. I loved the way he tasted, the way he felt, the way he made me feel. And he just played with my pussy as I sucked him, the game had changed.
From that night on, I was obsessed. I wanted to do it, I wanted to suck him, more of him, more of that feeling. And he was more than happy to oblige. We would lay in bed, or sit on the couch and I would suck his cock while he played with my little pussy.
Not long after that, I think I asked him to have sex with me. I was sitting on his lap naked from the waist down, his cock hard as ever pulsing past my pussy almost to my belly button, my small hand playing with it. I was curious, excited, and a little nervous. But more than anything, I kinda wanted to feel him inside me.
He hesitated at first, but I could see the desire in his eyes. He wanted it too. He lifted me up a bit, his cock pressing against my little pussy. I could feel how big he was, how much he was going to stretch me.
He slid inside me slowly, carefully. It hurt at first, but then it started to feel amazing. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder as he moved inside me. The feeling of his fat cock stretching my little pussy was indescribable. It was a mix of pain and pleasure, a feeling so intense it took my breath away.
We didn’t stop after that first time. We kept doing it, over and over again, whenever we got a chance. Every time felt just as special as the first.
It wasn’t until I was about 20 that I realized what my dad was. A dirty pervert, a p**o. I found out that my mom knew all along but she didn't seem to care. She didn’t think it was a problem or a big deal. And honestly, I am kinda with her there. I learned later she actually knew about a lot of what him and I did, but didn't seem to mind because it didn't "affect" me and I was "fine". I mean, I loved him, and I loved what we had. It made me feel special, wanted, loved in a way that no one else could.
I realize that what we did wasn’t normal, wasn’t "okay". But at the same time, I can’t help but miss it and miss him. I miss the way he made me feel. I miss the closeness, the intimacy, the pleasure.
I love him. And I miss it. I miss him. And I don’t know if that makes me messed up too, but it’s the truth.
