East Texas Whore Ch. 02

"I did!" he said.

"Well, you never let on," I said. "Is that why you started coming round to help me?"

"It was in my mind that we might, maybe could," he said, now looking at me serious. "I don't mean to keep bringing it up, but after you got into the whoring, well, I couldn't help but see you in a different light and imagine all those men taking advantage of a ... "

"Whore," I offered.

"Yes. That," he said, looking away as he confirmed it.

"Do you have feelings for me, Morton, I mean beyond me helping your cock feel young again?"

He stroked my hair, he smiled sweet, his old eyes twinkled, his hand slid down to my butt. And I knew he did. And I kissed him, and he kissed me back strong.

I felt so strong for him that I got on top and licked down his chest to his balls. I licked his sack and nosed into the flesh of his groin.

I came up for air to ask, "Do you mind me telling you I love you all the time, Mort? Cuz I feel like saying it lots! I love you so!"

He grinned and said, "You love me all you please, Terry."

I licked and sucked at his balls and cock for awhile, but sat up on my butt and rested my head on his chest. "You ain't gonna say it back, are you? That you love me?"

He let another pause drag between us. Then he said, "Terry, if things was different. If I weren't your father-in-law. If everybody wasn't thinking of you the way they do, well, who knows where this mighta gone. But I am what I am and you are ..."

"You don't have to be my father-in-law! If I divorce Randy ... well, then you ain't."

"Terry. Wouldn't matter none if you got some court papers saying you and Randy were no longer man and wife. You always gonna be my daughter-in-law."

I let that sink in. I didn't want to see his point, but he had one. I'm not very good about being honest with myself. I lie to myself often about my circumstances, and about my personal character.

It's not easy looking in the mirror.

But Morton spent the night with me. I had him to cling to until the morning sun woke him and took him away.

I had high hopes that our relationship would progress, that we would settle into a domestic routine. I had hopes that we would be a couple, even if it was just in a clandestine way.

But Morton didn't want to change the way things were. He started having sex with me on a regular basis. And once in awhile, he'd spend the night. I could keep him with me long enough in the morning to make him breakfast. But then he'd disappear for a few days.

I was always inviting him to stay longer. He would always find some reason to leave.

I was always suggesting we go out on a date. He never would. Being seen in public with me, as physically forward as I was with him - that was something he would not do.

But what we did have, I liked. I was trying not to be too pushy. I didn't want to scare him off.

Meanwhile, I did go through the motions in the late spring of 2008 of filing for a divorce. It was time to make a clean break with Randy.

In the first week of July, 2008, I celebrated two things. The first was the judges decree that permanently dissolved my marriage, and the second was my 34th birthday. I decided to celebrate by giving into temptation.

There was an old customer of mine that had been frequenting the bar for months. He always flashed money at me and I always refused. But on my 34th birthday, I felt entitled to a little lapse in willpower.

I left the bar with him and let him take me to a motel where I prostituted myself for $200. It wasn't anything special. I just wanted to be a whore for a night - like old times.

But I had to admit, there was something about getting a taste of whoring that had a strong pull on me.

When I got back to my apartment the next morning, my father - my real father- was sitting behind the wheel of his car in the parking lot. He stepped out of his car when he saw me.

We stared at each other across the parking lot. He stepped forward until he was close enough to touch my shoulder. He said, "I rang the bell, but you weren't home."

We had not seen or spoken to each other in nearly a year. I could not imagine why he needed to be camping out in front of my apartment the morning after my 34th birthday.

"Is there something wrong with my babies?" I asked him.

"No ... no, nothing wrong there," he said.

Then he looked me over, top to bottom. He asked, "Where you been? It don't look like you came home last night."

I didn't see any reason to lie. In fact, it appealed to my senses to offend him by being graphic about what had just happened.

"I went out with a customer last night. I whored myself for $200. Do you want the details?"

I opened my purse and showed my father the cash - the ten $20s I got for sucking and fucking some man that just wanted me for my body.

But my father sneered at me and reached for his own penis. He pinched himself and said, "Yeah, I figured as much."

It wasn't until then that I remembered the dvd, the one I burned for him of myself masturbating with a dildo. And I thought, "Oh, dear god."

"Why don't we go inside your apartment and discuss your total lack of decency?" he said.

"Uh-uh!" I said. "Last time I got alone inside a house with you, you beat the living shit outta me. I had to go to the hospital."

"What did you expect?" he asked. "I had just found out that my daughter was a prostitute!"

I started feeling nervous.

"Daddy, I don't think this is a good idea. You coming here."

He shook his head no and said, "Why did you send that porn of you begging your own father to have sexual relations with you? What sickness in you drives decent men to madness? You are Satan's plaything, aren't you?"

"Daddy, I was just mad is all, with you for all the things you told my kids about me," I said.

"And did I lie? Did I tell them an untruth? Did I not do what any responsible guardian should do, to warn young innocents away from, from what you've become?"

I looked around and not at him. I felt an uncomfortable warmth. I felt the dread of judgment day climb up my spine like a demon coming for my head.

"I'm sorry, daddy. I'm sorry about the porn thing. I'm sorry about everything."

"It's too late for sorry, you unrepentant, filthy slut!"

I could see he was all worked up, but I wasn't about to invite him in my apartment.

"Leave, daddy. Leave now," I said as firm as I could.

"No. I'm not going anywhere," he said, and just as insistent to stay as I was for him to go. "How would you like things to change? I want things to change. How would you like to see your babies again? How would you like it if daddy was to put in some kinds words to your children, to help you mend those relations that are so dear to you?"

And with his proposition plain to me, he raised his hand to my hip and placed it there. He meant to take possession of my body.

I cringed. I missed my children. But was it worth it? Could I bear taking my own father to my bed?