My Best Friends Father Ch. 07by_Kushiel_©
We exited the shower and Mr P gently dried my body off, handing me a separate towel for my hair. I had quite a large lump on my skull, and it was still very tender. Instead of towelling my hair dry I simply wrapped it all up in the fluffy cloth and left it at that.
Making our way out of the bathroom, Mr P wrapped his towel around his waist and took my hand. I had thought perhaps he would let me pop into my room and grab some clothes to throw on, even if only a pair of panties and bra, but such was not the case. When he led me past my door I baulked, pulling to a stop in the hallway. "Mr P, I need to put some clothes on." I said dumbly.
He stopped and turned to me, a serious look in his eyes, "Why?" He asked.
Instantly my mind flashed on an image of a parent being faced with a curious child asking that incessant question whenever anything was said. "Ah," I stammered. "Because, I'm naked?" I tried my hardest not to let the incredulity I felt at the obvious seep through in my voice.
I evidently failed because Becky's father laughed. Genuinely amused, his rich, throaty chuckle echoed off the walls, before he sighed happily. "Mmm, yes you are."
I flushed with embarrassment and not a little annoyance, thinking that Mr P was making fun of me, but his next words dispelled such thoughts. His deep, sensuous voice stroked my body and my ego as surely as his hands could. "And so very beautiful a naked body it is too. It would be an indiscriminate crime to cover it up so soon. Do you remember what I said earlier? I enjoy looking at it entirely too much honey, I love seeing you naked."
I flushed in self-conscious pleasure at his words, colour creeping all the way from my navel up to my cheeks. My breasts glowed a deep rosy red and my nipples tightened all on their own.
"You see?" Mr P said as he ran a fingertip lightly over my collarbone and down along the rise of my breast, stopping to draw circles around my tightened nipple. "If you'd have been clothed, I wouldn't have been able to see this. And I like being able to see how your body reacts." He clasped my nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger and tugged on it a couple of times before gripping it lightly and shaking my breast up and down, making my flesh jiggle on my chest. My clit tingled immediately in response. He smiled.
He led me then, naked, past my room and into the kitchen. "Hungry?" He asked, like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. I stood in the centre of the kitchen feeling exposed, feeling... well "naked!"
Self-consciously I rubbed my hands up and down along my arms while Mr P puttered around in the fridge and cupboards, grabbing this and that to throw together a snack. "We can't live on lust alone, the mind might be willing but the body definitely isn't." He said conversationally, as his stomach rumbled noisily. It was late afternoon by this time and food had been forgotten for the last sixteen hours.
I giggled inanely at the testament of his hunger, and in response heard my own stomach growl hungrily. I giggled again as Mr P smiled at me, his deep brown eyes taking in my whole body, devouring me with his eyes so much my body blushed again and my giggles subsided.
He stopped what he was doing and leaned against the counter, his eyes snaring me in their trap yet again. "Come here." He ordered.
His voice was soft... so soft, and I felt my whole being shifting towards him without thought. His eyes held mine captive until the very last second, until I felt his hands sliding in against my hips, holding me as he leant in to kiss me. My eyes fluttered, shattering the spell, and I closed them slowly as I offered up my lips to Mr P.
His kiss was sparing, light, teasing; so soft and lingering... and it took my breath away. Up until now it had been all animal lust and hot teasing, this ... this was soft, sensual, full of such passion I swooned, falling against his body, clinging to him for support.
As we parted from that amazing kiss, our breathing heavy even though the kiss had been so slow and gentle, I looked up into Mr P's soulful brown eyes and saw in them a tiny spark of something more growing in their depths. Something that both excited me and scared the living shit out of me. It was the promise of something new, something deeper, and far more life-changing. I think I swallowed a lump the size of a tennis ball from my throat as my mouth became parched and my palms grew sweaty. It was on the tip of my tongue to say... ready to burst past the censor of my brain. It was right on the tip of my tongue... but just as I was ready to speak it, both our heads shot up as our ears pricked, hearing a key turning in the lock of the front door.
My eyes flew wide in shock... as I realised, I was standing naked in the kitchen... as I realised that more than likely Becky was going to come through that door. I just about fainted from fear as I thought about running down the hall to hide away my naked body. Mr P being the more sensible one of us, quickly grabbed at my head, pulling the towel from my hair and wrapped it around me in a practiced flick. I was just tucking the end back into a fold, when Becky walked into the kitchen and froze.
Her eyes grew wide and then I saw the hurt and accusation that filled them as she stared at me. I felt like the worst friend in the world right then, lower than pond scum. I would have happily fallen at her feet and begged for her forgiveness, but as it was I didn't have a chance, as anger flashed in her eyes and she spun on her heel, heading for her room. I held my breath again feeling the sting of tears at the loss of our friendship.
"Wait here." Mr P's soft words brought me back to the present. I looked at him with brimming eyes and nodded. He left me standing in the kitchen as he made his way down the hall and into Becky's bedroom.
To begin with I heard nothing, standing in the kitchen, anxiously straining my ears in hopes that I might catch a stray word here and there. I thought, "Well at least they aren't yelling so it must be going all right," but then to my eternal dismay I began to hear an increase in the volume of their voices. The words were still low enough to be outside my range of hearing, but as the volume grew, they became clearer.
"... can't we all just sit down and talk about this like adults?" Mr P's voice drifted out to me.
"I don't want to sit down and talk about any of this... this... this, whatever it is!" Came Becky's angry reply.
"Becky, you're being unreasonable and stubborn." I heard Mr P say and cringed at his choice of words. That was definitely something you didn't say to an upset female.
Becky's voice rose another octave. "Unreasonable? Stubborn? Well I wonder why! It isn't every day a girl comes home to find the house trashed, thinking that something terrible has happened, that you might have been hurt or worse! And then to rush in and find the last thing I would ever have expected to find. My Father molesting my best friend!" There was a slight pause before Becky continued. "My Ex-best friend."
"Becky that's unfair and you know it. I was not molesting her and Erika is still your best friend. Don't take this out on her." Mr P's voice remained somewhat calm and at an even level. "It's not her fault."
"Dad, she stopped being my best friend the moment she betrayed me and fell into bed with you!" Becky replied with acid in her voice. My knees felt weak and I fell into the kitchen chair behind me. I wrapped my arms across my stomach and rocked, feeling ill inside. Tears trailed down my cheeks unabashedly and I sniffed loudly as I hung my head. I'd known from the start that this was just too big to forgive, and I cursed my weak will at letting it go this far.
"Why is this so hard for you to accept?" Mr P queried angrily.
"Why? Why? My God Dad! She's my age, she's my age!" Becky cried repeatedly. "She practically grew up in this house and you've known her nearly as long as you've known me. She's my best friend and she's young enough to be your goddamn daughter!"
"Oh, so that's it is it? If she were twenty-nine or thirty-two you wouldn't have a problem with this? Is it just because she's so young that you're acting like this? Or is it simply because it's Erika that you're acting like this? If it was some other young thing you didn't know, would you be this upset?" Mr P's voice was loud now, angry though still well in control.
There was a shocked pause. "Oh I cannot believe you Dad! Mum was right, you are a freak!"
I gasped to myself in the kitchen as my body jerked upright. I could almost see the verbal blow as it struck Mr P in the face and my eyes and mouth widened in shock that Becky would say something like that to her father. The man that had looked after her for so many years, loved her, cared for her. But then anger and hurt made one want to anger and hurt someone else in return, and as human nature goes, that's what was happening now.
There was another heavy pause in their conversation before Mr P's voice asked almost too quietly for me to hear. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh Mum told me all about how you changed towards the end of the marriage. How you were always looking elsewhere, how you wanted to do all kinds of freaky shit!" Becky accused. "Deny it!"
"Deny what?" Now I could hear the edge in Mr P's voice, I could hear the hurt, the frustration, and the anger from his past. Obviously he'd never discussed his side of the divorce with Becky in any great depth before now, but as he spoke, I came to realise that he was going to lay it all out in the open for her right at this pivotal moment. "Deny what Becky? That I'm a red blooded male with a need for sex? That I'm like any other man on this planet with wants and desires, wants and desires that your mother didn't share?"
"Oh what a load of bull! I don't want to hear it Dad." Becky cut in.
"Too friggin' bad." Mr P countered. "You started this. You wanted to know the truth of the matter, well you're going to hear it; right now. I never once looked elsewhere for sex. I never once cheated on your mother, that was all her. She's the one the guilty conscience. And all that "freaky shit" as you so aptly put it, was nothing more than trying to spice up our flagging sex life. I shouldn't have even tried since she was already getting it from someone else.
"I asked your mother to wear a couple of outfits for me. I bought her a toy or two to play with in the bedroom, hoping that I might be able to play with her as well. And I made the mistake of admitting that I liked to feel in control every once in a while, ordering her around now and then. If that's what you call freaky, then hey, I guess I bloody well am. But don't lump me in the same category as Vanessa, because I was loyal right down to the last minute of our marriage. Right down to the last second!
"She's the one that threw it away like so much garbage. Do you know how many times we had sex during the last two years of our marriage? Once a bloody month, once a month, Becky... if I was lucky. But even then, I never once looked for another woman to take the edge off, even though I could have. I didn't. And for that, for being who I am, doing the honourable thing and sticking with my wife, my family, I get this? This shitty little attitude from you? And why? Why because for the first time in four years I've actually found someone that makes me happy, makes me feel alive again, makes me feel like I'm not alone anymore? Someone who just happens to be your best friend?
"I won't apologise for being me anymore Becky, and I certainly won't apologise to trying to be happy. If you can't accept that, if you can't for one second be happy for me too, then too bloody bad! Do you know what really kills me? The fact that I thought I'd raised you better than that!"
Mr P's verbal barrage ended with a heavy, frustrated breath. He made his way back into the kitchen and me. I realised I had risen from my chair unknowingly, anticipating his return. My eyes had dried, the tears no longer threatening just on the cusp of spilling over, as I mentally processed everything I had overheard. He stood in the doorway, his shoulders tensed, his chest heaving a little, his fists clenched at his sides, and in his eyes I could see an old anger, eclipsed by an even greater pain. A hurt, that even now still ran deep.
I felt my heart go out to him, a need in me welling up to offer some comfort, no matter how small, and without even thinking I raised my hands and opened my arms to him. He was across the floor in two long strides, his arms engulfing my small frame as I wrapped my own about his shoulders and hugged him as tightly as I could. Mr P squeezed me so hard I thought my ribs might crack but I never once thought about releasing him, or making him release me.
As I stood there hugging him, letting a hand stroke against the back of his head, trying to offer him comfort in my arms. I felt his breath leave his chest in a great shudder as he tucked his face into my neck. His skin and breath burned mine as I realise he was fighting back tears.
I was quickly on the edge of tears again, this time though, not for me but for him. For his hurt, for his heartache. It was a strangely sobering experience. I leaned back from him a little; his arms tightened further thinking I was pulling away from him. To reassure him that that wasn't the case I quickly squeezed his shoulders and spoke. "Here..." I said trying to turn, trying to shift Mr P's position. He couldn't have been comfortable bent nearly double because of my shortened stature. I was standing on tippy toes as it was. He cooperated by moving with me a little as I smiled gently and whispered, "Sit."
His large frame descended onto the seat I had vacated, his arms still wrapped securely around my body as his change in elevation eased the pressure on both of our spines. His face dropped lower, but he still wouldn't look up at me; instead he buried his head against my ribcage, his powerful arms bunching tight as he squeezed me even harder into his embrace. I stood between his parted thighs, my knees pressed against the rim of the seat as I let my arms fall back around his shoulders.
Enfolding his neck once more, I let my hands hold the back of his head, gently stroking his hair, imparting as best I could the sympathy and compassion I felt deep inside me as I gazed down on his head. After a few moments, I lifted my eyes and stared out of the kitchen window unseeingly, my mind drifting off as I just stood there holding him. Thoughts of how hard this was for him circled over and over through my brain and I realised how selfish I had been to concentrate wholly on my own problems. I never once took into consideration how this would affect Mr P and Becky's relationship, or even whatever tentative relationship Mr P still held with Becky's mother, Vanessa.
Becky was this man's daughter for heaven's sake. Me? I was just the daughter's friend that Mr P just happened to find a little bit attractive and liked to fuck. If push came to shove I was sure that the familial bond would endure. I swallowed and pushed the thought aside, it was something I didn't want to think about.
I sighed lightly as I let my eyes drop back to the top of his head. I caught a movement in my peripheral vision and my head snapped around. Becky stood there, a bag in her hand. She had been crying, I could see, and again I felt that awful feeling in the pit of my stomach as I looked at her. I don't know how long she'd been standing there, and I couldn't stop the little jerk of nervous fright that made my body twitch within Mr P's arms. I felt like I was being caught in the act all over again.
I stared at her for only a few moments, the tears that were so close to the surface for Mr P finally spilled over, falling on my cheeks as I silently pleaded with my eyes for her forgiveness. If not for me; then at least for her father. He really didn't deserve her anger, didn't deserve her recrimination. He was only human, hell we both were and sometimes life wasn't so straight-laced. Sometimes you just can't choose who your heart will desire.
It seemed Becky hesitated for a moment, teetering on the edge of a decision that might afford her father some kind of amnesty from her wrath, and my heart fluttered as hope infused my chest. That hope died near before it was born. Taking in the scene before her, I saw Becky's eyes change sadly as she shook her head and turned on her heel. She walked away.
I heard the front door open and close. It didn't slam, it closed. Quietly. That at least must have been a sign? I thought to myself as I turned my head back to Mr P. Becky's anger might not have been so great, now that she'd heard a few truths from her father... no, her anger might not have been so great, but it was fresh. Hope cautiously welled within me again. Maybe, just maybe; Becky would end up forgiving us ... would end up accepting us? I held my breath and said a little prayer.
My hands continued stroking Mr P's hair. I thought he heard the door close, and the pressure of his arms eased a fraction around my waist. I gazed down on the top of his head, feeling his arms holding me, seeking comfort from me, and I felt my heart aching in my chest. I trailed a hand gently down the side of his face, cupping a cheek and letting my thumb stroke back and forth, trying to impart to him just how much this moment meant to me, how much his pain affected me. My thumb brushed beneath his eye and I felt there the dampness that dotted his lashes.
It was at that precise moment when I knew I was lost. Irrevocably, undeniably, unequivocally, and totally lost. My heart shuddered to a halt, painful beneath my breastbone, as it beat its last as the Erika I was. Three seconds later it lurched back into the new rhythm of the Erika I was to become. I gazed down once more and though tears blurred my sight, I smiled a smile of joy as I realised that without exception, everything I was and everything I would ever be, now belonged to the man in my arms. For as long as he would have me, he had my heart and my soul... he had my love. Whether I fully understood, at that moment, what that meant, I'm not entirely certain and looking back now I know that I didn't ... but I digress.
An unquenchable need rose in me to be closer to him, but to do that I had to pull away. Gently but firmly I cupped Mr P's face and drew it away from my stomach, lifting his chin as I pushed backwards against his entwining arms. I tried to step back a little. He resisted. His hands gripped the back of my towel in an effort to keep me within the circle of his arms. I smiled, lifting his chin higher, raising his face and his eyes so that I could see them. What I saw in them as he finally looked up at me, made my heart bleed for him. All that old pain, refreshed, resurfaced, and laid bare for me to see. His eyes were a little red, his lashes damp and in the depths of those soulful brown eyes I espied a fear that he would be hurt again like he had been before.
I softened my smile, bringing both hands up to stroke and touch his face, to explore his features like a blind person might, feeling with their fingertips to inscribe an image in their mind. I took a small step back, leaning down towards his upturned face, bringing my face, my lips, ever closer to his. Gently, with eyes wide open, I brushed my lips against his. Because of my movement Mr P's hands rested upon my hips and I felt his fingertips sink into my flesh as I kissed him softly, his eyes staring into mine, searching them for something only he could find. I pulled back, my hands still cupping his face, caressing his skin, as I let him search. In my eyes, I hoped he could see everything I felt for him. Every small emotion, every thought, I wanted him to know it, to feel it, to understand it and trust in it wholly.