An Officer and a Gentle Dad Ch. 01

A huge thank you to LaRascasse for his valuable feedback on this story.

1. Maine with Mom

I have always been in love with my dad. Others saw him as the big, strong military officer who racked up scars on ops he led in far-away countries. I saw him as dad, someone who came to my soccer games and bought me ice cream when I skinned my knee.

When he and my mom divorced when I was ten, the trips to the soccer games and ice cream parlor went away. His new wife, Maria, made it clear she wasn't interested in having any children or helping raise me.

Dad was a SEAL and stationed in Coronado, California. When mom and I moved to Maine, it became harder and harder to see him. Maria didn't want me there anyway, and it seemed like dad was always out on an op. The original custody plan of me seeing him at holidays and during the summer fell by the wayside.

My 10 years turned to 18, and it was time to pick a college. I still yearned to be near my dad and found myself looking at schools on the West coast. It didn't hurt that the weather was nicer than Maine's nine months of winter. Mom wasn't happy when I got a generous running scholarship to UC San Diego, but I was unhappy with her for having made it so hard for my dad to be a father to me.

"Melanie, that's too far away."

"I won't be far at all. I'll be within 30 minutes of dad."

"Your dad hasn't been there for you all these years."

"You know as well as I do he couldn't help a lot of that. Being a SEAL isn't an easy way to raise a child, especially when she lives on the other side of the country."

"He could have made more of an effort."

"You didn't make it easy on him by choosing to move to the farthest place away from Coronado possible. We might as well live in Yemen for as easy as you made it on him."

"He probably goes to Yemen more than Maine."

"That's my point. You moved someplace he would never have a reason to come to make it impossible for him to see me."

Mom gets quiet, and her eyes fill with tears. "I guess there's truth to that. I was so mad at him for divorcing me, I wanted to keep you for myself. His new wife made that easier by being such a bitch."

"Mom, I'm sorry." I put my arms around her. I always forget how little she is. I got my height and long limbs from my dad.

"No, you're right. Do what you need to do for college. If it's time for you to be closer to your dad, I'll understand." She wipes away her tears and tries to put her best face on the situation. "Besides, my phone works and planes fly from Maine to California."

2. California with Dad

I am surprised when he offers to take time off to help me move in to my new apartment in San Diego. I have a roommate I'd met online, and the apartment came "furnished," which meant we had beds, a couch, a coffee table, and an old TV but otherwise we needed everything. Dad meets me after work at my new place. Still in his uniform, he looks like the handsome father of my dreams. He draws me in to a big embrace.

"Melanie! It's good to see you."

"I missed you, Dad." I bury my nose in his tan neck. He smells like aftershave and sweat. I have an irresistible urge to taste his skin. Pretending to kiss his neck, I slip my tongue out and taste him. Lightning pops and zings from my tongue down my body. Confused by this visceral reaction, I yank back.

Dad has an inscrutable look on his face. Then, ever the man in charge, he says, "What do we need to do to get you set up?"

Just then, my new roommate trudges in the front door with arms full of shopping bags. One thing I learned about Allison in the first five minutes of meeting her is she likes men. She's petite and cute, and men like her back. She takes one look at my handsome father and turns into a panther on the prowl.

"Hi Lieutenant Anderson, I'm Allison." She pulls her hair across her forehead and strikes a pose that emphasizes her curves.

I've never been the kind of girl to play games with men, so I look at my dad to see if Allison's coquettish behavior is creating its intended reaction.

Dad gives her a polite smile but otherwise betrays no reaction. I learn later that men in uniform in San Diego are prime meat for a lot of hungry women. He has learned to ignore their advances. "Pleased to meet you, Allison. Call me Chris. Let me help you with those bags."

Allison has bought sheets, a hair dryer, and a few other essentials for the apartment. But we are still short on being able to cook anything, take a shower, or—in my case—sleep.

"Tell you ladies what. I'd like to take Melanie out tonight since I haven't seen her in—" he looks at me for details, and I don't want to tell him how long it has been. Too long. "It's been a while. Tomorrow Melanie and I can go pick up what you need."

Allison is all smiles and dimples. "Sounds perfect, Lieutenant Anderson. I mean Chris. It's hard seeing a handsome man dressed like you and not using your title." I roll my eyes at her.

"Tomorrow I'll be in jeans and a t-shirt—you won't even know I have a title. Have a good evening. I'll see you in the morning."

***

Dad and I make a fast getaway from Allison before she can start humping his leg.

Dad doesn't know the university neighborhood, so we drive around looking at restaurant fronts. "What do you want to eat?"

"I eat anything. Except sushi."

"Ok, sushi it is."

I punch him on the shoulder. "Very funny."

We start to drive by a big, popular looking bar. "How about bar food?"

"Works for me." Since I am tall and run distance, I can eat about anything without gaining weight. I know petite women like Allison don't have that luxury, as she complained within 15 minutes of meeting me and seeing my long runner's legs.

I've always been tall and looked older than my age. Dad was young when I was born, so the last time I saw him, when I was a young teenager, people kept mistaking us for a couple. It was weird at first, but then it got to be a joke between us.

So it's not much of a surprise when the workers at the bar assume we're together.

Dad and I nab the last two barstools. When the bartender asks for my order, I hesitate. I'm 18, and I'm uncomfortable trying to order a beer around my dad. He puts his hand on my arm and motions to the bartender. "We'll both have the IPA on tap." I guess I'm going to drink an IPA, whatever that is.

I end up having three more beers, and we talk well into the evening. The alcohol gets my mouth running.

"Dad, Maria never liked me."

"I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry. It took me years to see that."

"When did you notice?"

"This last year, when she was such a bitch about me offering to help pay for your college. That's one of the many reasons I'm divorcing her."

"You're getting a divorce?"

"Yeah, and it's long overdue. When you're out of town for work all the time, it's easy to overlook what's going on in your own backyard."

"I was always sorry things weren't better between us."

"As the parent, I bear the blame. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course I forgive you. You were doing your job."

"I want to start over."

Either the alcohol or the emotion or both are hitting me, because I am tearing up. "That would mean a lot to me."

Dad pulls me close for a warm hug that I can't remember him giving me in years. His big arms are safe and sheltering. His lips on my cheek feel tender and right.

Returning his hug, I bring one arm across his back for a mutual embrace and rest my other hand on his stomach. I have always loved how tight his stomach is and used to tease him about his washboard. I rub him there, feeling the ridges contract under my palm.

Dad grabs my hand. "Sweetheart, stop."

Confused, I look up at him. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, baby, you just need to stop."

"Stop what?"

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

I have so little time with my dad. The last thing I want to do is upset him. But obviously I did.

"Dad, what did I do wrong?"

"Sweetheart, it's not what you did wrong. It's what you did right."

Then I look down to my hand and feel like a fool—I have stirred up an erection, and my hand is inches away from stroking it. I should not have looked in his lap, because now I can't look away. I am mesmerized by his size. It's impossible to miss as it snakes under his khakis. He is wide, and his tip is so long it strains to pop out of the waist of his pants.

I lick my lips despite myself. I've never seen anything like him. I'm still a virgin, so I don't know when I'll see a penis, much less one that looks like my dad's. I'm desperate to touch it.

I slide my hand down to his tip at his waistband, but I'm eager to move my hand lower. "May I?"

"May you what?"

"May I touch it?"

He looks at me like I've grown an extra head. "What?"

"I've never touched one."

Dad can't wrap his head around what I'm talking about. "One what?"

I move my hand down lower. He feels firm and warm. "A penis."

He grabs my hand, putting a stop to its downward descent. "Melanie, what are you doing?"

"Dad, I've never touched one. What's the harm in touching yours? On top of your pants, of course."

"Sweetheart, it doesn't work that way."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this is too arousing."

"You're under the bar, so no one would see."

He lets out a painful chuckle. "It's not that simple."

"I want to touch one. I've never had that opportunity. All I do is school and run. Better yours than a random guy, right?"

My dad's breathing picks up. I can see his chest rise with every breath. I can't take my eyes off his penis, and it seems to grow an inch when I ask to touch it. "Melanie, I don't think so."

I'm disappointed, but I don't want to make my dad uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"It's ok. Don't feel bad. Why don't we say, Maybe another time?"

I smile. Sounds perfect. "Deal."

I move my hand off dad's pants, but we still have our arms around each other.

"Would you two lovebirds like another round together?" the bartender teases us.

Dad smiles. "We're long overdue for a lot together, but that'll be enough for tonight."

3. Shopping

Dad drives a big truck. I should have guessed. He holds the door for me. I have a weird feeling that he watches my ass as I climb in, but that can't be right—this is my dad.

We get to the store, and I grab two of everything. Allison has agreed to reimburse me for her share, so I load up the cart with two glasses, two plates, two towels, and two sets of everything. Where it's cheaper, I grab packs of four, but I'm trying to get the job done as fast as possible. This is one of dad's few days off, and I don't want to have him at the store all day.

Dad isn't a shopper, but he's a good sport. I decide to push my luck. "I have a huge favor to ask."

"Lay it on me."

"All my clothes are from Maine, where we wear reindeer skins."

He chuckles at my stupid joke.

"I need warm-weather clothes for San Diego. And a new swimsuit. Any chance we can swing by a mall so I can pick up a few things?"

"I'm yours for the day. Let's do it."

***

I drag him around the mall, stopping in most of the stores. When I find something I like, I try it on, then come tearing out of the dressing room to ask if dad likes the outfit. The style in San Diego is short and tight—short shorts, miniskirts, tank tops. Dad's eyebrows hit the sky on a couple of the short shorts, and on a nearly-see-through dress he says, "No, I'm not paying for that." Otherwise, he's cool about what I pick out and generous about paying for everything.

The last store we hit sells only swimsuits. It's a pain to find one that looks good, so I have to try a lot. I pick out about ten and scoot back to a dressing room. The clerk thinks we're a couple, so she turns to dad and says, "We have big dressing rooms, you're welcome to come back."

My dad looks like he's going to be sick. "I'm good out here, thanks."

When I get to the dressing rooms, I see there's a chair in front of each room, so dad has a place to wait. I can show him my suits without walking to the front of the store.

The dressing room is all white, with bright lights to mimic the sun. Mirrors are on all sides, so I can get a good view of the suits from all angles

I slip into the first bikini. Yeesh, it's tiny: the bikini has less fabric than one of my running bibs. Two tiny white triangles cover my small breasts and a smaller triangle covers my bottom half. Bows on my hips look like they would come undone with a gust of wind. But the suit is gorgeous; I love it.

I call my dad in. "What do you think?"

He clears his throat and looks uncomfortable. I see him look in the mirror behind me and notice it doesn't cover my butt.

I ramble, "I know it's tiny, but this is how everyone wears them now. You don't have to pay for it. I'll pay for it. But I love this suit, and I have to have it."

He surprises me by being the world's most perfect dad. "You look great in it, sweetheart. Let's get it and go." He just wants to get out of there.

"No, silly, I need to try the others on and pick at least one more."

I feel bad, but dad is down on the chair then up again in the dressing room looking at what seems like countless swimsuits. There's a green mesh one-piece with so many cut-outs it might as well be a two-piece. There's a purple thong bikini with flowers over the areolas. His favorite is a one-piece black suit—it's one they call "demure" and leaves something to the imagination.

He tells me he'll buy the black one, but no way is he paying for the white bikini. I throw my arms around him and kiss him on the cheek. We have a deal.

The clerk smiles at us. "It's always sweet when a couple can reach an agreement on something as touchy as a swimsuit. Sweetheart, I saw you in that white bikini. You rocked it."

As I beam at the compliment, dad groans and walks away.

4. Ethiopian

Dad has been my savior today. I could not have done this shopping without him. And I know this wasn't top on his list of how to spend his day off. "Dad, can I buy you dinner as a thank you for hauling me around?"

"You're kidding, right? I'm your father. I buy you dinner."

"You're sweet. What sounds good?"

"What do you think about Ethiopian food?"

"I've never had it."

"It's good, lots of meat and veggies in interesting sauces. But the best part is you scoop it up with your fingers."

"Too funny. If that's what floats your boat, let's go for it."

The restaurant is packed; we have to wait an hour to get in. It must be good. We get a small table in the corner. My dad keeps forgetting I'm 18 and buys me drinks at the bar. We've been drinking during our wait, and I'm a little flush and tipsy. Dad can hold his own.

"Do you mind ordering for both of us?"

"I'd be happy to. Do you want another drink?"

"Sure, one more."

We have our drinks while waiting for our meals. I'm getting buzzed and flirty. I forget this is my dad and do things I've seen in movies. When I drag my foot up his calf, he raises his eyebrows. I reach under the table and put my hand on his thigh. He folds his napkin on his lap. "Melanie, you can't do that."

"Don't you like it?"

"Of course I like it. And I like watching you try on a thousand swimsuits. But I'm your father, and this isn't helping me feel good about that."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok."

But I'm embarrassed and need to explain myself. "It's just, I didn't grow up with you. So sometimes it's hard to remember you're my dad."

"I understand. It's not always easy for me to remember I'm your dad."

I appreciate his kind words, but I'm still mortified that I tried to flirt with him.

I'm saved by the food, which arrives on two large metal platters. Dad shows me how to use the doughy bread to scoop up the stew. On one messy pass, my fingers glide through the gravy. Without thinking, I put my fingers in my mouth one by one to suck them off.

There's no movement on the other side of the table. I look up to see him staring at me, a funny look in his eyes. He clears his throat. "Tasty?"

"Sorry. Yes, delicious."

"Don't be sorry. Just don't put your hand on my thigh and don't suck your fingers, and I can make it through this meal."

Our mouths are so stuffed we put conversation on hold. After a fantastic dinner, he drives me home slowly, wanting to prolong the evening. I tell him stories about growing up in Maine. He gets quiet and tells me for the millionth time how sorry he is he wasn't around more for me.

The furthest I can reach to touch him in his enormous truck is his leg. I reach over and place my hand on his thigh. "Can I touch your thigh? Because this is as far as I can reach. And I need you to know, It's ok. I'm over it. You're a good dad now, when I need you, and that's what counts."

He looks a little misty eyed, but it could be the evening lights. Either way, he doesn't say anything.

We pull up to my apartment, and I'm sad the night is over. Then he reminds me, "We've got to lug all this stuff in. I'll carry the heavy bikini, you get the rest."

"Very funny."

5. Moving In

Allison isn't home to flirt with my dad when we arrive. We lug everything in from the truck. When we're done, I have a giant mound of shopping bags in the middle of my living room.

I don't want the evening to end. I want every spare second I can have with my dad. I need to make up for all those lost years. I poke around in the fridge and emerge holding two cold beers. "Look what Allison left us. Want one?"

"Sure."

I plop down on the sofa, leaving dad not much room to sit beside me. We're thigh-to-thigh. I want him as close to me as possible.

He chooses that moment to drop the bad news, telling me I'm not going to see him for a while.

"Melanie, I'm leaving in a couple days for temporary assigned duty."

"What? We've just started reconnecting. This is terrible timing."

"I agree. But I don't have any choice in the matter."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I have no idea. TAD averages three to six months."

"Oh my god. Where will you be?"

"I don't know yet. And I can't tell you once I do know."

I don't know if it's the booze or the sadness of missing the person I just found, but I fall apart. I bawl like my dog died.

Dad sets our beers down and pulls me onto his lap, my face tucked under the crook of his chin. He holds me, rubbing my upper thigh and shushing me like a small child. His deep rich voice rolls through my body, calming me. I smell his woodsy cologne and masculine scent on his neck, causing me to nestle in deeper toward his face.

Once I've caught my breath, I pull back and look at him. This is the closest I've ever been to him. It feels natural and right. "Thank you for comforting me."

"Of course, baby."

His erection strains against my hip. I lose my breath at the thought of him touching me. For the first time, I admit to myself I want more than a father can give his daughter. Lost in this thought, I close my eyes and part my lips to catch my breath.

I lose my breath again when my dad's mouth takes mine. His initial kiss is soft and tender. He runs his lips across mine, his breath tickling my cheek and warming my chin. He strokes my cheek and the vulnerable ridge of my neck.

When I open my mouth to receive him, his kiss becomes pressured and demanding. His tongue fills me the way I imagine his penis would. His teeth take my lower lips, possessing it. He groans and pulls me deeper into our kiss. Heat floods my body, pebbling my nipples and sending a gush of fluid into my shorts.

I've never kissed, never been kissed. I hope I am doing it right. It feels natural to be doing it for the first time with my dad.