Dear Father

byMiasorrow©

Dear Father,

or should I call you Sir?

Most people around you do.

I was five when mother died. Her smile and the warmth of her body were the last things I remember of her. I have an image of you laughing as I was nestling on her lap. After her death I was forbidden to talk about her and was deprived of my chance to grieve for my mother. I know she must have been perfect, I felt that, but again I was also a perfect little girl. You acted like you were the only one that suffered from her loss, whereas I lost so much more than you did. You chose to keep me away, claiming you could not raise me on your own. Why on earth say to your baby girl that her mother went to heaven and that she should promise never to talk about her, then send her to boarding school? I still feel bad about that little girl.

Growing up I got to spend time with you mostly during school holidays. I have this one memory of when I was eighteen. The image of your naked body in the bathroom with her. She was giving you a bath. I used to quietly sneak to the door and watch her cuddle you as you sat inside the bathtub and then use a towel to dry every inch of your body. I stood there gazing at your big sized genitals, dazzled, with my mouth wide open, my lips dry, holding my breath behind the door, trying to see as much as I could through the little gap. A combination of feelings ran from head to toes, vibrations of all senses, a joy which spread in vast circles, a joy for me without climax because of that deeper, inner, holding back. Yes, I was your number one admirer. I am sure you noticed me standing there, but I guess you thought it was fine for me to watch. Even to this day I have a kink for being intimate in bathrooms.

When I was old enough to accompany you to social events, you used to ask me to call you 'Sir' so that no one would suspect I was your daughter. It was for my own protection you claimed. Therefore, when we went to galas and cocktail parties together I gave the impression of being your mistress, of a young ambitious woman, going after your fortune and the 'power' invested in your name. I never told you how I felt about your wealth...the way you earned all that money and the people you were with, was not my primary concern. What mostly got to me was that it deprived me of my father, and I resented it. For years I have been hiding my true identity, feeling almost guilty about who I really am. Only people close to our 'family' knew what your daughter looked like, many had no idea you had one in the first place. Me, being away from home most of the time, first in boarding school, then in college and later in university, made that remarkably convenient.

By my twenties, I already adored you and hated you at the same time. You were treating me like a princess when I just wanted to be treated as your daughter and do together what a father and daughter normally do. Instead, I listened to your endless stories about women, coaching me to be an expert in love, the games. I was lying there learning from you, and you were telling me how much talent I had, how beautifully tuned and responsive I was. I still remember your exact words to me, "You walk like a courtesan. You seem to offer yourself when you walk."

In some remote region of my being, I could feel you staring at me, almost worshiping me. I was not expecting you to be the father I dreamed of anymore. I wanted more. I was poisoned.

"Everything you feel, I feel," you often assured me and I know you feared the reaction in me. You knew I wanted to run away. I wanted to leave you. Finally I did. I know you have sent someone to look after me in the new town I moved to. A man appeared in my life and tried, amongst other things, to keep me safe, succeeding at it, at least for a while. His dominance over me reminded me of you. Was I unconsciously looking for someone resembling you?

And I remember now, how in all my loves there has been a negative side. I have always been so afraid. Trying to remember the sequence of events of the people I loved, hated, escaped from, it all came down to you. What a tragedy. Electra's complex was not exactly my case and Oedipus was in the dark for years, he had no idea that woman was his mother. I am not in the dark. I know who you are, but I don't have the feelings toward you as if I was your daughter. Why do I find it so hard to feel for you as a father? I run away from you. If I run faster, will I be able to run away from myself?

Your Daughter

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