Father's Shelter

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. It involves elements of incest, alcohol, and questionable consent. All characters are at the legal age of 18 or older.

*

"I'm telling you. Please just stay at home with me, Emily."

I can still remember how it all began with my mother's words. It feels like it happened so long ago.

As it so often happened in my life, I had to endure her nagging and guilt tripping. Whenever there was something I wanted or needed to do, she would try to shut it down. It was endearing as much as it was annoying. She was overprotective and unreasonable but didn't care to admit it. I was old enough to take care of myself, and her motherly care sometimes felt more akin to having a babysitter, rather than an adult who supported you no matter what, you know?

For as long as I could remember, it had always been just me and her. I grew up without a father, you see, which was unheard of in the remote town I lived in. Everybody knew everyone, so there had been no way for her to hide the truth before everyone heard the rumors. The teasing from my classmates was endless and school was a nightmare. It was only recently that I had learned the reason why my dad ditched me before I was even born -- he didn't know I existed.

This was something I wasn't told until very recently, at the start of this very December. My mother had gotten tipsy. Well, drunk -- more so than usual -- and she ended up spilling the whole truth about how she met my father back in her college days. Apparently it had started as a fling after they first encountered each other in a dance club. She was smitten, right away.

He wasn't a student. He had a job in construction despite being the same age as her. So after just a month of dating, her parents had put a stop to their relationship. Nobody even knew she was pregnant until many months later when her water broke and she was sent straight to the delivery room to give birth to me.

In a perfect world, she would have reached out to him again.

But nope, little me was born and my mother left the city to raise me far away from my grandparents, away from my dad, away from everyone.

"I'm not staying," I answered her defiantly. She had controlled my entire life and it had been full of flaws left and right. There was no way for me to make things worse even if I tried. It's just like they say in those silly fortune cookies, sometimes the best path is the one right in front of you. After so many years of being told what was best for me, I might even end up taking pride in making a mistake. Good or bad, it would have been my choice.

"At least get your degree first, study, and pick a career! There will be plenty of time to travel in between. I just want you to pick the safe choice, all right? If you do this now, you will just regret it. I know you will. Trust me, Emily, please!" My mother was anxious, she breathed heavily and her gaze fixated on me.

She blocked the exit with her body and held tightly onto both sides of the doorframe. She didn't want me to leave the house. Unfortunately for her though, I had been waiting eighteen long years for this chance to get answers and to meet my dad. I just didn't know it had been leading up to this moment.

"I'm sorry." With those words, I grabbed my duffel bag and pushed my way past her with renewed determination. She still didn't want to let me go, but she didn't have a choice.

So there I was, on my way to the city. The train ride was rather uneventful. I found myself staring out the window with a hollow feeling, like parting ways with an old and trusted friend to seek out the unknown. Those thoughts were gnawing on the back of my mind. This was a whole new territory for me, I had never been to the city nor had I ever been truly on my own. The only safety net I had were some small savings in my bank account. That wasn't reassuring at all.

Another issue I thought about was the problem of actually finding my dad. I had a couple of old and faded pictures which gave me a rough idea what to look for. I didn't have an address, but I did have his name -- Carl Richter. The name of my father. It sounded European, which was another thing I was looking forward to ask him about. I also knew where he used to work twenty years ago, which I hoped would prove useful even after such a long time.

The train ride took a couple hours and I arrived in the late afternoon. The first thing I noticed upon stepping out of the train was the dirty cityscape and the foul air. I hadn't seen much just yet, but my first impression was a negative one for sure. People were rushing past me, bumping into me, and completely minding their own business. For a small-town girl like myself, it was a culture shock.

Nonetheless, I knew I was on a tight schedule. I could get a hotel for the weekend but that would drop my already depleted savings by a lot. Man, talk about feeling nervous and rushed. So I set out to visit the place my father used to work at.

It was an old factory, for the assembly of heavy machinery. It gave me a better idea of what he might be like as a person. Most of the machines were old and outdated, but they still completed the job just fine. The air was thick with the smell of spilled oil, steel, and metals. I couldn't imagine enduring this for more than a day, that was certain.

Of course, they ended up telling me that he was long gone after so many. But, they were able tell me exactly where he used to live. I quickly deposited my duffel bag in a safe locker. Until I actually needed access to fresh clothes it was pointless to bring it everywhere. The company told me that my dad lived near the city center so that was my next destination. The next bread crumb to chase after.

There was a crazy amount of commerce and residential areas. There were so many people all around me, wherever I looked. The city was alive. In my eyes, it felt like heaven -- so many new things to explore. I briefly toyed with the thought of seeking out an arcade and getting a feel for those retro games I had fancied since my early childhood, but dismissed the thought. There would be plenty of time for that stuff after I finished the task at hand.

My fingers kept reaching back into my pockets to have another look at my dad's pictures. With every person that walked past me I did this quick mental check -- could this be him, what did he look like now? The person in the picture was a bulky but handsome guy in his early 20s, with a scruffy beard. I dare say he looked kinda cute back then. His hair was styled up, short and pitch black.

Would he even recognize me? I was just a petite girl and looked nothing like him. Just a little toned from the mandatory cardio lessons at school. Freckles were all over my cheeks, probably because I always forgot sunscreen. My curly hair reached way past my shoulders, and shimmered in the same light-brown color as my mother's. In fact, I realized that the only thing I visibly had in common with my father was the color of our eyes -- a bright blue, like the sky on a sunny day. But even that feature was concealed behind a pair of big dorky glasses. Years in front of the computer left me shortsighted, so the glasses weren't by choice.

Anyhow, I soon found myself in front of the towering apartment complex he was supposed to live in. I snuck inside when one of the other inhabitants returned home, and after walking up the stairway, I gathered my courage and knocked on his door.

Silence followed.

I tried again, but no sign of activity. Perhaps he was shopping or simply at work somewhere.

With little else to do, I sat down by his doorstep and admired the pictures a little longer. It wouldn't be long now, I thought. It would be a happy little family reunion. Maybe I could even convince him to meet mom again and to start dating. She must have seen something in him all those years ago, surely she would be willing to give it another try with him. He probably has a great personality if they had such good chemistry.

The waiting was getting me nowhere. The sun was already setting. I had been sitting on my bum for hours and nothing happened, so I got back up on my feet and decided to try my luck elsewhere. Just as I was about to leave, one of the residents passed me in the stairway. After explaining the situation to her, the only tip she could offer was that he sometimes spent his evenings getting drunk, since she had occasionally seen him stumbling home. The odds of running into him by accident were astronomical, but it was worth a shot.

The nightlife was crazy. The streets were littered with drunk people of all ages and not all of them seemed normal and rational. Some guys I passed made flirty comments, and used pick-up lines that were so old that even I had heard them before. Gross. It was weird to see how lame some people acted when they desperately wanted to get laid. They weren't gentlemen by any stretch of the imagination.

I vividly remember what happened next. There was this one bar, it was particularly loud, with audible laughter whenever the door swung open. Something was drawing me to it, some kind of feeling. I peeked through the stained glass windows into the rowdy bar, and could barely believe my own eyes at what I saw.

Carl Richter. My dad who had been missing all my life. He simply sat there on a barstool by the counter. He was significantly older than in the pictures but I recognized him all the same.

In an almost trance-like state I entered the bar, and my heart was beating fast enough to make me dizzy. It was unreal to finally be face-to-face with the person I missed my entire life.

"Hello," I whispered, but it was completely overshadowed by the tunes of some old country song that came out of outdated, cheap speakers throughout the bar. He still hadn't even noticed me. He hadn't aged well. His beard was an uncombed mess, his shirt was stained, and he possessed an unattractive beer belly. Still, he was family.

It was time to take the initiative, I thought. So I sat down on the barstool right next to him and dreamily gazed at this man who had no idea who I was. I could barely wait to spill the secret and to see his reaction.

"Yeah? I'm not buying you a drink."

Those were the first words I heard. His voice was deep and monotone, and he sounded irritated to boot. It probably wasn't the first time tonight that a girl sat down by his side, asked him for a drink, and then left with her beverage without paying him any attention in return. But I had absolutely no intention of leaving. Heck, I had to tense every muscle in my body just to prevent myself from jumping into his arms and hugging him as tightly as humanly possible! He had the wrong idea, but he would soon learn the truth.

"No, no," I tried to correct him immediately. "It's not like that at all! You see, I'm here for y—" he cut off my sentence midway by holding his hand flat up.

"If it's not like that, have a drink first. Show some commitment, then you can start your sales pitch," he eyed me briefly before continuing. "That's assuming you are even old enough to drink."

It was around then that reality came back to hit me hard. I should have waited to meet him at his apartment. Things would have been so much easier and simpler.

The country music was still playing in the background, and the stale stench of old cigarette smoke lingered in the air. Crowds of old men were seated around the nearby tables, and tall jugs of beer were spread all around. After all, this was just a bar.

This wasn't the right place for a first introduction.

Upon realizing my mistake, I decided to go with the flow. If this was the mood he was in, so be it. This would be my first opportunity to bond with him, father and daughter. It would make for one funny little surprise when I reveal the truth to him, I figured. Could have a drink, chat about random stuff, and learn what he was truly like.

"Yeah uhmm," I mumbled to myself when the bartender came back around.

It was the first time I ever ordered a drink, how the heck was I supposed to know what would suit me.

"Do you have something sugary, but with alcohol?" I asked.

It was a miracle that he didn't ID me as soon as those words left my mouth. In retrospect, I should have realized right then that this was a bar where young girls went in order to meet older men and the barkeeper turned a blind eye to it.

"Long Island Iced Tea, perhaps?"

"No, something with alcohol," I corrected him since tea obviously wasn't what I was after, at which point the bartender rolled his eyes at me and muttered something under his breath.

After a brief pause, he excused himself to prepare the drink. Whatever, iced tea would be perfect to calm my nerves. Something cold and soothing.

"I don't recall having seen you around," my father said to me.

His stare and sudden interest piqued my attention and I felt a sudden blush creeping across my cheeks. It was a startling realization that I had his undivided interest now.

"Yeah uh... I'm not from around here. I'm visiting. It's probably just temporary until my situation is less complicated. I don't know how long I will stay, it depends on how things go."

I sprinkled just enough information in there to see if he would figure it out himself. Maybe a part of him already recognized that I looked familiar.

"So you ran away from home?" he asked matter-of-factly, cutting straight to the chase, which took me aback for a moment.

His brutish fingers reached for the pitcher of beer on the counter, and he drank a few gulps without breaking his gaze for even a second. It made me nervous since he had me all figured out apparently, despite us having exchanged so very few words. He was good at guessing things.

The iced tea arrived just in time. My uneasy mood was written all over my face. This felt weird and unpleasant. It was the same kind of jittery feeling as when you forgot to study, fully believe that you flunked the test, and are about to get your results back. I reached for the glass and drank it down. There was absolutely no hesitation. I didn't even know how dry my throat felt until the chilled liquid eased the discomfort. The taste was sweet as well, a mix of peach and lemon flavors.

"I didn't really. Sort of, but not really," I answered.

He sure seemed to be perceptive - at least in regards to how I ran away from home. It didn't seem like he caught on yet that I was his daughter, not yet anyway. It was a fun little game of cat and mouse, and I felt amused by keeping this secret to myself for now. It would make the big reveal even more impactful once he figured out that he had met his long lost baby girl. It would be a special moment that I would eventually be able to share with everyone I knew, and they all would be happy for me.

"Ah-huh. Is that how you ended up here?" he asked while gesturing at my barstool. "You messed up and now you need a place to stay at for a while? What's your name anyway?"

"It's Emi..." I interrupt myself with a hacking cough, and the growing awareness that something was burning inside my stomach. Like a fool, I reached for that iced tea and drank what was left of it to try and ease the weird sensation in my belly.

"Go easy with that stuff, is this your first time drinking alcohol?"

As if things couldn't get more embarrassing, I quickly realized I was making a fool of myself. It hadn't even occurred to me that the iced tea was laced with booze, which had been totally overshadowed by the sweet taste! I cursed myself for being such an idiot.

I rapidly began to feel it hitting me like a bucket of bricks. He looked at me like the fool I was. The mistake was made and I could only hope it wouldn't get too overwhelming.

My cheeks flushed red hot and the heat was radiating outwards in warm waves until my whole body felt tingly and numb. This wasn't just a buzz. It was my first contact with strong alcohol and I had way overdone it.

"Wh-whoa!" I exclaimed.

Both of my hands reached for the counter and I deliberately held onto the smoothly polished wood, as if afraid the ground would swallow me whole if I were to let go.

"You're a mess, girl. You're lucky I've got a thing for damsels in distress," he chuckled.

Those words stung after how much I tried to remain in control of it all.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," I slurred in reply.

Even through the dense fog of drunkenness, I understood this was my first time getting scolded by my own father. It was a moment of pride as much as it was one of regret.

"I guess you've had enough for tonight, I'll take you home."

His words put my mind at ease, home sounded like a great place right now. It sounded safe and secure. Even more so given how the situation continually grew worse. The ground seemed to be spinning in circles. My dad half-heartedly paid the bartender for both of our drinks and then helped me to stumble my way out of the bar.

"I'm Emily... just Emily..." I mumbled as he wrapped my arm around his neck and helped me back to his place.

His apartment was in walking distance, fortunately. I don't think I would've made it without help, considering my sense of balance wasn't just gone, it was utterly broken. My weary head rested on his strong shoulder, and he guided me to his apartment. Home. It felt so good when he unlocked that familiar door and we stepped inside.

"What do you need first?" he asked me. We stopped right after entering, it was a relatively small apartment and all rooms seemed to connect to the hallway. "Bathroom or bedroom? Do you want to freshen up before we get started?"

At this point I was completely drained and couldn't think of anything but sleeping. Good sleep. Bed. I shook my head and he obliged. He led me to the bedroom and helped me to lie down, and what a relief it turned out to be. I was barely even aware of my surroundings anymore. The urge to inspect my father's apartment was entirely overwhelmed by the need to close my eyes and to get some rest. My stomach was burning, my arms and legs didn't obey me, I was a mess.

So you can imagine my surprise when I heard the noise of my belt buckle being undone, after which I felt my jeans being pulled right off my legs. I opened my eyes again, though it did take me a second to adjust to the brightly lit room.

"What are you doing?" I tried to reach for my pants to keep them for myself, but was just a tad too slow, they came off with ease.

His stare fixed on my crotch, and I looked down to see that my underwear was exposed. Obviously. The white cotton hugged my lower lips and presented a fine outline of their shape. Oh God I still remember how humiliating that felt. It was the first time that a man saw me in my underwear. There were a couple girls I had experimented with in my past, but never with a man.

"Don't worry, we ain't doing anything tonight that you don't want to do, muffin," he whispered.

After uttering those reassuring words, he paused and caressed my legs. He seemed to admire my smooth skin? He either had a thing for pale girls or for young ones. I fulfilled both criteria.

His intentions were still unclear to me, probably because of that damned booze, or maybe I just didn't think that the situation could escalate any further than it already had. After all, I knew he was my father - it didn't occur to me that he didn't know that. As far as he knew, I was simply a drunken girl who approached an old man in a bar, and then played hard to get once her pants were off.

But he moved closer and kissed the insides of my thigh. Just once, then twice, and then he gradually inched his way up. It felt nice and pleasant. I had never been treated with affection, so this was a very welcome experience. That warmth I felt seemed to amplify, particularly growing somewhere in my tummy. Desire. I couldn't enjoy it blindly, no, a part of me knew that this situation was highly unusual and strange.