Idiot's Guide to Your First Love

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All characters, in this fictional story, involved in any sexual situation are 18 or older. No sexual activity of any kind happens with, around, or because of anyone under the age of 18. Warning: This story DOES have a strong sexual relationship between father and daughter, so if that is not for you, read at your own risk.

*****

I am the product of a high school romance. Rather, my mother was in high school, while my father was in college. They had met at a party, and my mother, ever gorgeous, bewitched my father. He was smitten with her happy-go-lucky personality and good looks, and she had hardly spared a second glance at him. At least, that is how she liked to tell the story. Of course, my mother was always attractive, but my father was by no means hideous, and from what I've gathered, could be quite charming.

Their relationship ran as hot and ended as abruptly as an explosive, but before they fizzled out, they made me. Mom didn't know she was pregnant until after the breakup. According to her, Dad didn't want to be too involved with the whole ordeal, so he sent her money every month, thanks to a shapely looking trust fund left by his parents. And so, that is how my mother became a single parent at 17.

Being raised by my mother wasn't awful. We were never close, by any means, but she wasn't mean. Distant, really, seemingly disinterested. I never went without, having been provided for financially, although my mom mostly left me to my own devices. Most of my financial support was due to my father, I knew. He sent his monthly child support checks, and on my birthday and Christmas, he would always send me a few hundred dollars. What child of eight needs $300, I don't know, but I imagine he didn't want to bother with trying to find me a gift. And for all the things my mother wasn't in my life, she never stole from me. She always gave me the money my father sent me. Well, she put it in savings, anyway.

"For college," Mom would say.

She was always talking about college. She didn't get to go, and I think she was trying to live vicariously through me. Honestly, I didn't mind. It was the only time she ever seemed interested in me. I got excellent grades, and I was a good kid. I had no idea what I could have spent that money on, at that age, so putting it in a college fund was fine by me.

I never had much of a relationship with my father. I hardly knew him growing up. I never even met him until he took my mom to court for visitation rights. I started visiting him twice a year after I turned ten. One month in the summer and a week before Christmas I flew out to Seattle, before returning to my normal life in Illinois. I thought it would be awkward, staying with a relative stranger, but he worked all the time, and I rarely saw him. He had hired a nanny to stay with me during the day, and in the evening, while he was home, he was usually holed up in his office. Meanwhile, I occupied my time by playing games on the computer he bought me or reading.

I stopped having a nanny during my visits when I was 13, but my dad told the doorman at his building that I wasn't allowed to leave if he wasn't escorting me, so nothing much changed. Having the apartment to myself during the day was pleasant. I didn't have to get out of my pajamas until I knew dad was coming home. I could play music loudly and dance in the living room. I could watch cable all day if I wanted. I had a freedom that even my mother's lackadaisical rules didn't allow me.

I didn't usually mind my father's absenteeism. If my mother hadn't warned me of his lack of interest, perhaps I would have, but even still, I liked being alone. I had friends at home, and good ones, but they were few, and I have always been relatively reserved and remote. So, it worked out in my favor that dad was unavailable.

I was 14 when I went to live with my father permanently. I want to say it was because he wanted to have custody of me so much that he fought my mother for it, but, no, it was because she had died quite suddenly. Dad moved out of his apartment that "wasn't suitable for raising a teenager," as he said. He hired an agent to buy a house for him almost as soon as he heard mom had died. He then flew to Illinois, taking three months away from the office - although he worked remotely - so I could finish the school year. He helped me go through all my mom's stuff and anything I wanted to keep we shoved in the back of a moving truck after the last day of school and drove it back to the home he had purchased before he had ever stepped foot in it.

* * * * *

That was the most extended amount of time I had spent with my dad, up until that point. I learned that he didn't know how to cook. Neither could my mom, so I had long since taught myself. I made all the meals after getting home from school and this habit continued with him after mom died. I also found out he could be quite funny, as we'd chat throughout dinner and he would tell me stories from his younger days. He never really talked about my mother, but he would hold me silently whenever I broke down in grief. He knew I was good at school, something he said my teachers had told him, but he always sat and worked from his computer as I did my homework, in case I needed his help.

On the drive to Washington, I found out we had similar taste in music, though, that wasn't surprising. Mom's taste had influenced mine, and I imagine that was one of the many things that attracted them to one another. We talked about relationships, him asking if I had a boyfriend, and I told him I never had. He said he had been in a particularly terrible relationship many years prior that really messed with him and hadn't been in a serious relationship since but didn't explain further. Our relationship was still growing, and I wasn't entirely comfortable enough with him to ask about it. We talked about books, something that we both loved. Mom wasn't much of a reader, so I guess he is where I got it. He said he noticed I would always read when I visited and made sure the new house had lots of bookshelves. I was surprised he even paid attention. He talked to me about why he moved to Seattle, having been from Illinois, too. He had an MBA and another Master's in Finance that he received from Northwestern University. There were more opportunities in Seattle for career growth than in Chicago, he explained.

And so, that is how my father became a single parent at 34. Only, things mostly went back to how they had been whenever I visited. He started back at work almost immediately. He was often gone before I woke up and would get home just before I had dinner finished. We still had dinner together, but he always went into his office straight afterward. He was perhaps a bit more involved than my mother - who only ever asked me about my grades - by requesting a list of anything I might want or need "to make it feel more like home." Having had his belongings moved while he was with me in Illinois, and never really having anything of my "own" at his place for when I visited, he knew that I only had what I brought with me. When I gave him a small list of just some necessities, he laughed, crumbled up the paper and threw it away.

"What is your favorite color?" he asked.

"Uh... Burgundy?" was my confused reply.

"Do you like animals?"

"Well, of course, who doesn't like animals?" Although, after thinking for a moment, I remembered mom wasn't fond of animals, which is why I never had a pet growing up.

"What's your favorite?"

I shifted, a little uncomfortable.

"Um... bats," I mumbled, slightly worried he would think me strange, as so many others had.

He looked mildly surprised but smiled like he was pleased.

"What are some books that you have wanted to read that you haven't been able to, yet?"

After I listed off a few, he nodded and walked into his office without another question, leaving me more than a little confused.

That Friday he came home with a bunch of shopping bags. He had bought all the necessities from my list - which I gathered he did from memory, as the paper had been thrown away by him - but he had more for me. He had the books I told him about, plus a couple of others I had mentioned on the drive to Washington. I was amazed he had remembered. He even bought me a copy of The Sound and the Fury, hoping I would enjoy his favorite book as much as he. He had curtains and bedding in my favorite color. The last thing he pulled out was a stuffed bat roughly the size of my head.

"Something to cuddle," he said holding it out to me.

* * * * *

Overall, he left me to my own devices, although, once school began, I was permitted to come and go as I wanted. I took the bus to and from the private school he had enrolled me in, and while the school was much bigger than my former one, it wasn't nearly as intimidating as I thought it would be. I still maintained good grades and being "the new kid", I gained my classmates' interest, so I made friends quickly and easily. The transition to this new life wasn't a bad one.

Having opened a joint checking account with my name and regularly adding funds to it for my use for clothes, school supplies, and even groceries, it became a pattern for us that I did all the household shopping. I didn't have a car, or a license at that point, seeing as I had turned 15 a month after the new school year began. I would take a cab or the bus to the store if I only needed something small, but I utilized a delivery service for our larger monthly purchases, at the suggestion of my father. It was apparent he did well for himself because money never really seemed to be an issue, even though we only lived in a modest three-bedroom home. Not that we needed anything larger.

The year past quickly. On my birthday my dad got me a cake and a new cell phone. Christmas, the first one since my mom's passing, was the best Christmas I had ever had. I almost feel bad saying so, but mom rarely did anything. I had never had a tree before, and dad got a real one. He bought a ton of presents, books, and electronics and even gave me outright money. I didn't know what to buy him, seeing as he could buy himself whatever he wanted, so on a whim, I decided to get professional photos taken of me, and framed the best ones for him. The smile he gave me warmed me from the inside. I made a delicious Christmas dinner, at his request, and he made eggnog, something he said he learned from his mother. He even allowed me to try some.

For my 16th birthday, my dad had thrown a party and allowed me to invite my friends. It was the best birthday I had ever had. My friends were all having fun. Charlie Rogers, the boy I had a crush on, sneakily gave me a shy peck on the lips. My presents were great. I wasn't even bothered by all my girlfriends making sly comments to me about my "hot dad" like I often was. It wasn't until everyone had left and dad was cleaning up, having told me the birthday girl should never have to clean after her own party, that I realized I didn't know my dad's birthday. I had spent nearly two years with him and never acknowledged his birthday. The thought brought me to tears, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, I ran to my dad and wrapped my arms around him in a hug.

"Oh, Daddy. You are amazing!"

I must have taken him by surprise because as he hugged me back, a noise sounded in his throat as if he was choking on his words.

I continued to sob in his arms until he finally pulled away, reaching a hand to my face to gently wipe away my tears.

"Why are you crying, sweetie? I thought you had a good birthday."

"I did! I just realized how horrible of a daughter I am."

He gave me a look of confusion.

"I don't even know your birthday!" I shamefully confessed.

A warm chuckle came from him as he brought his arms around me to pull me into a hug once more.

"You are by no means horrible, Lilith." He pulled back once more to look me in the eye. "In fact, you are quite the opposite. You are wonderful," he said, punctuating it with a kiss to my forehead. "You are brilliant." A kiss to my temple. "You are funny." A kiss to my cheek. "You are beautiful."

For a moment, I thought he might kiss me on the lips, and my heart stopped. He did not, however, and instead removed his hands from my shoulders and stepped away. Internally chastising myself, I tried to hide my flushed cheeks by feigning a yawn and covering my mouth.

"It's November 17th, now go to bed," he said with a smile.

* * * * *

After my birthday party, Charlie had started picking me up from school and dropping me off. I never thought to ask my dad if it was okay. Charlie and I would make-out sometimes in his car, and he would ask to come inside, but I would always decline. I knew what it would mean if I invited him inside, and I wasn't ready for that. Charlie seemed to understand, and he remained patient.

It was my dad's birthday. I had told him that I was going to cook him a nice dinner and made him promise to try to get home early because I wanted to make the evening special for him. Charlie had driven me, as usual, and even though I told him I should be going, I couldn't resist continuing to kiss him. I didn't expect dad to get home early, despite my request. Nor did I expect him to be home already when we arrived. I most certainly did not expect him to open Charlie's driver side door and yank him out of the car by the collar of his jacket.

I jumped out of the car faster than I have ever done anything. The look of rage on my father's face made me scared for Charlie. He looked like he wanted to punch the boy, and I was afraid if I didn't intervene, he would.

"Dad..." I said cautiously.

He didn't even glance my way. His anger radiated from him as he towered over the not-so-small 17-year-old sprawled out on our driveway.

"Do not come near her again," he said slowly, each word dripping with a warning.

He then marched around the car, reached inside to grab my backpack that was sitting on the floorboard, grabbed my arm and began to pull me inside. I strained my head around, mouthing an exaggerated "sorry" to Charlie, who had by now stood, just before being pulled into the house. The door didn't slam shut. The gentleness in the way my dad closed it worried me more than if he had banged it. He softly lowered my bag to the floor and turned to walk away, all the while not once looking at me. My heart ached at his disapproval.

"Dad?"

He continued to walk as if he did not hear me. I followed.

"Dad?!"

Still, he ignored me.

"Daddy!"

He stopped abruptly but did not turn around. I stepped forward and put my hand on his shoulder, turning his body toward me. He looked at me for the first time since I came home. He looked at me like I had betrayed him.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I began, "I should have told you Charlie was giving me rides to and from school. I didn't think you would mind."

His eyes narrowed.

"Rides? Plural?"

"Yes..."

"For how long?"

"Um... Since my birthday."

"Are you two dating?"

"I... uh... I don't know."

He scoffed, "What do you mean you don't know?"

"We just never really talked about it," I replied.

"Have you fucked him?"

"What?!"

"You heard me, Lily. Have you fucked him?" He said, slowly.

"No! Of course not!" I exclaimed, indignantly.

"Oh, 'of course,'" he said, sarcastically, "It's not like you weren't ready to jump his bones, like a bitch in heat. In his car, in front of our house, no less."

Tears welled up in my eyes at his jibing words.

"We were only kissing, Daddy. I've never had sex with anyone. I swear!"

The tension he had been holding seemed to leave his shoulders a little bit.

"Good. Keep it that way," he said, before turning into his office and slamming the door.

* * * * *

I cooked dinner, as usual. We ate in silence. I was afraid to give Dad his birthday present, worried that he might not open it or throw it away, or worse, tell me he hated it. He was still angry, I could tell. After dinner, I cleaned up while he went back into his office. I didn't bother working on my homework downstairs like I usually did. The silence on the main floor was deafening. After finishing my homework, I threw on my pajama shorts and a tank top, preparing for bed. I saw his gift sitting on my dresser and considered it for a second. I had put a lot of thought into the present. I knew he was always conscientious about time. He was never late for anything, although, he never wore a watch. He always used his phone. I risked the possibility that he might not like to wear them, but I took the chance and bought an expensive watch from my savings. It didn't make much of a dent in it, so my college fund was still safely intact. I had it engraved with a heartfelt message. With all my heart, I wanted him to like it. I knew I should give it to him.

He wasn't in his room, so I went to set the gift on his bed. I had never been in his bedroom before. It was distinctly him. Distinctly man. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent, which permeated the room. It seemed to be alive with his energy. I felt safe there.

"What are you doing?"

I whipped around to see my dad leaning against the door frame with an unreadable expression, arms crossed.

"Uh... I was, uh, just leaving your present."

His eyes went to the wrapped gift in my hand, and slowly his eyes came back to mine. He gave me a small smile.

"I thought you forgot," he said.

My heart broke into a million pieces. I went to stand in front of my dad, looking up into his eyes.

"Never. I will never forget your birthday."

I closed the distance between us by reaching out with the present. Both of Dad's hands wrapped around mine as he took it from me. He unwrapped it eagerly, setting the wrapping paper on the dresser by the door. When he saw the label on the box the watch came in, he gave me a look of surprise.

"Lilith..."

He opened it slowly, revealing the silver watch with a dark blue face. He gingerly pulled it from its case.

"Lily... baby... this is a thousand-dollar watch. How did you get this?"

"I have some money saved," I said, waving my hand in dismissal. I didn't explain that it cost more. "Turn it over."

"That's your college fund," he scolded, as he turned over the watch.

I saw him mouth along as he silently read the inscription on the back.

To the first, and only, man I have ever loved. ~L

He had me in his arms before I had time to react. His hug was tight, and for the first time that night everything seemed like it was going to be okay. Better than okay. Perfect.

"Oh, sweetie. My sweet, sweet, Lilith, I love it," he whispered in my ear.

"Happy birthday, Daddy."

* * * * *

The next morning my dad, dressed for work, had not left for the day by the time I came downstairs for breakfast. It confused me that he was not at work, but, instead, was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the paper, like this was a regular occurrence.

"What are you still doing here?" I asked.

"Oh, I just decided to go in a little later today."

Choosing not to respond, because I was unsure how to, I proceeded with my morning routine.

"By the way," Dad said with a nonchalant sip of his coffee, "I suggest you let that boy know not to pick you up this morning. I will be taking you to school today."

"Are you serious?" I asked, incredulously.

"Deadly."

I ate my breakfast in silence, thankful that he did not try to engage me in conversation. Why was Dad taking me to school? Did he seriously not trust me? My feelings were a little hurt at the thought. I had already texted Charlie the night before that he shouldn't give me rides anymore, at least for a while. Though, it was more for his safety because I wasn't sure Dad would hold himself back the next time he saw him. Was Dad still angry with me?