Three Fathers

"Yeah. Turns out he's getting married. I doubt he wants you to be a bridesmaid or anything, but he wants to get in touch."

"Where's he been? What's he been doing all this time?"

"Well, yeah...the thing is, I haven't been completely straight with you about your father."

Conrad Elias O'Rourke was born in upstate New York. His family had moved to Charlotte when he was a kid. They were a Catholic, working class, unremarkable bunch. Conrad was anything but, though. He was smart, a great athlete, popular at school. Big things were expected of him. It was at high school where he met my Mom.

If you'd written it as a young romance novel, people would have dismissed it as being too cliched. He was the star quarterback and she was on the cheerleading team. Mom spared me the gory details, but I knew she had fallen pregnant with me at an early age. There was some unease from my prospective grandparents, at the idea of their kids setting up home before graduation, but they got used to the idea.

They got married, moving in with my mother's family. I was born and for a couple of years everything seemed to be fine. But then my Uncle Bobby got involved and it all fell apart.

If my Dad was smart and successful, his younger brother Robert was anything but. He was trouble with a capital 'T'. He got involved in drugs and petty crime; the police began paying regular visits to the O'Rourke household.

Conrad tried to look out for his younger brother, but Bobby was a difficult person to help. He ended up owing a shit ton of money to some local gangsters. They made him an offer; help out with a bank heist or have a couple of your fingers chopped off with garden shears. It was an easy decision to make, but somehow he ended up getting my Dad involved.

The heist went badly wrong and a security guard was killed. Neither brother were directly responsible, they were both essentially glorified lookouts, but they both ended up being sent to prison. And that was the sad saga my mother finally shared with me, as I was sat on her couch on a mundane Saturday afternoon.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" I screamed at her. "You just said he left town."

"Well, he did leave town. The correctional facility he was in was out of state."

"I've always thought he was a kind of feckless asshole, who didn't give a shit about me. And now I find out he was banged up behind bars."

"He was a crook. A no good crook, who left me and you in the shit. I don't know why you're getting pissy with me. I didn't try and rob a bank."

I sighed deeply, suddenly conscious of the fact she was right. She had kept all kinds of details from me, but my father was a convicted felon.

"So, he's just gotten out?" I asked.

"No, he got out five years ago. He tried to get in touch but I told him to fuck off. This time he was more insistent."

"Because he's getting married?"

"Yeah. Look, when he got out, you were still a young woman, barely much older than a child, so I didn't want him in your life. I decided for you. You can get angry or upset with me, but that was what I chose to do, right or wrong. You're older now and I guess you can make these decisions for yourself. He wants to see you, but he says he's willing to accept any decision you make. If you don't want to see him, he won't push it. It's up to you."

I knew what I was going to do. There was no way I wasn't going to meet him, even just for curiosity's sake. He may not have been present in my life, but I had felt that absence all the more intensely. I knew my relationships with men were affected by my not having a paternal influence growing up. I knew my relationships with Mr Leaf and Big Nick we're influenced by my daddy issues.

Although I had no idea how complex and intense those daddy issues would turn out to be.

Mom gave me an email address and, after a couple of days of procrastination, I got in touch. He had this deep, sonorous voice and I almost swooned, hearing his voice for the first time in years. It sounded so familiar, despite the chronological distance between us. We arranged to meet up at a local restaurant, and before too long I was parked up outside the place, nervously debating whether to go inside, or just drive back home.

Finally, I took a deep breath, got out of my car, and walked inside.

The maitre d smiled attentively and ushered me into the main dining area. It was midweek, so the restaurant wasn't very busy. I scanned the room, trying to find him, butterflies in my stomach, my mouth dry. And there he was.

He was sat in the corner, attentively studying the menu, when he saw me approaching. He was clearly a big man. Tall and broad, powerfully built. His hair was cropped short, a dark blonde but greying at the temples. His nose was crooked, it looked like it had been broken earlier in his life. He was handsome but had a stern demeanour.

I think I fell in love with him at first sight.

As I got closer, he stood; a nervous smile appearing on his face.

"Georgia?" He inquired, tentatively.

"Yes," I replied. "Conrad?"

"My God, my little girl. You're all grown up."

Without saying another word, he swept me up in his arms and embraced me. I was almost winded, so strong and powerful were his actions. His arms wrapped round me, almost crushing me with his intensity. After a few seconds, he let go. His arms loosened and he stood back half a step. He looked down at me and I could see tears rolling down his cheeks.

"My little princess...oh God, how I've missed you."

I suddenly realised I was crying too.

"Daddy," I croaked, before he hugged me tightly once more.

That first evening went by in a blur. Before I knew it, the maitre d was politely asking us to leave, as they wanted to shut up shop for the night. It was late and we had been talking for hours. The conversation had been so easy, everything had been so easy. Being with him felt so natural, so carefree. It was like we had known each other for years.

"I remember the last time I saw you, before the police came to take me away," he said, quietly, "you were wearing a little babydoll dress and your hair was up in bunches. You had pink ribbons tied round them. I remember that so vividly. Bright pink ribbons. You were skipping around in the back yard. You were only a few years old."

"Why didn't you write, Daddy?" I asked him, using that name in a very different context this time.

"I tried. Your mother didn't want you to hear from me. I don't blame her. I was a convict after all."

"She shouldn't have kept you from me like that. You still had a role to play in my life."

"Well, I can play a role in your life now. Everything can be different between us. I can be your father again, if you want me to be?"

"Of course I do," I replied, "I've missed you so much."

"And I've missed you. More than can I say."

We hugged once more, our eyes wet with emotion. The night air was cold, and I was glad I had decided to wear a cardigan over my short summery dress. We looked at each other for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. For a second, a brief second, I had a sudden urge to kiss him. To reach up on tiptoes and press my lips against his.

Knowing now what I didn't know then, I'm pretty sure he would have kissed me back. Maybe we could have saved some time? Maybe I could have pulled up my skirt and let him have me in the parking lot? Bent over the hood of my car, my panties round my ankles? But instead, the moment passed and he smiled at me, before announcing...

"I can't wait to introduce you to Alana."

"Alana?"

"My fiancée," he said, "you'll love her. I want you two to be best friends. My best girls."

He held my hand and led me across the parking lot. There were only two cars left, mine and his, so he knew where he was heading. I followed him and I was immediately conscious of the strange sensations running through my mind. Intense feelings that sprouted out of nowhere once he mentioned his girlfriend. Anger. Hatred. Jealousy. Most of all, jealousy.

Oh boy, this was going to be trouble.

***

It's not that I immediately knew I wanted to fuck him, but in a way I did.

There was an intense attraction that had manifested itself, almost the first moment I set eyes on him. But I think I would have denied it was a sexual attraction. I would have denied it, even to myself. I liked him. I think I even loved him. And I know now that I was physically attracted to him in a way I had never experienced before, even with Big Nick.

But I would never have admitted it.

It was an infatuation, but I would have described it as an innocent thing. He was my father, a father I hadn't seen in more than twenty years. And now he was back in my life. I revelled in his company. I was desperate to be around him, as much as possible.

Subsequently, I have done my research, and I realise what I was experiencing probably had a name. Genetic sexual attraction. People have looked into this phenomenon. Proper scientists doing proper analysis. What was happening between me and my father was rare but not unique. People who are closely related, but who were brought up separately, can find themselves deeply attracted to each other on an almost visceral level, if they are reintroduced to each other later in life.

That was what was happening to me. A profound and almost overwhelming attraction to my own father. An attraction that I had yet to acknowledge. And an attraction that I would learn soon enough was entirely mutual.

As promised, he introduced me to Alana, his fiancée. She wasn't much older than me, and I despised her right from the first moment we met. She was bleached blonde trailer trash, as far as I was concerned. Not fit for my father. She was from Tennessee and she wore cowboy boots and little denim cutoffs. She had big boobs, albeit not as big as mine, and she chewed gum incessantly.

When we first met, she was draped all over him, her hands roaming up and down his arms and body. I wanted to scream and scratch her eyes out. I felt so possessive over him. He was mine, I wanted to say. Instead I smiled and hugged her and said I was sure we'd be best of friends forever and ever amen.

He insisted we go shopping together and he would foot the bill. So we headed to the mall and spent a couple of hours heading from one store to the other. I didn't want to spend too much of my father's money, but Alana had no such qualms. She racked up plenty of purchases on his credit card, and we eventually ended up in a bar.

"He's such a lovely guy, I'm so lucky to have him," she confided in me.

"How did you meet?" I asked, sipping away at a margarita.

"On a dating app. We hooked up pretty fast. It was just a casual thing at first, but pretty soon I knew he was the real deal."

"Great."

"He's fantastic in bed, you know?" She said in a confessional tone.

"Uh...really?"

"I know, I know, I shouldn't be talking to you about this, what with you being his daughter and all that, but holy Christ, he knows how to fuck!"

"Gee, that's really neat, I suppose," I stammered.

"He's like a force of nature between the sheets. And his cock? He's hung like a fucking horse."

"Oh."

She giggled, obviously amused by my discomfort.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you all this juicy stuff. All the gritty details of what goes on between me and your Dad. It must be pretty embarrassing for you."

"No, it's okay."

"Just as long as you know he's a great guy and I'm sure he'll be a great husband. And a great father. Now, who wants another drink?"

"Here, let me pay," I said, taking some notes out of my purse.

"Well, I was only going to to use your father's credit card, but sure."

She took my money and walked off to the bar, swaying her hips in an assured manner. I may have disliked her because she was balling my Daddy, but I could see why he liked her. She was sexy in a sort of sleazy, obvious kind of way. She had nice, tanned, shapely legs and a juicy butt. And she knew people were attracted to her. You could see it in the way she moved. A confident, assured, look-at-me-I'm-a-hottie kind of swagger. Like I said, I didn't like her but I could easily imagine why my father did.

So, I ended up doing something a little foolish and reckless.

Looking back I can't quite understand why I did it. I didn't really have a plan. Not a proper, fully laid out sort of plan. It was a notion, more than anything else. The very vaguest of notions. I was flying blind. Some scheme had been hatched by my subconscious, that I wasn't even really aware of. I don't know why but I knew I had to do something.

She came back to the table, carrying a couple of drinks and she set them down a little clumsily. Then she passed me my change. As she did so, I rubbed my thumb across the palm of her hand. She looked down at me, her eyes widening a little. I smiled, licking my lips a little, and she smiled back at me.

I suddenly feigned interest in her nail polish, picking up her hand and looking at her delicate little fingers, stroking her skin in a seductive manner. I became very tactile, very touchy-feely. She had my entire attention, I made a great show of hanging on her every word, laughing at every joke she made. I was putting in a masterclass of top drawer flirting.

After a while, she got up to go to the restroom. I waited a few moments and then followed her in. As I walked through the door, she was coming out of a booth and going to wash her hands. She looked up at me in the mirror and smiled.

"Hey," she said.

I moved towards her and she turned round to face me. Without saying a word, I grabbed hold of her and pushed her up against the hand basin. Then I kissed her. Hard. I pressed my mouth against hers, pushing my tongue between her lips. They parted readily and she met my tongue with her own. I brought my hands to her face, holding her tightly as we made out.

She pushed me back and stared at me for a second. Her eyes wide, her mouth open in surprise. Then she smiled a wicked smile and we kissed once more. This time she was the aggressor, wrapping her arms round me, pulling my body tight against hers. We spun round the room like a pair or sordid ballet dancers, slamming up against the wall. She started pawing frantically at my chest, fondling my tits. She pulled up my t-shirt, trying to get better access.

I unbuttoned her shorts and my hand quickly disappeared into her panties. Her cunt was every bit as smooth and hairless as my own. She gasped audibly as my fingers slipped inside her. I rubbed her clit with my thumb as I sawed back and forth between the lips of her pussy. She shuddered and spasmed as I brought her off with my hand. She started to kiss and lick and bite at my neck, moaning and whimpering, as I fingered her twat.

The bar we had chosen was pretty quiet, with few patrons, but we were still playing with fire by fucking in the restroom. Literally anyone could walk in on us, customer or staff member, and they would find us going at it like a couple of dyke whores. That thought didn't stop us, either of us. We were both too excited and turned on to do anything other than continue our frenzied lovemaking.

"I want to eat your cunt," she whispered in my ear.

"Help yourself," I replied, my voice hoarse and breaking.

I pulled my hand out of her shorts, careful to lick my fingers clean and taste her tart honey, then I bent over the basin and pulled up the short skirt I was wearing. Both Mr Leaf and Big Nick had preferred it if I went commando, so I rarely bothered with underwear. Today was no exception. I pressed my legs together, squeezing my quim and putting it on show for this little slut.

She dropped down to her knees and promptly buried her face in my gash. Her tongue was a devilish little thing, burrowing into the folds of my cunt, lapping away at my soaking wet pussy. She was clearly an experienced muff diver; she certainly knew her way round some vaginal lips and a clit. Looking back over my shoulder, I could see her face glisten as more and more of my juices spread out over her cheeks and chin and lips and nose.

I reached back and stroked her hair as she carried on with her insistent work, my fingers running through those bleach blonde locks. I pulled her tightly towards me, pressing her mouth against my cunt. Grinding my twat into her face. She made a kind of nom nom nom sound as she heartily devoured my gash, my juices splattering against her head and shoulders. Then I gasped, as she slid her fingers inside me. First one, then two, then three...

Before long her whole hand was inside me. I had been fisted by Big Nick plenty of times, both in my cunt and ass, and he was a huge man. It had been a painful but ultimately satisfying process. Alana had the more modest dimensions of a young woman, so it was relatively easy for her to slip her small fist inside me. I could feel it clenching within the core of my being. I groaned and moaned as she pushed harder and harder, almost punching away at my cervix.

With her other hand, she furiously attacked my clit, rubbing it mercilessly. I swayed and swooned, barely able to stay on my feet as this shameless whore absolutely destroyed my pussy. With a piercing scream, I exploded, showering her face and body with my juices. I squirted all over her, soaking her shirt until it looked drenched.

I collapsed forward, pressing my face against the mirror, my panting breath turning the surface cloudy and damp. She stood up and draped herself against me, gently stroking my nether regions as she licked my neck and cheek. The two of us were groaning and wheezing like a couple of marathon runners who had just thrown themselves across the finishing line.

"I suppose, since I'm about to marry your Dad, this makes me your new Mommy," she whispered, huskily in my ear.

"Well, you certainly know how to eat cunt, Mommy," I replied, desperately trying to catch my breath.

She chuckled to herself and stepped back. The two of us looked at one another, a little warily, as if neither could believe what we had just done together. Then we did as good a job as we could cleaning ourselves up, before returning to the quiet and still almost deserted bar.

***

Why?

Why had I done it?

Why had I fucked my father's fiancée, a woman I had only just met?

Well, firstly, she was sexy as fuck. Yes she was a skanky bitch, but she was a red hot skanky bitch. I was attracted to her in a visceral, uncomplicated kind of way. I had by then become a confirmed bi slut. Yes, my ultimate preference was for cock, but I could happily lap away at cunt for a long, long time. And when it came to cunt, hers was a prime example of the form.

But there was more to it than that. It had happened spontaneously, it was a spur of the moment type thing. I think it was partly because I wanted to be close to my father, and fucking Alana was a way to do that. A really weird, bizarre way, but a way nonetheless.

And then there was the desire to fuck things up between them. I wanted to disrupt their relationship, break it up. By seducing her, I was hoping to explode a bomb inside their lives. Clearly, she was not a person overly concerned with loyalty or faithfulness. That was good news, as far as I was concerned. I could work with that.

Was I doing this because I already knew I wanted to fuck my father and replace Alana in his bed? I probably didn't consciously think that, at least not then. But looking back, it seems pretty clear to me that was what I was doing. I had already taken to masturbating, fantasising about a powerfully-built guy with tattoos. A man who just happened to look like my father.