Chapter Text
It has been 2 weeks since a funeral was held for my mother. She died when her, my father and I were on a road trip to visit family who live out of state. My Father, Tierno, was driving when a moose ran in front of the car and totaled it. My dad was injured, I was unharmed, and my mother was killed instantly. I was the only one in the car who was able to call an ambulance, and they took us to the hospital where they stitched up my father, checked me for a concussion, and declared my mother dead. The doctors said she went with no pain, and I pray they were right. I dearly miss my mother, and I can tell my dad does too. Despite my trying, he has been inconsolable. At night, I am kept up by his crying and pleading to God, his soft voice trembling as he blames himself for her passing. Every night, I wish that he comes to terms with the way my mother passed. It’s hard keeping myself together, especially now that I am taking care of most chores.
Normally, the chores would have been split up amongst my parents and I; however, since my mother’s passing, I have taken up both hers and my father’s chores, at least until he’s able to do them. In the crash, my father fractured one of his arms almost completely. Because of this, he’s not able to work. My dad is an engineer, one who specializes in the production of a specific part for a specific kind of car. Without his arm, he won't be able to operate the machine which cuts the part from a block of metal, or at least that’s what I understood from talking to one of his coworkers at the funeral. I’ve also been tending to him, making him meals, cleaning his wounds, and rebandaging his arm after he showers.
This arrangement is stressing me out a bit, and I have school starting again after this week. When I go back into that building, I’ll be a sophomore in high school. I’ve missed my friends a lot over the summer, and I was glad to see my closest ones in attendance at the funeral. Before my mother died, my friends would always tease me about how they thought my father was attractive. They'd mention things like his build, and call him a “DILF.” I always would laugh along with them, even though I had to search up a lot of what they said later. I was always very studious, and to keep up with my classes, I never really kept up with trends or slang words. And so, when I searched the internet for the word DILF, I was initially shocked by what I’d seen.
It had never occurred to me that my own friends were into such things. Though I was raised in a fairly open household, I had never really been interested in things like sex until that moment, and at that moment I decided to go a bit deeper into this whole “DILF” thing. I went to websites that looked a bit sketchy, but seemed to have what I was looking for, and the thing I was looking for was porn. I began watching videos of older men and young adult women engaged in sexual activity, all while pretending they were father and daughter. I loved these videos, and I always found myself up at night enjoying them while my hands explored what lay between my legs. And after searching within myself for a bit, I realized that I may have an incest kink. This revelation was a bit startling, and I knew it was something I had to keep to myself.
But ever since my mother passed, I haven’t been able to get myself in the right mood to masturbate. I think most of the issue is that no matter what volume I put my headphones to, I can still hear my father wailing to himself at night. If this keeps on, I may go insane. Thus, I have resolved to help my father through his grieving journey in order to be able to sleep (and to peacefully resolve my urges) once again.
That next morning, I went to wake my father. I brought him a tray which had his breakfast and a cup of tea on it. I set it on his bedside table and then tidied up his room a bit while he awoke from my stirring about. Within his room remained many of my mother’s old possessions, such as clothing or stuffed animals, which she collected. My father seemed to appreciate this collection now that she was gone, as he had slept while hugging one. I was tending to a pile of tear-soaked tissues when I heard my father sit up in his bed.
“Good morning,” I said, “Breakfast today is omelettes. I made yours with peppers and sausage.”
He rubbed his eye before looking at his breakfast and replying, “Thank you, Marie. It looks delicious.”
Hearing my father praise my cooking always made me smile, and I was sure to face him when I smiled this time. As I turned to him, I thanked him for the compliment, then collected the mass of tissues I’d collected and went to throw them away. I love my father, as any daughter would, and I love doing things for him, even if it’s a lot right now.