We had the family over for my 18th birthday—grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins—everyone crowded into our small living room and split into the yard out back. The smell of barbecue wafted through the open windows, and laughter mixed with the hum of music from the old speakers Dad set up. It should’ve been perfect. It almost was.
But behind the cheerful chaos, the faint sounds of my parents arguing seeped in from the kitchen. Again. I could hear Mom’s sharp tone, her voice low but biting, as though she didn’t want anyone to hear but couldn’t keep it in. Dad’s voice was quieter, more pleading, though I couldn’t make out the words. I didn’t have to. I already knew.
For the past week, Dad had been sleeping on the couch, his pillow and blanket tossed messily on the floor each morning. I’d grown used to the late-night creaks of the fridge opening, and the sound of beer bottles clinking as he drank himself into silence. Mom didn’t bother hiding her frustration anymore—slamming cupboards, sighing dramatically, muttering just loud enough for me to hear when she found him snoring in the middle of the day.
I tried not to let it ruin my mood. I’d been looking forward to this day, wearing my new summer dress I’d bought with the money I saved from babysitting. It was soft and pale blue, hugging my waist and dipping low enough at the neckline that I felt a little daring—almost grown up. Mom had given me that look when I came downstairs, the one that was equal parts judgment and annoyance. We were practically the same build, same height, same curves—5’8 with long legs and hips that made clothes fit a certain way. She hated it when I borrowed her things, bras especially. She’d snap, “You stretch them out!” as though my body somehow offended her.
But that didn’t matter right now. I smiled through the chatter and clink of glasses as my uncles cracked bad jokes and Aunty Linda kissed my cheeks so many times I swore she left a lipstick mark. I was a little tipsy too—Dad had insisted I could have a drink, “just one, you’re 18 after all”—and my cousins snuck me another while Mom pretended not to notice.
By 10 p.m., the crowd had thinned. Plates were stacked, the barbecue was put out, and the music had quieted. I was sitting on the porch steps, my bare feet brushing against the cool concrete, when I saw Mom storm past me toward the car. She didn’t look angry anymore, just… tired. She clutched her keys and paused only long enough to kiss my cheek.
“I’m off out, Kelly darling. I’m staying at a hotel tonight—I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Her perfume lingered as she walked to the car. I turned to watch her drive away, the headlights sweeping across the driveway before disappearing into the night. My stomach twisted, though I wasn’t sure why.
Inside, Dad was still drinking. He was slouched on the couch, beer in hand, flipping channels on the TV. I didn’t say anything to him. What was there to say? The room felt heavy like it was holding its breath.
Later that night, I was more than tipsy. I’d helped myself to some of the leftover wine and could feel the warmth in my cheeks as I stumbled up the stairs, holding onto the railing to steady myself. My room was at the end of the hall, and all I wanted was to crawl into bed and forget about everything.
But when I pushed the door open, I froze. Aunty Linda and Uncle Matty were sprawled out on my bed, snoring loudly, completely oblivious.
“Oh, that’s just great,” I muttered under my breath.
I sighed and pulled open my wardrobe, digging for something comfortable. My hand landed on a long, oversized t-shirt I’d stolen from Mom’s drawer ages ago. I got undressed and took off my bra and put it on. It was soft and worn, the hem brushing the tops of my thighs when I slipped it on. I pulled my dress over my head, letting it fall to the floor, and left my panties on.
My parents’ room was empty, of course. Mom wasn’t coming back tonight, and Dad was still downstairs. It felt strange to be in here like I’d crossed some invisible line, but I was too tired to care. I turned off the lamp, climbed under the sheets, and curled up on my side, facing the wall.
The room smelled like her—floral perfume and the faint powdery scent she always wore—but beneath that was something else. Loneliness, maybe.
I don’t know how long I lay there, my mind hazy and drifting, when I heard the toilet flush. Footsteps shuffled from the bathroom across the hall. I stayed still, eyes closed, hoping whoever it was would just go away. But then the door creaked open, and someone stumbled inside.
“Goddamn it…”
It was Dad. His voice was low and slurred, talking to himself as he moved around the room. I stayed frozen, heart pounding, listening to the rustle of fabric as he kicked off his jeans.
He climbed into the bed with a heavy sigh, the mattress dipping under his weight. My back was still to him, and I squeezed my eyes shut, praying he’d fall asleep quickly.
But then he spoke.
“M-Marie…”
My breath caught. He called me by my mom’s name. My chest tightened, but I didn’t move.
“I… I been thinkin’ about what we were talkin’ about earlier,” he murmured, his words broken and soft. “Please… I don’t want a divorce. I love you.”
His voice cracked, and my heart did too. He sounded so small, so lost.
I felt his arm drape over me—hesitant, trembling—as he curled up behind me. His breath hitched, and then I felt it. The silent shaking of his chest against my back. He was crying.
A tear slipped down my cheek, soaking into the pillow. I stayed quiet, biting my lip as the lump in my throat grew. If I’d said something, if I’d turned to face him, what would I even say? He wasn’t talking to me. He thought I was her, and for some reason, that made it worse.
But I couldn’t push him away. Not tonight.
So I stayed still, letting him hold onto me the way he probably wished he could hold onto her. His breathing slowed eventually, though the occasional hiccup broke through. I stared at the darkness in front of me, my tears falling silently until the room grew still.
“I wish at least… I could make love to you one last time,” he said as he heavy breathed near my neck. I felt his hand reach up to my breasts through the thin fabric. I froze.
My heart raced as his hand cupped my breast, fingers brushing the sensitive skin beneath the worn tee. I tried to remain motionless, not wanting to shatter the fragile moment. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as his touch sent a jolt through me, a mix of revulsion and something else—sympathy, perhaps.
“I’m so sorry, Marie…” his voice was a broken whisper, hot against my ear. “I can’t help myself anymore. I thought maybe… one more time…”
My back still facing him he pulled me closer, it felt weird and I felt his bulge press against the panties of my ass. I didn’t know what to do, I gently moved his hand off my breasts. But moments later he groped my breasts again. Maybe I should let him since mom doesn’t but he thinks I am her.
Then his hand moved between my legs as he rubbed my panties with pressure. Oh my god, it felt good but it’s my dad.
I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. I could feel his erection pressing against my ass, and I felt a wave of disgust wash over me. I wanted to push him away, to scream, to do something—but I couldn’t. I was trapped. He needed to feel loved, and maybe I should stay quiet and let him just do it.
I lay there, frozen, as his hand moved back and forth between my legs. I could feel myself getting wet, and that made me feel even dirtier. I wanted to tell him to stop, but I couldn’t find the words. And besides, a part of me was scared of how he’d react if I did. He still thinks I am mom, maybe let him have it so he feels wanted.
He started to pull at the waistband of my panties, and that’s when I realized what was about to happen. He slipped my panties down just past my ass, as he then rubbed my pussy from behind me. Then he dipped a finger inside. I put my hand over my mouth.
“W-when did… did you start shaving your pussy Marie, it actually suits you, Don’t worry I will be quiet.” He said pulling his finger out and I felt him shift behind me. Then I felt the head of his cock sneak under my ass cheeks and press against my pussy.
I felt him push inside me, slow and gentle, filling me up. I bit my lip, trying to hold back a whimper. It felt wrong, so wrong—but also, somehow, right. Like this was what he needed to feel close to her again. I stayed still, letting him slide in and out, each thrust getting a little faster, a little rougher. If only he knew it wasn’t mom’s pussy he was fucking, it was his daughters.
“Oh, Marie, I’ve missed this… missed you,” he moaned, his breath hot against my neck. His hand reached around, finding my clit, and he started rubbing slow circles. I couldn’t help it—my body responded, my hips bucking back against him.
“That’s it oh your pussy feels different, oh fuck it feels so good,” his hips slapping loudly against my ass as he spooned me and fucking me hard.
Oh my god, I couldn’t believe what was happening. My father was fucking me from behind, thinking I was his wife. And yet, a part of me didn’t want him to stop. His cock just hammering at my 18-year-old snatch, trust me I am no virgin but this was the best dicking my pussy as received.
“Oh god Marie…” he stammered as he continued to pump into me from behind. His hands gripped my hips tightly as he plowed into me harder and faster now, like an animal in heat desperate for release. “You’re so fucking tight… oh fuck!”
As he thrust into me, I could feel his cock sliding against the walls of my pussy, stretching me open. I felt dirty and wrong for enjoying it, but I couldn’t help myself.
He began fucking me harder now, his hips slapping against my ass as he lost himself in the rhythm of it all. My body responded automatically to each thrust, matching his pace until we were both panting heavily into the darkness of the room around us—the sounds of our lovemaking muffled by the pillow pressed over my mouth to stifle any more unwanted words from escaping past my lips again.
He stopped thrusting for a moment as he adjusted my body, “that’s it, love, curl up like a ball. Ah yes, you can take much more of my cock like this.”
I still was on my side now clutching my knees to my chest so dad hit a better angle in my pussy. He held my as cheek as he pumped his full hard cock into my with my clit slamming against the base of his shaft.
He reached down with one hand and grabbed my hip, pulling me back against him as he pounded into me from behind. His other hand slid up under my shirt to play with my tits again, pinching and twisting at my nipples until they were hard little points.
“Oh my god, I’m going to cum inside you,” he groaned as he thrust into me. His cock was sliding in and out of my wet pussy with ease. I could feel every inch of him inside me as he pumped away relentlessly.
“Oh fuck Marie… oh Marie… OH, UNGH,” he muttered under his breath as he continued to pump in and out of me like a piston engine running on full throttle. He grunted slamming in and out as he blew his load.
He thrust deep inside me, his cock swelling as he filled my pussy with hot, thick cum. I could feel his cock pulsing inside me, spurting hot jets of cum deep into my pussy. He eventually stopped thrusting and slipped out of me.
“Thank you for letting me do you one last time Marie,” he said and moments later he fell asleep.
I pulled my panties back up and I sneaked out of bed and made my way to the couch downstairs to get some sleep.
The morning after my 18th birthday party, I woke up on the couch, still dressed in that old t-shirt and panties. My body ached in places I didn’t know it could, and my heart felt heavy with guilt and confusion.
Dad was already awake when I stumbled into the kitchen. He looked tired but smiled at me as he brewed coffee. If he knew that was me in the bed last night he wouldn’t be smiling like that at me.