An alarm on my phone woke me up. It was Saturday, so I was surprised I hadn’t turned it off the night before. It also didn’t sound like my normal alarm tone. I patted around the top of my nightstand, searching for my phone because I refused to open my eyes yet. Once my fingers found it, I brought it to my face and turned over to squint at the screen. In my sleepy haze, the light from my phone screen was so bright it actually hurt. I peered at my phone with one eye. “Shit,” I said.
It wasn’t a sleep alarm; it was an event alarm. My dad’s birthday was today. Normally that would make me excited because my family has always taken birthdays very seriously and we go out of our way to have a great time. The only problem was, I forgot to get him a present. In almost twenty years I had never forgotten to give him a present. My mom either, when she was still around. To make matters worse, we had a no commercial gift policy. It was originally my mom’s idea, but it’s become sort of a tradition in our family.
Instead of going out and buying something they could get for themselves, we always try to give a gift that cannot be bought. There is some flexibility as to what counts as ‘bought’. For example, one of the first gifts I remember giving my dad was a macaroni necklace. I know that’s not very original, but I was five, cut me some slack. So while we had to buy the macaroni and string, the creation itself was my doing and thus the gift was not commercial. This also applied to experiences like ticketed events or something you wouldn’t normally do for yourself, like an expensive spa day or live show.
The main idea was that you don’t just run to Target and grab something off the shelf. It has to have some thought behind it, some originality. Usually that requires a bit of planning, the kind of planning that you can’t do on your way downstairs to eat breakfast. I cursed myself for not putting the alarm yesterday, when I could have done something about it. Now I had to come up with something creative and personal in about five minutes that he’d actually enjoy and with only the objects in my room. I was in quite a pickle. I looked around.
I had a small collection of beads I used to make myself jewelry, but I doubted he’d want any of that. All the makeup on my vanity gave me the idea of doing a quick self portrait by putting on a colored lipstick and kissing the paper, then drawing my face around it. That might be cute, but uninspired. Plus, I did something similar when I was eleven. I had some colored and textured paper from a school project. Maybe I could make a card of some kind? Again, uninspired and would probably take a while. What the hell was I going to do?
My eyes swept over my clothes hamper with one of my old bras hanging off the side. That was an idea. Maybe I could have him help me pick out some new bras and let him watch me try them on? No, that’s dumb. He’s your dad, not your boyfriend. Besides, how does making him buy me underwear count as a birthday present for him? Think, think! I glanced around the room and came up fruitless again. My eyes returned to the dirty bra hanging from the hamper. “I mean, I know he’s a boob guy,” I muttered.
He couldn’t stop staring at them when he was in the booth with me and my mom was no slouch herself. Mine were a cup or two bigger, but she was still busty by anyone’s standard. Could I maybe just flash him? That didn’t seem like enough. Let him hold them? Again, this is your father you’re talking about, not some frat boy. Even still, I know he’s been craving sexual attention and release, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to the glory hole. Twice. Plus, once more, just to watch me. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all to let my body help him out a little. Would that be so wrong?
Of course it’s wrong, he’s your dad. Sure, but he’s already came inside me twice and on me once. There’s not much modesty any more. That doesn’t mean you should encourage it! I kept mulling it over in my head, and if I’m honest, it felt more like I was trying to talk myself out of it than into it. I had already made up my mind and was desperately trying to convince myself otherwise. Call me what you want, but I love my dad and I wanted today to be special. If he found out I forgot his birthday it wouldn’t kill him, but it would disappoint him and I didn’t want that. I wanted him to feel loved and appreciated.
I crawled out of bed and looked for the sexiest bra and pantie set I had, which was tame compared to some. It was a Victoria’s Secret number with white cups and black lacy accents, and a push up to boot. It made my already enormous chest look massive. I went through a craft box under my bed and pulled out a length of pink ribbon that I tied into a cute little bow in the center of my bra. I considered putting on a robe and giving him a sexy reveal, but ultimately decided against it. I didn’t want to send any mixed messages.
As I made my way downstairs, the familiar smell of waffles and bacon greeted me before I even entered the kitchen. I padded silently into the kitchen, arms behind my back and a slight arch in my back to help draw attention to my chest. As if I needed it. Dad was busy flipping the bacon and hadn’t noticed me. “Morning dad,” I said, waiting for him to turn around.
“Morning sweetie,” he said, adjusting the bacon with some tongs. “Sleep OK?”
“I did, and you?”
“Can’t complain,” he said, still fixated on the bacon. I stepped a little closer.
“Happy birthday,” I said.
“I wondered if you’d remember,” he said, lifting the bacon pan and bringing it closer to the plate he had ready. He used the tongs to place the bacon on the plate, then returned the pan to the stove. “I wasn’t trying to trick you or anything, but you’ve been so busy with school and working the booth that I just wasn’t sure if you’d remember.” He picked up the plate of bacon and turned around to put it on the table. He did a quick double take as he saw me standing there, and his eyes bulged. The plate of bacon fell to the floor and broke, sending ceramic shards and bacon everywhere.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” I said, kneeling down to help clean up.
“Be careful, I don’t want you to get cut.”
“I thought you’d react, but not like that!” I said, picking up pieces of ceramic and bacon to throw away.
“You, uh, caught me by surprise,” he said, kneeling down with some paper towels.
“That was the plan,” I laughed. He scrubbed up the grease on the floor while I tossed the larger broken pieces in the trash and came back to find the smaller ones.
“Here, you take the paper towels. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“OK.” I took the roll of paper towels from him and scrubbed the floor in tight circles, trying to push the smaller shards to a central area and clean up the grease at the same time. Dad became distracted. I followed his eye line and saw my breasts swaying softly with my scrubbing motions. I scrubbed a little harder for his benefit, then threw away the dirty towel while he finished throwing away the remaining shards.
“Well, I guess no bacon this morning then,” he said.
“That’s fine, I’ll have a banana with my waffle. You want one?”
“No, I’m OK.”
We sat down and shared an awkward silence. I used the time to butter and syrup my waffles. “Sorry,” I said.
“It’s OK. May I ask why you’re wearing… that?”
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s not that, it’s just that you are usually in a T-shirt and sweatpants in the mornings.”
“Yes, well, I thought it’d be a fun birthday present for you,” I said, forking a stack of waffles into my mouth.
“I’m not sure if that will fit me,” he said with a smirk. I laughed.
“Well,” I said, finishing my bite, “then maybe I could be your present.”
He gave me a soft smile. “Aw, that’s sweet hon. You’re the best present I could ask for.”
I smiled back. When he went back to casually eating his waffles, I knew he didn’t catch my meaning. “Actually, I meant that I am the present.”
He looked up at me from his waffles. “I know sweetie, and I’m proud to have you,” he said. I stared him in the eyes. Then it clicked.
“Oh. Ohhhhh!”
“What do you think about that?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious that maybe this entire thing was a terrible idea. Not only was I putting him on the spot, but I was forcing him into forbidden territory. We’d been in that territory before, but the circumstances were different. This was much more personal, offering my body to him so forwardly.
“Well, uh, what did you have in mind?”
My throat got dry. He was tiptoeing around it. If either of us said the wrong thing, it would only make things worse. “I put a ribbon on your present, like always,” I said, pushing my chest toward him. He looked down and stared.
“I see.” I saw his throat bob as he swallowed uncomfortably. A knot in my stomach tightened. This was going to be the best or worst birthday he’d ever have, and I honestly had no idea which way it would go. Maybe I stepped too far. Maybe I made a mistake. There was no turning back now.
“Do you want to open your present?” I asked. His jaw twitched from how tense he was. He didn’t respond. He just stared at my chest and the pink ribbon adorning it. At first I wanted to run away and hide in my room for eternity. Maybe adopt a new identity and move to Europe. How could I be so stupid? I kept asking myself. But then I realized a very important detail. The fabric of his shorts was taut. From my angle I couldn’t see an actual boner, but there was definitely tension coming from the inside. I was fairly positive he didn’t have it when cooking the bacon, and I was pretty sure that morning wood would have disappeared by now, which meant only one thing.
He liked what he saw.
I abandoned my half-eaten waffles and stood up from my chair, crossing the distance to him in a few slow strides. He quickly adjusted himself, but as I rounded the kitchen table I could tell he was hard. I stepped less than an arm's length away from him and waited. He looked up at me with a mix of apprehension and longing. He looked down at my breasts, which swelled over and over with my own nervous breathing. “Do you want to open your present?” I repeated, almost a whisper.
First his hands went to my hips. He looked back and forth between my breasts as his fingers slowly slid up my body. His touch felt electric. My nerves were already on edge from how worried I was that I had made a mistake, but I felt literal sparks as his hands made their way to my bra. His thick forearms wrapped around my ribs and I felt him tugging on my bra, trying to unclasp it. After a brief struggle, the support of my bra went away and the shoulder straps slid down my arms. I let my bra slide off and land on the floor, exposing my large breasts to my dad who visually drank them in like he had just found an oasis in the middle of a desert.
His big hands pulled me forward, and his face went between my cleavage. His stubble was rough, but not scratchy. I kinda liked it. He nuzzled into my left breast and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight while he smothered himself. I felt the slickness of his tongue glide along my breast and slowly search lower and lower for my nipple. Once he found it, he wrapped his lips around it tight and sucked. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck and moaned softly as his tongue tickled my pink nipple.
One of his hands unwrapped from around my waist and came up underneath to cup my right breast. He pushed that breast toward his face, rubbing his stubble against it while he sucked on my left nipple. There was a hunger in his motions, a desperation that drove me wild. He nuzzled in, all but suffocating himself with my breast while he sucked on it, before pulling his face away. He kept the suction with his mouth as long as he could, but eventually my nipple came out of his mouth with a pop! I scratched the back of his head and watched him turn his face to the other side, lapping between my cleavage before lowering his face to suck my right nipple.
His mouth and hands traded places, and he cupped my left breast while sucking the right. A little bolt of pleasure zipped up my spine as his tongue flicked across my right nipple, and I even let out a little squeal of delight in response. He pulled me in tighter and I lost my balance. My hands left the back of his head and one went to the table next to us while the other landed in his lap. I felt strained fabric underneath my fingers and followed it to the source. To say he was hard would have been an understatement. If I didn’t know better, I would have guessed there was a glass dildo in his shorts because it was so hard it barely moved.
