My Stepdad Story: Mom Was Away

This is my stepdad story, the one I've never told anyone, and I need to get it out because it's been living in my chest for weeks and it won't leave me alone.

Mom went away for the weekend to visit her sister. It was supposed to be no big deal. She does it all the time. But this time, the second her car pulled out of the driveway, the house felt different. Too quiet. Too big. Like all the air had changed. It was just me and him, and suddenly I was aware of him in a way I'd been trying not to be aware of for months.

That night a thunderstorm rolled in, one of those huge summer ones where the rain hammers the windows and the thunder shakes the walls. I hate storms. I've always hated them. I went downstairs in my pajamas, this little camisole and shorts set, and found him on the couch watching a movie. I asked if I could sit with him, trying to sound casual, and he patted the cushion next to him.

I sat close. Closer than I needed to. Every time the thunder cracked I flinched, and every time I flinched he pulled me a little nearer, until I was tucked against his side with his arm around me and my head on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady, and I could smell him, that clean soap-and-skin smell, and I felt safe in a way that was starting to feel dangerous.

Halfway through the movie, the power flickered and died. The whole house went black except for the lightning flashing through the windows. I gasped and clutched at him, and he laughed softly and held me tighter, and in the dark, with the storm raging and nobody else in the world, something between us just... broke open.

His hand, which had been resting on my shoulder, started moving. Slow circles on my bare arm, tracing patterns I could feel all the way down to my toes. Then down to my waist, his thumb brushing the strip of skin between my camisole and my shorts. Then under the hem of my camisole, his palm flat against my stomach, warm and huge, and I stopped breathing. I didn't pull away. I arched into his touch like I couldn't help it, because I couldn't. I'd been wanting this for so long that my body just took over.

He turned my face toward his, and in the flash of lightning I saw his eyes, dark and hungry and conflicted, and then his mouth was on mine. It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, like he'd been holding back for months too, like the storm had given us both permission. I whimpered into the kiss and climbed into his lap, straddling him right there on the couch, and he groaned when he felt how little I was wearing.

His hands were everywhere, under my camisole, cupping my breasts, rolling my nipples until I was squirming and panting against his mouth. I ground down against him and felt how hard he was through his sweatpants, and it made me dizzy. I wanted him so badly I could barely think. I slid down, kneeling between his legs on the couch cushions, and pulled his sweatpants down, and took him in my mouth.

The thunder was crashing and the rain was pounding and I was on my knees for my stepdad, swirling my tongue around him, taking him deeper, and he had his hand tangled in my hair, not pushing, just holding on like I was the only solid thing in the storm. When he came, I swallowed everything, and he said my name like a prayer.

Then he pulled me back up into his lap, and his fingers slid into my shorts, and he touched me the way I'd been dreaming about, firm and knowing, rubbing tight circles exactly where I needed it while his mouth worked my neck. I came apart on his hand with my face buried in his shoulder, shaking through the aftershocks while the storm slowly faded outside.

We fell asleep on the couch like that, tangled together. When I woke up, the power was back and he was gone, and there was a blanket tucked around me. We never talked about it. Mom came home the next day and everything was normal, except nothing was normal, because now I know what his mouth tastes like and what he sounds like when he loses control.

Every storm since, I go downstairs. I sit on that couch. I wait. And last night, when the thunder started, he came downstairs too, and sat next to me, and put his arm around me. We haven't done anything yet. But his hand is getting lower on my waist every time, and I don't think either of us is going to survive the next big storm.