My ex-wife, Cathy, took off when I was in prison, taking our youngest daughter, Monica, with her. I didn't see my older daughter Amy and two sons, Damian and Shane very often. They lived with their grandmother. And to tell you the truth, I'm not even sure Amy is mine.
I met Cathy when she was only 17. About a year before, Cathy's mother decided it was time for Cathy to lose her virginity. So she picked up some drunk army guy named Jack in some sleezy bar near Fort Campbell. She introduced them to each other and basically had them fuck. Jack was deployed after that, but my ex-wife kept in touch with him on and off throughout the years. Amy seems to look more like Jack than like me. Nevertheless, my name is on the birth certificate, so I've always loved her just the same as my other kids.
But my little angel is and always has been Monica.
When I saw some punk beating up a kid who he thought was queer, I chose to intervene. I always carry a gun on me. I walked up to the motherfucker and shot him in the head at point blank range. I thought it was self-defense. The law didn't see it that way. The cops would have let the guy go for killing that poor kid and would have quietly high-fived him for ridding the great redneck state of Tennessee of one more queer. I wasn't going to let that happen. But because of my intervention, the best option I was given was to plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter and I was sentenced to fifteen years. They let me out in six for good behavior.
Some would call me a hero for what I did that night. But the only reason I was there in the first place was to sell dope. I had made a lot of bad choices in my 34 years.
After I went away to do my time, Cathy filed for divorce and took Monica with her. Because of my hard living lifestyle, she was as much into the drug scene as I was. A meth addict, she drove around the country, often living in trashy hotel rooms and sometimes even in her car-- with one-year-old Monica in tow. I may have contributed to Cathy's drug problems, but I will never forgive her for taking my little angel from me.
When I got out of prison, I tried to contact Cathy and see where she and Monica might be. Cathy sent me a couple of pictures of my little girl, but never once indicated where she was.
I began to lose hope of ever reuniting with Monica again, and thus started descending into my old ways. So here it was, Christmas Eve, and I was drinking and drugging along with my friends.
The party had been going on now for a few hours. People were getting drunk. People were getting high. And even some were having sex.
My bedroom was my fuck pad. I had all sorts of things that I used to turn on the ladies: a jacuzzi, a Harley (yes, every woman finds that to be a turn-on), a romantic fireplace, and even an old-fashioned Victorian-style four-post bed. When it was just me and the guys, I had a private bar and a liquor cabinet.
This evening, I had met some sweet young thing and after a few drinks, I had her alone in the fuck pad. Quite honestly, I couldn't even tell you her name.
She was on her knees giving me the most delicious head, when suddenly the phone rang.
I went to answer it and it was the police department of a little town in California, just outside San Diego. I thanked the officer for getting in touch with me and hung up the phone.
I then turned to the girl who was giving me head.
"Time to go, baby girl," I said. "Party's over."
Hours later, I arrived in San Diego on the red eye. It was Christmas morning.
I wore a business suit and a pair of army-issue horn-rimmed glasses. I was going to meet someone very special and didn't want her to see that I had been partying. That sort of became my trademark look from that point on.
When I arrived at the police department, I was greeted by a woman from Child Protective Services.
"We tracked you down because you have a very smart little girl," she said.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Seems her mother took her to a bank, went to use the restroom, and never came back." she said.
"That's not like Cathy," I said. "Maybe she got lost or something."
"Paul," the social worker said, "You don't need to pretend you don't know what's going on here."
"Well, I guess she's going back to Tennessee," I said.
The social worker led me into a nursery room where, for the first time in years, I saw my little angel. The last time I saw her, she had just barely taken her first steps. I didn't know what to say.
"Let's go, sweetheart," I said.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"I'm your Daddy," I said.
I drove back to the airport with Monica in a rental car, not sure what to say.
"So what do you do for school?" I asked.
"I don't go to school," Monica said. "Mommy teaches me."
"She does?" I asked.
"Yeah," Monica said, "whenever we stop at a hotel or something."
"So what places have you been to?" I asked.
"Las Vegas, Reno, Laughlin, Phoenix, Salt Lake City, Denver, Kansas City, St. Louis, Chicago, Nashville," she answered.
"Nashville, huh?" I said. "Well, I live pretty close to there."
"We've also been to Dayton a few times," she said.
"Really?" I asked. "What's in Dayton?"
"There's this man that Mommy visits sometimes," she answered. "His name is Jack."
We arrived at the airport, returned the rental car, and I stepped outside the terminal to have a smoke.
"Daddy, that's bad for you," Monica said.
"You're right, sweetheart, it is," I said.
She was right. This small and seemingly insignificant exchange was the watershed moment that woke me up as to how I needed to raise her. She couldn't be allowed to see any of my transgressions, whether it be something as simple as cigarettes or the sex and meth-infested parties I liked to throw. Ideally, I would quit all of that. But in the meantime, I didn't want Monica to see me as the male version of Cathy. I couldn't let that happen. I needed to set a better example. So I tossed out the cigarette butt and walked inside the airport.
I brought her back home and gave her a new life. She was the best Christmas present I ever had. She hadn't known me long enough to to say the same.
"I can't do anything to fix Christmas," I said. "But I promise Daddy will make it up to you on your birthday."
I had started going to church, even though I considered myself an agnostic. I had no idea how to raise Monica right. I figured that changing my social network would go a long way in getting rid of my bad habits and hard living lifestyle. I met a few other parents in the church and joined a chapter of Narcotics Anonymous.
My old friends, however, weren't used to the new me.
On the day I threw Monica her birthday party, my two childhood best friends, Jimmy and Ryan, came over to hang out. On their way into the house, they made some very crude and inappropriate jokes before seeing Monica sitting there. It was partly my fault, as they had not known the story.
But I wanted to be clear that none of that sort of stuff would be tolerated.
The one success I had during this time period was that I was able to kick the drugs. I quit meth and cocaine very shortly after Monica arrived and haven't touched them since. But my bedroom was still a place I associated with sin, booze, and wild sex. In the event that I ever be tempted to go back to the hard life, I wanted to make sure that Monica never saw the inside of that room. It became somewhat of a sanctuary.
Over the next few years, I watched Monica grow from a sweet young girl to a beautiful young woman. As a single father, I dreaded the day when she would have her first period. How would I handle that as a man? So around the age of ten, I started taking her to church with me and getting her acquainted with some of the women there. I never did truly become a Christian, but I wanted to appear that way for Monica's sake.
The first period came and went without incident or fanfare. But then came my next big dread: boys.
Shortly after she entered 9th grade, Monica started telling me all about a boy named Brian. He drank, he got into all kinds of trouble, he was constantly getting suspended from school. She told me all about his tattoos and piercings. For the first time, I felt that the wholesome environment I tried to raise her in was threatened. Nevertheless, I tried to keep an open mind and told Monica to invite Brian to dinner.
When Brian walked through the door, it was like traveling in a time machine and seeing myself at 17 years old. Still, I tried to keep an open mind.
"So have you thought about college, Brian?" I asked.
"No fucking way am I going to college," Brian said.
"We don't talk like that in this house," I said firmly.
"Sorry," Brian said.
After that, we had a somewhat polite dinner. But there was no way this kid was going to be allowed anywhere near my daughter. The last person I wanted Monica dating was me.
I told Brian that I didn't think he should be seeing Monica and that I would prefer he not call or come around anymore.
Monica wasn't very happy with me at the time, but apparently she came to realize what a jerk Brian was when he spread rumors about sleeping with her. Then, she thanked me for my intervention.
Throughout the nearly ten years I had Monica in my house as a child, I didn't date or have any sexual relationships. My focus was on being a single father. But once Monica was 17, I started giving myself permission to explore that side of me once again. After all, I wasn't getting any younger.
I decided to post a personal ad on craigslist. Shortly after that, I met a young girl named Tanya. She was only 21 years old. Despite our 30 year age difference, we seemed to hit it off.
Our first date was very casual. We met for coffee, where I explained that I had a 17-year old daughter who was in high school and would be heading to college next year. I said that I wasn't sure what to do with myself after being a full-time dad for 10 years. Tanya was very sweet, very innocent, and very different from other women in my life.
On our second date, I invited her to the house. I instructed her to come in the back door, the direct entrance to my bedroom so that Monica wouldn't see her.
I showed her around and gave her the tour. Then, I offered her a drink from the liquor cabinet.
"So this is my place," I said.
"Nice," she said.
I wasted no time getting her clothes off. It had been years since I had a piece of pussy and I was horny as fuck.
She sat naked on my Harley as I took pictures of her. In one pose, she sucked on the handle bars with her beautiful ass in the air. In another, she sat with her back against the seat with her legs spread open wide. I got in between her legs for a good close-up shot of her open pussy.
"How 'bout coming over here and sucking my cock," I said.
She did as instructed, and I unzipped my jeans to expose my manhood for her to suck on. Tanya was, to say the least, extremely talented.
Shortly after, I grabbed ahold of the back of her head and fucked her face.
After she finished blowing me, I invited her into the jacuzzi.
I sat down in the jacuzzi to join her. Completely wet, she stood over me, my face buried in her pussy.
I ate her out for a good several minutes, massaging the inside of her twat, her beautiful pink lips, and her little clit with my tongue.
When finished, she lay on her back on the edge of the jacuzzi. I took her legs over my shoulder and began to fuck her. My cock plunged in and out of her cunt until she began to have an orgasm. Then I plowed her even harder. After a few minutes, I started to come. I shot my juice deep into her.
Then I got out of the jacuzzi and sat on the edge. I cuddled with her, my towel wrapped around the both of us.
"I'd really like to see more of you," I said.
"Yeah," Tanya said, "That would be awesome."
Tanya and I dated for a few months. Eventually, I introduced her to Monica. Unfortunately, being that she and Monica were roughly the same age, they became friends. This is the turning point where the world that I had kept hidden from Monica was about to crumble.
Tanya told Monica about the parties that I had and the sex that we had in the privacy of my sanctuary. And finally, I decided that it would be best that Tanya and I didn't see each other any more. She was a wonderful and bright young woman. But her loose lips sunk our ship.
I wasn't about to give up on my sex life. Having Tanya in my life was somewhat of a wakeup call. Unfortunately, it was also a temptation into my old ways.
One day, I called up Jimmy and Ryan to see if they wanted to come down for a little get-together. They arrived at about 7 o'clock and by 10, my room was a drunken hellhole. There were drugs and booze and crazy stuff happening all over the place.
Ryan had brought his 20-year-old son, Kyle, who had been raised very different than I had raised Monica. Ryan and his wife Allison were into the swinging scene and did their own share of partying.
