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This is a stand-alone story that includes some of the characters I introduced in ‘April and the Old Fool’, my April Fool’s Day Contest entry. Many of the comments I received from my readers inferred that my original story was lacking and incomplete. After rereading the original, I agree with you, my readers, so here, as they say, is ‘The Rest of the Story’.
My name is Sherry Thomas, and I grew up Pekin Illinois. My father had worked for the C&IM Railroad since he graduated high school, but also made extra money renting houses he had bought over the years, to construction workers, transients, and the less affluent people in town. We lived well, I had a pleasant childhood, and never wanted for anything.
I was a bit of a tomboy, and never really cared much about boys until I was thirteen, when I started to have ‘feelings’ for Fred, an electrician who worked for a contractor on the local power plant, who rented a room in one of the houses my father owned. He was much younger than my father, tall, good looking, and was always very kind to me. I followed him around when he wasn’t at work, and whenever he talked to me, I felt ‘funny’ ‘down there’. When I asked my mother why I was feeling that way, she said it was ‘puppy love’.
Fred left four months later when the project ended, but I never forgot this man who was fifteen years older than me, married, and had two little girls of his own, or the ‘feelings’ he had awakened in me.
Very soon after Fred left, my mother started explaining ‘the facts of life’ to me. She was very frank in her descriptions of how my body worked, and why I was experiencing all these physical and emotional changes. We would both undress in her bedroom, and she would let me touch her breasts and look closely at her vagina. She would hold it open and explain how babies were made. She told me how they came out of the same place in a woman’s body that the man had inserted his penis and deposited his seed into the womb. She explained why my body was changing and told me it would eventually look much like hers. She was preparing me for the day I would ‘become a woman’.
During this time, I learned that my family had different views about sex than most, because we belonged to the Apostolic Disciples of Christ Church, a small obscure independent sect of Christianity that had been formed by a group of farmers in western Pennsylvania in the early 1930’s. They shunned the evil influences of the outside world, felt that theirs was the only way to Heaven, and only they could protect their young from the evils of the outside world. Their views were somewhat similar to the Apostolic Christians in many ways, with one major exception. They believed that all young women were to remain virgins until they reached the age of eighteen, and then it was a father’s duty to relieve his daughter(s) of her(their) virginity.
In most cases (as was with me) this happened when the young woman is invited to her parent’s marriage bed on or soon after her eighteenth birthday. Her mother would start by undressing the young woman, and then ‘comfort’ her daughter while her husband ‘did the deed’. In my case, I found the ‘ceremony’ to be romantic as well as religious. I loved my father and mother and felt this ‘special bond’ made us closer as a family.
My eighteenth birthday, June 1, fell on a Friday that year, so that evening when I walked into my parents’ bedroom, they had already undressed, and were completely nude. I looked at my father and watched as his penis started to get larger and rise from hanging between his legs to standing straight up, as my mother undressed me. I started to get that ‘tingly’ feeling inside of me when my father walked over and embraced me, saying, “You are so beautiful, my child.”
My mother took to me to their bed and had me lie between her legs with my head resting on her lap. When she started fondling my little breasts, I started to feel very warm, and my little vagina started tingling and getting very wet. My father climbed onto the bed, got between my legs, and started to rub the head of his big, hard penis against my lower lips.
When he did that, it made me even wetter and even more ‘tingly’ down there. Next my mother reached down and held my legs and lower lips open. My father then started to push his penis into me. I felt myself being stretched open, and at first it didn’t hurt. It felt wonderful, and the tingling inside of me got even stronger, causing me to moan. He stopped when he felt my barrier and waited until I relaxed around his erect manhood.
When I heard my mother say, “She’s ready,” my father pushed further into my vagina. I felt a sharp pain when he pushed past my hymen, and when I screamed, my mother held me tightly and kissed my forehead. My father kept pushing, and as quickly as the pain started, it went away and was replaced with pleasure unlike any I had experienced before.
When I felt him all the way inside my no longer virginal vagina, I felt warm and poker oyna loved and moaned, “Oh Daddy, that feels so good!”
He kissed me gently on my lips, and started stroking out and in, and the more times he did it, the better I felt. My mother had told me I probably wouldn’t enjoy it the first time, but the more Daddy shoved his big, hard penis into my little vagina, the more I liked it. It felt so good that soon I started to shake, and I felt the muscles in my vagina start to clamp down on my Daddy’s penis. Then, I heard my Daddy moan and I felt him squirting his seed inside of me.
I don’t remember much of what happened next because I lost control of my body and passed out. When I woke up, I was laying between my mother and father with them holding me and telling me how much I was loved. When I could finally talk, I asked, “Daddy, that was wonderful. Will it always be like that?”
He smiled and said, “My darling daughter, I have never seen anything like what just happened to you. I can’t promise it will always feel this good, but if this does happen to you again, the man who makes you feel this way will probably be your true love.” I would remember my father’s words and judge every man who I slept with from then on by what he had told me. I would be disappointed many times, but always hoped to someday find ‘the one’.
Two years later I was ‘swept off my feet’ by a sweet talking, well dressed stranger named Franklin Berry. He was a medical equipment salesman from Elgin who sold items to the hospital where I worked as a student nurse. He knew exactly what to say and soon had me in bed at his motel room in East Peoria. The first time we fucked (his word, not mine), it was enjoyable, but not anywhere nearly as good as the times I had ‘made love’ with my daddy.
Yes, after that first night, daddy and I had been ‘intimate’ many more times, sometimes with my mother and sometimes not. Although every time was not the mind-altering experience our first one was, Daddy always gave me an orgasm. Franklin’s ‘cock’ (also his word not mine) was not as big or hard as Daddy’s, and he seldom made me orgasm.
When I asked him why he didn’t make me cum (another one of his words) he said, “Nobody cums every time, bitch, you’re just greedy.” Of course, he came every time, and after six months of regular (weekly) ‘visits’, I missed my monthly, and a drugstore test indicated I was pregnant.
On our next ‘date’, I dragged him with me to the clinic at the hospital and made him wait while I had an exam by my friend Harrison Becker, who was the OBGYN resident on the floor where I now worked. After my exam, I had Franklin sit in the room with me when Harry informed us that I was pregnant. When Franklin and I walked out of the room, he swore the baby was not his, and accused me of ‘sleeping around’ on him when he was ‘on the road’.
He refused to accept the responsibility of being the father of our child, and stormed out of the hospital, leaving me alone and crying. When Harry saw me sobbing, he brought me back into the office and calmed me down. When he saw a half empty paper cup, he asked me if my ‘friend’ had drunk from that cup, I nodded. He put on an exam glove, picked up the cup, and put it into a specimen bag. He said, “I’ll have this tested, and keep the results to compare with whatever samples we take from you during your pregnancy. By the time you deliver, I will be able to prove that that asshole is your baby’s father.”
I thanked Harry and went home where I confessed to my mother and father that I had been having sex with a man they did not know, and that he had gotten me pregnant. My mother broke into tears, but my father remained calm and stoic. He asked me for the man’s name, so I told my father who Franklin was, and the name of the company he worked for.
My father told me not to worry. He promised to find Franklin, and force him to marry me, give the child his name, and support the two of us.
I don’t know how he did it, but by the time I delivered my baby girl on April 1st, 1997, not only had my father found Franklin, but a sheriff’s deputy had him in handcuffs in the maternity waiting room.
During my pregnancy, my breasts had grown more than two cup sizes and soon after the birth, my milk had come in. I was breastfeeding my beautiful little girl when they brought Franklin in. She was perfect in every way, including the curly flaming red hair that matched mine exactly, and when he saw us his demeanor changed from docile to agitated.
Before he could open his mouth, my father showed him the test results from the cup he had left, and my amniotic fluid. My father said, “Mr. Berry we have your DNA, and the baby’s DNA from her amniotic fluid. It is a positive match, and you are this child’s father. I expect you to marry my daughter and support your family.”
The head nurse brought in the birth certificate, and my father ‘convinced’ Franklin, under threat of jail, to sign it. He was asked what he wanted to name his canlı poker oyna daughter, and because it was April Fools day, he wrote down April Berry, leaving the middle name blank. My father asked the deputy to hold Franklin in the county jail until April and I got out of the hospital, so he wouldn’t try to leave town and disappear. The deputy agreed to do so, and they left the room.
What we didn’t find out until several hours later, was that as they were leaving the hospital, a still handcuffed Franklin, who had gone back to acting very docile, suddenly broke loose from the deputy and bolted into the oncoming traffic on Court Street. He was struck by an eighteen-wheeler, that dragged his mangled body for nearly a block, and he died from his injuries before they got him the five hundred feet to the emergency room. When I heard the news, I was relieved because although my daughter would not have a father growing up, at least she wouldn’t be burdened with having an absent one who wouldn’t take responsibility for his actions.
I decided to give April my mother’s middle name, ‘May’, and my father used the same pen to fill in the space Franklin had omitted. No one questioned this addition, and I never told my daughter that her father had died the day she was born. I thought telling her he had abandoned us was somehow less cruel than telling her he died trying to run away.
Two months after April and I came home from the hospital, my father was told that the railroad was in the process of being reorganized. His job was being made redundant by a computer, so he decided to retire, after thirty-five years. This allowed him to help my mother take care of little April, so I could return to work at the hospital.
About six months after April’s birth, my father had his will rewritten to give control of the rental properties to a trust created and handled by his lawyer, so in the case of his and my mother’s death, April and I would be provided for.
The years passed, and my little April grew into a beautiful young woman. By the time she was a teenager, both my parents agreed that she was the image of me. Sadly, the summer after April’s sixteenth birthday, my mother died from cancer. After her funeral, I asked my father how I would be able to carry on the ‘family tradition’ of having her father relieve her of her virginity.
My father said, “Dear daughter, you only have to find a man who is willing to marry you and agree to accept his ‘fatherly’ duty, according to our traditions. The Church rules are very clear on this matter, he does not have to be her biological father, he has only to be your husband to be considered April’s ‘father’ by the Church. If you are still unmarried when her twentieth birthday passes, you may choose a trusted friend to be a ‘surrogate father’ and he can ‘take care’ of April’s needs.”
I told my father how much I loved him and two months later, I was at his side when he died from a massive heart attack. April and I were on our own now, and I started dating in earnest to find a ‘father’ for my baby. I found several men who were interested in me, as I was still ‘marketable’ as far as my looks went, but I didn’t find myself attracted to any of them. I had already explained our family ‘traditions’ to April when I was telling her about ‘the facts of life’, and she thought there was nothing wrong with a father making his daughter ‘a woman’. In fact, she was looking forward to losing her virginity to an experienced lover rather some fumbling boy. She had already heard the horror stories her friends had told her about their ‘first times’.
The tension between us was starting to build up during the year after her twentieth birthday because I still hadn’t found her a ‘Daddy’. By January, we were at each other’s throats constantly, and when April left home in the middle of the night when I was at my job as the Charge nurse on the OB/GYN floor of Pekin Hospital, I completely fell apart. I used one of the three weeks of personal days I had accrued to pull myself together and was finally able to deal with my grief when something happened that changed both of our lives forever.
Five days ago, I received a phone call early in the morning, from someone I had not thought about since I was in my teens.
When I answered the call, a man’s voice that sounded strangely familiar asked, “Hello, is this Sherry Thomas?”
I told the man I was and asked him how he got my number. After dealing with Franklin and all the other creeps I’d met over the years, I never gave my cell number to anyone I didn’t know and trust.
When the voice on the other end of the call told me who he was, I almost wet in my pants. This was Fred Thompson, the man who had been my first crush when I was thirteen.
When I composed myself, I realized that he was telling me that my April was at his house in southern Illinois, near St. Louis. He assured me she was safe and handed the phone to April.
When I heard my baby’s voice crying on internet casino the phone, I cried, and then we both cried together for at least five minutes. When we settled down, I let her talk, and talk she did. She told me how she had hitchhiked to Springfield and had been picked up by a guy she thought was an agent. He told her she was beautiful and was a natural to be a model and actress. He promised he would get her work, but when he tried to get her to sleep with him and get tattoos, she realized he was a fraud. She also noticed that the ‘gold Rolex’ he was wearing was a fake. One of the many things my father had taught her was that the second hand on a real Rolex’s moves in a smooth sweeping motion, not in a ticking motion around the dial.
She managed to fend off the pervert’s advances and dumped him when she met Fred at a tavern were Ralph ‘the phony’ was trying to scam him into taking photos for free. When Fred the photographer refused to take Ralph’s bait, April decided to dump the smooth-talking phony, and ‘take her chances’ with this ‘honest’ older man.
When she finished her story, I told her about how I had known this wonderful, sexy man, and now realized I had been in love with him since just before I had my first period. I asked her if he was still married, and she told me his wife had died several years ago. Then I explained to her in detail what her grandfather had told me about the possibility of having him be her ‘surrogate father’. She got very excited when I told her that if he agreed, he could take her virginity and ‘make her a woman’.
I told her I would probably not be able to make it to where she was for her birthday, but I could make it as soon as I could, if they would agree to pick me up at the bus depot in St. Louis.
We were both very excited, and when April asked, “Does this mean that we both get to fuck my new Daddy?” I told her that if he agreed to, we could, and she was too excited for words. When she calmed down, I told her I would call her back.
I hung up and used my computer to check the bus schedules. When I found the right connection, I used my credit card and bought a one-way ticket. Then I called April back and told her I would be on the bus that arrived in St. Louis on Monday at 3PM.
Then I told her how to seduce her new surrogate father. I told her to dress sexy, and act seductively. I told her if she called him Daddy, that would get him ‘all worked up’. Then I told her to tell him about our family traditions and beg him to help to fulfil her destiny.
I told her to climb into his bed Sunday at Midnight naked, ask him to take her virginity, and make her a woman.
She said she would do her best and hung up. I hurriedly got ready for my shift at the hospital and arrived an hour early. I walked into my supervisor’s office and asked if she had a moment to talk. Estelle Goodwin was not only my boss, but we had been friends since high school. She had attended college and used her master’s degree to land the job Nursing Supervisor for the whole hospital.
She told me to take a seat, and I told her I had finally heard from my daughter. I explained that April was in the St. Louis area, and was safe because she was staying with an old friend of mine. I told my boss that I wanted to spend April’s twenty-first birthday with her and asked if I could use my remaining two weeks of personal time to visit her.
Estelle said, “I know this is short notice, but considering the stress you have been under for the last several months, we can work with you on this. When do you need to leave?” I explained that I was not able to get there in time for her birthday, but I was planning on leaving early Monday morning. She said, “I will take care of everything for you Sherry. After you finish your shift today, go home. I know you are not scheduled for Sunday, so relax and pull yourself together. I’ll see you when you get back. Take care.”
I went home and started packing. Realizing I would be spending about 3 ½ hours on the bus, I put a couple of energy bars in my purse. The bus would take me from Peoria to Champaign, where I would have to wait an hour for the bus from Indianapolis to pick me up on its way to St. Louis. I knew it was a pain to backtrack, but my fifteen year-old Corolla would never make the trip without breaking down, and the bus ticket was less than $50.
Sunday morning, when I was drinking my coffee, I noticed my next-door neighbor was home, so I called him and asked if he would drop me off at the bus depot in downtown Peoria on his way to work at Caterpillar on Monday morning.
Floyd had been my father’s ‘handyman’ and had been hired by family lawyer to take care of the ‘properties’ in the trust since my father’s death. He was a good man, and we had been ‘friends with benefits’ off and on, over the years.
He was the first man I had approached with the proposition of being April’s father, but he had politely declined because he was a ‘confirmed bachelor’ and didn’t want to be responsible for anyone but himself. When I explained I had found April at an old friend’s house in St. Louis, he said, “That’s great Sherry, I’ll be glad to drop you off at the bus depot.”
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