CONFESSION WITH MY STEP DAD

“Melody, we’re going to be late for church,” my step-dad, Nick, tells me

from downstairs. Nick came into my life when I was eight, right at the age

when I could have called him by his name instead of anything else. But

when I shyly asked Nick if I could call him Daddy, he had the biggest smile

for me. Even when all my friends stopped calling their parents Mommy and

Daddy, I could never rid myself of the habit.

Nick doesn’t yell, well, not exactly. My stepdad doesn’t like to yell.

But he can be stern. It’s not scary or anything, but it’s enough to know that I

need to listen to him. Daddy doesn’t like to be late. He likes rules and order,

so the fact that we are five minutes behind schedule means Daddy’s stern

voice is out. I don’t want to disappoint Daddy, so I quickly finish braiding

my hair.

My stockings itch as I put my black leather shoes on. I hate wearing

the white stockings to church – they look like what little girls wear to

parties. I’ve tried explaining to Daddy that now that I’m eighteen and out of

high school, I shouldn’t have to wear them. But Daddy doesn’t like it when

my legs are exposed, so, even though it’s a hot summer day in California,

I’m still wearing these silly stockings.

As soon as the thought passes through my mind, I cover my mouth

with my hand, as if I actually said it out loud. Great, just one more thing to

add to confession.

“Now, Melody.” Oh no, that was almost a yell. If I misbehave too

much, I’ll get a spanking.

Forcing myself not to scratch my legs, I whip down the stairs, even

though Daddy tells me running is unladylike. He narrows his eyes as I kiss

him on the cheek, trying to pacify him. It sort of works.

“You look lovely, Melody.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

And then he ushers us out the front door and into the heat.

Mercifully, the air conditioning kicks in right away in the car, and I can

breathe a little easier. But it will be hot in church as it’s always so packed.“You okay today, Melody? You’re normally much more put

together.”

“Sorry, Daddy. Just lost in my thoughts, I guess.” It’s not a

complete lie, so maybe I don’t have to confess that. Bending the truth isn’t a

sin, right?”

My stepdad drives us to the church we’ve been going to since

forever. I actually like church, even though most of my friends from school

would roll their eyes when I told them so. It’s familiar. I guess, like Daddy,

I like order and rules.

The priest at our church is also the best, which is why it’s so

crowded. He doesn’t give long, boring sermons, like the stereotypical ones

you see in movies. He tells stories and shares lessons that make you want to

be a better person. Which is why today feels so hard.

“Stop fidgeting, Melody,” Daddy says. I stop playing with the hem

of my dress as Daddy puts his hand on my knee. It instantly calms me, and I

like it when he leaves his hand there for the rest of the drive. “Do you have

everything you need for dinner, or do we need to stop and get more

groceries?”

Uncle Ted, Daddy’s brother, is coming over for dinner, just like he

does every Sunday. Since Mom died five years ago, I’ve taken on more and

more of the cooking. Which is for the best – when Daddy is in the kitchen,

the smoke detector usually goes off. Tonight is roast beef, Uncle Ted’s

favorite. It should have been hard, having Mom pass away, and just being

left with my stepdad. But Nick and I grew closer in our shared grief, and

there was never a question of being left alone.

“Yes, Daddy. I have everything for dinner.”

He nods but frowns a little. I guess he thought that’s why I was

fidgeting.

“Is it the stockings?” Daddy finally asks.

Again, it’s not the full truth, but it definitely isn’t a lie when I

answer. “They just make me so itchy. And it’s like ninety degrees out

today.” I know I’m pouting, which Daddy doesn’t like, but he doesn’t

admonish me for it.“Fine,” he finally sighs. He squeezes my knee. “You can take them

off. I know you’re an adult now. It’s just hard not to think of you as my

little girl.”

“Oh, thank you, Daddy!” I squeal. I take no time removing my

shoes and peeling off my stockings. I throw them in the back of the car with

plenty of flair, which earns me Daddy’s laugh. I love his laugh.

For a while after Mom died, there wasn’t a lot of laughter in the

house. I don’t want Mom’s memory to go away, but I do want my stepdad

to be happy.

Just as I put my shoes on again, we reach the church. I try not to

show how nervous I am, and thankfully, Daddy is too busy talking to people

he knows that he doesn’t notice.

We head down the aisle to our usual spot, which is up front. Then,

our priest comes out, and everyone stops their chit-chat.

Normally, I listen eagerly to everything our priest says. But today, I

don’t. I keep still so Daddy doesn’t notice, but my mind wanders back to

Thursday night and what I did. What I’m going to have to confess very

soon.

Not everyone in our church takes confession after Mass. Daddy

only rarely does. But he makes me go every time. It’s part of the routine he

likes, and normally, I don’t mind. Knowing he would ask a lot of questions

I don’t want to answer yet, I listen when Daddy tells me to get in line for

confession. It’s short today, and I’m the last one.

Finally, it’s my turn. I enter the little room and close the door

behind me. Even though the space is small, I don’t feel claustrophobic.

There’s a smell inside, the old wood and frankincense, that has always been

calming. It’s like when Daddy hugs me or puts his hand on my knee – my

breathing instantly becomes slower.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I start off. “It’s been one

week since my last confession.”

“Good morning, child,” the priest says on the other side of the

screen. It’s his voice that finally settles me. “What would you like to

confess?”I can’t start with the big one. The big secret, so I start out small. “I,

um, told my daddy a half-truth this morning.”

The priest lets out a little chuckle, and I return it with a smile.

“Well, child, a half-truth is better than a whole lie.”

“And, I, um, almost made us late for church this morning.”

Again, there’s another chuckle. “I think that’s more of a sin against

your daddy rather than God.”

This time I laugh, too. Daddy’s pension for punctuality is well-

known in the church.

“Tell me, child,” the priest says more seriously, “You seem nervous

today. Did something happen? When you tell God your sins, he will absolve

you.”

“Yes, Father,” I say quietly. He moves closer to the screen to hear

me. “I did something bad. Thursday night. It was… a sin against the flesh.”

There’s a pause. “I see, child. Can you tell me more?”

I’m so thankful for the darkness as I’m blushing profusely. I inhale

the familiar scents as I try to calm myself.

“It was Thursday night,” I repeat. “Daddy was at his bible study

group, and I was home alone. I couldn’t find my favorite sweater – the one

with the apples on it – and I looked everywhere. I remembered Daddy, and I

had watched a movie in his bed the other night, so I went into his room to

look for it. I was looking under the bed when I found something.”

I pause, willing the words to come. “I found the sweater, but I also

found something else.”

“Yes, child?” The priest whispers this.

“It was a box. And I know I shouldn’t have opened it. Because it

was Daddy’s and it’s not right to look at other people’s stuff. But I was just

so curious.”

“Curiosity isn’t a sin, child. But it can lead us to ones.”

“Yes, Father.” My voice falters, knowing I have to continue. “Inside

the box were magazines. Naughty magazines. They were… They were of

naked people.”“I see,” the priest says. He shifts on the other side, his robes

moving around slightly. “Continue.”

“I couldn’t help it. I kept looking at the magazines.”

“And what did you see, my child?” Again, there’s a slight sound of

fabric moving on the other side. I hope I’m not making him too

uncomfortable.

“There was a man and a woman kissing. But they didn’t have any

clothes on. And they were touching each other.”

“How – how did this make you feel?”

I want to cover my face in embarrassment, even though he can’t

really see me.

“I felt all tingly, Father. I wanted to stop looking, I really did, but I

had never felt that way before.” I pause, knowing I shouldn’t lie. “And I

liked it.”

I think the priest mutters something, but I can’t hear it, my heart is

beating so fast.

“Tell me, child, what pictures made you the most tingly?”

“There was one in the middle. It was a series of pictures. The girl

had blonde hair, just like me, and she had it in pigtails. She was wearing a

white blouse and a plaid skirt. It was like my school uniform, only mine had

green lines on it and hers had red. And next to her was a man who was a

little older than her.”

“What were the two people doing?” There’s more movement on the

priest’s side. And a few slippery sounds.

“The girl’s shirt was unbuttoned, and her breasts were exposed.”

“Tits, my child. You’re eighteen now, right? The adult word is tits.”

“Oh, thank you. Her, um, tits were out. They were really large, and

her nipples were hard. Then, in the next picture, she had her skirt flipped up,

and I could see her vagina. The man had his pants down and was touching

his penis.”

“Pussy, my child. And cock. You must use the right, grown-up

words.”My face flushes deeper at these new words. “Sorry, Father. The last

picture was the one that made me the most tingly. The man had his cock in

the woman’s pussy.”

“In the picture,” the priest says, his voice not steady anymore, “Did

it look like the girl enjoyed what was happening?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “She looked like she really enjoyed it.”

“And you liked that picture the most? The schoolgirl and the older

man?”

“Yes, Father.”

I’m silent as I replay the events in my head. My tingles are back in

full force, and I have to sit on my hands to stop from squirming.

“Tell me one more thing, child. Did you touch yourself?”

“N-no, Father. Daddy says I’m not allowed to touch myself – down

there.”

“Your pussy, child. Remember your words.”

“My pussy,” I echo. “Daddy says I must save that for my husband.”

“Your daddy is correct, little lamb. I’m glad you were able to resist

temptation.”

“Thank you, Father.”

The priest clears his throat. We’ve been in confession for a long

time. I hope Daddy isn’t mad at having to wait for me.

“As penance, you will do twenty Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers.

You will also think about your actions. It may be hard, but I think you

should confess this to your daddy.”

“Oh!” I gasp. “I, um, I’m not sure.”

“I will leave it as your choice, my child. But if your conscience

becomes too much to bear, sometimes your Daddy will help as much as

God.”

“Thank you, Father. I’ll think about it.”Outside the church, I do feel a little lighter. Daddy doesn’t ask about

confession or comment that we’re the last ones there, which I appreciate.

His warm hand settles on my knee as we drive home, and I smile up at him,

happy to know that God will absolve me of my sins.

At home, I change out of my frilly dress and into an everyday skirt

and tank top. Daddy doesn’t like me wearing pants, which is a rule I don’t

mind. It’s always hot in California, and pants are too stifling.

Then, while Daddy sits on the couch and watches football, I get

busy in the kitchen, preparing the roast. Soon, I hear the door open, and in

comes Uncle Ted.

“Great sermon today, Ted,” I can hear Daddy say from the living

room. “You sure have a way of making everyone listen to you.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

I grab two beers from the kitchen and pop their tops up before

bringing them out to the living room. Dutifully, I pass one to Daddy and

one to Uncle Ted.

“Thanks, little lamb,” Uncle Ted tells me.