The sixteen-year-old boy stared at the ceiling, the morning light peaking in through the cracked blinds. He glanced down at her sleeping body, revulsion once again racking him to his core. Mixed with that anger and self-loathing was the ever-present stirring in his loins.
Lately, she had made a habit of waking up next to him. The unnatural acts between them had become so common that she no longer even tried to cloak them in darkness. He felt his anger rising to a new plateau, manifested in his rigid manhood. Roughly, he turned her over, entering her with one violent thrust. There were no preliminaries or foreplay.
She woke with a start, her eyes opening wide, full of fire. Expecting her to fight his wild attack, he was sickened to feel her responding with more passion than ever before. He snarled, striking her face with his open palm. He increased the savage thrusts. To his horror, her face grew more ecstatic, her body quivering with immediate release. Sadness overcame him as he lost his erection. Slumping to the bed, he admitted defeat.
She rose to her elbow, tenderly staring at his handsome features. She ran her hand through his sweat-streaked hair.
“You reminded me of your father just then,” she said softly.
“Don’t talk about my father,” he growled, shoving her hand away.
She resumed stroking his forehead. “There’s something I need to tell you—something that I’ve put off until I thought you were old enough and mature enough to hear it.”
He glanced over at her imploring stare. “And you think I’m ready now?”
“You overpowered me a moment ago,” she said, smiling, “just like your father used to do. You’re a man now. It’s time.”
“Tell me what, dammit?” he asked sharply, surprised by his own boldness. He had never spoken to her in that manner.
“Your father… he wasn’t the man we buried so many years ago,” she said, smiling broadly. “Your real father is very much alive.”
He stared at her smiling face, unable to believe his ears. “Alive?”
“Oh, yes—very much alive,” she said, nodding. “Your father is a great man. He is a leader of men.” She kissed his forehead tenderly. “That’s why I expect great things from you. You come from a bloodline of greatness.”
The tortured boy listened to the story of how she had come to know the great man who was his real father. He hung on her every word, a warmth filling the cold empty hole that had, for so long, been his heart. He had a father, his soul sang.