He was sitting in the corner, leaning back with one arm on the arm-rest.
I was wearing black panties beneath a too large t-shirt, they were lace and covered only a small part of my backside. One night, several months after that last week of summer, my dad was watching sports from the sofa. Just hugs and kisses weren’t enough though. Perhaps I was, but he was mixing up cause and effect. He did not say anything about this either, except that I ‘seemed happier’ those days. I hugged him too, when he did something for me, when I’d done something that made him proud or just because. I kissed him before I went to bed, when I was about to leave or when he said something nice about me. I kissed my father again, just like I used to when I was little. I don’t think we ever touched unless accidentally. I kinda felt I’d gone too far, that last week of summer.
