CHAPTER NINE
As shocking as it was to hear there was a funeral to attend, it was even more shocking when I found out whose it was. My Daddy's own mother had passed away. Any wonder he had been so upset when he walked in the door the day before. He knew what had happened, and had the funeral to attend just the following day. At the same time that I felt awful for him, I felt relived for me that I finally knew what was wrong, then I felt guilty and selfish for feeling relived.
I hadn't known it, but Daddy's family where quick to bury their relatives. Where most families would bury a few days after a death, Daddy's family were keen to get the funeral and process of mourning out of the way. Many of the arrangements were already made when Daddy's sick parent had been ill before she finally passed away. As awful as it all sounded, I thought it was a good idea to arrange your own funeral. That way, all your family had to do was call the funeral home when you passed and get the ball rolling.
The funeral was a grave-side affair on a warm spring day. Al had some clothes bought to me and I would put those on before finding Daddy. I was ready to go when I found him in his room putting on a tie.
"Respectfully," I began, standing behind him, "may I put your tie on Sir?"
I told myself that I was being respectful and quiet out of respect for my Daddy when in reality, it wasn't out of respect for my Daddy that I was being quiet at all. I was being quiet because his feelings were a little scary for me, and I wasn't sure what to say.
To date, I had been on the receiving end of good feelings: of Daddy's warm hugs and Daddy's lust. I hadn't yet had to see him grieving. I hadn't had to see Daddy vulnerable. I wasn't sure how to handle that. We had only been together for a month when this happened after all. If this was a traditional romantic relationship, we would still be dating one another. Going out to see movies or going to dinner. We would have plenty to talk to one another about, and nothing would get between us. Now though, because of the intensity of the past month, I felt closer to Daddy than I would to any vanilla - that is to say, non-kinky - boyfriend. But from where I stood, he didn't appear to be as chilled out as a vanilla boyfriend, and his feelings scared me quite a bit.
I was both close to him because of the intimacy we had shared so quickly, but also estranged from him because of the power dynamic we had intentionally bought into this relationship. Because he was my Daddy, I wasn't sure what I was to do to comfort him. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do to make him feel happy, or at least to make him feel he had my support.
So I supported through service. I tied his tie and shined his shoes. I told him he looked good, although he hardly seemed to notice my words. When I spoke, he simply looked at himself in the mirror.
I smiled at him, in what I hoped was a reassuring way in the mirror. He turned back towards me. His face was dark and I thought perhaps a little angry. He reached out to offer his hand, and I gave him my own. We shared a small smile and walked out of his bedroom. We walked through the house and out to his car - the one with the driver, not the one he drove himself - and got in. We didn't say a thing to one another the whole time.
Daddy was in a dark suit and tie and I sat beside him in a black dress that went just pass the knees, black stockings and a small black cardigan that covered my shoulders. We looked like proper mourners.
With so many questions to ask my Daddy - how did he feel? Was he okay? Was he close to his mother? Did his father still live? What would happen now? What could I do to help? What sort of support did he need? Could I help him? What could I do?
But I didn't ask any of the questions which burned inside my chest. I merely sat with his hand cupped in two of my own and watched his stony face as he stared at the air in front of him. Daddy didn't show any emotions then, or throughout the funeral.
When the funeral happened, I held his hand and he squeezed mine occasionally. His hands, which normally felt warm as his arms pulled me in close at night for a cuddle, felt a little cold now. I could have imagined it, but I was sure I wasn't imagining anything. His hands were cold, which added to that feeling of Daddy turning to stone before my eyes. His expression, his hands, his lack of real interaction all added to this feeling. That scared me almost as much as his vulnerability would. At least last night he had been angry - although I had obviously not known what it was about, I knew something was wrong outside of what I had done - but now, he just seemed silent, silent and unhappy. Stony.
I could understand his feelings, even as I couldn't understand their expression. When my mother passed away only recently, I was inconsolable. Or I would have been, if anyone in the world had bothered to try and console me. At least I could understand that much.
When it was time for family members to throw some dirt on the coffin and say a few words, Daddy did his part. From where I was standing, I could not hear what he had said, but I could see his face. That was the first time that day, or any day previous that I had seen Daddy looking upset. He looked as if he was about to cry, although that look didn't last long. He just looked upset, then suddenly there was nothing there at all.
Hiding his emotions again, back to his stony-faced exterior, Daddy came back to stand beside me. He took a few deep breaths and turned toward me. I was looking up at him, astonished by the lack of emotion. As if to dismiss my concerns he gave a slight shake of the head and took my hand in his again. There lay my hand, in Daddy's weirdly cold grip.
After the funeral, there was a small wake where everyone went to a nearby reception center and had sandwiches and coffee. Everyone talked about everything except the diseased, and it quickly became apparent that Daddy's mother had been long-suffering with 'big C' cancer and had legally died a number of times before this one. It must have been a relief when the call to the hospital actually ended in a death that no-one could resuscitate.
Not wanting to think in such a negative way, I wanted to shake the thought from my head, but I knew that was how it was. Sometimes life wasn't about rainbows and butterflies. I knew what it was to mourn someone even before they were gone. I knew what it was to resent someone for continually threatening to die and never actually toppling off and dying. I knew what it felt like to regret these feelings, to feel bad about them. That guilt was all too familiar to me. I still carried some guilt for when I had these feelings when my mother had been passing.
For the most part though, I allowed all of Daddy's relatives and family friends to express their condolences. I didn't have any to express myself, and simply stood by while people talked to him. Mostly I was invisible. A few people introduced themselves to me, but Daddy never really acknowledged me or called me his girlfriend, which made the whole thing very awkward as I wasn't sure what I was allowed to call him and didn't want to upset him. In the end, I didn't bother with any label, instead introducing myself before quickly changing the topic.
After everyone was greeted and had cleared off, Daddy said goodbye to his brothers. Daddy had two brothers who both looked a bit older than he did and neither had partners. I wondered, looking at them, if perhaps they worked just as hard as Daddy did and didn't have time to go find partners. I knew that Daddy wouldn't have time to find a partner in a normal way, hence why he'd bought me. In addition to the fetish of course.
When all was said and done, we climbed into the back of Daddy's car and were driven home. We didn't talk for the first ten minutes or so, with Daddy continuing to stare ahead blankly. We hadn't touched one another since the burial and I reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. I felt like I had waited long enough and the fire in my belly was burning bright. I had to say something, I had to do something. I needed to reach out to my Daddy to stop the invisible line between us. There were things that had to be said, after all.
Reaching out to touch Daddy's arm received an instant reaction. Daddy looked over at me and asked, "yes, sweetheart?"
Without a thought, the words came tumbling out of me, "I'm sorry Daddy. I am so sorry that this is happening. It's awful. I remember when this happened to me, and it broke my heart into shatters. I know how you feel, and I guess, I guess I just wanted you to know that it does get better. In time it gets better."
Daddy nodded his head slowly, his eyes on mine before reaching up to touch my hand. He got my hand in his own and gave it a little squeeze. Now he was holding my hand, and he was comforting me.
"You lost your mother?" He asked and I nodded, my eyes welling with tears.
What could have been left, what could have been unsaid came spilling out of me. "Daddy, I lost my mother before I was auctioned at the slave market. I am only here because I lost my mother."
Daddy's face was grave. Grave and a little confused, "what do you mean, baby girl?" He asked.
"I mean that after my mother died, I had nothing left. So I auctioned myself off. Because this is something I had always dreamed of doing. Because I had always wanted to explore this side of my sexuality." I told him all in a rush. I had so much that I had to say that it felt as if I would never be able to say it all in one go. There was just so many thoughts inside my head that I had to express, and the sense of urgency was strong. It was as if I only would have Daddy's attention for so long, as if I would only be able to tell him what was up for so long before I couldn't anymore.
Daddy seemed to understand this, or at least he let me go with what I needed to say when he asked me, "so you wanted to be a slave, and you waited until your mother passed to do that?"
I nodded, feeling as if Daddy was getting to a point.
"Why wait?" He asked.
Shaking my head I asked my own question, "what do you mean?"
"I mean, why wait until someone who matters to you passes on before taking action?" He asked me, "when you can start living the life you want to live at any time. Why wait until someone who matters goes? If you matter to them, then they should support you in all that you do."
"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling more dumbfounded than I had when he first asked me 'why wait?'.
"I mean, baby girl," Daddy began, "that you only have this one life. And you've given up god knows how much of it because you were concerned with what your mother thought. Why?"
"I wasn't-" I went to protest, then cut myself off. Daddy had a habit of cutting me off when I was talking gibberish, and I didn't want to give him that opportunity. Daddy's slave training, however brief, had already had an impact on me, and it had only been a month. If there was less going on in this conversation, I would have given myself an opportunity to reflect on that. But right now, there was plenty going on and I didn't have a chance to reflect on the effectiveness of his training. There was too much to deal with right in front of me.
"What do you want most in life, baby girl?" Daddy asked me.
Staring ahead, I answered his honestly, "I don't know Daddy."
"Well, we're going to have to find out together then baby girl." Daddy told me, in full Daddy mode now. It astonished me how he went from being a mourning child, one who missed his mother, to then being my Daddy again. My care giver who wanted the best for me, and wanted me to be at my best. I'll never understand for as long as I live quite how he does that, putting everything aside for me when he obviously needs support. But, I can always appreciate that he does it, even as I will never fully understand it. My Daddy is a very special man, and a man who I respect and admire and who will always respect and admire.
But right in that moment, when we were sitting in the back of his car, driving home from his mothers funeral, Daddy was posing some of the biggest questions of my life to me, and I honestly had no answer in sight. I hadn't ever had to make the decision before, or give the answer. Now a man who had bought me as a slave was telling me I had to make decisions and I was dumbfounded about what I wanted to decide.