Wake Up Call

From “Daddio”A Collection of Sories from 

Memoir: Perils and Redemption of a Female Sex Addict 

Growing Up with a Closeted Gay Dad

That Los Angeles summer I languished in bed, sleeping in every morning.

I am 14 or 15 and have taken over my oldest sister’s bedroom after she runs away and refuses to come back. It is a large room on the front corner of the house, and I feel very grown up there, as if I have stepped into her shoes. The two French doors are open, the sound of morning doves drifting in and out of my dreams.

This morning I am awakened by the gentle sound of my father’s voice. “Alix, it’s time to get up dear.” I open my eyes to see his naked body standing next to my bed. He is leaning over me, his flaccid penis hanging like a hose over my head. 

He stays there looking down at me, the expression on his face friendly and helpful, as if this is normal behavior for a father with his teenage daughter. I feel numb to any arising internal reaction, convinced by years of brainwashing and denial that this type of exposure is innocent and benign, though arousing.

Years later in my late 20’s when i confront my father about this particular incident, he responds defensively and emphatically, “I was just rying to show you children that nudity is natural. There’s nothing wrong with that!”

Alexandra Morgan

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