Daddy Fucked My Ass At The Brunch Date

Sunday brunch at the rooftop restaurant was supposed to be a casual catch-up with my father Arthur. Mimosas and jazz. Eggs benedict and small talk. But between the champagne flutes and the live saxophone, something shifted. His hand lingered on my lower back, his voice dropped low when he ordered for me. By the time the check came, I had already ordered my dessert.