1. The Last Flight Chapter 11


    Date: 5/19/2017, Categories: Lesbian, Author: Annamagique, Rating: 4, Source: LushStories

    them. Whenever they appeared the woman always seemed afraid. She would back away from me, her eyes staring and fearful. The young girl just stood and stared, watching but with no expression whatsoever upon her sweet face. They never spoke and I never asked who they were. I told the local doctor about them and he could offer no explanation but suggested they may be memories from my past. Then, a couple of days ago, I was watching the television and a news report came on, about an aeroplane that had crashed in the mountains, somewhere near Limoges. They showed pictures of the wreckage and also of some of those who had been on board. One of those pictures was of a pretty young air hostess. I recognised her immediately! She was the young girl in my dreams and suddenly I knew. She was my daughter!” He looked at me intently. “Seeing you was like having a switch turned on in my head. Suddenly, I remembered everything. I knew who I was! I had to come, Karen, to see you. You and your mother were the only people in the world I cared about and I had lost you.” He fell silent and I stared at him, unsure of what to make of it His story was so incredible and yet, I felt that he believed it. My head was screaming at me to get rid of this man who had made the lives of myself and my mother so miserable but in my heart I wanted to believe him. I could smell no alcohol or even tobacco on him. Could it really be him? All my life I had tried so hard to be what he wanted me to be and I always felt ...
    I was not good enough for him, that he was disappointed with me. I hated him but, deep inside, I loved him and desperately wanted his approval. I never got it. “Why should I believe a word of this?” I asked eventually. “You hated us.” “No, Karen, I never hated you. I loved you both more than life itself but I was weak. I used the drink and the drink controlled me. I know now that I should have talked to you both but I was afraid. The longer I kept it inside, the worse it became.” “And now?” I questioned, “Do you still drink?” He shook his head slowly and gave a wry smile. “No, I haven't touched any since I was blown up. I haven't needed it.” Minute, by precious minute, my heart was melting. This man who sat meekly beside me was the father I always wanted but never had. Very slowly, and with great trepidation I reached out my hand to him. He looked up and the tears began to roll again down his cheeks as he took hold if it. “I am so sorry,” he sobbed. My eyes too began to fill and I squeezed his hand tightly. We stayed that way for a minute or two, no words, just connected, until I heard a sound, someone clearing her throat. I blinked away the tears and saw Françoise at the door. She smiled warmly and turned to leave. “No, wait, don't go. Come and meet my dad,” I called after her, between little sobs. When she re-entered my father stood and took her hand. “I owe you so much,” he said to her, “Thank you.” “Mister Farmer,” she replied, “You owe me nothing. I think, however, that ...
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