Fruit of My Crime

They call me Renato. I’m black, 38, 1.75, 15 cm. I have two houses, one in the countryside and one in the city. It all started at my late father-in-law’s place. Janete was repairing the house she inherited. In old bags she found a photograph of her bloodied mother. She falls to the ground in tears remembering those times. After a long time of crying, I comfort her by saying that she could still do differently than her mother. At that moment she takes the opportunity to tell me: – I haven’t found a better time. After the renovation, we sold the place, she didn’t have good memories of it. We shared it with your mother and bought a house in town. We weren’t middle class but we weren’t poor. I had finished chemical engineering college, but I still didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl. This started in the past, but I prefer to report the present first. Regina is fifteen years old. Half-breed, skinny and piebald, I pay for her gym. Janete doesn’t know about the past, and with that damn past my daughter blackmails me. Some desires are easy to fulfill, others not so much. The worst was seeing her smoking. It was hell. She said that if I told her mother she would say everything. I thought of many tragedies: of telling everything at once, of killing myself. Luckily she said she didn’t like smoking and quit. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a drink, maybe yes, maybe not. She runs my life and not the other way around. I consider it a low blow, it’s not like she still suffers from the past. It’s revenge, so I think her honor is more than washed away.

Twice a month she has sex with me. He says he hates me like a father but thinks I’m a hot guy with a good vibe. She once brought two friends, dressed very suggestively. She knows I like young girls, she watches the videos I watch. If I don’t let her see my cell phone, you know. Sends me pictures twerking with friends. Sends videos playing siririca at night, but leaves the bedroom door locked. She’s a minor but she’s a whore, who owns herself. Even with all this I still love her like a daughter and I regret what I did in the past, but she never let me complete that sentence. Once she took advantage that Janet had traveled and arrived home at 1 am. Before I was crazy with anger and sadness, crying and she refusing calls. She entered the house comfortably in a sheer black robe revealing matching lingerie. It looked like a striptease. – Regina, what is this?! He pretended not to hear and went to his room. Enraged, I grab the leather belt I left on the couch. I never hit her, but I remembered the times when I was the target of brooms, wooden spoons, frying pans, slats and so on for much less than my daughter did. Sometimes it’s hard not to do to others what we don’t want to do to ourselves. I wasn’t targeting what she had just done, I was angry at the full set of attitudes she had towards me. The door is ajar.

– I’m tired of the last program, leave it for another day. And that belt in your hand? hehe! Will you educate me, daddy? – is your father poor for you to prostitute himself? – aren’t you the one who always says in sex that I’m a bitch? I just did what bitches do. – I’m not serious in these situations. – on the contrary! It is in these situations that you speak the truth. – when I did that in the past, it was not aiming at this state that you find yourself in. – if you’re going to send the same chat as always, you can get out. – I’m in charge here. – Oh yes?! Come on, hit me. Then I’ll tell Mommy everything. I come closer. I admire his austere, defiant posture. I grab her neck and bring her close to me…

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