Pacing restlessly up and down the sidewalk, I studied the building. It reminded me of a high school, the type built back in the late fifties or early sixties; designed by engineers not architects, long and rectangular, two floors, dirty windows with wire-reinforced glass, concrete block, and an aura of age, depression - a building forgotten by time.
Chest-high chain link fencing still surrounded the building, originally designed to keep less enthusiastic students in. The grass was mostly brown, struggling to survive the arid conditions of Albuquerque.
Checking my watch, I saw I had three more minutes before my two-thirty appointment. Nerves upset my stomach - or maybe it was the three espressos I'd had earlier. I worried. I wasn't prepared. It felt like I was a kid again on a Sunday night not having done my homework and not having prepared for a Monday quiz.
Taking a deep breath, I headed up the cracked walkway, climbed the five broad, well-worn concrete steps, and pushed open one of the wide tempered glass and metal doors.
The aroma hit me immediately. It smelled of disuse and desperation overlaid by Pine-Sol. Phones rang somewhere. I made my way to the reception.
A middle-aged woman ignored me for a minute or two. I coughed politely. Didn't work. Eventually she looked up.
"Brad Wheldon to see Mrs. Perez," I informed her.
Without a word, she picked up a telephone receiver and dialed, then pointed authoritatively at some plastic seats across the hall from her. I took the hint and sat.
Posters of all types covered the walls. Some were yellowed with age, some new. They promoted caring and a smoke-free building and showed different idyllic scenes of kids and parents playing carefree. Some had mothers wrapping their arms around children. In one corner was a poster advising me to report abuse to the police next to a poster promoting the State's efforts on behalf of families.
It was a singularly unappealing place to work. No wonder the receptionist seemed drained of life.
A middle-aged, portly Latina woman with dark hair, streaked with the first signs of grey, emerged through swinging doors. She spotted me and smiled. "Mr. Wheldon?"
I nodded and stood up, accepting her hand and shaking it.
"This way, please," she said, turning and leading.
I followed her down a dreary hall, white painted walls long faded to rancid cream, the grey-specked linoleum floor polished by institutional cleaners and only mild warping at the edges. She opened a wooden door with an inset frosted glass window and ushered me through.
"I'll be right with you," she assured me, closing the door behind her.
One scuffed square wooden table looking like it was vintage Second World War had four matching chairs around it. More posters offering kindness and hope were on the walls, all with smiling-faced, good-looking families - ideals rarely found in real life.
I sat and waited, letting my mind drift back.
The telephone call I'd received last week - Friday at five thirty-two exactly as I pulled a bottle of Corona beer from the fridge - had come out of the blue and tilted the earth under me.
I'd answered the phone and a pleasant woman's voice had asked, "May I speak with Mr. Wheldon, please?"
"Bradley Weldon?" she'd inquired.
"Yes. Who's this?" I asked. And why was she using my full first name? No one did that.
"My name is Mrs. Perez. Can you confirm your date of birth as November 30, 1989?"
"Why?" I asked, now suspicious. Being intensely private, asking me to confirm my birthday set off warning bells.
"I know this is strange, Mr. Wheldon. Please bear with me. I have to confirm I'm talking to the right person."
I heard her sigh. "I'm prohibited from discussing confidential details until I can confirm you are who you are. I'm very sorry, but it's the law."
Intrigued, I pulled the kitchen chair out and sat. "Okay. Yes. That's my birthday." I took a sip of beer.
"Thank you. I'm calling from the Social Services Welfare Department in Albuquerque, New Mexico. We've been trying to find you to let you know your daughter is in our care."
Beer exploded from my mouth. I coughed to clear my lungs, finally gasping, "My what?"
"Your daughter," Mrs. Perez repeated.
"Are you sure you've got the right person?"
"Yes. Bradley Wheldon, born November 30th, 1989 is identified as the father on the birth certificate."
In a calm tone, Mrs. Perez asked, "Did you know Christine Mather?"
An image flashed into mind; Christine, my first: sweet, blonde, cute as heck, and fourteen years old, a year younger than me. More memories flooded in; her bedroom, the scent, early afternoon, skipping school, the excitement of undressing, my first naked girl, small breasts, sexy pubes, fumbling and exploring, both of us virgins.
"It sounds like you didn't know you have a daughter," Mrs. Perez said. "This must come as a shock."
Why was my heart thumping?
In the small meeting room, I was drawn out of my reverie by the click-click sound of someone striding down the hall with purpose. Mrs. Perez had informed me Michaela Mather was twelve years old. In one accident, her mother and grandparents had perished.
Back then, thirteen years ago, I'd thought I was in love and was confused when Christine and her family had suddenly moved away without a word from her. She'd never responded to my emails and her phone had been disconnected. At fifteen, I'd agonized for a while but then forgot about her, letting her live fondly in my memory as my first.
The meeting room door opened. Mrs. Perez entered with a thick file folder clutched to her chest. Behind her, a girl entered and I knew immediately, without a shred of doubt, she was my daughter. It was evident in her deep blue eyes - my eyes - looking at me with determined coolness, and my dark brown hair. Everything else was pure Christine, slender, almost delicate, petite.
Mrs. Perez sat to my right, placing the file folder on the old table. Michaela sat across from me, studying me. A slight flush rose on her cheekbones when I openly stared at her and she turned her face away.
"Michaela, this is Bradley Wheldon, your father. Mr. Wheldon, this is your daughter, Michaela Mather. I have some formalities to get out of the way, then you two can chat."
Mrs. Perez spent the next half-hour confirming my identity, having me complete endless forms, discussing my responsibilities and Michaela's needs, explaining support services available here in New Mexico and services available back home in Arkansas and more details than I could keep track of. Through it all, out of the corner of my eye I saw Michaela surreptitiously study me. She never smiled and averted her gaze when I glanced her way.
I couldn't help being fascinated. In so many ways it was like looking at a young me and a young Christine nicely blended. In the delicateness of her features I could see Christine; slender and straight nose, high cheekbones, the shape of her face, and lips forming a sensual, classic mouth.
I forced a smile when she glanced at me. It felt artificial. Michaela didn't react with the exception of another faint flush emerging high on her cheeks.
With forms signed, Mrs. Perez closed her file.
"Well, now the legal formalities are over, I'll leave you two for a while to get acquainted. I'll be back with Michaela's things." She stood, collected the thick file folder and, with a kind smile, left the room, closing the door behind her.
Nerves jittered again. I cleared my throat. "So . . . Michaela . . ."
Michaela, now staring at me, asked almost defiantly, "How come you never tried to see me?"
My pulse jumped. "Is that what your mother said?"
Michaela shook her head. "She wasn't allowed to contact you. Why didn't you try to find me?"
"I didn't know you existed."
"If you had, would you have wanted to meet me?"
"Absolutely!" I assured her. I might be young, but I couldn't imagine abandoning a child. Why hadn't Christine told me she was pregnant?
Michaela nodded once and said, "Okay." That's it. Nothing more. Acceptance.
The silence that followed was awkward. Both of us stared. Michaela's expression was neutral, her blue eyes penetrating. She didn't fidget. She still had a dusting of pink on her cheeks. Her clothes - jeans and sweat shirt - were wrinkled and looked like they'd been worn a few days past their prime. I noticed her fingernails were chewed to the quick, and her dark hair needed brushing. It looked like she'd run her fingers through it to bring order and failed.
I also noticed how small she was; another reminder of Christine. Christine had barely brushed five feet at fourteen years old, slender and energetic. She'd made me feel tall.
Studying Michaela, I suffered from a blank mind, still in shock. She was my daughter! Jesus! Eventually, I asked, "Do you have any more questions you'd like to ask me?"
She shook her head. "Not yet."
The door opened. Mrs. Perez entered with two suitcases. "How's it going?" she asked.
"Really well. Michaela can't stop talking," I told her. Michaela flashed a quick smile that vanished as fast as it had arrived.
"Good. Well, here are her things. I'll let you go." She turned to Michaela. "Remember, if you have any problems or questions, you can always call me."
Michaela nodded. As we stood, Mrs. Perez hugged her. "It'll be fine, honey. Don't worry."
Less than an hour later, Michaela gripped the seat as I piloted the Beechcraft Baron G58 into the air for the five and a half hour flight home.
"Are you afraid of flying?" I asked over the loud noise.
Michaela shook her head, contradicting her mien, her taut body posture, and serious expression.
Despite headphones and microphones, she didn't talk. Eventually, she studied the land below us as we crossed Texas and Oklahoma on our way to Arkansas. A few hours into our flight, she started to relax.
I had hundreds of questions tumbling through my mind. I was curious about her and very curious about her mother. Yet, it didn't feel right to probe while in flight. The engine noise was not conducive to chatting. I was also still feeling hesitant.
Being a father was strange to me. I didn't see myself as one. In fact, searching myself, I couldn't find a fatherly instinct. Was there such a thing as a "fatherly instinct"? All sorts of complications loomed, the biggest being how Michaela was going to disrupt my sedate, orderly, and carefully controlled life. Would I be able to adapt? It wasn't in my nature. What would living with another person be like? How badly would my lifestyle be changed?
Glancing at Michaela, guilt hit me. Here I was worried about myself, but what was she going through? Nine weeks after losing her family and flying to an unknown future, how would I feel? Scared. Worried as hell. Was there something I should be doing to reassure her? I had no idea. I had no concept about having a child or raising one - and a girl at that! I was totally, utterly clueless!
Michaela glanced at me. Her cheeks flushed a slight pink before she turned her face away, yet her eyes remained firm and cool.
MICHAELA FELT IT AGAIN. She'd felt it the first moment she'd set eyes on Bradley; a magnetic appeal - as if she'd known him for her whole life. He was young, slender, and the first sight of his blue eyes had flooded her with warmth. Still, she didn't know him. She didn't know whether to believe he hadn't known about her or that he did and just didn't care.
Growing up, she'd dreamed about him so many times, making up situations, hoping he'd come into her life, and wondered what it would be like to have a dad. Now she had one and he wasn't like her dreams at all. She hadn't expected to react to him so strongly and strangely.
Watching the land slowly pass below, she wondered where she was going. Where did he live? Another wave of loss and sadness washed over her. I miss you so much, Mom!
The tiny airplane suddenly dipped and rose making her stomach roil again. This time, she didn't grip the seat. Large tracts of forest began to appear, the roads looking tiny and sinuous.
"We'll be landing in ten minutes," Bradley said in her headphones.
It looked rural. Rolling hills emerged covered in green. Cultivated linear blocks of land checker-boarded the valleys surrounded by higher ground, a vast forest off to the left. Slowly, a small town appeared and the plane descended. Here? She was going to live here? It was a minuscule town!
It grew larger as they descended. Then she saw a runway. With trees flashing by in a green blur, the plane hit the ground, bounced up once making her hold her breath, then settled down. Relief arrived. Back on firm ground.
The airport was small with several little planes, a helicopter, hangars and separate buildings. Twenty minutes later, secure in an SUV, she studied the passing landscape. A deep forest gave way to the town - much larger than it had appeared from above - then it was gone and they were back into the forest, the meandering road rising into hills, winding left and right. Bradley slowed and turned left.
A packed gravel and dirt drive led to an old house and large barn. The two-storied house looked ancient, yet not rundown. If anything, it was pristine. The yard was neatly tended. Wooden shutters and the balustrade looked freshly painted as was the wrap-around veranda. A pile of lumber was stacked to one side.
"Here we are," Bradley said, pulling up in front of the house.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"The city of Mena."
"That's a city we passed through?"
Bradley smiled. "It is. Almost six thousand inhabitants."
"Where are they hiding?"
He chuckled, grabbed her suitcases from the back, and led her in.
Michaela looked around with interest. The interior wasn't anything like she'd expected. It was an interesting blend of modern and old - modern entertainment system, old fireplace, old furniture. Yet, everything was spotlessly neat and clean. The old had been restored to like-new. Hardwood floors gleamed showing wonderful, rich wood grains. Down the hall, she caught a glimpse of the kitchen and an ancient enamel stove and refrigerator with rounded edges.
"Follow me," he said, climbing the stairs with her suitcases. "I know you've got stuff in storage. I'll have it shipped here as soon as I can."
She followed him, admiring the deeply polished oak banister. At the top, he paused.
"That bedroom is mine," he said, nodding towards the right. "There's a bedroom down to the left and another across from mine. Why don't you look at each and pick whichever one you want?"
Michaela walked down the left hall, passing a bathroom. She glanced into the bedroom - simple furniture, an armoire and chest of drawers both made out of beautiful wood. She returned and looked into the bedroom across from his.
"This one," she told him. She loved the large dormer window with a bench seat below it. A perfect spot to read. Besides, the room had a closet.
"Okay. This one it is." He put the suitcases on the bed. "I'll make us dinner. Come down when you're ready. Are you allergic to cheese?"
"How about tuna? Are you allergic to seafood?"
He left her alone. Michaela sat on the bed and bounced; firm yet yielding. She left the bedroom and explored, discovering a bathroom right out of the last century with a claw foot bathtub and shower curtain on an oval rail, the shower a hand held one, white enamel sink with old-fashioned taps, the ones that looked like stars with enamel in the center - hot and cold written on them. A matching toilet with a wooden seat, and an old cabinet mirror. Everything was old yet in like-new condition. Strange.
She peeked into his bedroom. It was big, his bed large with a solid, rectangular, dark wooden headboard, an area rug at each side with bedside tables and lamps, large closet at one end and another door leading to a bathroom. Like the other bathroom, the fixtures were all old-fashioned. Why?
Returning to her room, she unpacked, neatly placing her clothes in the drawers and closet, and her books near the window. She plugged her iPhone into the wall to recharge.
This place is so strange, she thought. What will it be like living here? It's too quiet. There aren't even neighbors! It felt like she'd moved into another dimension and time!
Michaela tossed in her bed again. It was too quiet. Too dark. The bed too unfamiliar.
And what the heck was wrong with her?! She felt her cheeks heat up again and frowned. She'd never experienced anything like it. It was immediate, too. The first moment she'd seen Bradley she'd reacted, warmth rushing through her and strange feelings emerging; feelings she only felt when she touched herself.
What was wrong with her?! He was her father!
Michaela tossed again, unable to find physical comfort for her mental condition. Bradley confused her. He seemed kind and considerate. He was polite. But, he was a bit . . . aloof, as if he didn't know how to handle her.
She thought back over the day. Getting out of the social services home was a big relief. She could still feel the surge of excitement and relief when they'd told her they'd found her father and he was coming for her - someone to save her.
For days she'd been on pins and needles. Then, entering the small meeting room, her physical reaction had caught her by surprise, so much so she felt her cheeks warm up, her throat go dry, and heart beat faster. Since that moment, she'd had trouble talking to him, feeling too embarrassed.
Idly, she wondered why Bradley had asked her if she was allergic to cheese or tuna. Dinner had neither. He'd served a spicy chicken Alfredo, rich and delicious.
Her thoughts turned to living here. Mena. It hadn't looked like a city and, driving from the airplane, they'd passed through it and into a forest in the blink of an eye, the road becoming sinuous as it climbed. It felt like they was in the middle of nowhere, yet she knew she was five minutes from town. Weird.
What did Bradley do? What job did he have? What would a new school be like? Are students different out here in the boonies from the big city students?
Michaela rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She liked that Bradley's house was so neat. Mom had been a walking disaster, creating mess just by existing - a fireball of energy. Michaela knew it's why she ended up being such a neat freak herself.
Thoughts of Mom, her smile and her hugs, hit her. Another overwhelming wave of loss washed over her. Her heart ached. She could smell Mom. She felt so lonely. Tears formed. God, I miss you so much! A sob escaped. Rolling onto her side, Michaela let herself quietly cry, unable to hold back. Waves of sorrow built, her body hurting.
I LAY IN BED in the silent darkness. I'd heard Michaela moving around, use the bathroom, then go quiet. She confused me.
Michaela, for a twelve-year-old, was tiny, about four feet tall, and as slender as a reed. She moved gracefully as if carefully considering each move. Observant deep blue eyes took in everything and not just in passing; she studied everything as though there was a hidden meaning in inanimate objects. She'd tied her hair into a ponytail before coming down. Somehow, with her face and neck exposed, she looked more fragile and younger than ever.
Conversation over dinner had been sparse and awkward, neither of us adventuring into anything personal, both of us testing a new relationship. I'd been the instigator, asking questions. Michaela had answered politely, a bit evasively, and remained subdued. She'd shown remarkable table manners, something I hadn't expected. And eventually, I'd stopped asking her anything, afraid to probe.
Sleep rebuffed me. My reaction to her still baffled me. It was involuntary. Michaela was just about the most attractive female I'd ever set eyes on, and yet, I could see me in her. She was my daughter and my brain seemed incapable of suppressing the draw I felt. It was an emotional reaction, not an intellectual one. Intellectually, I knew Michaela wasn't model beautiful yet my emotions told me she was drop dead gorgeous!
I'd never found young girls desirable. I'd never even thought about it. In fact, probing my memories, I couldn't remember any girl that young catching my attention - and very few women. So why Michaela? Was it because we were related? No. The concept of incest had never appealed to me.
My reaction was strange, an alien emotion, and I understood how wrong it was. Perhaps it was the result of suddenly being thrown together. Hopefully I'd adjust, time and closeness erasing my sensitivity to her. Either way, I would have to exert a tight self discipline to make sure I didn't do anything inadvertent. The last thing Michaela needed was a crazy father! She needed security and comfort and routine to adjust. That's where my focus should be.
Still uneasy, I tried to sleep, then worried about her, her first night here in a strange house. Maybe I should check on her.
As quietly as I could, I approached her bedroom door. It was ajar. Lifting my hand to knock, I paused at the sound of her quiet crying. She'd seemed so strong today. Not now.
Without knocking, I eased her door open, entered and, in the pale moonlight, saw her lying on her side facing away from me. I moved to the bed and sat on the edge, my hand finding her upper arm. She froze. I rubbed her arm gently.
"It's okay to cry," I told her softly. "It's natural. It's important. I know it might be hard to believe, but it will get better. It will get easier in time. I promise."
She was silent. I knew she was still crying and wanted to comfort her but didn't know how. Instead, I talked.
"Without sorrow you'd never experience joy. Without crying, laughter would be meaningless. It's going to be hard but you'll find happiness again."
I sat for a while, gently rubbing her arm.
"Are you lactose intolerant?" I asked. "Or allergic to chocolate?"
Michaela went silent and still, as if surprised by my questions.
"I have some rocky road ice cream downstairs. Ice cream cures everything. What say you we go and have some, right out of the tub?"
She finally moved, rolling slightly to look at me, her eyes red.
"Okay," she answered softly.
She followed me downstairs in her pajamas and sat at the kitchen table. I turned on a soft under cupboard light, pulled a tub of ice cream from the freezer, grabbed two spoons, and sat next to her, handing her one spoon.
"Dig in," I encouraged.
Ice cream seemed to do the trick. Michaela studied the kitchen again. She glanced at me once and blushed very lightly, then avoided looking at me. Her red eyes cleared up. I liked the way she ate ice cream; a small spoonful scooped out, then she rotated it upside down so the ice cream hit her tongue. Lips closed, she withdrew the spoon with half the ice cream gone, then repeated, finishing it only to scoop some more.
"How long have you lived here?" she asked, avoiding my eyes.
"Almost four years."
"Was the house like this when you bought it?"
"Sorta weird," she clarified.
"I didn't buy it. I inherited it. Weird how?"
Michaela shrugged. "It's, like . . . weird. You have an old stove and old refrigerator, and a modern microwave and food processor. It's the same in your living room - old and new." She took another scoop of ice cream.
I ate some myself before answering. She was right. And I liked the dichotomy. "I guess you can call it weird, but I prefer to think of it as having character."
"Did your parents live here?"
"No. I inherited it from my great-aunt. It had been in her family for generations."
"She took really good care of it."
I chuckled. "No. She really didn't. The place was falling apart when I moved in. I had to live in a tent until I fixed the roof."
Michaela finally looked at me. "You restored it yourself?"
"Everything? The whole house?"
I nodded again. "The whole kit and caboodle."
She glanced around, looked at me, said, "You did a nice job," and her cheeks flushed slightly.
Suddenly, out of left field, Michaela asked, "Did you love my mom?"
I thought about it. The truth was, I probably hadn't. I was too young to appreciate her. I was infatuated and a horny fifteen-year-old, and she was very, very pretty. I couldn't tell that to Michaela.
"In my own way, I probably did. At least, as much as you can love someone at that age."
"Mom didn't love you. She said she only had a crush on you."
"Good to know," I grunted.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Are you sure? You looked a bit hurt."
I smiled. "I'm not hurt at all, Michaela." But I was, if just a bit.
She finished another scoop and said, "Mom told me you were, like, this serious hunk of sexy guy. Does that make you feel better?"
I laughed. Oddly, it did soothe my ego. I changed the subject.
"How about tomorrow, Saturday, I take you around and show you the town?"
"That should be quick," she observed quite seriously, making me laugh again.
Michaela smiled briefly when she said, "Good night," at her bedroom door.
I gave her the grand tour on Saturday. It was really quick. She was pleased to see people on the streets and studied the middle school - creatively named Mena Middle School - she'd be attending. I discovered her quietness was her, not driven by shyness. Her sense of humor was dry - arid dry. I wondered if she knew her comments and observations were funny. They sure made me smile.
I took her to the busy local mall. As we strolled towards the Walmart Supercenter, Michaela paused at the window of Verizon and looked in at the display of Smartphones.
"Would you like a Smartphone?" I asked. How could anyone live without one these days?
"I have one," she replied as she glanced over her shoulder at me. "I don't have service. It was canceled after . . . you know."
"In that case, why don't I put you on my plan? You have to have a cell phone in this town. There are no pay phones."
The spark of brightness in her eyes looked very nice. "Sure! I'm with Sprint. We can do it on the way home."
We continued towards Walmart. We needed food, and shopping with Michaela might give me some insight into her tastes. Then other thoughts struck me.
"I've never done this before, Mickey: been responsible for anyone. You have to help me. What should I be doing? I mean, what did you do for money before? Did you have an allowance or just ask? And what about clothes and supplies? Do you need special shampoo or stuff?"
Michaela frowned. "Don't call me Mickey." She added, "I got an allowance. Eighty dollars a week."
Jesus! "Eighty dollars? Really?"
Michaela laughed for the first time and, even if it was too short, it was bright and light, and very pleasing.
"No. Not really. Mom gave me twenty-five dollars a week."
"Okay. I can handle that." I dug a couple of bills out of my pocket and passed them to her.
"Thank you." After a pause, she added, "Bradley."
"You can call me Brad," I suggested, strolling towards Walmart.
"Is that what you prefer?"
"Yup. I hate Bradley."
Food shopping was interesting. Michaela, when I told her to pick anything she liked, proceeded to select things I'd have picked. It seemed she, too, liked Fig Newtons and Entemann's chocolate chip cookies. She liked fresh fruit and vegetables. She was inquisitive about new products, adventurous. Was it genetics?
When we passed through the drug store department, Michaela treated me to several blushes, picking out deodorant and body wash, shampoo and conditioner, toothpaste and dental floss, carefully checking the price of each before depositing them in the shopping cart quickly, as if I wouldn't see. I didn't say anything but, for some reason, found her shyness cute.
When she picked up a hair brush, checked the price, and returned it to the shelf, I asked, "What's wrong with it?"
"Too expensive," she answered. "I've already spent twenty-four fifty-five."
"So?" I asked, confused.
"I'll get it with next week's allowance."
Still confused, I asked, "What are you talking about?"
She calmly informed me, "I buy this stuff with my allowance."
"No you don't! I pay for these things. Allowance is for you to spend on fun stuff, not essentials." I reached for the hair brush and added it to the cart. "Besides, you need a hair brush rather desperately."
Michaela's eyes brightened with excitement. "Really? I don't have to use my allowance?"
"Of course not. Is that what your mom made you do?"
"Yeah. We didn't have much money."
"Well, allowance is meant to be used for frivolous stuff, not necessities."
"Great!" she exclaimed with a bright, bright smile.
I was caught off guard again. Michaela had a wonderful smile. It stunned me with its brilliance and reached her eyes making them sparkle like sapphires. I started thinking that having Michaela in my life might be enjoyable, not the inconvenience I'd imagined.
Several things happened over the next week that caused me angst and forced me to reassess my self-image.
Michaela was a quiet girl. She coped. She accepted her new surroundings and made no demands on me. She handled being enrolled in a new school and showed no nervousness at the prospect. She was obsessively neat, just like me, except when it came to personal grooming. For some reason her dark brown and wavy hair, layered to her shoulder blades, never stayed in place. Like Houdini, it always escaped her hair band to fall in stray tresses. No matter how much she brushed it, it looked like she'd casually run her fingers through it, order and symmetry eluding her. I thought it was attractive and gave her character. She told me it was frustrating and she hated her hair.
She was endlessly inquisitive, yet another trait I could associate with. She didn't pester me with questions. She investigated on her own. She seemed very independent.
Three days after arriving, she walked into the kitchen while I was making myself breakfast and asked, "What do you do? I went into the barn expecting it to be empty, not renovated and remodeled."
"I'm a . . . I guess you could call it a social accountant," I told her.
"Huh. That's strange. With all those computers, I thought you might be a hacker or something." She poured herself a bowl of cereal. "The barn's beautifully restored. I figured out your office and the home gym, but what's the third room for?"
"I don't know yet. I'm still thinking about how I'll use it."
"Can I use your gym?"
"Can I use your computers?" she asked, joining me at the old refurbished breakfast table.
"No. Please don't touch them. If you want a computer, I'll give you a laptop I have somewhere."
She shrugged. "Okay. Do you do other sports or just use the gym to keep in shape?"
"I run, I bike, and I hike. How about you?"
"I like sports a lot. In school I played volley ball, soccer, and field hockey. I've never used a gym. Can you teach me how to use the equipment?"
Any time turned out to be that morning. Michaela was to meet me in the gym. She did, and the strange and inexplicable attraction I had to her intensified suddenly, shocking me with its power.
Michaela arrived wearing pale blue, tight spandex shorts, a snug tank top, and sneakers. My breath caught in my chest and heat flushed through me. There was no denying the sexual response I experienced and it angered me. Why? Why was she affecting me this way?
I studiously avoided looking at her while showing her how to use the gym equipment. We spent time with each as I took her through what it was for, and cautioned her on what not to do when she worked out alone. Michaela was a remarkably quick study and, all too soon, as I sweated away on a treadmill and she pushed herself on the NordicTrack elliptical stair climber, my body relaxed into the pleasure of physical exercise, the flood of endorphins, and my mind cleared.
We spent forty minutes working out, then showered, changed, and headed out. Yet, that night in bed, the image of her came storming back and I couldn't stop an erection forming. She was crystal clear in my mind. Michaela wasn't the child I'd thought she was. She was a female! Her tight tank top revealed very small breasts forming, more than mounds, not quite full breasts. And, dear God, her spandex shorts had been stuck to her like a second skin, and all I could see was the impossibly sexy swell of her mons, such a plump mound on her slender body. Her shorts had forced their way into her cleft forming a distinct camel toe, two lush labia outlined.
My erection strained, throbbing and calling to me. I resisted the urge to touch myself. Michaela was such a sexy female - not a child, not a woman, but some enchanting, beguiling, and sensual sprite in between.
I tossed and turned willing my erection away. Guilt punished me. I understood how wrong it was to find a twelve-year-old arousing. Yet, I couldn't understand why she appealed to me sexually. I was sorely disappointed in my reaction to her.
I behaved for the next few days and started thinking my initial reaction was a one-off.
Then, not quite a week later, my resistance was almost demolished with a scream.
It was late. I'd just sat on the bed to remove my socks. I was in my underwear when I heard her scream from the bathroom. Jumping up, I ran into the hall and smacked right into her, sending her sprawling onto her back with another scream. The bath towel she'd wrapped around her body fell open and time slowed like molasses.
Michaela was naked under the towel, fully exposed to me, and the few seconds of shocked immobility felt like minutes. I noticed her petite breasts, so cute with dark pink areolae and small, soft nipples. I noticed her very slender, delicate body without any mature shape. And then I saw her pussy and time stopped. So did my heart.
Michaela's pussy was gorgeous! She had the cutest, sexiest pubes I'd ever seen. Jet black, they looked silken and fine and glossy, yet her bush was small and sparse, not yet covering her mons or hiding her cleft. Her pubes weren't curly but almost straight and looked like a comb had been run through it.
It stunned me! When I looked at her face, Michaela was blushing furiously. She suddenly grabbed the towel and covered herself, jumped up and dashed into her bedroom. I stood in the same spot as if glued to the floor. My brain was trying to process it all. In almost every way, Michaela was a child. Her face was that of a child. The shape of her body was that of a child. Yet, puberty had started, the emergence of a young lady, maturity, and the contrast was glorious, enchanting, and so intensely sexy my heart kicked back into gear and raced. I'd never seen anything so damned erotic! The image of her, a child-woman, would forever be in my mind.
Blood rushed south, an erection beginning. Shaking myself, I finally moved towards her door and knocked.
"Michaela? Are you okay?"
A muffled "Yeah," reached me.
"What happened? Why did you scream?"
When she didn't answer, I asked again, then asked, "Can I come in?"
I opened her bedroom door and found her sitting on the edge of her bed holding the bath towel tightly around her. She glanced at me and blushed a furious red.
"I'm so embarrassed," she told me, looking away.
Sitting beside her, I said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run into you like that. What happened?"
"I was about to shower and there was a big-assed spider in the bathtub. I'm scared of spiders."
I smiled slightly. "Okay. I'll get rid of it."
Michaela was right. The black spider was at least two inches wide and ugly looking. I flushed it down the toilet and, when I returned to her room, she was in her pajamas.
"You can shower now. I got rid of it."
"I don't think so! I don't think I'll ever shower again!"
Her face was still flushed. She still wouldn't look at me. I'd clearly embarrassed her by seeing her naked and, for a twelve-year-old, it was probably a traumatic experience. So I reverted to my tried and true cure.
"Let's go down and have ice cream."
It seemed to work. Her flush faded. She talked about her fear of spiders. She consumed ice cream in her odd way, turning the spoon upside down and eating. But, there was something in her eyes when she looked at me, a strange expression I couldn't decipher. Once again Michaela was, in her red and blue check pajamas, the picture of a cute little girl.
Ice cream did its job.
However, later, in bed, I couldn't stop the image of her sprawled on the hall floor from my damned brain. I couldn't stop the rush of excitement I felt. I couldn't stop my body from reacting and a hard erection forming. And I couldn't stop the wave of raw desire I felt.
Confusion plagued me. I'd always been attracted to blondes like her mother, so why was Michaela so astonishingly attractive? Where was the fatherly restraint I was supposed to feel?
Closing my eyes, I pictured her incredible naked body and gripped my erection. I stroked myself to images of her very small, intensely sexy cute breasts and my cock swelled to the astonishingly erotic image of her pussy, her newly forming pubic bush. Those silken strands of jet black pubic hair inflamed me, so noticeable against her pale skin. To top it off, Michaela's pussy was so astonishingly plump, so damned erotic, and, as I stroked my cock, as precum leaked making me slippery, I released the strange desire in me and imagined touching her, actually feeling her young pussy, its softness and warmth and sexy contours. Eyes closed, I imagined kissing her pussy, tasting her arousal, and I came with a deep groan of pleasure, cock swelling, spurting, hot cum landing on my stomach. I stroked myself to a wonderful orgasm with sexy images floating through my mind, desire inflaming me, and as the last pulses weakened and faded, peace and pleasure suffused me.
I waited. I waited for guilt to arrive. When it didn't, I knew Michaela had demolished my ethical compass. What was I supposed to do now?
IN HER BEDROOM, MICHAELA tossed again. The heat of embarrassment had faded but she still felt hot and restless. Her body tingled, alive and sensitive. She knew why, too. She'd never met anyone like Brad. He was so familiar, yet not. He had the same sense of humor. He had the same tastes and liked the same foods, was interested in the same things she was, and his eyes! They were gorgeous! Such a deep blue and endlessly expressive.
Michaela pictured him in his workout clothes, slender and fit. She pictured him in the hall standing and staring at her in his underwear. His body was very fit, sleekly muscled, the muscles not big but defined. He looked like a runner.
She'd noticed sparse soft hair on his chest and the exciting thin line of hair that ran down from his navel and disappeared into his boxers, and wondered how it would feel to rub it. A wave of horniness hit her as she pictured the expression on his face when she'd sprawled on the floor. He'd seen her completely naked and his reaction was one of . . . of what?
His eyes had trailed down her body. He'd seen her breasts and then her crotch and stopped. His eyes had opened wider and when he'd looked at her again, she saw heat!
Reaching down, Michaela eased her hand inside her pajama bottoms and cupped her pussy over her panties. She squeezed and a pulse of excitement hit her. She was horny. She could feel it; tingling, her pussy slippery, a need to touch herself.
Rolling onto her back, she brought her knees up and apart, rubbing herself gently, her eyes closed. In her mind's eye, she pictured his intense gaze and shuddered when she understood what she'd seen. Brad liked what he'd seen!
It was a first for her. It was the first time a guy thought she was sexy. Her pussy throbbed. She rubbed gently enjoying the slow pleasure building; a warm heat, tingles, pulsing. She pressed her middle finger against her panties, pushing into her cleft, and found her clit. A burst of pleasure hit when she rubbed.
Michaela moaned silently. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss Brad, to be kissed by him, to be hugged gently, wrapped in his arms. She wondered what he smelled like and how soft the hair on his chest was.
Her hips twitched. She rubbed her clit, her breath deepening, warm excitement pulsing through her. Her heart beat faster. Now hot, she pushed the bed covers off and diddled herself faster, pressure building inside.
She let her mind free. She imagined Brad in his bedroom, restless, and wanting to come to her. She imagined him knocking on her bedroom door - a quiet knock, hesitant and unsure - and her whispered, "Come in."
Rubbing her pussy faster, her hips moving gently, her breath rushing, Michaela pictured Brad enter her bedroom, naked except for those boxers, and move to the side of her bed, his gaze intense, wanting her. She imagined his strained voice as he'd whisper, "Michaela," pause, then add, "Can I kiss you?"
Scrubbing her clit, hips undulating, her eyes tightly closed, Michaela felt the first stirring of her climax, tenseness arriving, muscles tightening, heart racing, her pussy throbbing, heavy.
She pictured nodding to him and his smile, so broad and sexy. She imagined him slipping under the covers with her, reaching for her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her to him, his naked skin, his warmth. She imagined his gaze and his whisper, "You're so beautiful."
And when she imagined Brad kissing her gently and touching her breasts, Michaela came. A burst of pleasure hit, radiating up from her pussy to explode in a flush of heat. She gasped, her knees closing, and rubbed her clit, beautiful pleasure washing over her, intense. She snorted in a breath and shook as her climax washed over her, more powerful than usual. To the thought of Brad in her bed, kissing her, holding her, Michaela rode her climax all the way until it ebbed, her clit sensitive, body hot.
Slowly, she calmed and relaxed, drained and at peace. Eventually, she pulled the bed covers over her and turned on her side. She sighed. This was a first, she realized. It was the first time she'd climaxed with a guy in mind, not just an act of pleasure. It was the first time she'd been aroused by the thought of kissing a guy, of having a guy in her bed.
And it was definitely the first time she'd ever thought of her dad being sexy. Before meeting him, in her mind, he'd always been older and ethereal, sedate and kind, not as young looking as Brad.
Despite being drained and at peace, Michaela still felt drawn to him. She still felt traces of desire in her - new feelings that excited her. Somehow, Brad being her dad made it even better.
Michaela was confused by Brad the next morning. He was the same but not, slightly distanced, slightly cooler. For the next few days, as she started at her new school, with Brad dropping her off and picking her up, she thought he was preoccupied with work. His easy smiles weren't as frequent, looked strained when they appeared, and he worked long hours.
She occupied herself with making new friends at school and concentrating on school work, but in the back of her mind, she missed the easy-going guy she'd first met. She wanted to ask him what had changed, but how? Ask him why he wasn't smiling as often? That sounded stupid.
She wanted to be closer to him but didn't know how to initiate it. She adjusted to his schedule and worked out with him almost every morning, watched him move, studied his lean body, and chatted with him, but there was distance growing between them.
Slowly, she withdrew. Loneliness flirted with her. She didn't bother him by chatting about school or other things and the silences grew longer. She stopped working out in the mornings. Then depression arrived, the feeling she'd lost something she'd never really had, just a promise of something exceptional, and that saddened her. She knew she should talk to him about it, but how did you talk about an attraction that wasn't father and daughter? How could she admit to the naughty desires that arrived every night? To the sexy dreams she had of them together?
I SAT AT THE computer and, looking at the screen, had an Aha! moment. It was the answer to the struggle I'd been battling with for the last little while. It explained everything. I wasn't a pervert . . . well, I was, but now I understood why.
There on the Web, I read about genetic sexual attraction. It explained how, when a parent and child didn't live together in the first years, a parental bond wouldn't form. I read about others who'd been afflicted with the same feeling I'd been struggling with and how some had actually become intimate without any negative effects. One involved siblings who'd been separated at birth. Another case involved a mother and son who'd been put up for adoption twenty years before. And several involved fathers and daughters who'd never met before.
They all had commonalities. They all talked about the immediate attractions they'd experienced when first meeting, just as I had with Michaela. They discussed how similar their personalities were and how that brought them closer, and how they liked the same things. Often, these people had gotten together without knowing they were related.
I read about their relationships. None of them expressed regrets. Even those that separated after finding out they were related had no regrets. They all admitted to deep feeling for the other, more powerful than they'd experienced with anyone else. In one instance, a father and daughter continued to live together as a couple, neither expressing anything other than happiness.
There, on the screen in front of me, was the explanation I'd been agonizing over and it brought a huge sense of relief. I wasn't a twisted freak of nature. It wasn't my fault. My feelings for Michaela were rare but natural. Genetic sexual attraction was real.
I could feel the tension in my shoulders ease. For the last few weeks I'd castigated myself and forced a strict discipline on my behavior, holding back those times I wanted to hug her lest it be misinterpreted. Every time she appeared to work out with me in the gym I couldn't stop the lust for her that heated me, images of her naked body fueling my unholy desire. And, to protect her lest she see the true feelings through my eyes, I'd withdrawn even further from her.
I'd noticed, after Michaela's brief happiness when she settled, her gradual withdrawal. She'd grown quiet, serious, and focused on her school work. I noticed her chewing her nails and wondered if it was habit or stress, hoping it was the latter. Inside, I knew I was at fault for her behavior and fear and shame held me back from helping her.
However, now I knew what this affliction was, I could handle it. Now I could hug her without being afraid I might lose control, without getting angry with my reaction to her. I could live with it without shame and that gave me confidence I could control it.
It was a liberating revelation!
Now I could have a talk with Michaela and explain it rationally. I could be honest about why I'd been standoffish, and with her aware of why, perhaps we could restore our fledgling relationship without me overstepping the boundaries.
I was pretty happy when I picked up Michaela from school. She eyed my smile with suspicion and didn't return it.
"We have to talk tonight," I told her.
"Because I have things I need to say, that's why."
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked.
"Not at all. This is all about me."
She eyed me suspiciously on the ride home.
"Are you allergic to bacon?" I asked.
She shook her head, and a small smile formed at the corners of her mouth. At home, she disappeared into her bedroom to do her homework, as she'd been doing every weekday.
I prepared a simple, pre-made pasta for dinner; bite-sized pasta baskets of chicken and bacon in a butter, lemon, garlic and chive sauce, with a green salad and crispy baguette.
We ate silently at the kitchen table. Then I spoke.
"There's a condition that happens when people who are related don't live together."
Michaela glanced at me.
"It's rare but real. The thing is, it's not a condition you have control over. It's not a conscious decision. It just is. And I've been suffering from it since meeting you."
Michaela stared at me, her food forgotten.
"It's nothing you've done, Michaela. I promise. It's all me."
"Is that why you've been acting weird?"
I nodded. "Basically, yeah."
"So what is it?" she asked, taking another small bite of the pasta.
"Apparently, a parental bond forms in the first four years of your life. When you don't live with or see your parent, that bond sometimes doesn't develop. Occasionally, when you finally meet, as in you and me, an emotional attraction forms. A lot has to do with us being so similar in habits and likes."
Michaela watched me carefully without any expression. I took a sip of beer and resumed.
"In some instances, the attraction is not like a father and daughter, but more like an attraction to a beautiful girl. It's called genetic sexual attraction. When that happens, um, well, other feelings emerge."
Michaela processed what I'd said and a blush emerged, her eyes darting away from me.
"Don't be embarrassed," I told her. "This is my fault, not yours. I know I've been a bit cool for a while. I was afraid of how I was reacting to you. Now I know . . . Now we know what it is, I can handle it without feeling guilty and rotten all the time."
She studied her half-empty plate, her cheeks still pink. It looked very cute on her.
I continued, "Please don't worry, Michaela. I don't want you to be uncomfortable or afraid. That's why I'm telling you."
She studied me, her deep blue eyes so penetrating and captivating. I tried a weak grin and added, "I'm pretty sure I can resist the desire to hug you."
I wondered what thoughts were going through her mind. Her eyes were frank and studying me, yet her blush intensified.
She looked down and, in a very soft voice, asked, "What if I don't want you to?"
"Don't want me to what?"
"Resist the desire to hug me. I . . . I think I might like being hugged," she said so very softly.
For a moment, time stood still. Did she have the same attraction to me? No. Too young. Yet, I realized since her arrival I'd never hugged her. I'd never touched her with more than a consoling hand. I'd never offered physical comfort out of fear of how I might react. Was that fair? Not at all!
I stood up from the table. Michaela watched me. I smiled. "I think I'd like to hug you now, if you'll let me."
A very small, shy smile emerged. She stood and moved towards me. I welcomed her in my arms, wrapping them around her, and hugged her. Michaela wrapped her arms around my waist and hugged me back.
Something strange and unexpected happened. I didn't experience the sexual reaction I'd worried about. When I tightened my arms, Michaela sighed quietly, her cheek pressed against my chest. I bent my head, my nose in her hair, and inhaled the floral scent of her. She was such a petite girl in my arms, so young, so sweet, and a rush of love for her caught me off guard.
Hugging Michaela was an experience unlike I'd ever had and, man, did I like it!
The hug lasted a couple of minutes. Eventually, I relaxed my arms and Michaela eased her face away from my chest. She looked up at me, blushed and smiled with pure pleasure.
My proverbial goose was cooked. Michaela was so sweet, so intensely attractive in my eyes, her shyness enchanting me. Before I drowned, I smiled and released her.
"Well, that didn't hurt me too much," I commented, sitting down at the table.
As we resumed eating, I asked, "Do you think we could hug again sometime? I really enjoyed it."
Michaela smiled again, her eyes twinkling out shy pleasure. "Maaaybe. I'll think about it," she said playfully.
Over the next ten days Michaela flourished. Still a quiet girl, she smiled more frequently, would chat with me, updating me on the new school friends she was making, homework, and other random things that caught her fancy. Her interests were wide ranging - often subjects I'd never heard of - and she was fascinated by almost everything, her mind inquiring and acute. I found real pleasure in our talks and took the opportunity to probe her awareness of world issues, politics, movies, music and more.
She became a significant part of my everyday life to the point where I missed her presence when she was at school or out with her friends.
I also initiated frequent hugs and loved each and every small moment of intimacy. I adored how petite she felt in my arms. I loved the scent of her, too; fresh and sweet with a constant hint of floral shampoo.
Michaela had a habit of sighing quietly when we hugged and the sound of her enjoyment touched me deeply. Over time, Michaela started initiating hugs and I was receptive every time.
Other changes occurred. Michaela stopped chewing her fingernails. She stopped hiding in her bedroom to do her homework, preferring to be in the kitchen, keeping me company while I prepared dinner. She laughed more often, smiled slightly when I made oddball comments, and her frequent blushes disappeared demonstrating her growing comfort with me. And what amused me was her constant battle with her hair. No matter how much she brushed it or how tight she wrapped the hair band around it, Michaela's hair escaped confinement, tendrils framing her face. Sitting at the kitchen table bent over her homework, she'd blow it away, then curl it behind her ear, and eventually take the hair band off, run her fingers through it, gather it, twist it and tie it. Inevitably, a few minutes later, a tress would escape.
I liked teasing her. Her responses were quick, sharp, and dryly amusing.
One evening I was preparing Drunk Chicken and asked, "Mickey, can you get me a can of beer from the fridge? My hands are greasy."
Michaela got up from the kitchen table, went to the fridge, grabbed a can and handed it to me, saying, "Don't call me Mickey. I'm not Mickey Mouse, Braaaadley." Then she returned to her homework.
I smiled with amusement. Michaela was serious.
At the table, when she wrestled her hair back into a ponytail, I suggested she cut it very short.
Without looking at me she calmly informed me, "I'm not a boy. I like long hair."
"Have you tried a different shampoo?"
"It's not the shampoo," she countered, studying her textbook.
"Have you tried a different conditioner?" I asked, hiding my grin.
"It's not the conditioner," she answered, still concentrating on her homework.
"Have you tried Moroccan Oil? Or a hair lotion?"
Michaela ignored me.
I drank half the beer and, after stuffing the chicken with a half a lemon and putting a garlic clove and thyme into the beer can, I wrestled the bird over the can until it stood upended, its legs looking like real legs. I seasoned the outside with oil, salt, pepper, and granulated garlic and onion powder, then put the chicken in the oven.
Washing my hands, I inquired politely, "Have you tried braiding your hair?"
"It doesn't work," she muttered.
"Perhaps a French twist would work. Or maybe pigtails? A bun?"
"Jeez, Bradley. You're hair obsessed," she dead-panned.
As I dried my hands, I turned and leaned back against the counter. She was still bent over her text book, a yellow highlighter in one hand. Once again I was taken by how pretty she was.
"Can I ask you something weird?"
Michaela responded wryly, "Most of what you ask is weird."
I laughed. "What does it feel like being so good looking?"
Michaela looked up at me, surprise in her blue eyes. Pink blossomed on her cheeks. "You think I'm good looking?"
"For a girl, yeah."
Michaela laughed, shook her head, and turned back to her book. "You're a numbnut!"
"You didn't answer me," I pointed out. "Are your friends jealous? Do boys tease you? Do you feel like no one takes you seriously because of your looks?"
A small smile curled her lips. "Leave me alone. I'm trying to study."
Grinning, I moved to the fridge and pulled out another beer. "Would you like a beer?" I offered.
"Can I have a hug?"
Michaela looked up from her text book. When she saw I was serious, she nodded, smiled, stood, and moved to me. She slipped her arms around my waist and pressed herself to me. I hugged her tightly, bent my head and inhaled her scent. Peace settled over me. Such a pleasure.
"You're a real pain in the butt," she murmured.
Easing back, she looked up at me, her eyes deep and liquid, her hair disheveled, her small mouth lush. In that moment, I wanted to kiss her. It was a sudden and powerful urge. Instead, I smiled. "I like bugging you, Mickey."
She eased out of my arms. As she sat at the kitchen table, she said, "You're really good at it, Braaadley."
Dinner that night was delicious. We relaxed in the living room and watched TV until bedtime. Through it all, I was distracted. I couldn't stop thinking about kissing her, the concept making my body tingle with electricity. What would it be like? Were her lips as soft as they looked?
Driven by the powerful attraction I had, when we headed upstairs, in the hall, I pulled her into another hug and, before we separated, I kissed her cheek gently, lingering just a while.
I whispered, "Night. Sleep well, Michaela. I'm really glad you're here."
She blushed furiously, shy pleasure radiating in her face as she slowly closed her bedroom door, looking at me.
Gentle arousal stayed with me and made sleep a reluctant visitor. Her cheek had been so soft.
MICHAELA GROANED SILENTLY IN bed. Her body was alive and sensitive, tingling. She could still feel Brad's lips on her cheek. It had sent a hot flush through her and made her cheeks burn. With his face so close to hers, she'd smelled him; an undefinable scent of pure guy, slightly musky and so amazing.
Tonight, he'd shown a different side to him, a funnier and easy going side. Some barrier between them had vanished and she thought she was seeing the real Brad. She'd told him the truth that she didn't like being called Mickey. She'd never liked it. But with Brad it was different. He said it with affection, not to make fun of her. She'd seen his grin, too, and liked how it looked on him.
She rolled onto her other side and looked out through the window. The sky was clear. She saw more stars here than she ever had back home.
Her body ached. It called to her to touch herself, bring pleasure, and release the tension inside. She resisted.
What was wrong with her? She'd never blushed so much in her life, yet every time she thought something sexy about him she'd blush. And, try as she might, she couldn't stop the thoughts. She couldn't look at his eyes when he smiled at her without thinking they were the sexiest eyes she'd ever seen. She'd never had anyone look at her in the way he did; so full of pleasure, so accepting. She'd study the shape of his body when they worked out and couldn't stop herself wondering what his butt would look like naked, immediately blushing, then more naughty thoughts would pop to mind, things she'd never considered before and now exciting her.
Michaela pushed the bed covers down. Why was it so hot?
THE SINGLE KISS ON Michaela's cheek changed our relationship. It was evident the next morning. Michaela entered the kitchen late dressed for school in jeans and T-shirt, and studiously avoided looking at me as she busied herself making a quick breakfast. She looked like she'd had a rough night.
I was convinced it was the kiss last night that made her act oddly. Now, she wasn't sure how to react or behave around me. I had a couple of choices; pretend not to notice and let it pass, or make light of it.
Self interest drove my decision. While she pulled milk from the fridge for her cereal, I moved in behind her, bent, and kissed her cheek. I said, "Good morning," and reached for the orange juice.
She froze. I returned to the table and sat. It took her a minute to move.
She turned and, with the most beautiful blush, asked, "What was that for?"
With a smile, I told her, "I wanted to see you blush."
Michaela frowned at me. "That's not funny."
Still smiling at her, I shrugged. "Okay. I won't kiss you again if it bothers you."
She sat at the table still frowning. "I didn't say stop. I said it's not funny."
"I'm not laughing. I'm smiling. Your blush makes you look cute."
"I'm NOT cute!"
"Okay. Beautiful . . . or you would be if it wasn't for your unfortunate nose. It's not straight." Her nose was perfect. It was slim, quite normal, her face balanced.
Michaela felt her nose. "Is it really bent?"
With a chuckle, I said, "No. I'm bugging you."
She gave me another frown. "I don't like you anymore. Take me to school."
Michaela ignored my comments and apologies on the drive to school. She kept her frown and when I politely asked what was wrong, she informed me, "I'm not talking to you."
Being honest, Michaela's snit made my day. Even routine tasks - basic programming - in the home office couldn't erase the brightness I was feeling. Michaela had a great frown.
And that night, when I gave her a hug goodnight and kissed her cheek, Michaela turned her face slightly and kissed my cheek, shyly saying, "Goodnight," her face bright red from her forwardness.
I was as horny as heck that night. It was her first act of affection and damn was it sweet!
I had no doubt Michaela was exploring her emerging sexuality. Every night she'd reciprocate my kiss on her cheek. With it, I became extraordinarily careful not to do more. I wanted her to set her own pace. If it went no further, fine. I liked the subtle hint of intimacy as it was, and loved hugging her. There was another benefit, too. I was experiencing her journey of discovery and fascinated by how far it might go.
Between my work and her school, life settled into a routine. Weekends were busy with chores and grocery shopping. Michaela's circle of friends grew and with it, socializing. She spent more time out of the house with after school trips to the local coffee shop or mall, or playing school soccer, and weekends always involved her meeting her friends. She never brought them home.
I discovered she was extremely active on social media. My monthly cell phone bill showed her data usage. I didn't mind. Aside from phone calls, I rarely used my iPhone for entertainment. I preferred the manual labor of working on the house. I had a basement to finish and a shed to restore.
As time passed, I figured out Michaela's tendency to blush. It always emerged with intimacy. If I complimented her looks, she'd blush. Every time I surprised her with a show of affection, she blushed. And every time I kissed her cheek, she blushed.
What made it so thrilling were the other times she'd blush. She'd watch me and, when I caught her, her cheeks would turn pink and I'd wonder what she'd been thinking, knowing it was likely something intimate. I loved it. The future was so full of possibilities, all of them erotic and delightfully illicit in my mind.
Then things changed. It started with Michaela's kisses lingering on my cheek slightly longer, our nightly hugs longer, her sighs of pleasure hitting me hard. Slowly, her kisses on my cheek edged closer to my mouth, sweetly hesitant, exploring her limits, her blushes even deeper, revealing the deliberateness of her actions.
It was agony for me. I so wanted to grab her and kiss her. I had vivid dreams of illicit intimacy with her that caused raging erections and my heart to race. Every small step she was taking made me adore her more. I wasn't sure I could maintain self discipline. I was slowly becoming infatuated.
It was a Friday night. We watched Scream. Michaela had jumped several times with a screech of her own and eventually moved tight into my side on the sofa. She wrapped her arms around my bicep holding on, curled her legs up, and buried her face every time a scary part threatened, muttering, "Why would anyone like this movie?"
At one point, I said, "Relax. Nothing's gonna happen here," right before the guy in his cloak and mask jumped out.
Michaela screamed, her whole body jerking. She thumped my arm hard and yelled, "That's NOT funny!"
I grinned. "I thought it was."
"I don't like you," she muttered, her face pushed against my arm, peeking out at the TV through her loose hair.
While horror movies had never been my thing, I decided we'd have many more in our future.
That night, magic happened.
In the upstairs hall as we were heading to bed, Michaela turned for our nightly hug. She came into my arms. I bent my head and inhaled her scent. She turned her face up. I kissed her cheek softly and she kissed mine, lingering, her kiss to the right of my mouth.
When the kiss ended, our faces were so close I could inhale her breath. Her endlessly deep blue eyes looked up at me expectantly, her head tilted just so. For a moment there was electricity in the air crackling between us.
Then, driven by desire, I made the move. I kissed her on her lips. It was a soft kiss and so damned sweet. Her lips were warm and silken, small and exciting. Heat flushed through me, arousal storming in, her kiss pure ambrosia. Her eyes closed. Pressure increased. The kiss lingered; just beautiful.
When it ended, she opened her eyes and studied mine. I smiled. A furious blush blossomed on her cheeks as she returned my smile, her eyes sparkling.
Michaela eased herself out of my arms, whispering, "Goodnight." She smiled again and headed into her bedroom.
For a minute or two, I stood in the hall, my pulse thumping, and hot arousal flowing south causing a soft thickening, desire burning in me. Eventually, I moved. By the time I was in bed I had a raging erection and, with an unfettered imagination at play, relief came quickly, passed too fast, and did nothing to sate the desire burning in me.
MICHAELA STUDIED HER FACE in the bathroom mirror, pleased to see her cheeks normal. She smiled. Her first kiss and it was perfect!
Gaawd, kissing was so exciting! She could still feel his lips on hers. She could still see the wonder in his gorgeous eyes after it ended, and his sexy smile of pleasure.
Another wave of horniness washed over her. Her small boobs felt heavier, fuller, and below, her pussy was damp again despite wiping herself.
She reached for the toothbrush and toothpaste. Brushing her teeth, she thought about what Ginny had said after school, how kissing a guy was so exciting. She hadn't believed Ginny then, but now she did.
Rinsing her mouth, Michaela straightened and looked at her hair. She grabbed her hairbrush and started brushing. Why didn't it ever behave? It was glossy, dark and wavy, not frizzy. But for some reason, almost like her hair had a Teflon coating, it would slip out of her hair band no matter how tight it was. She had let it grow longer hoping length would be the answer and it wasn't. Maybe she should give up and cut it shoulder-length.
Putting the brush down, she held her hair pretending it was shorter and studied her appearance in the mirror. Not bad. It would be easier to wash and dry, too.
Would Dad like it?
Her eyes opened in shock. It was the first time she'd automatically thought of Brad as Dad. She'd kissed her father! Arousal rushed back, her pussy throbbing. She squeezed her legs together causing more exciting sparks.
She had known, as soon as he'd explained about genetic sexual attraction, that he was right. She felt it too. It was involuntary. It was immediate, and the attraction she felt hit her every time she was with him. It was how wonderful she felt every time he hugged her and how his kiss on her cheek made her yearn for more. How much she loved being with him even when they weren't talking.
God, she was horny!
Replacing the brush, she left the bathroom. In bed, cuddled under the covers, she let her imagination free, carefully caressing her small breast, teasing her sensitive nipple, relaxing. To visions of Brad, she reached down with her other hand, slipped it inside her pajamas and panties, touched the sparse pubes that had finally started growing and, with familiarity, found her clit.
She played out her fantasy of cuddling on the couch with Brad, holding hands, and Brad kissing her. She let her dream unfold, Brad kissing her again and again, telling her how much he loved her. She felt his hand on her waist and her excitement and nervousness when it moved up slightly. In her dream, she welcomed his touch, and she shivered with excitement.
Michaela moaned silently and slipped her hand inside her pajama top to touch her breast, pretending it was Brad's hand touching her, caressing her, teasing her nipple.
Waves of pleasure built. She imagined his whisper, how much he wanted her, how sexy she was and, to the dream of Dad touching her, Dad kissing her, she climaxed, pure bliss radiating up from her pussy, her body jerking. Wave after wave washed over her, sweet bliss, her heart racing, body hot. She gasped quietly as her climax peaked, her muscles straining, then it was gone and languid peace settled over her.
For a few moments, she relaxed. Then she felt it and embarrassment flushed through her. Her panties were damp! Had she peed?
Scrambling out of bed, she grabbed fresh panties from the dresser and sneaked to the bathroom to clean herself.
I SAT AT THE kitchen table sipping strong, black coffee, idly looking out through the window at the morning sunshine. Late May. It was going to be a glorious day. I'd attack the garden shed today. It needed to be sanded, have rotted wood replaced, and painted.
Where was Michaela?
A hearty breakfast was in order to fuel the work ahead. Today, French toast. I got up and started cooking.
As the last of the bread went into the oven to keep warm, Michaela silently entered the kitchen. She studiously avoided looking at me. I knew the sign. She was embarrassed again, probably from the kiss last night. My fault.
"Morning," I said. "Are you allergic to maple syrup?"
"Good. Can you pour orange juice? Breakfast is ready."
By the time we were sitting at the table, plates in front of us, Michaela still hadn't looked at me. I took the bull by the horn.
"I liked our kiss last night. In fact, I dreamed about it," I informed her.
Pink dusted Michaela's cheeks. I couldn't see her eyes.
"The thing is, I liked it too much. I need to know where you stand on this kissing thing because, if I have my way, I want to kiss you again. Now's the time to speak up if it makes you uncomfortable and you don't want me to."
Michaela's blush intensified. Her head was still bent, focused on her plate. In a soft voice, she said, "I don't mind."
"So, you're okay with it?"
"Michaela? Would you look at me?"
She raised her head far enough for deep blue eyes to peer at me, so damned cute.
"I'm not kidding, honey. I'm serious."
"Me, too," she said. "I don't mind if we do it again."
I smiled. "Well, there's a resounding endorsement. Don't sound so enthused."
She smiled with amusement and sat up straighter. "You're a real pain, Braaadley."
I grinned. "Just for that, I've decided I'm not kissing you again."
"Yes you will," she countered with growing confidence, taking another bite of French toast.
"No I won't."
"Yes you will."
Through the morning I removed rotted wood from the shed walls and replaced it with new pine, cutting and fitting each patch carefully. I'd sand the wood this afternoon.
Michaela had informed me she was going out with a couple of friends in the afternoon to see a movie - Thor or something. This morning, she was changing her bed sheets and doing laundry. I'd asked her if she knew how the washer worked and she'd given me her frown of annoyance for asking a stupid question and doubting her abilities. I genuinely loved her frowns; eyebrows scrunched, eyes disapproving. Then again, I adored her smiles, too, and her shyness. Michaela was an enchanting, beguiling young girl.
As it happens, when Ginny's mother picked Michaela up after lunch, I felt restless. I didn't want to sand the shed. I didn't want to do office work, either. I tried TV and turned it off after surfing two hundred plus channels without finding anything interesting.
I roamed around the house in search of diversion and found none. Michaela had folded and put away the laundry. The kitchen was spotless. It was unusual for me to be so antsy and I didn't enjoy it. The truth was, my mind was full of Michaela and a desire to kiss her again. I felt like a pimpled, adolescent teen with a crush.
There was only one solution. I needed to burn off energy. Changing into running shorts, an old tee, and sneakers, with the iPhone strapped to my arm and earbuds in, I left. A good long run should do the trick.
I headed out onto Deer Creek Lane with Linkin Park playing in my ears. My house was the only one on the lane. Surrounded by the forest, I turned right on Lookout Mountain Lane and followed its winding path past Merren Creek and into the valley, hitting the outskirts of Mena. After a half-hour meandering route, I stopped in the street at Mountain Café, bought a bottle of spring water and an espresso and, in the afternoon sun, sat at one of their outside tables and people-watched, enjoying myself. Finally, my sweaty body was relaxed.
GINNY POKED MICHAELA'S ARM. "Check this out," she said enthusiastically, picking up a short jean skirt with silver studs. "Who would buy this?"
"I would," Saachi said. "With a nice top it would look great!"
Michaela laughed. Ginny and Saachi were polar opposites. Ginny was a clothes horse, bubbly, and a pure pale blonde. Even her eyebrows were blonde. She found ways to have fun no matter what. Saachi was bi-racial, her father American, her mother East Indian from West Bengal, not far from Bangladesh. She had glorious, shiny raven hair that tumbled to the middle of her back and flawless olive skin, and she was the quieter of the two. Despite that, she was a total character. Her outfits were always weird; a mishmash of styles and materials. She was observant and her sense of humor matched Michaela's. Ginny and Saachi were both great friends to have.
"We should leave. The movie starts soon," Saachi suggested.
Ginny spotted a blouse. "Not yet. Look at that blouse." She wended her way through the store to another display.
Saachi shrugged. "We never should have come in here. Ginny's never gonna leave," she whispered to Michaela.
"Sure she will. We'll stage an intervention. Help me grab her. We'll pull her out."
"Hey!" Ginny exclaimed as she was physically hauled towards the door.
"We have to go or there'll be no good seats left," Saachi insisted.
Strolling down the street towards the cinema, Michaela caught sight of Brad sitting at the Café. He looked sweaty.
"What 'cha staring at?" Ginny asked.
Michaela pointed. "My dad over there."
Ginny and Saachi looked across the street. Saachi asked, "Are you sure? He's way too young to be your dad. Don't you mean that fat guy?"
"I think I'd know my dad, Saachi!"
Saachi commented, "Was he, like, ten years old when he knocked your mom up?"
Michaela whispered, "Fifteen."
Ginny leaned in. "What's it like living with a hunk like that? Look at that body!"
Michaela felt her cheeks heat up. "Stop it, Ginny! He's my dad!"
Ginny laughed. "Have you seen him naked? I've seen my dad naked and, let me tell you, once was enough! But, if Dad looked like that . . . "
"Ginny!" Michaela exclaimed.
"Okay. Okay. But I'm not the only one thinking it. Tell her, Saachi."
"No! Don't tell me," Michaela immediately cut in.
Ginny, completely unperturbed, said, "No wonder you never invite us to your house. You're afraid we'll flirt with him." After a brief pause, she added, "We would, too, wouldn't we, Saachi?"
Saachi answered dryly, "Your hormones are showing, Ginny."
Ginny laughed loudly.
Michaela sped up, leaving them behind. They rushed to catch up.
Much later, after the movie, Ginny's mom drove down the lane, stopping at Michaela's house.
Ginny commented, "So this is where you live. It's like on another planet out here."
"I like it," Michaela told her. "Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Kendrick."
"You're very welcome, Michaela."
Ginny grabbed Michaela's arm as she opened the car door. "Invite us for a sleepover sometime. Saachi really wants to see your place, don't 'cha, Saachi?"
Saachi nodded. "It'd be fun."
Ginny grinned. "A LOT of fun, if you know what I'm sayin'."
Michaela tugged her arm from Ginny's grasp, trying not to blush. "I'll ask. Thank again, Mrs. Kendrick."
She closed the car door and headed in.
The house was empty. She checked her watch. Just past six-thirty. Where was Brad?
"I'm home! Where are you? Brad?"
Without an answer, she prowled downstairs and, failing to find him, wandered out to the large barn. She found him in the third, previously empty room stacking shipping boxes neatly. She recognized her bedroom furniture from home.
Brad caught sight of her and stopped. He smiled. "Your stuff arrived. I thought you could use this room for whatever you want, or just store your family's stuff here."
Michaela spotted an old wooden rocking chair from Mom's bedroom, the one she'd rock on every weekday, chatting while Mom changed from work, telling her everything that had happened at school. Her loss hit hard. A wave of sadness swamped her. Her eyes brimmed, vision blurred. Her chest tightened, a lump forming in her throat. Turning, she ran out of the barn.
I STOOD STOCK STILL, frozen for a moment at the sight of Michaela's face falling and eyes brimming with tears, then kicked myself for not being a bit more sensitive.
It had taken much longer for probate to pass through the legal system than I'd thought. I'd kept the details from Michaela; the disposition of her grandparent's furniture, the sale of their house, the wrapping up of their financials along with her mother's meager savings, and the grandparent's life insurance claims. Michaela was reasonably well off, even if she didn't know it.
Dusting my hands, I went after Michaela. She'd disappeared. I found her in her bedroom, on her bed, curled up and crying silently. My heart broke.
I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her arm. It was déjà vù - her first night here. This time, I said nothing. What could I say? Loss hurts. Pain lingers. You're never the same afterwards, a piece of your heart forever broken. I knew it from experience. I did the only thing I could, let her know I was here.
Eventually, tears stopped.
Rubbing her arm, I said, "Why don't you change and I'll take you out for dinner. How does that sound?"
She nodded. I left her.
When she finally made it downstairs, she wore a lovely, short, blue cotton skirt with a yellow and blue blouse, the pattern sort of angular, shapes superimposed over each other reminding me of a Picasso work, and plain sandals on her feet. She'd brushed her hair and, for the first time, it was loose and falling over her shoulders, thick, wavy, glossy, and dark, so dark her sharp blue eyes stood out.
I felt a bit guilty at the effort she'd gone to.
"You look amazing!" I told her. "Those colors really suit you."
She smiled slightly. Despite her reddish eyes, she looked better.
Her mood changed when I parked in front of Gino's Pizza. She looked at it and frowned. I didn't blame her. Gino's was a hole in the wall. The distressed brick facade looked like it had been scrubbed to remove graffiti and failed, small traces of red paint still flecked on the edges of bricks. One small window sat high on the wall, too high to provide a view in or out, and it was protected by iron bars. The restaurant sign had faded. The front door with a tarnished brass push plate was distressed wood with scuff marks all over it.
Gino's was a fixture in town. It was actually run by Gino's son. They'd been serving pizza for more than six decades, and for good reason.
When we entered, it was like entering another world. Small tables were covered in plastic red and white check tablecloths, the tables haphazardly spread around with well-worn wooden seats. To the left was a long counter where pizzas were prepared and, at the back, a large brick, wood-burning oven glowed making the room warm.
Scents hit; spicy tomato sauce, basil, yeast, and crisping pepperoni. My mouth watered. I escorted Michaela to the counter with a hand on her back.
"What will you have?" I asked.
She shrugged, unimpressed. "I dunno. Pepperoni?"
"You have no imagination," I informed her. "Go sit at a table. I'll order. Hey, Luigi! How's business?"
Luigi, a rather rotund guy in his mid forties with a neatly trimmed beard, nodded to me while preparing a pizza. "Busy, busy, busy."
He moved to the oven, removed three hot pizzas, put them in boxes, cut them, closed the boxes and yelled. A rail-thin teenage boy emerged from the back. "Here's the address," he informed the teen - clearly the delivery man - and slipped three boxes into a warmer bag.
Almost all of Gino's business was delivery or take-out. But, for the true foodies, the treasure was in the pizzas made for in-store consumption - those that didn't stand up to the trials of delivery.
I ordered four small pizzas, a Coke for Michaela and a glass of Chianti for myself. With soft drink and wine in hand, I joined Michaela. She was still frowning slightly, obviously disappointed with my choice of dining location. On the positive front, she wasn't thinking about her mother anymore.
"So," I said, placing her drink in front of her, "are you allergic to mushrooms?"
"No. But I don't like mushrooms."
"You will. Are you allergic to feta cheese?"
Michaela took a sip of Coke, studying me. "Why do you always ask if I'm allergic to stuff?"
"Ah, well, I wouldn't want you to break out in hives. Besides, it's been my experience that females react badly to things they don't like . . . similar to an allergic reaction - fidgety and annoyed and interested in scratching something, usually me."
Michaela's eyes opened wider, then she laughed. "You're kidding, right?"
I smiled. "Not entirely." I sipped the wine.
She tilted her head and studied me. "You're funnier than you look."
"That's your sense of humor. Most people find me sarcastic. Ah, dinner!"
Luigi placed four small pizzas at our table. "Enjoy."
"We will," I assured him studying the gourmet works of art, my mouth watering.
Michaela looked at them and frowned again. "They don't look like pizzas. What's with the white stuff?"
"That, my dear girl, is a heavenly garlic cream sauce with four types of grilled wild mushrooms and pieces of moist roasted chicken. Notice the crust," I said, picking one slice up. "It's paper thin and crispy. Wait till you taste it. Luigi puts magic in the crust."
I placed it on her plate. "Go ahead. Try it."
Michaela took a hesitant bite. She chewed and swallowed. A smile of pure pleasure blossomed on her. "Wow! This is, like, AWESOME! I've never tasted anything like it."
"Wait till you try the others."
Dinner with Michaela was fascinating. Like I'd noticed before, she ate very carefully, wiping her mouth between bites. She analyzed the ingredients of each pizza and, watching in increasing astonishment, she consumed half of our meal. Mikeala was what I'd term a bird-like eater, never gorging on anything. To see such a small girl consume so much was amazing!
She impressed me, too. When we finished, she went up to the counter and thanked Luigi, telling him which ingredients she particularly enjoyed and complimenting his skill. I was charmed by her. So was Luigi. He flushed with pride, stood taller, and told her next time she came back, "I'll make you a very, very special pizza. Only for my favorite customers!"
At home while we watched TV, Michaela sprawled on the couch and groaned, complaining about her stomach. "The pizza's expanding!"
When it was time to retire, I experienced a rush of anticipation and excitement. Michaela must have felt it, too. Her cheeks were dusted with pink when she looked at me. And, upstairs in the hall, she turned and came into my arms, giving me a tight hug.
Her face turned up to me. "Thanks for dinner."
Heart suddenly racing, I brought my face close to hers and whispered, "You're very, very welcome," and kissed her. Warmth blossomed through me.
Michaela's eyes winked out. Her head tilted just so. Her lips were soft, warm, and welcoming, and the kiss lingered, and lingered, and lingered. Arousal stole in accompanied by erotic thoughts. I adored how young she was in my arms. I adored kissing such a sweet girl. I drowned in the kiss.
When it ended, her eyes opened, pure sapphires studying mine. She smiled, blushed and whispered, "Night, Brad," easing away from me.
I caught her arm and pulled her back into another kiss, now horny. This time our lips pressed together harder and, when it ended, Michaela hugged me tightly, her face against my chest, and let out a soft sigh of pleasure.
I had a tough time falling asleep, suffered recurring erections through the night, and woke up tired and full of selfish desire.
Some barrier had been broached with that kiss. Was it me and the way I pulled her into another? It had been selfish but instinctual, driven by my deep attraction to her.
The more I was exposed to her, the better I got to know her, the stronger my attraction, and I couldn't stop it. I was helplessly enthralled.
Michaela was different the next morning. She was bright and full of soft smiles, her beautiful eyes twinkling with happiness.
I watched her eat breakfast - a bowl of Frosted Flakes - and admired. She'd tied her hair back and, as she ate, like Houdini, strands slipped free.
Eventually, she paused, spoon raised, and said, "What?"
"You're staring at me." She put the spoon down and wiped her mouth. "Do I have cereal on my face?"
"Then, why are you staring at me?"
"I was just wondering."
When I didn't continue, she prompted, "Wondering what?"
"Would it be too much to ask for a kiss good morning?"
Michaela was so cute. She blushed slightly. Her eyes darted away. Eventually they made their way back to me and, still flushed pink, she said, "No."
"No what? No to a kiss or no it wouldn't be too much to ask?"
She sighed with exasperation. "No, it wouldn't be too much to ask."
"Great!" I smiled.
Michaela waited, and waited a bit more. She frowned. "Well? I thought you wanted a kiss."
"Then ask me!"
I chuckled. "Could I have a kiss, Mickey?"
Her frown deepened. "Not any more, Braaaadley."
That made me laugh. I got up and pulled her from her seat. Michaela moved into me, eyes wide. I kissed her, pulling her tightly against me, lifting her onto her tiptoes. She let out a quiet murmur and hugged me tightly, and that was that. Horniness stormed back at me, a partial erection forming.
When it ended, she sat to finish her cereal as if nothing had happened.
I refilled my mug of coffee and said, "Thanks. That was quite nice."
Michaela let out a snort of laughter. "Quite nice? You're such a pain!"
Grinning, I nodded in agreement. I was very happy at that moment.
The day was filled with chores that hadn't been done yesterday. Michaela busied herself inside the house while I worked in the yard, mowing early summer grass and turning soil in an extensive herb bed I planted every year. Fresh herbs beat store bought every time.
Our paths crossed every so often and each time, Michaela looked at me speculatively, some mystery in her eyes. I knew what was going through her mind. It was easy to tell. A slight tinge of pink would emerge and she'd turn away.
Eventually, late afternoon when she stepped out of the back door and propped her butt on the railing of the veranda for the third time, I paused, leaned on the hoe, and asked, "Are you ever going to make up your mind?"
"You've been debating about asking me for a kiss all day."
"No I haven't!" she exclaimed, the tinge of pink revealing her fib.
I had some fun with her. "Okay. But you should know, it's your turn to ask. I asked last time."
"It doesn't work like that," she politely informed me.
"Then, how does it work?"
"You're supposed to ask me. That's what guys do on TV and in the movies."
"Nope. If you want something, you have to go for it. That's real life. Never let any guy control you."
I wondered how she'd react. I strongly supported empowerment. Besides, in today's environment, knowing what a girl wants or doesn't want has become critical - even more so with our budding illicit relationship. Michaela had to decide what she wanted, not accommodate my desires. We were in this together.
I watched her reaction. She stood and reentered the house. Oh well. Perhaps she needed time to decide or to overcome her shyness.
While I went about weeding the herb garden, I thought about her. I mostly understood my attraction to her. But, there was something more, an edge to my desire that I'd never experienced before, and it was compelling.
It was her youth. I'd briefly seen how her body was beginning the transition into adolescence, and it was as sexy as all get up. However, what excited me to no end was the contrast. Michaela had the face of a child. Maturity had yet to shape her features. Pubescence was leading the way and it was that dichotomy that thrilled me; a child-woman.
I ached to explore her, to touch her intimately, to see how she responded to arousal, and wondered what she'd be like in bed. Would she be the same shy young girl? What would her climaxes be like? Soft and quiet? And how would she react to intimacy, to exposing herself to me, the first male to be naked with? Michaela was full of mysteries and I so wanted to be the first to explore her.
Christine, her mother, had been the only virgin I'd ever had sex with and, looking back on it, my memory was of selfish need. I hadn't had the maturity to make her first time better and I wish I had. I wish I'd had the experience I now have to make it transcendent for her.
Now I had another opportunity and I swore to myself that, if it went that far, I'd make Michaela's first time one to remember, sexual pleasure something to celebrate. If I could control myself, I'd make her once-in-a-lifetime first journey of intimacy as perfect as I could; the excitement and anticipation, heart racing, breath panting, erotic heat, body aching, uncontrollable desire, and the bliss of release.
All I needed was her to instigate it. So far, I'd been the one leading her to kissing. Now she had to take the next step.
Selfishly, I hoped she didn't take too much damned time to get over her shyness.
Around five-thirty, I stepped out of the shower and dried. I entered the bedroom and, as I hunted for a casual tee, my iPhone buzzed. With tee in hand, I checked my phone. There was a text message from Michaela!
I think I might like a kiss
I grinned. Was a text message easier than asking face to face? Is that how this new generation thought?
I typed a reply. Ditto
When I went downstairs, Michaela was on the couch, the television tuned to a movie I didn't recognize, and she was fiddling with her iPhone.
From behind her, I texted, I'm here
Seconds later, she glanced around, saw me, and lovely pink dusted her cheekbones.
I pointed to my phone. "Very intimate. Is that how it's done these days? Over a text message?"
She turned back to the TV. "Uh-huh."
"Well? Don't waste time. I have to prepare dinner. Come here and let me give you that kiss."
She laughed softly, stood, and approached slowly, bashful, so cute. Moving close to me, her hands slipped around my waist. I held her narrow hips. When I smiled, she rose up on her tiptoes, I bent my head, and we kissed.
It was sensational. It was sensual and exciting. Her soft lips pressed to mine, mouth closed. She pressed herself against me, her eyes closing. I slipped my hands up her sides and my thumbs brushed against the side of her very small breasts. Desire erupted. I so wanted to feel her young breasts hidden by her T-shirt. I felt no bra and that ratcheted my arousal up another notch. Kissing Michaela was a separate world, all else forgotten. My self control was slipping, and as she moved to end the kiss, I lost control and brushed her lips with the tip of my tongue, finally tasting her.
Michaela froze. She tilted her head back, looked at me, blushed furiously, and of all the reactions I might have predicted, hers wasn't one of them. She laughed lightly with delight. It was a single, soft, amused yet pleased laugh, gently delivered and utterly charming.
I smiled. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself." My thumb gently caressed the edge of her breast, enticingly soft yet remarkably firm.
"S'okay. I liked it," she informed me with a broad, gorgeous smile. She extracted herself.
Michaela stayed in the living room while I prepared dinner - a Niçoise pasta salad - a delectable concoction of angel hair pasta, lemon, garlic, parsley, tuna, crisp green beans, and olives. She wasn't her usual self at dinner. Every time she looked at me there was a Mona Lisa-like smile on her face, enigmatic and fascinating. She fidgeted in her seat and picked at her meal.
After dinner, as we watched Designated Survivor on TV, my iPhone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. There was another text from Michaela sitting at the other end of the couch - How bout a kiss?
I glanced at her, grinned, and typed, Sounds like a good idea
Michaela laughed lightly and moved to my side. I put my arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer. She was still smiling. Pink dusted her cheekbones. When I bent, she turned her face up to meet me. Lips touched, pressure increased, and her eyes closed. This time, Michaela tickled my lips with the tip of her tongue as the kiss ended. She let out that single laugh again; not a giggle but a sexy sound, soft and enchanting, an expression of delight that utterly charmed me.
That night, in the hall when we kissed goodnight, Michaela surprised me yet again. This time she rose on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around my neck and, when we kissed, the tips of our tongues met in a shy "Hello." There was no wrestling or probing, just sweet flirting that had me as hard as a damned rock. It intensified when I let one hand drop to her buttock; so compact and shapely.
In bed, I tossed and turned for a while, my erection difficult to ignore. Sleep eluded me. In frustration, I grabbed a robe and headed down for some solitary ice cream. I couldn't remember being so infatuated with a female. She was all I could think about.
MICHKAELA SHUDDERED AS SHE played with herself, caressing her clit. Her whole body ached and vibrated with excitement. Her first real kiss!
Moaning silently, she reached lower into her cleft and found slippery moisture, drawing it up. She rubbed her clit faster, her heart beating. She couldn't believe she'd felt it! She'd felt Brad's erection in his pants when she'd pressed against him; a hard lump. How big was it? What would it actually look like or feel like to hold it?
The kiss played through her mind again, causing another rush of horniness. French kissing was so different, so much more exciting!
Rolling onto her front, she undulated her pussy, clenching her legs together, rubbing her clit faster. It felt so good, her body straining towards release, pussy tingling. She panted quietly. From under the covers she heard the familiar squishing of her wetness and her body ached pleasantly, promising ecstasy.
With Brad's kiss in mind and the feel of his erection pressed against her, Michaela let herself go. A wave of intense pleasure hit as her climax erupted. Uncontrollably, she grunted at its power. Another hit and her hips churned, finger scrubbing, hot bliss radiating through her, stronger, stronger, and as her climax peaked, she let out a quiet cry of pleasure, riding her climax until it passed, faded, leaving her perspiring and panting; the strongest yet!
I FROZE IN THE hall as I headed back to bed. Michaela's quiet cry was the unmistakable sound of her pleasuring herself, and fuck! It was so damned erotic to know she was playing with herself! And as I paused and listened, my partial erection became rigid at her soft cry of ecstasy. I so wanted to go to her.
In my bed, her sexy sounds echoed through my brain. I gathered the pillow and hugged it, pretending it was Michaela, so petite and young. Rolling on top of it, I humped the bed unable to stop the powerful need inside. I pretended it was Michaela under me, me fucking her, and came explosively, semen spurting into my underwear with each wave of bliss, cumming hard until nothing was left except for a racing heart and an ever stronger desire for her.
I'd always prided myself on my self control. I never succumbed to impulse. It was my way - cautious and disciplined, each action thought out. It made me successful in the dark, murky world I worked in. In many ways, I liked my anal retentive side. I liked the thrill of the hunt, honesty of numbers and the reward of retribution. I controlled my life with pride, never giving in to wild impulses.
Being honest, it was unsettling to be driven by an attraction I had no control over. I couldn't suppress it. I couldn't manage it. Even understanding it wasn't helping. Around her, I had no discipline at all.
My life was orderly and obsessively neat, and Michaela fit into it too perfectly. She was as much a neat freak as I was.
Through the week, our flirting continued. Michaela used a messaging app to inform me she wanted a kiss and politely told me where she was in the house. Sometimes I responded, sometimes not, letting her seek me out. Every kiss was wonderful, sometimes chaste, sometimes with a flirting touch of tongue tips. Her sense of humor blossomed, too, informing me she was in the mall with her friends and wanted a kiss 'right now'.
On Friday, I forgot Michaela had after-school sports. When she didn't appear after the bell rang, I went in search of her. Finally asking a teacher, I was directed to the athletic field and found Michaela practicing soccer.
Parking myself on the metal grandstand, I watched the team. It was a lovely sight; girls running exercise routines wearing oversized soccer shirts and long, loose shorts, slender and toned legs.
I spotted Michaela. Watching her, it brought home how small she really was. Michaela was easily half a foot shorter than her peers and as slender as a willow. Yet, she moved with remarkable speed and endless energy, so contrary to the calm girl I'd become accustomed to.
She'd tied her hair up in a high-riding ponytail that swung and bobbed, tendrils escaping. In the breaks between practicing routines, Michaela would pull her hairband off, run her fingers through her hair, gather it with her fist, and tie it up again. For the next forty-five minutes, I made wagers with myself on how long her hair would stay in place. It was hard to nail down. When she'd shake her head in disappointment, strands would escape. When she ran like the wind, strands would escape. It didn't matter. I enjoyed watching her and felt no small measure of pride when she'd outmaneuver her opponents.
Michaela spotted me towards the end. She gave me a small smile and wave. My presence must have distracted her because she had two left feet from that point on.
By the time she climbed into the SUV, she was her usual quiet self. I found the contrast fascinating. She was sweaty and disheveled and so damned cute. Michaela brought out impulses in me - a sudden desire to hug her, or an urge to grab her and kiss her, or simply touch her - that attacked my discipline. She made the concept of random acts of intimacy appealing.
On the drive home, Michaela politely told me she didn't want me attending any more practices or games. Apparently, I was a distraction.
And that Friday, when we arrived home, when she bent into the back seat to retrieve her backpack and gym bag, I reacted without thinking. I lightly pinched her exquisite small butt in those silky soccer shorts.
Michaela screeched in surprise, making me smile. She turned to me frowning, blue eyes so intense. "What was that for?!"
"Blame it on the shorts," I dead-panned, hiding my smile.
Her frown held. Then she laughed, shaking her head, a light blush emerging. "You're SUCH a pain!"
She told me she was going to shower and change into pajamas, and headed upstairs.
I set about preparing dinner. While I liked fine food, I loved junk food. Tonight, I defrosted homemade chili and started washing potatoes. There was a new western on Netflix, Godless, that I wanted to binge watch. I loved well made westerns and the reviews had been glowing. I planned on chili served over homemade fries for dinner, grated, aged cheddar and jalapeños on top, with sour cream to douse the heat - decadent and delicious.
Health and diet experts rail against deep-fried foods as being unhealthy. The truth is, deep-fried foods, when cooked properly, are not unhealthy. The secret is to ensure fries are twice cooked at the right temperature. If the oil isn't hot enough, the fries end up greasy. Selecting the right type of potato is important, too. Waxy potatoes will make for slimy fries. If done properly, fries have a very low fat content. Hot and crispy, fluffy on the inside, they are heavenly. The downside? It's time consuming.
I opened a bottle of Brooklyn Brewery Lager that caught my eye, took a sip of the Vienna-style lager and enjoyed the subtle, malty amber crispness that mainstream beers lacked.
Michaela entered the kitchen with her school books, setting them on the kitchen table. Unusually, her pajamas weren't pajamas. She wore a oversized cotton T-shirt style nightdress that fell to mid thigh; soft-looking ribbed white cotton with pink trim and a small rose bouquet printed on the right side. On her feet she wore horizontally striped pink and white socks. Her hair was damp and tied up into a high ponytail. She looked clean, sweet, and far too distracting.
Settling at the table, where she spread out her school books, she curled one leg underneath her on the seat and started her homework.
I watched over the reheating chili, warmed the oil up for the first cook of the fries, and drained my beer. With another beer opened, I placed the raw sliced potatoes in the basket.
From behind me, Michaela asked, "Why should I care about what happened two hundred years ago? I hate history."
Lowering the basket of fries into the oil, I turned and informed her, "Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it."
"That's stupid. Nazis aren't going to start another war if I don't . . ." She glanced at me. Her eyes opened wide. Pointing, she yelled, "Fire!"
I proved how hapless I am in an emergency. Turning, with bubbling oil overflowing the rim of the pot, and flames leaping up, I panicked. Grabbing pot holders, I lifted the flaming pot and rushed it to the sink. The bottom hit the edge of the sink and boiling hot oil washed over the inside of my wrist, pain searing me and making me inhale sharply through gritted teeth. Fucking hell! I dropped the pot into the sink. Michaela shoved me aside and dumped a four-pound bag of flour over the flames, extinguishing them.
Fuck me! Why hadn't I thought of that?
Then I noticed the inside of my wrist. Skin had bubbled and turned an ominous dark brown. A bad sign, I thought. Pain intensified to excruciating levels. Moving the tap to the second sink, I ran cold water over it. It didn't help. Pain lanced into me.
"Get me a Band-Aid and antiseptic," I ordered Michaela through still-gritted teeth.
"No way! You have to go to the hospital, Brad. That's seriously burned!"
The Mena hospital was surprisingly efficient. One look at my now black and bubbling burn and a nurse hustled us into an examination room. She called the doctor.
Michaela was remarkably calm. She studied the burn and observed, "That's gonna leave a scar. Don't move. I want to take a picture of it." She pulled out her iPhone.
Doctor Parikh, a slender Indian, entered, smiled and, taking my hand, studied the burn. He asked, "How did this happen?"
"Burning oil," Michaela informed him. "He spilled it when he carried a pot of flaming oil to the sink. You're not supposed to do that."
"Hmmm. Quite severe," he observed. "I imagine it's painful."
Still gritting my teeth, I grunted, "No kidding."
Two hours or so later, we were home. My burn was bandaged. I'd consumed two powerful painkillers that must have been past their due date because I hurt like heck. Every move brought on stabs of pain. I was not in a good mood.
Michaela impressed me. She was calm, fascinated, and started nursing me. She sat me on the couch, left, returned with a glass of water placing it next to the bottle of painkillers, left again, and returned with a bowl of chili.
She'd removed the jeans she'd hastily pulled on before we left and was back to her nightshirt.
"The chili's burnt at the bottom of the pot so it might taste weird," she told me. "We forgot to turn it off. Do you want anything other than cheddar cheese?"
"No thanks. Where's your bowl?"
"There's not enough chili left. The rest is a solid lump. I'm gonna have cereal."
"Take this chili," I offered, holding the bowl out.
"No thanks. It smells burnt."
It tasted burnt, too.
Michaela was funny in her own way. She asked, "Does it hurt badly?" then observed, "That was a really stupid thing to do," and, "I can't believe you asked for a Band-Aid! What good would a small Band-Aid do?"
She took my partially finished bowl of chili away, brought me another glass of water, and, when she'd finished her bowl of cereal and put it away, sat next to me on the couch. A few minutes later, she took my good hand and held it. The back of my hand rested on her bare thigh. Her nightshirt formed an awning from thigh to thigh and my drugged-up mind drifted to what was underneath. What panties was she wearing?
A wave of pain from the burn made me grimace.
That night, Michaela gave me a very chaste kiss and wouldn't hug me in case she knocked my arm. I went to bed and found, no matter what position I was in, comfort eluded me; my wrist couldn't find a position that let it calm down.
In frustration, I went downstairs, turned the TV on low, took another couple of painkillers and stretched out on the couch, my arm hanging off the edge in air where it wouldn't knock against anything. I was pissed off and not because of the burn; my self image of being calm and cool under pressure had been shattered beyond repair. What idiot moves a flaming pot of oil to the sink? I know better than that and yet, in panic, I'd screwed up completely!
Reality can hurt. I was disappointed in myself.
"It really hurts, doesn't it?" Michaela said quietly from behind, making me jump.
"Not too . . . Yeah, like a bitch," I admitted.
Michaela moved around to the front and sat on the edge of the couch. Her deep blue eyes studied me. "Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't think so."
She glanced at the television. "What are you watching?"
"The Late Show."
She looked at me. "Would you like company?"
I nodded and Michaela surprised me. She stretched out in front of me, carefully avoiding my arm, her back to me. She shifted back and we were spooning.
At first frozen in place, I finally draped my good arm over her. Michaela took it and brought it close until I was hugging her. A jumble of thoughts ran through me: Michaela smelled wonderful, a subtle floral scent muted by warmth; against me, it hit home how petite she really was, so slender, so young; her small ass pressed to my groin felt wonderful; and when her hand caressed my arm, it felt like affection more than care.
Oddly, my pain dulled. A warm flush of adoration hit me and, to my consternation, I felt the first stirring of an erection. I had nothing but underwear and an old T-shirt on. Michaela was still in her soft cotton nightshirt. To avoid embarrassing her, I concentrated on Jimmy Fallon.
Wakefulness arrived slowly. I'd fallen asleep. Michaela was still lying with me. Cracking my eyes open, breaking dawn greeted me. We'd slept on the couch all night!
Then other senses kicked in. Michaela's back was pressed tightly to my front. Her hair tickled my face. She emitted a wonderful, intoxicating scent. Then it registered. My hand was on her chest. In my palm I could feel the swell of her breast, so small yet defined. Her hand was holding mine in place.
I had no control over my reaction. As an erection formed, I wrestled with what to do. Wake her up and get moving? Stay in place and concentrate on compound interest rate calculations to distract myself? Try to ease away from her?
Too late. My penis inflated, hardened, and rose to press against her, pointing down. I felt her buttocks and where my cock pressed into her bum crack. All sorts of excuses tumbled through my brain and, before I could settle on one, Michaela stirred, pressing her bottom back against me.
I wondered what she was thinking, waking up with an erection pressed against her. Then she pressed my hand against her small breast and my erection throbbed.
My left arm hung out over the edge. It hurt but no longer lanced me with pain in time with my heart beat.
A few minutes passed. Eventually, I said, "As much as I'd like to stay this way all day, I need to go to the bathroom."
Michaela twisted her head to look at me, making her butt press even harder against my erection. She was blushing, so freaking sweet. I kissed her cheek.
"Perhaps you should get up first," I suggested.
"Okay," she responded softly, not moving.
I had an urge to caress her very small breast, to explore its gentle, sensual shape over her nightshirt. I didn't want to remove my hand. I really didn't want to go to the bathroom, either.
"Are you going to move?" I asked.
Michaela gave me her enigmatic Mona Lisa smile. "Maaaybe." She let out her soft, short, single laugh and carefully rolled, sat up, and stood. I noticed her glance at my groin before she left. My condition was obvious. Boxers couldn't hide my erection.
A shower was out of the question until I figured out a way to protect my arm. I hand washed, skipped shaving, dressed in loose, soft sweats and a new tee, and wrestled with what to say to her.
I had two options; ignore what had happened this morning and hope any embarrassment would pass, or confront it head on and explain. Avoidance was never my style.
Thus, when Michaela arrived for breakfast, I stopped soaking the pot of burnt chili, turned to her and said, "Thank you."
MICHAELA OPENED THE FRIDGE and concentrated on the contents. "For what?"
She was sure she knew what for. Last night, she'd heard Brad go downstairs and, when she followed, worried about him, she'd seen the pain in his eyes. She felt guilty. He was in pain and she'd indulged, cuddling with him on the couch.
"For keeping me company last night," he said. "I had the best sleep I've had in a long time."
Michaela flushed with pleasure. She had, too. "It was the painkillers," she told him, reaching for the carton of orange juice.
"No, it wasn't. Trust me, honey. It was you."
Warm excitement arrived, pleased with his comment. Waking up to being cuddled, his heavy arm over her, and the realization that his hand was on her breast had brought out all sorts of feelings and yearning. By the time she felt his erection against her rear, she was aroused. His soft kiss on her cheek was full of affection. She loved sleeping with him!
"Thanks," she answered. "If your burn still hurts tonight, I can keep you company again . . . if you want."
She finally looked at him.
"I think I'd like that very much."
She felt her cheeks heat up. Smiling, she moved to the counter. "What do you want for breakfast? I'll cook."
"Toast and jam is fine. I'll make coffee."
"Okay. We have to change the bandage this morning. I'll help," she said brightly. Sleep in his arms again? Excitement made her heart flip.
Half an hour later, she unwrapped the bandage exposing the burn. "Gross!" she exclaimed. The skin was almost jet black, cracked, and oozing a yellowish fluid. Disgusting! "You're gonna have one heck of a scar."
"Yeah. A reminder of how stupid I can be."
Michaela cautiously squeezed antibiotic ointment over the large burn. She gently placed gauze pad over it and heard his sharp inhalation of pain. "Sorry."
With even more care, she started wrapping a new bandage around his wrist and arm, then securing it with tape.
She smiled. "You're welcome. So, what are you going to do today? You can't work."
"I don't know," he replied, inspecting his arm. "Nice job! Don't you meet your friends on Saturdays?"
"Not this weekend. I texted them you'd been hurt. They wanted details so I sent them the picture of your burn. Ginny thought it was gross." Michaela, curled an escaped strand of hair behind her ear. It reminded her.
"If you're not doing anything today, can you take me to the hairdresser?"
He studied her hair. "A pageboy cut?"
"Feathered and short?"
"Stop guessing. Will you take me?"
With a smile, he nodded. "Sure. Why not?"
I SHIFTED ON THE seat again. My left buttock was numb. Why did female haircuts take so long? The small salon was bustling with activity. The air was scented with shampoo battling peroxide dyes. Shorn locks collected until an assistant swept the floor. Every seat with its facing mirror was busy. The sound of meaningless chatter accompanied loud hair dryers.
Michaela was in the back and out of sight. I perused magazines, all fashion related and not interesting in the slightest. I took my iPhone out and texted her: Are you done yet?
Her reply was the same as the last four times: No
How much longer? I texted.
That much she responded, making me smile.
I wiled away the time thinking about Michaela sleeping with me last night. I loved the feel of her against me and . . .
Shifting in the chair again, I rapidly changed my thoughts to data mining and Pakistan when an erection threatened.
Movement drew my attention. Michaela appeared from the back. Her long hair had been cut to brush the top of her shoulders, parted off center and layered, with a fringe now covering part of her forehead. With its shortness, her hair gained body; wavy, full, and dark. Falling free, it framed her face and was, in my opinion, a fantastic change. She looked gorgeous, so young and sweet.
Getting up from the uncomfortable chair, I smiled. "Nice."
"Thanks," she said with a small, pleased smile.
I paid, flabbergasted at the eighty-three-dollar bill. My haircuts cost ten dollars. It brought to mind an article I'd read about the Pink tax; female personal goods being more expensive than similar ones for men - an inexplicable bias and opportunistic profit grab.
Back in the Chevy Tahoe, studying Michaela in the passenger seat, I commented, "Actually, more than nice. The haircut suits you. You look gorgeous."
Michaela blushed slightly and ran her fingers through her hair. "Thanks."
I wasn't clueless to how females thought. I wasn't ignorant about how insecurities could plague them when big changes were made. Knowing that, I made a suggestion.
"A new haircut deserves a new makeover. I suggest we grab lunch and then shop for a new outfit and, maybe, makeup. Do you use makeup?"
She nodded. "Sometimes."
"Good. Lunch first. What do you feel like eating?"
The food court at the local mall satisfied my hunger admirably. Michaela picked at her food, eyeing the clothes stores.
She was a good, if indecisive shopper. She dismissed clothing quickly and honed in on skirts and tops. Then she couldn't make a decision. She fussed, studied, tried different combinations, and eventually my patience ran out. I gathered the six items and made for the cash register.
Michaela's expression was one for the books. She looked dumbfounded and conflicted - wanting to stop me from splurging yet lusting for the clothes.
I ignored her. With clothes bought, I told her shoes next. She immediately led me to a shoe store and to a pair of sandals.
"Are these too expensive?" she asked.
I bought them. She deserved to be spoiled.
Makeup followed. Here I was lost. I had no inkling of what the items were. And in passing a jewelry stall in the middle of the mall, I noticed her eyeing rings. I bought her one - interlaced dolphins in yellow and white gold - which was promptly worn on her middle finger and frequently admired.
Enthused by her enjoyment, I asked, "How about underwear next?"
Michaela flushed. "No thanks. I don't need any."
"If you're embarrassed, I'll go grab a coffee while you shop."
Not looking at me, she nodded an assent. I gave her my debit card and the PIN. Pointing, I said, "I'll be over there." Then, feeling naughty, I bent and whispered, "Buy something sexy."
Poor Michaela flushed deep red and hurried away leaving me grinning.
While sipping an excellent dark roast coffee, I wondered what her taste was in underwear. I happen to love lingerie. For as long as I can remember, I've found women in lingerie far sexier than naked. Much of my pleasure was the tease of panties and bras, the suggestive power of them and how they cover and shape intimate parts.
What would a twelve-year-old pick? In my mind's eye, all I could see were plain cotton undies, full cut to below the navel - not unattractive at all.
My mind went back to the first time I copped a feel of Christine's panties, the excitement I'd experienced from touching such an intimate part of a girl, the hard erection it had caused, and how it fueled erotic dreams while I masturbated that night. I could still remember with stark clarity the sensual swell of her pussy underneath and that first discovery of the crease of her cleft and the soft cushion of her pubes.
Shifting in the seat, I watched the store. Knowing Michaela, she'd probably buy one pair of panties and one bra despite being given free rein. She was careful with money. So was I. But, seeing her shy pleasure at new clothes was a reward beyond any price. Actually, having someone to spend money on was a new and refreshing joy.
A throbbing pain hit from my wrist reminding me to take painkillers. As I swallowed, Michaela emerged with a small bag. Her new haircut really suited her. She glanced around, spotted me, and let loose a smile that hit me in the chest, gorgeous and bright and far too rare in appearing.
"What did you buy?" I asked, rewarded by another furious blush and frown - very cute.
We headed home. I was glad to get back. I liked being out but, at my core, I was a homebody; quiet, private, isolated. Late spring weather was approaching hot. The house had no air conditioning so windows were frequently open to allow cross currents. The old house generally remained cool except for the extreme summer heat. Michaela disappeared upstairs and I anticipated seeing her in her new outfit.
When she came down, still wearing the same clothes, I complained.
Michaela, heading to the kitchen for a bottle of spring water in the refrigerator, said loudly, "The new clothes are for special occasions."
I grumped, "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have bought them . . . or let you cut your hair. And, by the way, your hair would look much better with a new outfit."
"What?" she asked joining me in the living room.
I repeated my observation while flicking through TV channels, adding, "You're being inconsiderate. I am a special occasion."
Michaela let out what sounded like a snort. "Fine! You're a real pain, Braaaadley."
She left. I grinned. I found The Runaway just starting. The star, Dwayne Johnson, was a ton of fun and such a likable guy I wasn't embarrassed by the enjoyment and laughs he brought me.
Michaela arrived. She wore a pretty, short cotton skirt - blue printed with various shades of blue flowers - and a short-sleeved yellow and blue diagonal striped cotton top that fell off one shoulder, her new sandals on. She stopped directly in front of me and struck a pose.
I twirled my index finger. "Do a circle."
She twirled once, the hem of her short skirt rising to give me the briefest flash of white panties. "Again," I suggested, rewarded by another all-too-brief a flash.
She stopped. "And?"
"Being honest, Mickey, I was hoping for the other outfit." I tried to keep a straight face and one corner of my mouth failed me, twitching up with amusement.
Her reaction was pure female. She frowned at me, said, "I don't know why I listen to you! You're a real pain!" and flopped down next to me a cool foot away.
A couple of minutes later, I commented, "I really like the outfit."
"I know. You just like having fun at my expense."
"Guilty." Reaching across her shoulders, I pulled. She shuffled to my side. Watching Dwayne on TV, I played with her silken hair, running my fingers through it. "I really like your haircut."
"I mean, I really like it."
My hand toyed with her neck. It must have tickled, she pulled her shoulder up, tilted her head, and grabbed my hand to stop me, except, she didn't let it go.
Casual companionship changed. I rubbed my thumb on her neck in a gentle caress and intimacy arrived, subtle yet clear, and Michaela answered silently with a squeeze of my hand.
The atmosphere changed. So did my thoughts. The movie no longer held my interest. I looked at Michaela. She glanced at me. Her eyes darted away and a rosy flush emerged on her cheekbones.
"Have you seen my iPhone?" I asked.
"I want to message you."
"You can't message me anymore. One of the girls got in trouble when her parents found messages on her phone. It's not safe."
"Then, if I want a kiss, what am I supposed to do now?"
Michaela let out a soft snort of laughter. "You ask!"
Grinning, I asked, "Can I have a smooch?"
Smiling, she looked up at me, her eyes twinkling, and I bent my head toward her. With my mouth almost touching hers, I paused and stared into her deep blue eyes, felt her breath against my face and, with a small smile, I kissed her. Her eyes winked out and her hand squeezed mine.
Her soft, warm lips pressed against mine. Her scent filled me. Then the tip of her tongue touched my lips and I physically shuddered. I met her. Our tongues teased. Disorientation swirled - a heady experience - and when I probed her lips, Michaela slowly, almost hesitantly, parted them, opened her mouth, and suddenly our kiss was passionate. I tasted her. She followed my retreat and tasted me. My heart raced, pulse thumping in my ears.
I ended the sexiest kiss ever with a soft suck of her lower lip and an erection. Michaela's eyes opened and she let out a single, soft, laugh of pleasure that so appealed to me. My erection, constrained inside tight jeans, throbbed.
Michaela turned her attention to the TV. She put her hand on my thigh, intimate and possessive. I caressed the side of her neck and realized how lucky I was to have her with me.
We kissed once more during the movie. This time, Michaela's hand caressed my thigh, slipping to the inside and exciting me even more. When the movie ended, before making dinner, I headed upstairs and, in the bathroom I did something I hadn't done in years; relieved the intense stress I'd suffered, my boxers damp from precum. Like a teen, I came quickly, almost clinically; eyes tightly shut replaying our sexy kisses, pleasure suffusing me. Yet, with release, I still suffered from an unsatiated desire, an attraction that filled my thoughts. I was fully aware of how dangerous a condition it was.
The bedroom was inky dark. The house silent. In the quiet, I could hear Michaela's breaths, soft and gentle. She radiated warmth against me. I pressed my nose deeper into her hair and inhaled - the sweetest perfume.
I hugged her tighter, spooning her from behind. She murmured something in her sleep. Her body was so exquisitely petite. The palm of my hand rested over her breast, not quite the size of an espresso cup but defined and firm.
Tonight, when it was time for bed, Michaela had asked if I'd be sleeping on the couch. I knew she'd been thinking about keeping me company and, worried about my increasing lack of self control, I'd told her I was going to try sleeping in bed, if my burn would allow it.
I'd seen the flash of disappointment in her eyes and almost changed my mind. But the raw truth was, I could no longer trust myself.
Her kiss goodnight in the hall was chaste and sweet. She'd closed her bedroom door slowly, watching me. I'd gone to bed, tossing and turning, beset by a painful arm that couldn't find a comfortable position and mental turmoil.
Half an hour later, Michaela had appeared in the doorway in her nightshirt, her hair ruffled, eyes big and so damned blue.
"Would you like company?" she whispered, full of hesitancy.
At that moment I lost the battle. I gave up. I ceded defeat to the promise of something more, something powerful and unique and forbidden.
"Yes," I admitted.
With a small smile, Michaela came to the bed, removed her socks, lifted the covers and slipped in. I guided her close, hugged her and, with closed eyes, sighed with pleasure.
Oddly, with the decision made, I relaxed. My nervousness dissipated. We kissed lightly. Michaela smiled shyly with pleasure, turned, and I cuddled to her back, my injured wrist hanging out from under the pillow. Michaela took my other hand resting on her hip and pulled it around, pressing my palm to her small breast. I kissed her shoulder.
In the silence of the night I knew when she fell asleep, her breathing slowing and regular, her body relaxing.
It was impossible to sleep. I didn't want to sleep.
Morning light surprised me when I opened my eyes. I was on my back. Michaela was cuddled to my side, her head in the crook of my shoulder. She was watching me. A smile blossomed on her pretty face.
"Good morning," I said, returning her smile.
"Morning. How did you sleep? You were restless and groaned several times when you moved."
"Really? I feel like I've had a great night's sleep."
Michaela's hair was a mess, unruly, and very cute. Rolling to face her, with a smile, I kissed her. Michaela's eyes crinkled with a smile. It was a fun kiss more than a sexy kiss and when it ended, she let out that soft single laugh of hers, an expression of delight, making me grin.
Rubbing her back, I let my hand drift lower and caressed her sexy young butt. She laughed again, reached behind and removed my hand, then rolled out of bed.
"Thanks for sleeping with me," I called out to her back.
Without turning, as she left the bedroom, she said, "You're welcome."
I couldn't tell if she was serious or having fun.
It took a while to wash with a cloth. A shower was out of the question with my wrist bandaged. I thought I'd been lucky it was the left arm injured. I'd have been SOL if it had been my right arm!
Michaela was in the kitchen when I arrived, standing at the counter putting bread into the old toaster. I moved in behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and nuzzled her neck. She laughed softly and bent her head exposing her neck. I sucked her earlobe and pulled her back against me. Her sweet bottom felt so good. An erection threatened, beautiful arousal immediately flowing through me.
"Do you want toast?" she asked.
"No. I want a kiss."
Michaela turned her head, smiling at me, tilted her face up and I kissed her, murmuring my pleasure. Her tongue teased me. I responded and the kiss devolved into a very, very sexy one. I felt her push herself back against the hardening lump of my erection and thoughts of whisking her off to bed danced through my mind.
With a final careful suck of her plump lower lip, the kiss ended.
"Jesus. I love kissing you," I murmured.
Michaela laughed softly and blushed with pleasure. The toaster popped.
"The toaster's broken. The toast is only toasted on one side," she observed, studying the slice.
"Turn it over and toast it again," I suggested.
She was spreading peanut butter on twice cooked toast by the time I had coffee ready.
I joined her at the kitchen table, studying her. Her hair looked seriously great on her, stylish, her face so damned sweet and young. Remembering how she'd pushed herself against my erection, I decided some more honesty was needed; forewarn her and give her an option to cool our budding and very illicit intimacy.
"Michaela, we need to have a talk."
Her deep blue eyes watched me.
I continued. "I'm hooked. I've never known anyone like you. You attract me like no one. This intimacy between us is wonderful, and I want you to know I'd love to take it as far as you want, or not. But - and I'm serious, Michaela - it's up to you to decide how far. Whatever you want is fine by me. I'll be happy with kisses like the one we just had."
I sipped coffee. Her beautiful eyes were locked on me, intense, penetrating. I resumed. "Being honest, I want to explore more. I'm so drawn to you - it's like an addiction I have no control over." I took a deep breath. "It's your decision and, if we continue, I'm really going to rely on you to tell me if I do something that bothers you. I can't think straight around you and that scares the bejesus out of me."
A small, pleased smile teased her mouth, her eyes twinkling. "Okay."
A moment later, my brain processed. "What does "Okay" mean?"
"It means I agree." She ate more toast, her eyes alive with amusement.
"Agree with which part?"
"With what you said." Her eyes narrowed, sneaky. "That I'm in charge."
I grinned. Excitement joined nervousness. "Great. What do you want to do?"
"Make more toast. Want some?"
"No thanks," I said with a chuckle. Michaela's sense of humor suited me perfectly.
On Sunday, the most amazing journey started. It wasn't what I expected. Michaela gave me a one-of-a-kind gift of experiencing a young girl's emerging sexuality, exploring, gaining confidence, and it was wonderful, if occasionally agonizing.
I thought, and hoped, she'd dive in. She didn't. She asked me to drop her off downtown to meet her friends after lunch. She didn't even give me a kiss. I wanted to ask for one, however I was too fascinated by how Michaela would act.
In the living room, I again wondered why, with over two hundred channels, there was nothing interesting on TV.
Bored, I wandered around until I remembered this morning's toast. With tools out on the kitchen table, I started disassembling the curvy, chrome, fifties-era toaster.
MICHAELA ENTERED THE COFFEE shop, looking forward to an iced latte. She felt like she was walking on a cloud. This was so exciting!
This morning, she'd seen Brad looking at her and knew he wanted her to kiss him, which is why she hadn't. Why be predictable? Besides, she loved the desire in his eyes. No one had ever looked at her that way and it made her feel so mature, so in control.
Glancing around, she spotted Saachi at a table and waved before heading to the counter to order. Trying not to smile was hard but important. She didn't want to give anything away to her friends.
With an iced latte in hand, she joined Saachi who immediately asked, "How's your dad's burn?"
"Not good. It's the grossest thing I've ever seen."
"I know!" Saachi exclaimed. "I showed Mom and she said if it's not kept clean he could get an infection and lose his arm."
"No he wouldn't," Michaela said, then asked, "Do you think he could?
Saachi nodded. "There's this flesh-eating thing that can't be treated except by amputation."
"How do you avoid getting it?"
Saachi shrugged. "Dunno. There's Ginny. Late as usual."
Ginny smiled, sitting at the table with her iced latte. "How's your Dad's burn? Still gross?"
"Uh-huh," Michaela answered.
"He has to be careful he doesn't get that flesh-eating disease thing."
"You, too?" Michaela asked with a sigh.
The afternoon dragged. Michaela wasn't interested in window shopping for clothes or Ginny's constant speculation about older boys at school. She was worried about Brad's burn. Knowing him, he was probably out sanding the shed and getting his bandage dirty. How had she forgotten to change it this morning? That's right. He'd distracted her with a kiss!
"Why are you blushing?" Ginny asked.
It took forever before Saachi's mom picked them up and as soon as Michaela was dropped off at home, she headed around to the back garden looking for Brad. He wasn't there. Relieved, she entered the back door into the kitchen.
He was at the kitchen table, the toaster in pieces, and a soldering iron smoking in one hand, solder wire in the other.
"You're home," he commented without looking up.
She left, headed upstairs and fetched bandages and ointment, and returned to the kitchen. "We have to change your bandage."
"It's fine. I changed it this morning."
Michaela frowned. "I don't care. I want to change the bandage. You've been working with a dirty toaster."
Brad grunted. "In a sec. I'm almost done."
She sat and waited while he screwed the base back in. With the toaster restored, he set it down and admired it.
"Brand spanking new," he muttered. Glancing at her, he smiled brightly. "Let's test it!" He grabbed the toaster and took it to the counter. "It took forever to find two small hairline cracks in the metal coil heaters. Once I found them, it was a simple matter of fixing them or replacing them."
He grabbed two slices of bread and put them in, starting the toaster. "I decided replacing them was out of the question. You see, the bare metal coils have to glow red hot at the same temperature or you'll get uneven cooking."
He stood back and admired the toaster as it did its work.
"I don't care," Michaela said. "Come back here so I can change the bandage."
Watching the toaster, he moseyed back and sat down, extending his left arm across the table paying no attention to her. "They really knew how to make toasters back in the fifties. If that was a modern toaster, we would have had to buy a replacement. Funny how today everything is replaced rather than repaired. Do you know they had automatic lowering and lifting toasters way back then? Now, new fancy toasters have an automatic lowering feature and everyone's amazed."
"Who cares?" Michaela muttered as she unwound the bandage and lifted the gauze pad carefully. Brad winced. The gauze was stuck to his burn in a couple of spots. She eased it off and studied the burn.
She didn't like what she saw. The skin wasn't quite a scab. It was black and cracked and the gauze pad had yellow pus stains - disgusting. There was no sign of improvement.
"Did you really change it this morning?" she asked.
"I think it's infected." She squeezed ointment on a new gauze pad.
Brad checked it. "Nah. It's normal for a burn."
Grabbing his hand, she pulled it back and lowered the gauze carefully. Brad inhaled sharply. She bandaged the arm up being as gentle as she could. "I want you to have the doctor check it."
"It'll be fine."
Michaela glared at him, angry with his dismissal. "I want the doctor to see it!"
"Why? Hey! The toast popped. Let's see if it worked." He got up and went to the toaster, lifted the toast out and inspected both sides, then held it up to show her with a smile. "All fixed! Want some toast?"
"No. I want you to see the doctor!"
He returned to the table and sat, giving her a part smile. "I think fixing the toaster is worth a kiss. What do you think?"
Warmth hit her. Her pulse jumped. Holding back a smile, she stood, went to him, carefully moved his wrist out of the way, and sat in his lap, enjoying the excitement in his eyes. She leaned in and brushed his lips with hers, settled them, and kissed him, his scent filling her. She felt his hand caress her back then his arm wrap around her. She closed her eyes and slipped deeper into the kiss, teasing his lips with the tip of her tongue, then felt giddy when he responded, their tongues touching, caressing, the kiss so sexy and arousing.
Her heart was racing when she ended it and rested her cheek on his shoulder. "Promise you'll go to the doctor tomorrow," she murmured.
"If you insist."
"I do," she responded with a hidden smile. Then she felt it; a slight movement under her butt - Brad aroused. She'd aroused him with her kiss!
Easing herself off his lap, she told him she was going to clean up and change. "Can we eat something easy and watch a movie or something at the same time? Maybe a double bill?"
"Sure. I'll figure it out."
Upstairs, Michaela headed to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. Standing, she unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down. Bending, she inspected her panties. Yup. A damp spot just like she thought. Why did she get so horny from his kisses? And why so wet?
Sitting, she pulled her sneakers off and kicked her jeans off. Leaning over, she opened the side drawer next to her bed and pulled out Kleenex. Standing, she pushed her panties off and wiped herself, feeling a spark of pleasure when she brushed her clit. In the dresser drawer, she found fresh panties and pulled them on. The T-shirt came off. She unhooked her small, plain, cotton bra.
As she dressed in her nightshirt, she smiled to herself. Sexy play with Brad was remarkably easy. He made her feel mature and desired, still new feelings. She loved how she could turn him on, too!
In the bathroom, she peed, then studied herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair. She really liked her new hair style. Combing it with her fingers she gathered it and pulled it back, studying herself. Still enough for a ponytail, even if it was a short one.
Brad surprised her when she arrived downstairs. He'd set the coffee table in front of the television with condiments and drinks - Coke for her and a beer for himself. She studied the table: diced tomatoes, shredded lettuce, chopped onions, sour cream, hot sauce, salsa, and shredded cheddar. From the kitchen she caught the scent of refried beans and taco beef. Her stomach ached with hunger. She loved Mexican food!
After rearranging the condiments, she went to the kitchen and started helping.
"Are you allergic to chipotle or salsa?" he asked, making her laugh.
"Yup. What 'cha gonna do about it?"
Michaela smiled. When they finally sat down, with refried beans, taco ground beef, and soft and hard tacos, Brad started flipping through On Demand movies.
"What do you feel like? A romance like The Mummy with Brendan Frasier? Or a drama like Speed? Or a horror movie like Wonder Woman?"
She giggled silently and ignored him, preparing a taco for herself.
"Ah. Here's a good crime thriller," he said.
She glanced up. He'd picked Pretty Woman! She knew he was trying to bug her so she said nothing. Besides, she liked Julia Roberts, and the movie.
Dinner was fantastic and messy. She ate too much and lost herself in the movie. Meal over, the movie was paused while they cleaned up and put everything away, then settled in for the rest of it. She moved to his side and cuddled. He draped his bandaged arm over her shoulder and sipped a third beer.
For several minutes, she watched the movie. Just as she started getting into it again, Brad kissed the top of her head gently, then said, "Did I mention I really like your haircut?"
"Uh-huh." Warm pleasure suffused her. She cuddled a bit closer to him and sighed.
I FELT MORE THAN heard Michaela's sigh and it seemed to intensify my feelings for her, now more than a simple attraction, something deeper; adoration a big part of it.
Her hair still smelled of shampoo, clean and floral. It was silky soft. I curled one side behind her ear exposing her cheek and kissed it.
Michaela looked at me, her beautiful eyes ocean deep. I studied her lips, still young but showing the elegance they were destined to become, a classily beautiful mouth. Without thinking, I kissed her, her lips so damned soft and warm. She ended the gentle kiss, still watching me. It wasn't enough. I kissed her again and, unable to stop myself, when the kiss intensified, when her eyes closed, when her small tongue shyly flirted with me, my free hand settled over her small breast and discovered she had no bra on under her nightshirt. Excitement coursed through me like liquid heat.
It was so sexy, petite against my palm, and arousal arrived, blood flowing south. Michaela's hand pressed mine against her breast. Our kiss intensified, tongues playing, caressing - a deeply sensual kiss.
With the side of my thumb, I caressed and felt her nipple, the gentle, sensual swell of her breast, desire making my pulse jump.
The kiss ended. My hand stayed on her breast. She opened her eyes, her hand pressing mine, and let out that enchanting, single, soft laugh of surprised delight.
"I thought I was in charge," she said.
"You have more patience than I do." I smiled. "I just needed a kiss to tide me over."
A smile emerged. "So why's your hand still on my boob?"
"Like other parts of me, it has a mind of its own," I told her with a laugh, removing my hand.
She grabbed it and pressed it back against her dainty breast. "I didn't say remove it."
She turned her attention back to the movie and leaned her head against me. For the next few minutes I was in heaven, gently fondling the greatest diminutive breast in the world. That I found it so sexy was odd. Since puberty, my preference had been for big breasts, the bigger the better. Yet, Michaela's were erotic on a whole new level. Perhaps it was because of her emerging adolescence. Maybe it was because I was so smitten with her. Maybe it was because fondling her was so illicit. Whatever it was, hot damn!
Michaela's hand settled on my thigh and caressed possessively. It had an effect. My partial erection grew, uncomfortably bent and constrained by jeans. I lost track of the movie, preoccupied with how high her hand would go. It slipped to the inside, rubbing slowly, edging higher, my excitement building. Would she?
She didn't. She never quite reached my groin and the tease of it was excruciating.
By the time we turned everything off to go to bed, I was edging towards the state of horniness where anything goes, no restraints, no morals.
In the hall upstairs, Michaela asked me, "Would you like company?"
"Need you ask?"
She laughed lightly, her eyes sparkling.
In bed, waiting for her, I wrestled with inner desires rampaging like a stampede of bulls. My erection couldn't be hidden by boxers. Needs and yearnings ran hot in me. I couldn't remember ever wanting anyone as much as I wanted Michaela and it really scared me. She seemed to effortlessly demolish my tight self control.
Michaela appeared. I gave her a smile, my pulse jumping. The low bedside lamp cast a yellowish glow that didn't reach the bedroom corners. She'd brushed her hair, glossy and healthy. Her soft cotton nightshirt fell to mid thigh. But, it was her socks that made her look so cute.
She came to the bed, sat on the edge and removed her socks, then slipped under the covers, rolling to face me. I positioned my injured arm under the pillow and drew her to me, the scent of soap and hint minty toothpaste hitting me.
Michaela's eyes suddenly opened wide when she felt my erection against her and she blushed. She hesitated, frozen, then decision made, she pressed herself against me. I curled her hair behind an ear and spoke quietly.
"I'm not going to hide it. You turn me on, Michaela. I can't help how I respond to you. I told you I have no control over it." Reassuring her, I continued, "But you can relax. I'm not going to do anything."
She studied my eyes for a while, then asked in a shy voice, "What if I wanted us to do things?"
My cock throbbed. "If you want to, you have to tell me or show me. I'm afraid if I start things, I might lose it and go too far." After kissing her cheek, I whispered, "I want to explore intimacy with you so much it hurts."
A smile emerged on her pretty face. Her eyes twinkled. Still blushing, she reached behind her and guided my hand from her lower back to her bottom. "Like this?" she asked.
God she had an exciting ass; sweet and petite, rounded buttocks that I could almost span with my hand. I caressed, memorizing their shape and, when I kissed her, I eased the back of her nightshirt up. Michaela was wearing soft cotton panties. Just touching them was a thrill. Now I could clearly discern the swell of her buttocks and the valley between. I wondered if I dare slide my hand inside, my erection straining at the thought of touching her bare bottom.
Ever more sexy thoughts bombarded me; dangerous, selfish thoughts. When the kiss ended, I whispered, "It's late. You have school tomorrow. I think we should sleep."
The little minx pressed herself against my erection and asked, "Are you sure?"
For just a moment, I wasn't! "Yeah. We really have to stop now."
She whispered, "Okay," and settled her face in my shoulder.
"By the way, you've got the greatest ass. I hope you don't mind if I hold onto it all night."
She giggled quietly, her body shaking. It was the first real giggle I'd heard from her and the cutest sound ever. There was no hesitation in me when I pulled her tighter to me.
Our relationship continued to evolve. There was a new awareness of the intimacy between us, Michaela reacting with an enchanting contrast of shyness and delight as she tested me.
Monday morning, she woke up cuddled tightly to me and, when I stirred awake and found myself hugging her, saw her deep blue eyes watching me, and her slow smile emerge, I kissed her. I rubbed her back and had no hesitation in stroking down to fondle her exquisite rump.
A morning erection formed in short order and Michaela's reaction was wonderful. She gave me her soft, single laugh of pure delight and pressed herself against me, rubbing it with her lower body - an overt sexual reaction.
She was full of shy smiles at breakfast and on the trip to school she reminded me to go see the doctor and made me promise I would.
I had plans carefully crafted on how to introduce Michaela to the joys of intimacy, the journey itself exciting. I envisioned a week of teasing leading to Friday, culminating in Michaela being naked with me. Heaven!
My GP took one look at my wrist and decided he didn't like what he saw. Neither did I. The skin was blacker, cracked, and oozing a thicker yellow-gray pus. He prescribed heavy antibiotics, oral and topical, a twice daily change of bandages, absolutely no alcohol, and wanted to see me again in three days. I argued about the alcohol and he relented. One drink per day.
He asked if it hurt. I said no, lying to him. Dr. Gordon, a sixty-something rotund guy with the kindest eyes and sparse grey hair, immediately touched the burn making me wince.
"Brad," he said, applying ointment, "You're the worst liar I've ever encountered. This burn is going to take a few weeks to heal. Keep it clean and dry! No renovations or garden work!"
When I picked up Michaela, my plans suffered a setback. She tossed her backpack into the Chevy, upset and frowning, and slumped in the seat, her arms crossed. Gone was the happy and teasing girl from this morning.
I made her frown deepen by asking, "What's up Mickey?"
"Don't call me Mickey!"
"Okay. What's wrong?"
"I got my period." Then, with another frown and a flush dusting her cheeks, she added, "Can you take me to the drug store?"
Quite innocently, I asked, "Weren't you prepared for it? I mean, don't you keep stuff in your locker in case?"
"Why not? Doesn't it make sense to have pads or whatever there?"
Michaela, now glaring at me with a full-on blush, said, "It's my first period! I didn't even think about it!"
As I drove to the local Walgreens drug store, I mulled it over. At what age did girls have their menses these days? Wasn't twelve a bit young? Maybe Michaela was almost thirteen. When was her birthday anyway? "When's your birthday?" I asked.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
I decided not to press. I'd check her papers at home. At the drug store, I came face to face with the alien complexity of feminine hygiene. A full fifteen feet of shelf space was devoted to pads and tampons, each with their own secret code. We studied the selection. I analyzed and deciphered; long pads, short pads, wings to attach to panties, different absorbencies, scented and unscented, tampons with different applicators and sizes. It was a confusing array.
Michaela seemed as confused as I was. She blushed while we discussed them. I thought I was being rational, asking, "Can you use tampons?" and, "There's a slim version here." I asked, "How much absorbency do you need?" and "Do you want wings?"
Despite her obvious discomfort, Michaela answered me, mostly with "I don't know."
Clearly, I was out of my depth. I knew next to nothing about periods in young girls.
"Wait here," I instructed and headed off.
I found a young teen girl working in the store and asked her to help my daughter, then left them alone. Since I was in the drug store, I had the pharmacist fill the prescription for antibiotics. Then I educated myself about menses on my iPhone - fascinating. This was a major event for a girl. Cultures around the world apparently celebrated menses as the official point of a girl entering womanhood. The role of mothers and aunts played an important part in helping a girl make the transition - unfortunate for Michaela.
Armed with newfound knowledge, when we got home, I told Michaela, "Get changed. Dress up. We're going out to a nice restaurant for dinner."
"Why?" she asked, holding a full shopping bag of supplies.
"Because I don't feel like cooking! Go change, Michaela."
When she came down, she looked wonderful and sweet. Dressed in a colorful turquoise short skirt and matching blouse with sandals, she was the prettiest girl in the world. I noticed she'd put on subtle hints of makeup and brushed her hair until it was glossy.
Fine dining is an anathema to the city of Mena. However, the Chopping Block Steakhouse & Seafood restaurant on Hwy 71 had an elegant atmosphere and great steaks.
Michaela studied the interior with interest. She impressed me again with her table manners.
"We're celebrating," I told her. "Order anything you want."
"Because we're celebrating," I responded, suppressing a smile.
A look of frustration emerged - a very female expression. "No. Why are we celebrating?"
I smiled. "Today, according to my research, you're officially a woman."
Michaela shyly looked away, a small smile curling her mouth.
With drinks served and food ordered, I sipped a cold lager and asked, "How's your period? Is there a lot of bleeding or just spotting? Did you feel bloated today? Did you experience cramps or bad moods? Did you have a sudden desire for ice cream or pickles with peanut butter?"
She glared at me, noticed my grin, and said, "I'm not pregnant! You're a pain, Braaadley!"
Then she laughed, her eyes sparkling.
Leaning towards her, in a lower voice, I asked, "What did you decide on? Pads or tampons? Can you even use tampons?"
She blushed, and whispered forcefully, "Shut up. I'm not talking about it."
My questions had the desired effect. Michaela relaxed about her period and openly talked about personal things, her discomfort vanishing.
At one point, she asked, "What did the doctor say about your burn?"
She studied me and made the same observation as my doctor, "You're a rotten liar. How bad is it?"
What was it? Why could everyone see right through me? "It's under control and I'm taking antibiotics now."
Dinner was great, my steak delicious. And, that night, when Michaela joined me in bed and we kissed and cuddled, and when I fondled her cute ass, I felt the edge of the pad she was wearing and discovered an interesting kink in me. I found it inordinately sexy! Michaela was revealing aspects to my sexuality I'd never been aware of before.
Her period was very light - apparently just spotting and lasting one day. For the rest of the week I took every opportunity to hug her, and kiss her, showering her with affection - it was no hardship at all - and she responded, positively glowing despite trying to remain calm and act mature.
I learned a lot about her throughout the week.
I groped her ass whenever the opportunity arose and adored how she'd react with pretend outrage, her pleasure showing through and blushing prettily.
However, I noticed her blushes stopped after a while and, in a moment of insight, I knew they were associated with new intimate experiences. She no longer blushed when I kissed or hugged her, either. I sort of missed it.
On Wednesday, I made another discovery about young girls sexuality. While sitting watching the television, she glanced at me and blushed rather deeply.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Nothing," she answered, turning her attention back to the television.
"C'mon, Michaela. What were you thinking?" I urged.
Not looking at me, she eventually said, "I was trying to picture you undressed."
Amused, I informed her she saw me naked every night.
"You wear underwear. That's not naked."
I liked that she was thinking about it. "Just ask. I'll gladly strip."
Promptly, the next day while out shopping alone, I bought condoms - just in case. Like a teenager, I got aroused at the shelf simply from picking them up, the promise the small box held exciting me.
That same Wednesday, with my careful plans unfolding perfectly, Michaela threw a wrench into them by asking if she could have her friends, Saachi and Ginny, over for dinner, movies, and a sleepover on Friday. I reluctantly agreed.
Then on Thursday, I learned that Michaela wasn't the sweet, easy-going, well behaved girl I'd thought she was. It started with a phone call from the school principal requesting my presence.
When I entered his office, I saw Michaela in her soccer outfit, head down, hair partially obstructing her face, and frowning. She didn't acknowledge me.
"Mr. Sanders," I said, extending my hand.
The young principal stood, leaned over the desk, and shook my hand. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Wheldon. Please, sit." He gestured to the second seat across from him.
I greeted Michaela. She refused to look at me. Turning my attention to Mr. Sanders, I asked, "What's going on?"
Mr. Sanders looked at Michaela. "Would you like to explain to your father?"
She shook her head, studying her lap.
Mr. Sanders sighed. "Michaela hit a player on the visiting team during a friendly soccer match this afternoon."
"She hit? You mean a slap?"
Looking very serious, he said, "No. Michaela slugged the player giving her a black eye."
Astonished, I had no words. It was so out of character for her.
"We've decided not to suspend her from school. However, she's been suspended from the soccer team for the next three games." Mr. Sanders expression grew firm. "We have a strict non-violence policy here. Given extenuating circumstances, a full season suspension isn't warranted, but Michaela needs to think about her behavior."
"Is this true?" I asked Michaela. She nodded silently.
Wanting to get out of the office as fast as possible, I assured Mr. Sanders I'd have a few words with my daughter.
In the Tahoe on the way home, I asked, "Care to give me the details?"
"She was a bitch!"
Her choice of words and vehemence shocked me.
"Who? The girl you hit?"
"What was so bad you had to slug her?"
Michaela started talking, telling me how the other girl had deliberately kicked her whenever the ref was looking the other way, and taunted her, calling her a midget because she was six inches shorter.
"I was good!" she explained. "But, when she shoved me from behind and I hit the ground, I had enough. I got up and hit her! Look at this!" she exclaimed with indignation, pushing her soccer socks down.
I glanced over. "Holy cow!" It so shocked me, I pulled over and stopped. Michaela's shins were covered in dark bruises! "Didn't you show Mr. Sanders?"
"No. I hit her. I knew it was wrong but I did it anyway. She deserved it, the bitch!"
Michaela, full of spit and vinegar, preparing to defend herself, looked at me, saw me grinning and said, "It's not funny."
"It damned well is! How bad is her black eye?"
A smile ghosted her lips. "It's gonna be a shiner."
I laughed. "Don't tell the principal I laughed, but, you go girl! Don't let anyone take advantage of you."
Michaela, quite serious, replied, "I don't."
"And don't tell the principal I'm proud of you."
Michaela smiled, pleased. "I won't."
As we turned into the drive, I asked, "How's your hand? Does it hurt?"
She inspected her right fist and flexed it. "Yeah. It hurts a bit."
Much later, I played nurse and it was very pleasant. Michaela showered and changed into her nightshirt. After dinner, as we lounged on the couch, I brought out a topical analgesic cream, grabbed her legs, and pulled them onto my lap. She slouched back against the armrest. For the next few minutes, I applied cream to the bruises on her lower legs. At one point, the hem of her nightshirt slipped up, giving me a tantalizing peek of her panties.
Plain white cotton, almost virginal, they were the sexiest things ever! Not too tight above, they fit snuggly against her pussy emphasizing the remarkable pout of her mons and the incredible shape of her vulva between her thighs, the leg elastic digging deep. Innocent yet erotic, they turned me on like crazy. To prolong my voyeuristic indulgence, I used more cream on her legs - too much. I spread it to her knees then the inside of her thighs.
An erection formed, straining inside my jeans. I wanted to touch her small pussy, explore its remarkable shape - so ripe, almost plump-looking - maybe cup it and caress. Jesus it was exciting!
"I don't have bruises there," Michaela calmly observed, breaking my reverie but not stopping me.
Her eyes had a mischievous sparkle when I tore my gaze from her panties and looked at her. A hint of a smile played on her mouth, her amusement clear. Lust and desire for her slammed into me, powerful and demanding and impossible to restrain.
Looking at her thigh again, I told her, "There's a pale bruise here," and rubbed her silky warm skin gently. "And here," I added edging my hand higher, now so close to her panties. I waited for her to make any move to stop me. She didn't, her almost smile still ghosting her mouth.
Squeezing some more analgesic cream into my palm, I continued, my erection stronger, my pulse speeding up. "I see another light bruise here." Rubbing higher, my erection throbbed when the outer edge of my hand slightly brushed against her pantied pussy - so freaking exciting!
I noticed a tremor in my hand. Michaela made no move to lower the hem of her nightshirt. She watched me with those clear blue eyes and didn't move to stop me.
Teasing her, I moved my hand away from her crotch and caressed her thigh while watching TV. Michaela made no comment. Every so often, I glanced at her panties and a throb of erotic excitement hit. Her pussy looked so damned delectable - forbidden fruit at its finest.
Maybe she was teasing me!
That night in bed, when she joined me, in the security of darkness when her face was shadowed, restraint melted away.
I rolled her onto her back and leaned over. "I've tried so hard to restrain myself," I told her softly, "and I can't. I want to touch you."
A small smile touched her lip. "It's okay. You can if you want."
Mentally, I groaned. I kissed her softly, a gentle brush of lips and her smile grew. She was still smiling when I pressed my mouth to hers. Then the kiss deepened, sexy and hot, and I caressed her breast over her nightshirt. With her on her back, it felt smaller, more delicate, and just as arousing.
Michaela smiled after I nibbled her lip and welcomed another kiss, her tongue frisky. Overwhelmed by desire, I slid my hand down her body, felt the upsweep of her mons, and drew her nightshirt up to her waist, easing my hand underneath. Warm, silky skin greeted me and, with a silent moan of delight, I touched her naked breast. So petite. So sexy. Her nipple a firm little bump.
Edging closer to her side, my erection pressed against her thigh. I kissed her again, fondled her breast, then, horny as heck, whispered, "Jesus, Mickey, you're so incredibly sexy."
Michaela smiled. She didn't move. She didn't stop me when, staring into her blue eyes, I slipped my hand down, my excitement building, felt the waist of her cotton panties, and settled my hand over them, her pouty mons full in my palm.
I nuzzled her cheek, inhaled her intoxicating scent, and traced the shape of her vulva lightly, feeling her cleft hidden under cotton. Self control was dangerously slipping away.
I wondered what was going through her mind, studied her eyes, then kissed her. Michaela's hand touched my neck in a hesitant caress and, exciting me even more, she edged her legs apart. I had her full pussy in my hand. My erection flexed and strained. Could anything be as exciting as touching a young girl's panties? Feeling the incredible shape of her pubis?
Still kissing her, I caressed the dip of her cleft and pressed. Michaela inhaled through her nose when I brushed her clit, her body twitching. I lost myself in exploring the shape of her pussy, so small yet prominent, steep sides, full vulva, so soft and pliable under my hand. My cock throbbed and I felt dampness of precum leak into my boxers. I wanted her to touch me, to feel her hand on me.
Abandoning her panties temporarily, still kissing her gently, I found her hand and guided it down between us. Her hand settled along my erection, not gripping or exploring, just pressing, and I went back to her pussy, caressing it, finding her cleft over her cotton panties, pressing, rubbing her clit - so freaking erotic!
MICHAELA THOUGHT HER HEART might burst it was beating so hard. She felt slippery moisture in her pussy and small sparks of pleasure radiating up. Her pussy felt full, throbbing. When Brad took her hand and guided it to his erection, a shudder hit her. He was so big! Much longer than her hand!
Another shudder hit her, a pulse of pleasure as he rubbed her clit. The sensation was so much more intense than when she touched herself. Then, with his gentle kiss, his warm lips against hers, pleasure throbbing from her pussy, she curled her fingers and gripped his erection - so thick, so hard.
Her body tensed, familiar, arousal intensifying. Unable to stop herself, her hips twitched under his caress and a spark of pleasure washed up over her. She undulated against his gentle stroke, her clit tingling, and felt moisture leak into her panties.
Eyes closed, she ended the kiss needing air. Panting quietly, hips undulating, the first tingle of a climax started. Gripping his erection, she felt it move. Before she knew it, she was holding it as he stroked himself in her hand. Another hard wave of pleasure washed over her. She was hot, her stomach muscles tensing, suddenly close.
Brad kissed her cheek and, with a gasp, Michaela came, pure bliss exploding, her toes curling. He whispered, "God, Mickey," with such passion and in her hand she felt his erection swelling and pulsing rapidly. Eyes tightly closed, her climax intensified, wave after wave of utter ecstasy making her dizzy, her muscles straining. Her climax built, even stronger, her legs closing. Then, with a gasp, it peaked. Shudders hit and eased. Her muscles relaxed. She was hot and perspiring and panting. Sweet peace settled over her, her heart calming. Below, with Brad's hand still cupping her pussy, she felt dampness in her panties and between her buttocks, and embarrassment hit.
Brad was partially resting on her. His breath was warm against her neck. She waited, not knowing what to do next.
He eased off her onto his back. When she looked at him, he was smiling, his deep blue eyes full of pleasure. It eased her embarrassment and made her smile.
"I need the bathroom," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
"Me, too." She rolled out of bed and left the bedroom. In her room, she grabbed a fresh pair of panties and hit the bathroom to clean up. Her panties were really damp!
Wiping herself, she laughed quietly. Brad had called her Mickey again but with so much passion she liked it! Then she blushed. He'd cum in his boxers! That's what she'd felt. Brad cumming!
I STUDIED MYSELF IN the mirror while wiping my groin. I couldn't stop smiling. Damn! How sexy was that? Michaela's climax was thrilling. Her frown as she was cumming was freaking sexy! And my orgasm with her holding my erection had been so exciting. I chuckled. I felt like a teenager again, exploring first sexy petting with a girl.
I wondered how she felt. Was she embarrassed by her climax, or mine? Was she feeling post-orgasmic regret? What could I do to make sure she wasn't?
Clean, with fresh boxers on, I returned to bed and waited in the darkness for her. She took a long time, eventually appearing. Without looking at me, she eased herself into bed. I reached for her, drew her to me and hugged her tightly.
"That was wonderful," I told her.
"Yeah, really. One of the sexiest experiences I've ever had."
Michaela's eyes opened wide. "Seriously?"
She cuddled closer.
"Can I ask you something weird?" I asked.
"Most of what you ask is weird," she observed.
I chuckled. "Is this the first time you've, um, done this with someone?"
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Uh-huh," she murmured into my shoulder.
"You made me cum."
"I know," she whispered.
"It felt fantastic," I told her. She was silent. "Next time, could we get undressed first?"
She paused, then nodded. I kissed the top of her head and said, "I'm so glad we did this, Mickey."
"Me, too," she whispered.
When she didn't object, I commented, "You didn't scold me for calling you Mickey. How come?"
After a beat, she explained, "I liked the way you said it when you . . . you know."
Nervous laughter echoed up the stairwell to my room. I smiled and stretched out on the bed. I could hear the television and waited. They'd picked a horror movie.
While waiting for the inevitable screams of fright, I mulled over this evening.
I hadn't had the pleasure of meeting Saachi and Ginny before - both soccer teammates. They were quite the characters. Both taller than Michaela, they were night and day. Ginny was what I thought of as a classic blue-eyed blonde, outgoing, and full of laughter and mischief. Her long, straight hair fell to the middle of her back. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were blonde. She was further along in adolescence, yet slender like Michaela. Saachi was as slender and tall, too. Birds of a feather.
Saachi amused me. With very long, glossy raven hair full of thick waves and inquisitive, exotic, dark chocolate eyes, and dressed in clashing colors with outlandish style, she was cute; prettier than Ginny, and an interesting mix of races; Caucasian and East Indian, beautifully blended. Her skin was a gorgeous olive shade. I also discovered she was the quieter of the two with a sharp mind. Ginny was the instigator of activities, Saachi the voice of reason.
I liked them both.
Having three twelve-year-old girls around was a new experience. I'd had more fun than I'd expected. Ginny was a natural flirt. I didn't detect any ulterior motive in her; it was who she was. I also saw her whisper to Michaela several times causing Michaela to blush, and wondered what had been said.
Screams echoed up from downstairs making me smile. Ginny's distinctive voice came: "Turn it off!"
Two girls yelled in unison, "NO!"
I'd called their mothers to reassure them there'd be no alcohol, drugs or boys at the sleepover and, when they'd heard this was my first - that I was a virgin sleepover host - I'd been given advice by both mothers on how to survive; "Keep your distance. Don't worry about yelling or screams. When they go silent, start worrying."
The three of them had piled into the SUV with heavy backpacks after school and chatted constantly, like birds chirping. Through the evening they'd been endless noisy, which I found unsettling. I wasn't used to it at all.
I'd also learned young girls are constantly on social media. Selfies were taken, laughed at, manipulated with software to make them look different, then sent on Snapchat or posted on Instagram for other girls to get jealous over. Nothing was off limits. They took photos of the house, my back, their food and, for some strange reason, their feet before application of nail polish and post-application of nail polish - using different colors on each toe.
Despite my confusion, I enjoyed myself. Who wouldn't? Three preteens in pajamas having a ball of a time was pure entertainment.
At some point late - very late - silence descended. I was awake and reading a book on the intricacies of offshore banking and legal regulations. I was tired but restless. I checked the clock. Three A.M. I crept downstairs and studied them. They were sprawled out on the couch, an armchair, and on a pile of cushions on the floor, blankets covering them, sound asleep. Half-empty and empty crumpled snack bags littered the floor. Diet soda cans were set in odd places. And the three girls looked remarkably cute and innocent asleep. Michaela's hair was a mess, I noticed with a smile.
Turning the table lamps off, I headed up.
Back in bed, I tossed and turned. I missed Michaela's company.
They were still out for the count when I came down in the morning. I brewed coffee and waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, around nine o'clock I heard them stir.
Saachi entered the kitchen in her wild printed pajamas. "Good morning, Mr. Wheldon."
"Morning, Saachi. You can call me Brad. You look tired. Want some OJ?"
She nodded, "Yes, please," and sat at the table.
"Where are the others?" I asked as I poured her a glass.
"Bathroom and changing." She took the glass with a polite, "Thanks."
"Welcome." I set about preparing breakfast. "Are you allergic to eggs or bacon?
"No. Why?" Saachi studied the kitchen. "You have a nice house. Sorta weird. I like the mix of old and new." She rubbed her loose mass of raven hair making a mess of it and not seeming to care.
I liked that about her. Saachi was different. She didn't appear to care about conformity. She was, in an odd way, a magnetic girl; very attractive exotic eyes, a broad and lush mouth, high cheekbones, and an absolutely perfect nose. I could see a modeling career in her future.
"How long have you lived here?" she asked. "Michaela likes it here. I can see why, even if you're a hermit. Isn't it a pain to shop?"
Smiling, I answered her and a conversation began and continued until Ginny and Michaela arrived. Saachi's chat confirmed my assessment. Despite appearances, she possessed a sharp and agile mind.
"Morning," I greeted them. "Are you allergic to bacon or eggs, Ginny?"
"Just ignore him," Michaela suggested.
After breakfast, Michaela set about changing the bandage on my burn. Ginny, when she saw it, announced, "Gross! It looks infected. Let me take a picture!" Michaela agreed it looked bad, carefully applying ointment and a fresh bandage. I could have done it myself but Michaela liked mothering me. I enjoyed it.
At ten-thirty, we watched both leave in Ginny's mother's car. Official Saturday duties started. Michaela cleaned the living room and, amusing me, sighed with pleasure when order was restored. So did I.
Grocery shopping and browsing took up the afternoon. Michaela was visibly dragging as the day went on. By late afternoon, she parked herself on the couch, turned the television on, gave all of her attention to messaging her friends on her iPhone, and eventually fell asleep.
In passing, I changed the channel to an English snooker championship match, stopped at the couch to kiss Michaela's head, and returned to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
"I'm sore," she announced, wandering into the kitchen an hour later. "I ache all over."
"You shouldn't have slept on the floor."
"I was being nice to Ginny and Saachi." She moved next to me and studied the various pots and pans on the stove. "Chicken?"
"Yup. Thighs in a garlic, reduced cream, and Portobello mushroom sauce, with tagliatelle and roasted broccoli on the side."
"I'll set the table."
Michaela complained about her aching body through dinner, a partial frown on her face. She picked at her dinner without enthusiasm. Her complaining continued while we watched TV and included snarky comments about every show we watched; "That's stupid" and "Why would anyone think that's funny?" and more.
I realized a tired Michaela was a grumpy Michaela, and suggested bed earlier than normal for a Saturday. Telling Michaela to go up, I straightened the living room again and organized the dirty dishes. On entering the bedroom, Michaela was already in bed, the television on. I detoured to the bathroom, grabbed a bottle of lotion and returned, undressing as I went.
"Roll on your front," I ordered her.
She groaned but complied. Pulling the covers down, I straddled her legs. She was wearing full thin cotton pajamas, this time a blue and black plaid pattern.
Michaela, with her cheek on the pillow and arms crossed under it, asked, "What are you doing?"
"Giving you a massage."
"I don't like massages."
"Have you ever had one?" I asked.
Reaching up, I touched her slender shoulders. She jerked.
"Relax, for goodness sake," I told her when she jerked again at my gentle squeeze.
She did and moaned quietly. "Gaaawd, that feels good."
I lightly worked her arms, shoulders, neck, then down her back. Reaching for the lotion, I squirted some on my hands, rubbed them together, then slipped my hands under the hem of her pajama top, touching her silken skin. As I worked my way back up, her pajama top slipped up exposing her back. I felt each nob of her spine, her small shoulder blades, her ribs, and her very slender shoulders.
Michaela sighed with pleasure, her eyes closed, face relaxed.
Working my way back down, I pressed her lower back with my thumbs, then edged the waist of her pajama bottoms down, massaging gently. When the top of her bum crack emerged, arousal stole into me; warmth and excitement, my penis awakening.
Slowly, oh so slowly, I edged her pajama bottoms and panties down exposing more and more of her sumptuous little ass, two perfect buttocks revealed. Inside my boxers, my cock rose, straining up at the sexy sight.
My moan of delight was silent. My hands covered each of her beautiful buttocks perfectly. They were soft yet firm, so utterly sexy. Common sense melted away, assaulted by arousal and desire for her. Another silent moan rattled through my head when I caught sight of her pussy deep between her thighs - just a peek of her cleft and even sparser black pubes. I spent time massaging her gorgeous cheeks, then worked my way back up to her shoulders, pausing, bending, and nuzzling her neck. Her scent was strong - a young girl, so attractive. As I nuzzled, my erection tenting my boxers, I pressed it into her butt crack.
Sitting up, I resumed her massage; down her back, to her hips, then up her sides. Cock straining, I slipped my hands under her and cupped her petite breasts. It was incredible. So small yet firm and defined, they excited me to no end. I felt her tiny nipples and heard her sigh when I caressed her.
Self control was decimated by her pleasure. She didn't try to stop me, assaulting me with quiet murmurs of pleasure, so indescribably sexy. My cock strained. Leaning over her, I settled lightly on her back and nuzzled her cheek. My erection found the valley between her small buttocks. Excitement shivered through me. Even with boxers separating us, it felt incredible.
When I kissed her cheek, Michaela murmured and squeezed her buttocks.
"Jesus, this feels good," I whispered.
"Mmmm-hmmm," she responded with another delectable squeeze.
And, drowning with arousal, I succumbed. Easing a hand away from her breast, I pushed her pajama top up, reached down and pushed my boxers down releasing my erection. After fondling her exposed buttock, I slipped my hand to her small hip.
"Lift," I whispered.
Michaela lifted her hips. I eased my hand under her and, with a silent moan, found her exposed pussy. She parted her legs slightly and I cupped her. I'd been right. Her sparse pubes were silky soft. With my middle finger aligned along her cleft and her astonishingly pouty mons pressing to my palm, I curled my finger, exploring her slit, and found her clitoris.
Michaela twitched lightly.
Carefully, I settled on to her back, my erection nestling between her sexy bare buttocks. I could feel her pajama bottoms and panties scrunched up below her bum. Michaela felt smaller to me, more delicate, younger, and it excited me so much.
"Is this okay?" I asked in a whisper.
I kissed her cheek again, her scent filling my nose, and caressed her clit. For the next few minutes, I touched her gently. Every so often, she let out a sigh. Then she groaned quietly and moved her pussy against my finger.
The effect was astonishing. Her buttocks caressed my erection, a sexy stroke, and I responded with a strong throb. At the tip, I felt slippery precum leak, slippery, a whole new sensation.
Lost in the sensual experience, I caressed her clit with one hand, her small breast with the other, and carefully humped my cock through her bum crack. Precum spread, slippery and silky, stimulating my crown.
Michaela's breaths deepened. Her hips moved with a slow rhythm and, intensifying my arousal, I discovered moisture in her cleft. Sliding my fingertip along her slit, I found the source of her warm, sexy dampness, my cock swelling. I drew her dampness to her clit and rubbed faster.
Michaela's silence ended. She started moaning quietly, expressions of pure pleasure. I humped her sweet ass gently, my cock rigid, heart racing, and her undulations caressed me.
Careful not to rest my full weight on her, I whispered, "I can't believe how good this feels, Mickey."
She murmured her pleasure and humped my hand faster, her nostrils flaring as she breathed deeper, her eyes closed. Fascinating expressions flitted across her face - a slight frown of concentration, a quick smile of pleasure, and making my heart ache, a soft laugh followed by a deep moan.
I humped her sexy ass matching her hip movements and rubbed her clit. More beautiful minutes passed as we undulated together. Then Michaela groaned deeply. Her hips lost rhythm briefly, twitching, then resumed with more energy. Her pussy was incredibly wet.
Mouth partly open, panting, with the cutest frown emerging, I followed her mounting excitement by humping her silken ass faster, my cock gliding through her butt crack to emerge at her lower back, then retreat between her buttocks, fucking her bottom.
My groin tightened, cock swelling. My orgasm was close. I held off, waiting. Michaela rewarded me with a sudden gasp, her body twitching, and she tumbled into her climax with hunching hips and shudders, her hands closed into fists. She groaned with pleasure, triggering my orgasm.
With a deep groan of my own, my cock swelled and pulsed as I thrust it through her butt cheeks. The first pulse of cum brought pleasure. Pulling back and thrusting again, a hard pulse hit, semen spurting onto her back, exquisite pleasure slamming into me. I let myself go, thrusting and spurting, cumming beautifully, hot cum erupting, fucking her buttocks. Michaela shook and gasped through her climax, her body undulating, stroking me. Heart racing, I came, erection swelling and spurting, utter bliss hitting me. Hot cum made her bare back and butt crack slippery, and still I humped, chasing my orgasm until it peaked, spurts weakening, slowing, and Michaela gave my cock a sexy, sexy clench.
We both came to rest together. I was drained. Peace and satisfaction from a strong orgasm permeated me. My warm muscles relaxed, my weight pressing her into the bed.
I was still cupping her pussy. I still had her small breast in my palm. And I didn't want to move. The feel of her bottom against my softened erection felt wonderful. Her young body under me felt perfect.
Michaela finally opened her eyes. She turned her head to look at me and blushed deeply, so damned cute. I smiled.
"That was amazing," I told her. Then I kissed her cheek.
Our relationship developed in interesting ways. It was largely the same, and life continued normally. But a significant wall had been breached. Perhaps it was our partial nakedness that night. Maybe it was me touching her intimately, or our climaxing together and the ensuing mess I'd made on her back. Whatever it was, we slipped into intimacy with remarkable ease.
I didn't try to grope her during the day. Hugs and kisses happened when they happened. School and homework and sports kept Michaela busy. My workload was light, by choice.
Yet, intimacy was there, showing through with actions. Michaela started touching me. Nothing explicit. She'd put her hand on my back when standing near me. She started sitting next to me on the couch, her hand finding my leg and rubbing possessively. Hugs lasted longer. And her expressive eyes gave everything away. The way she'd look at me at times - as if she adored me - would make my heart trip.
Michaela slept with me every night. She no longer used the excuse of keeping me company. The next few nights were chaste; some cuddles and kissing and no more. She never commented on the erections she'd feel in the mornings, or the random ones during the night when bodies were snuggled together. And I found deep pleasure in holding her to me at night.
There was another odd impact. I relaxed, completely. I no longer worried about our relationship and that opened it up.
The end of May was near. Life was good. Michaela introduced me to the fascinating world of almost-teens in school, the vagaries of friendships, slights, and gossip.
For the next week, a routine developed without us realizing it. Mornings involved working out, sometimes with Michaela joining me, some days not. I dropped her at school, went home to work, broke off to pick her up, and went back to work until six. She'd do her homework and spend time on social media. Over dinner preparation, Michaela would sit at the kitchen table updating me on the social scene while using her iPhone, competently keeping two conversations going at once.
After dinner we'd go for a walk or laze in front of the television. Michaela would grab her iPhone, text some message, and drop it next to her, continuing our conversation, break off to respond to another message, and then continue chatting with me. To her, it was normal behavior.
She seemed, in her quiet way, happy. Wednesday was different. Michaela was unusually quiet, subdued, and rebuffed any attempts to find out what was wrong. I assumed it was school related and by Thursday she was back to her usual self so I dismissed it.
On Friday night, as we watched TV, I glanced at her and noticed a hint of pink on her cheeks. Immediately, it excited me. Bending, I kissed her cheek.
"What are you thinking?" I asked.
"C'mon, Mickey. Tell me," I urged.
Her blush intensified. "Maybe later."
If she hoped I'd forget about it by the time we went to bed, she was wrong. After brushing my teeth, I waited for her. She appeared in her cotton nightshirt and slipped into bed after removing purple and green socks.
Gathering her in my arms, with a bedside lamp casting a soft yellow glow, I asked again. "What were you thinking about earlier?"
The tinge reemerged. "Nothing."
Smiling, I said, "Can I ask you something weird?"
She laughed lightly, her blue eyes dancing.
"What's it like to be adored so much?"
Michaela laughed softly again. Looking at me, she countered, "You tell me."
Before answering, I kissed her, pulling her tightly to me. I loved how petite she was against me. Below, an erection slowly formed. Ending the kiss by nibbling her lush lower lip, I said, "Wonderful."
"Wonderful what? The kiss or adoring me?"
"Both," I assured her, kissing her again.
This time, the kiss deepened with the touch of our tongues and slowly evolved into a passionate kiss; a slow, sexy kiss. Another followed. I caressed her panty-covered ass. My erection strengthened between us.
When it ended, Michaela studied me. Pink showed. She looked away and said in a soft tone, "I was wondering if you'd like me to . . . you know . . . Um . . ."
"Like you to what?" I asked.
Studiously not looking at me, she said, "Last time you touched me and . . . Um . . . it felt so good. I was wondering if you'd like me to touch you that way?" Pink darkened on her cheeks.
She was too cute for words! Obviously, initiating intimacy was still very new to her and I loved it!
She glanced at me, surprised. I smiled. "Michaela, what I'd really like is for you to be comfortable talking about sex with me. There's really nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm not going to tease you or make fun of you."
She relaxed. "It's hard."
"Me or talking about sex?" I asked with a grin.
She giggled! Such sweet music and so unlike her.
"Talking," she clarified. Then reaching down, she found my erection and added, "And you." Her hand pressed against my shaft over my boxers. Eyes looking at me, she asked, "Would you teach me what to do? I've heard my friends talk about it."
"And what did they say?"
"You stroke it until the guy cums."
"That pretty much covers it," I observed with a smile.
"Not really. I mean, how fast or slow? How hard do you hold it? And what if it doesn't work?" She looked at me. "It can't be as simple as stroking it, can it?"
"Sure it can. It just depends."
I rolled onto my back. Michaela cuddled to my side, my arm around her, her head settling in the crook of my shoulder.
"It's all about arousal. A teenage guy can get aroused by any girl touching him even if it's ten degrees below-zero and he's standing in a field in a snowstorm. That's all he needs. When you're not a teen - like me - it takes a bit more."
"How so?" Michaela asked, her fingertips tracing my stomach lightly. "I like this line of hair. It's sexy," she said, feeling below my navel.
"I don't get turned on by any girl. I need to be attracted to her and by her. Then there's intimacy. Arousal isn't as simple as a kiss. If I'm working in the yard or renovating the house, a simple kiss from you while I'm working won't turn me on."
"I'm not sure about that," Michaela observed.
I grinned. "What I'm saying is, you could tug away at my penis all day but, if I'm not turned on, nothing will happen. On the other hand, if I'm seduced before being touched, even below-zero temperatures won't stop me."
"Are you aroused now?" she asked.
"How come? I haven't tried to seduce you yet."
"Talking about sex with you turns me on. So does your ass."
Michaela, still lightly running her fingertips on my stomach, shook with quiet laughter and observed, "Seduction is a lot more complex than I thought."
Unable to resist the opening, I suggested, "You can practice on me and learn. I don't mind. Really."
She let out a single short, soft laugh. "Maybe I will."
Still amusing myself, I said, "Just let me know when you're trying so I can grade you. Would you prefer a one to ten scale or an A, B, C grading system?"
Michaela slapped my stomach. "You're a real pain, Bradley!"
"Yeah. I am. But guess what? I bet you're more comfortable talking about sex already, aren't you?"
She nodded, her hand turned into a caress. I lightly rubbed her back being careful not to jar the burn on my wrist.
"Being intimate is nothing to be embarrassed about as long as you trust your partner. Too often, we're afraid of making a stupid mistake and that makes you tense up. Next thing you know, you're not enjoying yourself as much as you should be."
I kissed the top of her head and continued. "Sex is natural and beautiful. It's also fun and endlessly varied. But, the simple truth is, when you're not at ease with it, when you're afraid to talk, and, with no communication, sex becomes stale and boring. There are so many misconceptions about sex these days."
Michaela raised her head, surprised. "Really? Like what?"
"Where do I start? Let's see." I caressed her back and stared up at the ceiling. "When you're with someone you love and trust, sex is never dirty. Sex doesn't always end with an orgasm. Kissing and touching isn't sex. Your partner doesn't magically know what you like or dislike. Sex is messy and that's okay, even fun. It's not always up to the guy to choose what to do. Talking makes sex ten times more enjoyable. When it includes mutual respect, nothing is taboo. Intercourse isn't the only way to have sex. And then there's the big one - good sex should include the biggest organ of your body, not just your privates."
Rising onto her elbow, she looked at me and asked, "What organ?"
"Your skin," I told her with a smile.
"Skin isn't an organ," she countered.
"Au contraire ma petite fromage."
Michaela's eyes opened wide. "Did you just call me a cheese?"
"No. I called you dear."
"No you didn't. You said fromage. That's French for cheese. Do you even know French?"
"Not a word."
She laughed and settled. "I didn't know that skin is an organ. Why's it so important for sex?"
"It's hard to explain. Would you like me to show you?"
Michaela studied me, her eyes moving to each of mine, probing.
"It'll involve you being naked," I told her.
Red tinged her cheeks. "Then you have to be naked, too."
"Agreed," I said with a smile. "And you'll need to be blindfolded."
Her eyes opened impossibly wide. "Blindfolded? I don't want to be blindfolded."
"Then you have to promise to keep your eyes closed."
Rolling her onto her back, I rose on an elbow and leaned over her. "Do you trust me, Mickey?"
She was slow to respond, eventually nodding. I saw the hesitancy in her eyes. We'd never been completely naked together. I quickly changed my plan.
We started with a kiss, gentle, lips brushing. "Close your eyes," I whispered.
Reaching down, I touched her leg at her knee while teasing her lips with mine. As our kiss strengthened, I caressed the outside of her thigh, bringing my hand up, edging her nightshirt up until I held her small hip.
The kiss ended. I nuzzled her cheek, breathed in her breaths, and smelled her wonderful scent.
"Keep your eyes closed," I reminded her, then leaned down to lightly kiss the small peak of her breast over her nightshirt, my hand on her hip slipping behind to caress her panty-covered buttock.
As I kissed the tip of her other breast, I brought my hand around following the waist of her panties and, almost trembling from excitement, rubbed her astonishing mons with the heel of my palm.
Michaela inhaled slowly, deeply.
Smiling to myself, I moved back up and kissed the corner of her mouth. At the same time, I trailed my fingertips up her body over her nightshirt and between her small breasts.
Kissing her softly, loving the silkiness of her lips, I ran the tips of my fingers around her breasts, teasing her.
"I love kissing you," I whispered, lightly touching the tip of her breast.
Michaela shuddered slightly. Under the nightshirt, I felt her nipple respond, thrilling me.
Kissing her again, this time touching her lips with my tongue, I reached down to her knee, moving to the inside and slowly drawing my hand up, higher and higher. At the moment I touched her panties, I kissed her deeper, probing between her lips. When Michaela responded, her mouth yielding, I cupped her pantied pussy and squeezed.
It was so damned arousing. Her pussy was so plump yet small, so well defined. Her response thrilled me. Almost unheard, she let out an "Mmmm", and her tongue slowly caressed mine. Still kissing, I brought my hand up under her nightshirt and carefully palmed her breast, her nipple surprisingly hard.
Then I stopped. The kiss ended. I removed my hand.
"Keep your eyes closed," I whispered.
Jesus, I was horny! Reaching down, I removed my boxers, releasing my straining erection.
I shuffled down and edged the hem of her nightshirt up exposing her panties; simple white cotton with pale pink elastic, virginal, thrilling. My cock throbbed with excitement at the way her pussy strained against the cotton, a camel toe showing.
Easing her nightshirt up even higher, I exposed her stomach and leaned in, kissing silken skin lightly.
"How does it feel?"
"Different," she said.
Smiling, I key easing her nightshirt up, brushing my lips along her skin. Excitement intensified. Then I shuddered as her exquisite, petite breasts were exposed. Gently mounded, they were topped by darker pink areolae and small beaded nipples. Utterly gorgeous, fresh, adolescent perfection.
I kissed the tip of one and Michaela inhaled sharply.
"Keep your eyes closed," I reminded her, then kissed her other breast and, at the same time, pressed my the heel of my palm on her mons, rubbing gently. I ended the kiss by sucking her areola lightly.
"Are you turned on yet?" I asked, slipping my fingertips inside the waist of her panties. "Do you like being touched? You have a beautiful body."
I kissed her other breast and sucked gently, then moved back up and nuzzled her cheek.
"You have no idea how turned on I am," I whispered. "Can I touch your pussy?"
Michaela didn't answer. She was breathing faster, her nostrils flaring. I kissed her. She reacted with a quiet moan, her lips moving, tongue active. She wrapped her arm around my back.
Kissing her, I edged one side of her panties over her hip. Michaela responded, rolling her butt. I edged the other side down. She rolled again. Then, as we kissed, I pushed her panties down.
"Eyes closed," I reminded her.
Pushing her panties down her legs and off, I reached for her nightshirt and tugged it up and off, her arms rising. We were naked together for the first time. My body vibrated with excitement. I hadn't looked at her fully yet, delaying that pleasure.
"You can open your eyes now."
It was an incredible experience. She opened her eyes and the intensity of blue hit me. Her nipples were puckered and areolae stippled, her arousal so evident. Then she reacted in a way I'd never experienced in a female.
Michaela smiled slightly, glanced down my naked body, saw my throbbing erection, and let out a single, soft laugh of delight. Her relaxed pleasure and easy comfort thrilled me. I adored her, the intensity of my attraction almost too much to handle.
Grinning at her reaction, I finally studied her whole naked body, and holy shit! Michaela was still so very young, her body petite and slender. Yet contrasting her immaturity were her remarkable breasts, perfectly formed, just deliciously small. Her body showed her sports activity; slender to the point of delicateness, ribs showing, stomach dipping, two small hips rising. Making my cock strain was the indescribably erotic sight of her pussy.
On her back, her mons swelled up, lush, almost chubby. The thin coating of pubes accentuated the shape of her pussy. Glossy and jet black, they looked groomed, combed, still uncurled; the sexiest pussy I'd ever set eyes on.
Michaela's emerging pubescence made my erection ache. I wanted to lie down on top of her, feel her naked body against me, feel the ultimate in intimacy - buried inside her. Gathering her in my arms, I rolled her onto her side, pulling her against me. Her stomach pressed to my erection. Michaela's arm draped over my waist. She smiled. I kissed her smile.
The kiss was sweet and fun, lips nibbled, tongues teasing, moist. She caressed my back. I fondled her exquisite ass, exploring her sexy, rounded buttocks and bum crack.
When the kiss ended, I said, "Skin's incredibly erotic, don't you think?"
Michaela rubbed herself against me, smiling bashfully. "Uh-huh."
I kissed her smile again, holding her tight. Reaching down, I moved her leg up over my thigh, then rolled onto my back, Michaela on top of me. Her knees fell to the sides.
Then, holding her with one arm, I sat up, shuffled back and leaned back against the headboard. Michaela was so light it was easy to move her. Her bottom settled into my lap, her legs around my waist. She watched me intently, wondering what I was doing.
Reaching between us, I brought my erection up and, wrapping one arm around her, the other hand on her sexy ass, I pulled her close. She pressed her pussy to my cock.
With a smile, I moved her gently, guiding with the hand on her butt to rub her pussy against me.
Michaela's expression was priceless. Her eyes opened wider, then she blushed lightly and let out a delighted laugh.
I kissed her, using my hand to guide her rear. She humped along my shaft, snorted in a breath, and our kiss intensified, tongues wrestling.
Michaela took over and humped my erection tentatively; a hesitant move followed by another, then another. Against my cheek, her warm breath panted. Her tongue caressed mine, our lips locked.
I discovered an experience like no other; the pleasure of a naked young girl, slight and sexy, her skin warm, and her body undulating as she humped my straining shaft.
She ended the kiss with a quiet gasp of pleasure. She shuddered slightly, dropped her face to my shoulder and, when I reached between us and fondled her breast, she resumed, humping me again, curling her pelvis.
She lifted her head from my shoulder, smiled and then let out a single soft laugh of delight, blushing at the same time.
"Talk to me," I urged.
Looking into my eyes, she stroked my erection again, slowly. "You're so hard! This feels soooo good." Her eyes twinkled. "Do you like it too?"
God, I adored her!
Nodding, I pulled her close and hugged her tightly. She rested her cheek on my shoulder and humped me slowly, her buttocks tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing, her sexy pussy caressing the length of my cock. Her breath, warm against my neck, became deeper, faster. For the next few minutes I drowned in her sexy undulations.
Then Michaela started emitting noises of pleasure; small moans, cute gasps, and a delightful quiet grunt, her hips moving faster. Holding her sweet ass, I relished her sexual response, unrestrained yet for some reason incredibly cute.
Kissing her cheek, I whispered, "This feels so good, Mickey."
She breathed, "Uh-huh," rubbing her pussy against my cock.
I wasn't close to my orgasm and didn't want to cum. I wanted to enjoy this intimacy with her all night. But Michaela ruined my plans.
Her breathing evolved into panting interspersed with cute, quiet moans and murmurs. Her hips moved faster, pressing against me harder. Her arms wrapped around my neck tightened, almost choking me. Then she held her breath. With a quiet grunt of pleasure, Michaela climaxed, her rhythm speeding up. Suddenly, we were slippery. She scrubbed her pussy along my shaft, shuddering and gasping for air and, with a final, shuddering stroke and kittenish cry of pleasure, Michaela melted against me, her heated body still, breathing deeply. Small shudders, like echoes of her climax, passed through her.
It was so damned arousing. My cock ached feeling heavy and tight. I wanted relief almost desperately. Holding her, I moved, rolling her onto her back, her legs still around my waist.
Michaela lay quietly under me as I rose up on outstretched arms, her blue eyes soft and watching me, her sexy little breasts flushed. Looking down, I shuddered at the sight of my erection resting on her pussy. I appeared impossibly huge and thick.
With her legs draped over my thighs, I held my cock and rubbed the tip along her closed, damp cleft, her labia bulging sexily around my flared head. I rubbed the tip over her soft clit, down, then back up. The silkiness of her pubes inflamed me, so young, so exciting. Rubbing her soft, sexy slit, I shuddered, my cock throbbed, precum leaked adding a glistening, slippery coating. Heart thumping, I became absorbed in the sight of my adult erection rubbing her barely pubescent pussy. I stroked my shaft, excitement building, tenseness arriving, muscles tightening.
Rattling through my brain was the thought of actually penetrating her small pussy, actually fucking her. How tight would she be? What would it feel like to have sex with such a young girl? How much could she take? And, when I wondered what it would feel like to cum inside her sexy pussy, feel my cock throbbing as I spurted, I lost it.
My orgasm rushed in, cock strained. I stroked myself and a small pulse of thick cum spurted against her cleft. Before I could breathe, a stronger pulse hit, sweet pleasure slamming into me as a long rope of cum spurted up over her mons and onto her stomach. I gasped, stroked, and cum erupted again, splashing onto her slit. Bliss hit. Stroking my shaft, I came deeply, pulse after pulse of beautiful release. I stared at her sexy pussy as I decorated it with viscous white cum. The sight was stunningly sexy and, as my orgasm peaked and slowed, desire stayed strong even as I felt drained and satiated. My erection softened only slightly, oozing cum. I was breathing deeply. Inside, I knew this wasn't enough. I wanted more. I wanted Michaela completely, fully - my young lover.
Finally, I looked up at her. Michaela was studying her pussy, my pooled semen, and my cock. She glanced at me and let out a single, soft laugh, her eyes alive with amusement.
"That was . . . weird," she announced, reaching down to touch my semen with her fingertips. "It's hot." She brought her fingers to her nose, sniffed, and frowned.
Later, once I'd cleaned the semen off her and she'd disappeared to wash up, she joined me in bed wearing her cotton nightshirt and panties.
We cuddled in the dark, Michaela tight to my side, her head nestled to the crook of my shoulder.
When she spoke, it was quietly, not quite a whisper. "I wondered what it would look like when you . . . you know, cum. Is it always so much?"
"No. It's because you turn me on so much."
"I like it," she said. "Can I tell you something? It's embarrassing."
"Michaela, I told you there's never anything to be embarrassed about."
She waited a few beats, then said, "I liked watching you. I liked that I turned you on so much and that it made you cum."
"That's not embarrassing," I pointed out.
"That's not it. I think . . . um." She inhaled. "I think I pee a bit when I . . . um . . . cum. At least, it feels like I do. I can't control it."
I caressed her back. "So what if you do? Maybe it's not pee. Either way, I don't care."
"You don't?" she asked quietly.
"No. Nor should you. I told you sex was messy. Just relax about it."
She was silent for a long time. I knew she hadn't fallen asleep. Then she asked, "Would you like to go all the way?"
"Yes." After a pause, I added, "God, yes."
Her body shook with silent laughter. "Kay," she whispered, and cuddled closer. "Me, too."
In the dark bedroom, I thought about her. She was such an odd girl. During the day, she was serious most of the time, disciplined beyond her years, and quiet with a dry wit. Yet, when we'd do anything intimate, she was a different girl - more expressive than any female I'd known. It was her shyness contrasted by her soft laugh of pleasure, and her expressive climaxes that captured me.
I was, I realized, infatuated with her, or maybe something stronger. Maybe I was in love with her.
Saturday unfolded as normal. Michaela informed me she was meeting her friends in town and needed a ride.
Before dropping her off, I told her she was responsible for cooking tonight's dinner.
Her response: "I can't cook." She was serious, too.
"You've gotta start sometime, and sometime is tonight. Think about what groceries you'll need. Text me."
Michaela frowned as she got out of the Tahoe. "I told you, I can't cook."
I puttered around the house doing chores that didn't stress or damage my burn. My mind wasn't into chores. It was full of Michaela. She'd completely disrupted my sedate life and I couldn't be happier. I liked her presence. I liked watching her do anything or nothing. Having her live with me was filling a hole I never knew existed.
MICHAELA'S MIND WAS ONLY partly on Ginny and Saachi chatting as they wandered through the mall. Cook dinner? She'd never cooked. Making a sandwich, reheating leftovers, or making a bowl of cereal didn't count as cooking.
"What's wrong?" Ginny asked. "You're not with us."
"Sorry," Michaela muttered. "I'm supposed to cook dinner tonight and I've never cooked before."
Saachi and Ginny stopped walking, both astonished.
"You've, like, never cooked?" Saachi asked. "Like never, ever?"
Ginny asked, "So, what'cha going to cook? Hotdogs?"
Michaela shrugged. "Maybe."
Saachi grinned. "We should have some fun with your dad."
Saachi explained. Ginny laughed loudly and agreed.
Michaela grinned and pulled out her iPhone, sending a message to Brad, Do we have mushrooms?
Yes. Why? he responded.
Ginny, peering over Michaela's shoulder, said, "Ask him if you have prunes!"
Giggling, Michaela did.
No. Why? he responded.
"Ask about liver!" Saachi chimed in.
Michaela did, adding it was for the dinner she was going to cook.
No! Liver is banned from my kitchen! NO LIVER!
All three laughed. Michaela typed, How about tofu?
No. What are you cooking? Brad messaged.
Walnuts? I need black bean paste, too. Oh, and elbow macaroni
The girls laughed and waited. They burst into laughter with his response.
That's it. I'm cooking dinner!
Grinning, Michaela sent a response, K. If you insist
Saachi observed, "Well, that worked!"
"Yeah! Thanks!" Michaela said with enthusiasm.
IT HIT ME A couple of hours later. Michaela had suckered me into making dinner. I felt dumb . . . and admired her for it, too. She was proving to be much more complex than a girl her age should be. I admired her for it and felt pride.
At loose ends, I hunted for something to repair, restore, or tear down that wouldn't hurt my wrist. I found nothing. What had kept me so busy before Michaela lived with me? I was antsy again and didn't like it.
Now annoyed with her for disrupting my peace and well-being, and for running off to have fun with her friends, I noodled around the idea of how I could get back at her.
An idea hit. Grinning, I left the house. An hour later I returned and set about cooking.
When Michaela returned, she moseyed into the kitchen, sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose and asked, "What's that smell?"
"Dinner. It needs to cook longer."
"In that case, I'm going to shower and change into something comfortable."
She joined me in the living room where I watched the news. Her comfortable clothes consisted of soft pink sweatshorts, a loose blue cotton tee, and blue and pink striped socks. Her hair was held back in a damp, short ponytail. She slouched on the couch and propped her feet on the coffee table, then involved herself with her iPhone, her thumbs a blur, apps opening and closing, her concentration complete.
I played with her damp ponytail while watching TV. Today, for my viewing pleasure, the President expressed his opinion on the economy being stronger than ever in history thanks to his actions. The split screen showed the stock market in free-fall, down two thousand points inside one week. I shook my head in amazement, then wondered why I was still surprised by his behavior.
With the news over, Michaela set the kitchen table and I served dinner. Placing two plates on the table, I joined her.
She studied the plate. "What's this?" Then she sniffed and wrinkled her nose.
"Liver and tofu stew in a prune juice, mushroom, and walnut gravy, with a light, fluffy pastry top."
She sniffed. "Which pieces are the liver?"
"The grey ones."
"They're all grey. So's the gravy. So are the mushrooms."
Hiding my grin, I asked, "Well? Are you going to eat or what?"
"Or what," she muttered, pushing her fork through the unappetizing muck. "Maybe I'll have toast for dinner." She pushed the plate away, looked at me, and said, "I get it. Next time I'll make dinner."
Grinning, I went to the oven, pulled out the homemade Mac and cheese, and served. A minute later, Michaela murmured, "Mmmm. This is more like it."
After dinner, Michaela stretched out on the couch and complained about eating too much. She leaned back against the arm and settled her feet into my lap. We watched Gilmore Girls, which Michaela enjoyed tremendously. I found the show unusually interesting and funny, too.
Absorbed, it took me a while to feel Michaela's feet moving in my lap. At first I thought it was her moving as she quietly giggled. But, when her feet overtly rubbed my crotch, I glanced at her sharply. Intense blue eyes watched me. She had a Mona Lisa-like smile and an expression of mischief that was so unlike her and very cute.
My reaction was immediate. Erotic excitement washed over me - a sweet welcome fog of lust building.
Michaela asked sweetly, "Is it too early to go to bed?"
I studied her slender bare legs and loose sweatshorts, how they draped, and saw a peek of matching pink cotton panties up one leg. Jesus!
"What 'cha think, Braaadley?" she asked when I didn't respond.
I caressed her smooth leg. "You're trying to distract me. I'm too mature to fall for it," I answered, hiding a smile.
Michaela's feet burrowed deeper into my crotch, rubbing the now obvious lump of my erection. "You sure?" Her eyes glittered, slightly crinkled from her smile. She bent her knee just enough to make her shorts gape open even more, her tightly covered pussy bulging lusciously at her crotch - so effin' sexy!
I loved her playful seduction. She laughed lightly when I exclaimed, "Jesus, Mickey!"
Turning the television off, I shoved her feet off my lap and stood up. When she stood, I grabbed her and hoisted her over my shoulder. It was easy to do. She was, after all, very light.
Michaela let out a brief laugh, and giggled as I carried her around switching off lights. As I climbed the stairs I fondled her sexy pantied ass and her glorious giggles intensified. She struggled to stop me.
I adored her this way. This fun side to her was a rare visitor, normally so composed and quiet. She made my chest tighten. The feel of her scrumptious small ass made me hornier.
In the bedroom, I rolled her off my shoulder onto her back on the bed. She was grinning as I crawled onto the bed and hovered over her. Staring into her eyes, I cupped her pussy over her shorts. Michaela's eyes narrowed when I caressed her pussy. Her grin faded when I rubbed her remarkable mound and traced her cleft down. She didn't move when I fished inside a loose leg of her shorts and touched her panties, such soft and exciting cotton.
Still staring into her eyes, I fondled her, exploring the shape of her petite yet lush pussy constrained by cotton, my erection crying out for release. And then, between her thighs, I felt warmth and a hint of dampness on her panties. A shudder shook me. Michaela playful was wonderful, but Michaela horny was the most powerful aphrodisiac of all. At that moment, my brain was on a single track: sex with Michaela. I was on the edge of losing total control.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep, bracing breath and removed my hand from her crotch. I resisted the urge to strip her naked. Despite an aching erection, I tried to slow down. Did she know how powerful her seduction was? How insanely I desired her?
If she was already my lover, I'd dive in, rip her clothes off, and take her hard and fast, selfishly seeking pleasure. But she wasn't. Michaela was still a virgin, still a very young, barely pubescent girl.
Leaning down, I brushed my lips against hers. "I need to use the bathroom. Why don't you get ready for bed?"
Some mysterious, yet very feminine expression flitted through her eyes. "Okay," she whispered, giving me a small, satisfied smile.
In the bathroom, I stripped down to boxers and brushed my teeth. My cock felt thick and heavy, obvious inside my boxers. There was a noticeable damp spot at the tip. My groin felt heavy. The intensity of my desire for Michaela still washed over me. What would it be like to make love to her? To hold her in my arms, so petite, so young, and actually have sex with her?
I glanced at myself in the mirror and shook myself. In my heated state, I'd forgotten how I wanted to make her first time much better than her mother's had been. I had forgotten my promise to let her set the pace. Why did she drive me to such insane selfishness?
I was better than this!
Deciding to get in bed before Michaela returned, partially to hide the growing damp spot in my light blue boxers, I left the bathroom and found her already in bed, her deep blue eyes watching me. It was still daylight outside. She glanced down at my partial erection and back at me, a small, slightly nervous smile emerging.
When I lifted the covers to join her, I saw her short white cotton undershirt and panties - those sexy pale pink cotton ones. I took another deep, bracing breath, then slipped in.
Michaela rolled towards me. I gathered her in my arms and felt her very small and firm breasts against me. My cock pressed against her thighs.
Michaela, looking into my eyes, smiled, reached down, fished around and repositioned my thick penis up between us. She pressed herself against me. "Much better," she said. "Did I tell you that like that I can turn you on?"
I groaned mentally and fondled her sweet ass.
"Are all guys so easy to turn on?" she asked.
"I don't know. I do know you drive me damned crazy." She did, too. I'd never experienced such a raw reaction to any female. Control was being assailed by desire and desire was winning.
Michaela rewarded me with a broad smile and a little blush, her blue eyes so deep. "I was wondering. Would you like to . . . um . . . go all the way tonight?" She pressed herself against my erection and rubbed slightly.
God help me! My mind immediately took flight. My cock throbbed and grew into a full, hard erection. My pulse jumped. I lost myself in her eyes, desire hammering me.
Some unknown thoughts flitted through her eyes. "Well?" she asked quietly.
"Are you sure?" I asked, praying that she was.
"I think so. Do you want to?"
"I'm quite sure I've never wanted anything more," I assured her.
Michaela smiled. "Good. How do we start?"
"Are you nervous?"
"A bit," she admitted.
Grinning, I said, "We start with kissing and fondling, undressing each other, getting naked, exploring each other, some more kissing all over your body, a bit of adoration and worship on my part thrown in, and . . ."
Michaela giggled. "You're funny in bed."
"Sex is supposed to be fun, not just pleasurable."
We kissed lightly, lips brushing.
She said, "I read that the first time hurts for some girls and others it doesn't. I also read that losing my virginity doesn't mean I'll bleed. I don't think I will, so don't worry."
"I'm not worried about a bit of blood, but why do you think you won't?" I asked, fondling her exquisite little ass.
A sweet rosy flush tinged her cheeks. "I've experimented."
"Really? With what? A cucumber? A zucchini?"
She laughed lightly and blushed harder, her blue eyes twinkling. "No! I mean with my fingers."
Reaching down, I drew her leg up hooking it over my thigh. Sliding my hand along the inside of her leg, I brushed her pantied pussy lightly, exploring its stunning shape, how it swelled sensually and strained against cotton. God I was excited!
"You know I'm bigger than your fingers," I observed.
Michaela reached down between us and gently felt my cock over the boxers. A charming smile grew on her face. "Yuh-huh." She squeezed me and let out a single, charming laugh when I throbbed.
Sliding my hand up over her butt and up under her top, I asked, "What else have you read?"
"Not much. But I . . . "
Her voice trailed off when I moved my hand to her front and carefully cupped her petite breast. I loved how small she was and rubbed her soft nipple. "But what?"
"That feels good," she murmured, reaching down again to explore my erection. "I watched sex on the Internet to learn."
"Huh." It surprised me. "Do all girls watch porn on the net?"
"My friends have. Sex Ed is sorta murky on the subject. It's mostly biological, you know? Semen, fertility."
I kissed her again while fondling her breast and ended the light kiss by sucking one lip. "Mmmm."
"I also read some forums where other girls talked about their first time," Michaela continued.
As she talked, I edged the hem of her undershirt up. She shuffled, raised her arms, and let me pull it off.
"That's where I read that some girls didn't hurt. They liked sex . . . a lot."
Pushing her onto her back, I kissed her sweet breast and teased her nipple with my tongue.
"I think I'm gonna like sex, too," she continued, then inhaled when I sucked her whole breast into my mouth, sighing out, "A lot."
"I hope so," I said before I moved onto its twin and tasted. Damn, her breasts were so exciting!
Michaela laughed lightly.
As I enjoyed myself with her boob, I reached down her stomach. My fingertips touched the waist of her pale pink cotton panties, then eased underneath. The rise of her mons excited me. Michaela parted her legs as I explored deeper, and I was cupping her pussy. It was warm, silky, and I could hardly feel the sparse pubic hairs on her cleft. What I did feel was stunning: a plump pussy; her short closed slit; and making my cock ache, slight moisture at the base. Unable to stop myself, I curled my middle finger. Her soft labia hugged my fingertip. More moisture. Heat. Probing gently, the tip of my finger penetrated her!
Before I lost all control, I removed my hand. Rattling through my foggy brain was how small and tight she was and it excited me beyond belief.
Kissing her, I eased her panties down. Michaela assisted, rolling her bum. I shoved my boxers off and, heart beating hard, slowly drew the sheet down and off her, exposing her nakedness. I couldn't resist. Simply exquisite - small, slender, young, with gorgeous little breasts, prominent hips and an edible pussy that rose majestically at her groin. I was absolutely sure I'd never seen a sexier sight.
When I finally looked up, she had questions in her deep blue eyes. I moved over her, edging her legs apart with my knees, hovering over her. The head of my erection rested on top of the soft, glossy pubes on her mons, the only point where we touched.
"Mickey, you're absolutely gorgeous and sexy as hell," I said, and as her smile emerged, I kissed her. This time, I tasted her lips, a little flirt. Her eyes crinkled with a smile and her tongue teased my lips. I thought I heard her sigh when our kiss deepened. Her eyes closed. Her arms reached up to wrap around my neck. Her mouth opened. Tilting my head, I kissed her harder, tongues caressing. Below, I felt my erection rise off her pussy and settle with each pulse of desire.
Kiss over, I slipped down. Michaela watched. I kissed her breasts, then her stomach and, shuffling down further, I kissed her silky mons, pressing my mouth into the yielding pad. Her scent hit me - a faint trace of earthy perfume.
Still looking up at her, I eased down further and settled onto the bed between her legs. Then I looked at her pussy. With her legs parted, her cleft had opened slightly revealing her clitoris and a hint of deeper, moist red below. I kissed her cleft, her skin so warm and soft, her sparse pubes silken, and tasted her, my tongue trailing up from the base to her small clit. Michaela was slippery inside, damp, horny. She tasted like pure, light ambrosia, her clit soft and pliable.
Closing my mouth over her slit, I sucked and teased. Michaela inhaled deeply. As I ate her, I watched her. At first, she stared, then inhaled sharply, smiled and let out a single laugh of delight, closely followed by a quiet groan when I sucked her clit and probed her entrance with the tip of my finger.
Her eyes closed. Small muscle movements started, like imperceptible shivers. Her hips twitched and slowly she let herself go, undulating her pussy against my mouth. The sounds of her quiet gasps and groans were music to my ears. My fingertip penetrated her up to the first knuckle, fucking her gently. And Michaela slowly grew wetter, more slippery. Her gasps morphed into quiet moans, her pelvis curling, rubbing herself against my mouth. I saw a slight frown flash across her brow. Her hands closed into fists. And Michaela climaxed with short, sharp gasps, her body straining. A flush blossomed above her breasts and spread to her neck. She scrubbed her pussy against me, emitted a small, sweet cry of pleasure, then, slowed and stilled, relaxed, her breath panting. The frown melted away.
She opened her eyes, sharp blue looking at me. With a smile, she let out a soft laugh. "Amazing!"
Smiling, I moved up and settled gently on her holding most of my weight off her. She wrapped her arms around my neck and laughed again.
"I love sex with you!" she announced. "It's so much better than playing with myself."
I chuckled. Damn I loved her attitude!
"Your climax is truly beautiful," I told her, then felt where the tip of my erection pressed against her pussy. Involuntarily, I pushed, her soft vulva yielding slightly.
A small smile graced her face and she pressed her pussy back at me, making me groan. Arousal intensified. Need burned. Excitement made my heart race.
I pressed again and a rhythm started, gentle, exploratory, slight pressure - an exquisite sensation. What made it ever more intense was how petite Michaela was, a sweet, sexy young girl. With an aching throb of excitement, precum leaked. Suddenly we were slippery and sensations changed, her pussy now caressing my tip. With each small movement it felt like her labia were hugging me. Another pulse hit and I stopped to calm down, kissing her gently and nibbling her lip.
As we kissed, Michaela pressed her pussy against my erection, holding pressure. Her legs rose from the bed and hooked around my thighs. She pulled.
I couldn't remember being so hard. My cock felt heavy, rigid, thick. Pushing, the tip suddenly slipped down through her buttocks. Holding myself up off her body with my forearm and knees, I reached down between us, gripped my shaft, and guided myself back to her cleft, pressing gently.
"Are you sure about this?" I asked. "There's no going back." I could feel my body trembling with pent-up excitement.
Michaela studied each of my eyes. "I'm sure," she said, reinforcing it by pushing her pussy against me.
It was too much for me. Wrong or not, I wanted her desperately. Gripping my shaft tightly, I rubbed the tip up and down her slit several times, each with more pressure, scrubbing her clit. Then, positioned at the base of her cleft, I pressed forward. Warmth surrounded most of my crown. Easing back, I pressed again. The sensation was amazing. Even if I wasn't penetrating her, the excitement of it thrilled me! Sex with Michaela! Sex with a twelve-year-old!
Each gentle thrust met with resistance. She was very slippery. With a firm grip on my shaft, I lodged myself against her and pushed harder, then harder, my cock throbbing, watching her eyes for guidance.
I don't know if it was my pressure or Michaela suddenly relaxing but she smiled slightly then inhaled sharply just as my crown squeezed into her. Her vagina gripped me with exquisite tightness unlike I'd ever experienced. My cock swelled and throbbed. We froze.
A brief flit of pain passed through her blue eyes and disappeared. A beautiful blush blossomed on her cheeks. She smiled and whispered, "You're in."
She explored the sensation with a squeeze of her pussy that made me groan quietly.
"It hardly hurt at all."
"Good." I kissed her gently, lips brushing, lingering.
When the kiss ended, she asked, "How much is in me?"
Michaela's eyes opened wider. "Really? Only the tip? It feels like much more." Then, when my cock swelled, more precum leaking inside her, she smiled. "I felt that." Playfully, she pressed her pussy towards me.
I grinned and responded, pushing into her. It had no impact, she was too damned tight. Easing back, I pushed again, Michaela matching my move, then again. A gentle, careful rhythm emerged. Yet my crown was locked in place, gripped tightly by her small pussy. For what felt like forever, nothing changed except my excitement.
Releasing my shaft, I settled lightly onto her and kissed her, our movements slow and cautious. Suddenly, I slipped deeper into her. We froze briefly, but the feeling was too good. Pulling back, I pressed forward again and glided deeper into her pussy, almost half of my erection gripped in liquid warmth.
Panting slightly, I said, "Let me know if I go too deep." I had no idea how much someone as young as Michaela could take.
Withdrawing slowly, I reversed, shuddering at the feeling of being taken in, of penetrating her, of fucking her. And gradually I worked my way deeper and deeper into her. Her pussy, despite being so incredibly tight, was slippery and warm and wonderful. We kissed, lips nibbling, then tongues touching, teasing, then caressing. Below, unbelievably, I penetrated Michaela completely! I was buried inside a snug, velvet glove.
I stopped moving, lodged as deep as possible, gripped deliciously, my cock pulsing dangerously. Nuzzling her neck, I let more weight down on her.
"God this feels good," I whispered, inhaling her scent. I'd found heaven.
Michaela hugged my body. Her legs were spread wide and hiked around my thighs. I eased my damaged arm under her shoulder and my other arm down underneath her until I was cupping her sexy ass. Holding her, it truly struck how slight a girl she was, how petite, how young, her little breasts pressed to me, and I love it! I absolutely loved it!
My erection pulsed several times. I was already close to cumming, the excitement too much. Steeling myself, I withdrew from her in a long, slow stroke, her vagina gripping me as if reluctant to let me go, then reversed, stroking into her slowly, velvet moisture caressing me, exquisite. And when I pressed as far as possible into her and my tip touched her deepest part, I lost it. The pulses turned into aching throbs. My cock swelled and pleasure erupted as I came, spurting deep into her. Wave after beautiful wave of bliss washed over me, rapid pulses, cum exploding inside her, each spurt bringing sweet pleasure. My heart raced. I heard my groan of ecstasy and, as I was cumming, I started stroking into her, exploding, thrusting, cumming hard until, with a final heave, a final thrust, my orgasm peaked and faded, utter pleasure permeating me.
Lassitude arrived, peace, drained, completely satisfied. My muscles melted. I grew heavier on her, still hugging her. Jesus!
Eventually, Michaela whispered, "I felt you."
Lifting myself took a lot of effort. My erection had softened but remained thick inside her. I smiled. Michaela's blue eyes twinkled at me as she returned my smile.
Then it struck me. She hadn't cum. As with her mother, I'd lost control and not given her the pleasure of a climax. "Sorry," I said softly.
Michaela looked confused. "Sorry for what?"
"Not making it perfect. You didn't get to climax. I couldn't control myself."
Michaela laughed lightly, her pussy clenching my cock. "It was perfect. It felt wonderful and it didn't hurt."
She kissed me, then asked, "Can I tell you something?"
I pulled my hand out from under her and caressed her cheek. "What?"
"I love feeling you cum. I mean, I really love it!" She smiled, clenched, and observed, "You're still big."
I grinned, relieved by her reaction. "Yup. But I'm also tired."
Her smile faded. "Oh-oh. I think I'm leaking on the sheet."
Panic hit. "Oh CRAP!" I exclaimed, my cock shrinking and slipping out of her.
"What?" Michaela asked, worried.
"I forgot to use a condom!"
Early morning, with the sun rising over the horizon, I sat at the kitchen table nursing a mug of coffee. Michaela was still asleep upstairs.
I was conflicted. I'd been conflicted all night and slept badly. Michaela was fine. She'd cleaned up, put panties and undershirt on, and snuggled to me in bed, falling asleep rather quickly. I hadn't.
My emotions clashed with my rational side. I'd made a huge mistake having unprotected sex with Michaela. It was history repeating itself and because of it, Michaela, like her mother, could end up pregnant. That was unforgivable. It was unacceptable for Michaela to get pregnant at twelve years old. It was also so contrary to deeply held beliefs about woman's lib, their ability to control their life, and decide what's right for them.
I wondered if I could get the Morning After Pill from the pharmacy, just in case. Would they sell it to me? I'd have to drive to another town to get it. Or, should we wait and see? Maybe she wouldn't get pregnant. No. If I waited and she did, she'd have to have an abortion and that was utterly unacceptable at her age.
Yet, despite all my logic, there was a feeling of raw, almost Neanderthal excitement at the thought that Michaela was full of my cum. Why? And why was my mind picturing her sexy little pussy leaking viscous white semen. An erection formed. Why did the sharp memory of holding her, while buried inside her, stir such strong arousal? If I could, I'd run upstairs and make love to her again right now!
Draining the coffee, I stood to refill the mug. When I turned from the counter, Michaela was entering. Dressed in jeans and a light blue T-shirt, with her hair brushed, she looked sweet.
She paused in the doorway and looked at me. When I smiled, she smiled broadly and came over to me. I welcomed her hug, bent my face to inhale her scent, and kissed the top of her head.
She leaned back. Deep blue eyes twinkled with her smile.
"Are you sore?" I asked.
"Nope. I'm hungry. What's for breakfast?"
"Whatever you can find."
I returned to the kitchen table with my coffee and watched her make a bowl of cereal. She seemed to be moving okay.
"We're taking a long drive today," I informed her. "We're going to another town to get you the Morning After Pill."
Michaela placed her bowl and glass of orange juice on the table and sat. She nodded. "Okay."
"You know what the Morning After Pill is for?"
"Of course I do. I'm not stupid." She ate a spoonful of cereal. "When do we leave?"
MICHAELA WATCHED THE LANDSCAPE pass from the passenger seat as Brad drove.
Her mind drifted to last night. In so many ways it was nothing like she'd imagined. It was nothing like the sex see'd seen on the Internet; sweaty bodies writhing, loud noises, and cries of ecstasy.
Having cum once, she was nowhere near climaxing before Brad did. But, she decided, in many ways it was probably better that way. Having cum before, her body was warm and liquid and relaxed. Was that why she only felt a slight twinge when he entered her?
Michaela smiled to herself. She was still amazed she'd taken all of him. In her hand, Brad's erection had felt impossibly big. And inside her, he'd stretched her and filled her; a feeling unlike anything else.
She loved his gentleness, the concern in his sexy eyes, and how careful he'd been. But surprising her, what she loved the most was feeling him cum. She'd felt his body tense. She'd felt his erection swell and stretch her, and she'd felt the rapid pulses as he came in her. Knowing she'd brought him such pleasure made her feel so mature, so feminine. And even his semen leaking afterwards made her feel sexy!
Michaela shifted in the seat when a throb of horniness hit. She loved sex with Brad! Would he like to have sex again tonight? Should she ask or wait for him to make a move? How do you tell a guy you want to make love? If it was by acting sexy, she'd lose. She didn't know how. Was wanting sex again so soon wrong? Would Brad think she was one of those loose girls? So many questions, so few answers. Would the Internet have answers?
"Penny for your thoughts."
Startled from her memories, Michaela glanced over at him. He seemed deep in thought today, too. It wasn't the sex. She knew he liked it a lot. Maybe it was forgetting to use a condom that worried him.
"Do you think I could get birth control?" she asked.
He glanced at her and shrugged. "I don't know if you're old enough for the pill and I can't exactly ask our GP, can I? I mean, what would I say?"
"I could ask him and tell him I have a boyfriend if he asks."
"I don't think that's wise. Next time, I'll be more careful. Promise."
Michaela smiled to herself. Turning to look out the window, she asked, "So there's going to be a next time?"
"Damn right there is!" he exclaimed. "I mean . . . only if you want to. If you don't, that's okay. I'll understand. It might kill me but I'll understand."
Michaela giggled silently, very pleased. "I'll think about it."
"How extraordinarily female of you," Brad responded. Then he laughed.
By early afternoon, they headed home from Texarkana. It had taken several visits to different drug stores for Brad to find the Morning After Pill.
On the drive home, she became bored.
"What's a social accountant?" she asked.
Michaela studied him. He hadn't shaved which was very unusual for him. Day-old stubble looked good on him, rugged, especially with his short dark hair. "You told me you worked as a social accountant. What is it?"
He glanced at her. "I'm impressed. Do you remember everything you hear?"
"If I did my grades would be better, wouldn't they?"
"So? And what's a Mugabe?"
This time he looked at her sharply. "Where did you hear that?" His tone wasn't as calm.
"It was written on a Post-it on your desk."
Brad frowned. "I thought I asked you to stay out of my office."
Michaela wondered what was bothering him. "No. You told me not to touch your computers. I haven't. You didn't tell me to stay out of your office. What's the big deal? Are you a drug trafficker or something?"
A long silence followed. With each passing minute her curiosity grew. "You might as well tell me. I'm not going to tell anyone if you deal drugs. I don't care, either."
After continued silence, with Brad frowning in concentration as he drove, she added, "Is it cocaine or heroin? Or do you specialize in the more esoteric drugs like crystal meth or Oxi? You wouldn't deal with fentanyl would you? It's a real killer. Or, are you conservative and deal marijuana? Lots of kids at school smoke dope."
When she looked across at him, he was grinning. He glanced at her, laughed and said, "You're amazing. You have a fertile imagination. You should write novels."
"I don't like writing."
"Is that why you spend so much time on your Smartphone writing?"
Michaela sat back in the seat. "That's not writing."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not. And don't change the subject. You have to stop dealing drugs. If you're arrested, I'll have no one!"
He laughed again. "Mickey, I promise you I don't deal drugs."
"Don't call me Mickey. What's a social accountant?"
"All right. But don't ever talk about it with anyone. Got it?"
Michaela nodded. As if she would anyway.
"Have you heard of Zimbabwe?"
"No. Is it a computer virus?"
"No. Zimbabwe is a country in Africa. Robert Mugabe and his wife, Grace, are Zimbabwean. Robert Mugabe has ruled Zimbabwe as President for decades. He's really a dictator. His regime is brutal. If you oppose him, he'll have you arrested and somehow you'll commit suicide in custody. He's successfully driven a country that used to be the most productive African economy into the ground. He appropriated white African-owned land and gave it to black Africans who didn't know how to farm. Inflation exploded. Unemployment skyrocketed. A healthy population started to starve. And then it got worse.
"Last year, in his nineties, Robert Mugabe was forced out of office. He's confined to his luxurious house. During his time leading the country he stole billions upon billions of dollars. His wife was known as "Gucci Grace" for her extravagant spending. So that's the Mugabe family."
About to ask for clarification, Brad continued.
"If you think Robert and Grace are the exception, think again. There are tons of dictators that steal from their people to line their own pockets. We're talking trillions of dollars and it happens all over the world; Philippines, Brazil, Argentina, South Africa, North Korea, Syria, and more. Some are politicians, some are royalty, and some are corrupt businessmen.
"What makes some of them the worst transgressors is that they take money from their own people, forcing their fellow citizens to suffer in poverty. That drives me nuts."
Michaela waited. When he didn't continue, she asked, "And so?"
"I'm their accountant."
"No! You work for these people?"
Brad grinned. "Nope. I have some highly specialized skills. I use them to balance the books."
Now fascinated, Michaela turned towards him in her seat. "How?"
"I find where they're hiding their wealth and steal it. Then I redistribute it to charities in the country they stole it from and take a five percent recovery fee. I find it very satisfying."
"So you break into their bank accounts and empty them? Serves them right!"
"Actually, it's not that easy. Not every thief keeps his or her money in banks. Some own property. Some own shares in companies. Others keep it in gold and jewels. Each one poses different challenges. Finding it is the first hurdle. Accessing it is harder."
"I like it," Michaela said. "A modern-day Robin Hood. How long have you been doing it?"
"Seven years or so."
"Are you successful at it?"
"Then, how come you don't live in a mansion and drive a Ferrari?"
He glanced at her. "Is that what you'd want? A mansion?"
"Then why assume it's what I want?"
She thought about it. He made a good point. She'd assumed if you have money you show it. Most people do. "What will you do with the money? Is it a lot? As in, are you stinking, filthy rich?"
He chuckled. "It's a lot. More than I need. When I eventually quit, I have plans . . . or I had plans before you came into my life."
"I ruined your plans by being here, didn't I?"
Brad surprised her, pulling over to the side of the road and stopping. He turned to her. "Look at me carefully, Michaela."
She did, studying his intense blue eyes.
"You didn't ruin anything. You simply changed my priorities. The trawler yacht and the tropical island home I planned for pale in comparison to having you in my life. There's not enough money in the world worth sacrificing a minute of time with you. Do you hear me?"
In his eyes, she saw the truth. Relief flooded through her. She hadn't recognized how important he was to her, and knowing how important she was to him made her feel loved. She nodded. "I believe you."
Back on the road, she said, "I think I'd like to live on a boat and on an island. Where did you have in mind? Hey! You could buy a place in the American Virgin Islands and I could go to school there. When were you planning on quitting?"
"You'll have finished high school by then."
"That long, huh?"
She liked his laugh.
I STUDIED THE LITERATURE on the Morning After Pill while Michaela multitasked - watching TV, eating a chocolate bar, and messaging on her Smartphone, all at the same time.
Two things stood out, one that bothered me, the other exciting me. What worried me were the side effects of taking the pill. Nausea, vomiting, and cramps sounded rather ugly and I really didn't want to put Michaela through it.
The other aspect that excited me was that the pill could be taken up to five days after intercourse and still be effective which, according to my way of thinking, meant Michaela and I could have unprotected sex for a couple more days!
I didn't mind using condoms. It had never bothered me in the past. However, with Michaela, I'd discovered I was hugely turned on by the thought of my cum inside her. I didn't understand why, either. Perhaps because she's only twelve? Such a young girl walking around with adult semen inside her? Or maybe it was the image in my mind, the thought of seeing her leaking cum after sex; something I very much wanted to see. Was I a pervert? Probably. And getting worse as time passed!
On my iPhone, I did some more research. It took a couple of minutes to stumble on Nexplanon. This, I liked. Birth control as an implant under the skin, thus no worry about taking a pill, no worry about condoms. Approved for teenagers, it can be inserted in a doctor's office, and is effective for at least three years. Perfect!
How could I convince my GP to provide it to Michaela?
"When do you turn thirteen?" I asked.
Without taking her eyes off her Smartphone, she said, "Last Wednesday."
"What?!! Your birthday was last week?"
"Why didn't you tell me?" Why hadn't I checked? What an idiot! Becoming a teenager is a big thing!
Michaela, seemingly unperturbed, countered with, "Why didn't you know?"
I felt awful. I knew why I hadn't checked her file. I'd been too self involved; busy with work and absorbed by her. I remembered how she was slightly off last Wednesday. Her thirteenth birthday obviously meant a lot to her despite anything she said. How could I make amends? A party? Take her out for a nice dinner? And what about presents? What could I buy her?
"Would you like a birthday party with your friends?" I asked.
"Then, I'll take you out for a great dinner."
She didn't appear enthused. Man, I'd really screwed the pooch this time!
Watching Michaela laughing with Saachi and Ginny, all three having a great time, made me smile. They were dressed up, looking very pretty in their own ways. Michaela looked gorgeous in her burgundy sheath dress. It actually gave her young body shape, highlighting her emerging maturity.
While they had fun ordering from a very expensive menu, the waiter catering to them by treating them like adults, I felt rather pleased with the week.
It had been busy. I'd settled on gift certificates to several clothes stores and a brand spanking new iPhone X as birthday presents. Michaela, in her quiet way, was thrilled. Her shopping marathon with Ginny and Saachi spanned two after school days. My plan to take all three out tonight to the fanciest restaurant I could find was also enthusiastically received. It gave their clothes shopping focus. The icing on the cake was taking Michaela to get her ears pierced today.
I'd gone overboard. Guilt is a strong motivator.
On Tuesday, we saw our GP, Dr. Gordon. Our script was carefully rehearsed. Michaela confided to Dr. Gordon she'd started having sex with a boyfriend, the first time unprotected. She wanted birth control in case it happened again. Dr. Gordon, while in his sixties, was liberal in his attitudes. Michaela told me after her appointment that he'd advised her to abstain from casual sex, given her a lecture on STD's, and told her not to take the Morning After Pill. He said there was a very low risk she was pregnant and there were other options if she was. A lecture about sex versus love preceded his implanting Nexplanon birth control under the skin on her forearm.
He also pulled me aside and had some words about my parenting responsibilities and observations about my lack of success so far. He did it with concern. I promised to keep a very close eye on Michaela and managed to do it with a straight face.
A burst of laughter made me look at the girls. The three of them were laughing at something on their Smartphones, each watching their own phone! Crazy!
I looked around. The Chopping Block Steakhouse & Seafood restaurant was doing a roaring business tonight. The aromas of juicy steaks and rich ribs and spices and herbs scented the air making my stomach grumble.
As I took a sip of beer, I almost choked when Michaela told Ginny and Saachi, "He's a social accountant."
"What's that?" Ginny asked.
I shot Michaela a nasty glare, which she didn't see, as she continued smoothly, "He works for charities."
Breathing carefully, my heart slowed, and I mentally chastised myself. Since Michaela came into my life, one of the things she'd proven time and again is that I could trust her. Still . . .
While the girls chatted, I spent time studying Michaela. She was more animated than usual, smiling, laughing, her hands emphasizing her words. With her shorter hair loose and slightly wavy, it shone dark brown in the restaurant lighting.
In her face I saw her mother, Christine. She'd inherited the same slender features, an almost delicate bone structure. Lucky for her, I thought. My features wouldn't have been so attractive. Michaela's smile was powerful when it emerged. Almost blinding. Or was that just me seeing it?
To me, her most stunning feature was her eyes. Deep blue, almost cobalt, they were more intense than mine, endlessly deep and expressive.
In her face I saw the woman she'd become in the next few years. Right now, Michaela's face was still locked in childhood, and I thought she was sweetly pretty, innocence personified. Was that why I found our intimacy so powerful? Was that why, even now, I could feel a visceral response knowing she was my lover?
The waiter brought our main courses. I studied the impressive hunk of pure prime rib, perfectly pink and twice as much as I could possibly consume. Maybe if I skipped the vegetables, bread rolls, and baked potato I could eat it all. Worth a try!
"You're not eating all of that, are you?" Saachi asked.
I grinned. "I'm going to try."
Ginny studied my awesome plate and announced, "No one can eat that much, not even my dad, and he's biiiig!"
Michaela expressed her confidence in me, commenting, "Don't worry. He's too much of a health nut to eat it all."
Eyeing my nemesis on the plate, I briefly regretted letting my stomach order twenty-four ounces of prime, USDA Grade A beef. "I can do this," I told them, working out a plan of attack.
"No you can't," Michaela countered.
"Just watch me!" I exclaimed, now challenged.
They did. They debated and argued as I ate with determination, which took the pleasure out of eating. It became a task. To the laughter and derision of three young girls, I failed six ounces shy of my target and groaned with discomfort.
Ginny led the charge to make fun of me. Saachi and Michaela joined in, the three of them ordering humongous desserts and asking why I didn't want any, "Want to try mine?" and emitting a chorus of "Mmmm" sounds followed by giggles at my frown.
All in all, dinner was a great success. Michaela was on a sugar high when, after dropping the other two off, we arrived home. She screeched and laughed when I groped her ass at the front door. I couldn't resist. It looked scrumptious in her tight, short burgundy dress.
Even slight pain in my over-stuffed stomach couldn't tamp down my horniness. Thus, with the front door closing, I grabbed Michaela before she could escape, pulled her against me, and hugged her.
Her blue eyes twinkled when she looked up at me with a smile - just gorgeous.
"I hope you enjoyed your birthday."
"I did. Thank you," she assured me.
"It's not over yet," I informed her, running a hand down the sweep of her spine to rest on her sexy ass.
Her smile broadened.
I had to bend to kiss her. She rose up on tiptoes, turning her face up to me and, as we kissed lightly - small kisses and lips brushing, our breath mingling - I slipped my hand down the back of her leg and up under her dress.
The first touch of her panties sent my imagination soaring. Her panties weren't cotton. They were silky and exciting, the shape of her buttocks so sexy.
Michaela's eyes twinkled. She giggled quietly as we kissed. And I moaned when my exploration suggested they might be bikini-style panties, skimpy and sensual - my favorite.
I tugged the hem of her dress higher and searched for the waist of her panties, then slipped my hand inside to fondle her soft bare cheeks. The tip of Michaela's tongue teased my lips and she ended the kiss before I could respond.
"Jesus, you turn me on!" I told her, fondling her ass.
"I guessed," she said with a smile of amusement, rubbing her front against my pants.
With a grin, I told her, "You've got a great ass."
"No. Thank you," I said, making her giggle again. I adored the sound of her giggles, so playful and unrestrained, so rarely heard.
For several moments she watched me with a slight smile as I enjoyed myself, exploring the sensual shape of young buttocks and the exciting valley between, her silky panties rubbing against the back of my hand. When I started moving my hand to her side on a journey to the front, Michaela laughed and wiggled away from me.
"I'm getting ready for bed," she announced, heading to the stairs.
I admired her undulating rump. "Can I watch you get ready?"
She laughed. "Uh-huh."
I followed her mesmerizing ass up and into her bedroom, parking myself on her bed.
Michaela, still smiling with amusement, took her shoes off and put them away neatly - so very like her. With her back to me, she removed her dress by pulling her arms out and, wiggling, pushed it down her body and stepped out of it, her panties and bra revealed.
As she reached for a hanger in her closet, I studied her back. I'd been right. String bikini panties. Pure white, shimmering like silk. So very sexy. My partial erection strengthened.
She hung her dress up and turned, moving to the dresser. I studied her bra as she passed. The straps matched her panties, but soft triangles hugged her petite breasts, the triangles made of white lace. Below, her sexy panties hugged her pubis, the leg elastic deep in the sides emphasizing her remarkable shape. Light shimmered on the solid material giving her an even more prominent pussy.
Once again, I was stunned by the glory of her puberty. Now I was seriously horny, too.
Michaela opened a drawer and pulled out a pale pink cotton nightshirt. With her back to me, she opened her bra, shrugged it off, and put her nightshirt on, the view of her pantied ass disappearing.
I felt like a voyeur and liked it. Michaela's youth added an edge to the experience, titillating and sweetly sexy. It fascinated me how she ignored me, yet the slight color on her cheeks gave away embarrassment, proving she was very aware of my attention.
"Where are you going? I asked as she headed out.
"To the bathroom."
I got up and followed her.
"No way!" she exclaimed, closing the bathroom door in my face.
I grinned and went to undress. Maybe one day she'd let me watch her pee. I think it's my penis' fault. Being a guy, I've always been fascinated by girls peeing, finding it mildly erotic. I'd yet to experience it, but perhaps I could cajole Michaela into it.
I was down to my boxers, sitting on the edge of the bed when Michaela arrived. Seeing her in her pink nightshirt, with a slight smile, and knowing what treasures were hidden underneath that cotton, it happened to me again.
It was powerful and uncontrollable. It was a desperate desire for her that was beyond reason, primal, visceral, and frightening. My erection strengthened, tenting the boxers.
Before thinking, I rose and intercepted her before she was halfway into the room. She stopped, looking up at me. Silence was almost physical. I reached for the hem of her nightshirt and drew it up. Some mystical expression passed through her blue eyes. With a very slight smile, she brought her arms up and I peeled the nightshirt off her.
For a frozen moment, I studied her perfect yet diminutive breasts, easily a mouthful, so goddamned sexy.
She broke the spell over me, saying, "I thought I was in control. And it's my birthday celebration."
My heart was beating a war chant. My cock was getting progressively harder. I shouldn't have had so much wine at dinner. "Can we do that you in control thing tomorrow?"
Michaela smiled. "No. It's my birthday. I get to chose what we do."
MICHAELA COULD FEEL TREMORS in her body. She'd been horny most of the evening. Every time Brad looked at her his eyes were either full of adoration or hot with desire. She couldn't understand how Ginny and Saachi hadn't seen it. It was so obvious!
Brad had been funny, attentive, and involved over dinner; more animated than usual. When he'd gone to the bathroom, Ginny had whispered, "Holy cow, Michaela! How can you live with him and not go crazy? He's so not a dad!"
Saachi's reaction had been subdued, smiling as if she could see inside Michaela's mind. And Michaela had felt her cheeks warm up. Thank God Brad had returned.
Tonight, she'd experienced something new, something that turned her on to no end. Getting undressed with Brad watching her had excited her! Even she'd been surprised by how she'd reacted; her pussy pulsing and calling out to be touched and her boobs actually feeling fuller! Heat had rushed through her. Teasing Brad was supposed to turn him on but it had turned her on too!
Now, standing in her panties in front of him, his erection obvious, horniness was making her feel adventurous and lowering her usual inhibitions. Still, she was nervous. She'd had a fantasy last week after seeing something on the Internet - something so sexy she'd watched it four times - and tonight she wanted to try it. The girl she'd seen looked as if she was enjoying herself so much. The memory sent small shivers through her.
Looking up at his heated eyes, she asked, "Can I do whatever I want?"
He thought about it. "Sure. As long as it doesn't hurt either of us."
"And you won't interfere or make fun of me?"
"Now I'm intrigued. What are you planning?"
Michaela smiled. "You've been able to explore my body. Now it's my turn to explore yours. There's so much I don't know. To start with, I want to see."
She reached out and pulled his boxers down, releasing his erection. It bobbed up, pointing high, the shaft thick, tip inflamed. A flush of pride hit her. It thrilled her that she could excite Brad. Weirdly, she found his erection seriously sexy. A year ago, she'd been giggling with embarrassment when she and her friends would talk about boys boners. Not anymore!
Reaching out, she slowly closed her hand around the thick shaft. She felt it twitch, saw the head swell, and heard Brad's inhalation. His erection was fascinating, soft on the surface yet so hard underneath. Her fingertips barely met. She was amazed she'd actually taken it inside her. The memory of being so full made her shiver.
She gave it a squeeze. It flexed in response. Her body responded with a flush of horniness. She really liked his erection!
"Stop teasing me," Brad said.
Glancing at his face, she noticed the heat in his eyes and smiled. "I'm not. I'm exploring."
"Explore much more and the night might be over."
Michaela laughed. "Move over here."
With Brad standing closer to the bed, she sat on the edge, his erection now at the perfect height. She gently took it in her hand and caressed the soft skin while studying his testicles. With her other hand, she explored his balls; loose and so heavy.
Fondling them, she stroked his erection and noticed a bead of clear liquid appear at the tip. "What's this?" she asked, running her thumb across the tip. She was surprised at how slippery it was. So that's what she'd felt on her pussy before?
She brought her thumb to her nose and smelled. Nothing. How odd. She'd smelled his semen before, so this wasn't semen. Cautiously, she licked her thumb.
"Jeeeesus, Mickey," Brad exhaled.
Why did seeing her taste it excite him? It had no flavor. "What is is?" she asked.
"It's called precum."
"So it comes out when you're really turned on?" she asked, spreading it over the head of his penis.
She leaned forward and licked the glistening tip when another bead emerged. Then she laughed to herself when Brad let out a long, deep moan.
Sitting up, she stroked his shaft. "I've heard guys love blow jobs. I get that. What I've wondered is if the girls like giving blow jobs or do they just do it as a favor to the guys?"
Before he could answer, she touched her lips to the tip, almost a kiss, his erection surprisingly warm. Pressing her mouth against it, she parted her lips. Her heart raced with excitement. Her pussy throbbed. Slowly, she opened her mouth wider and wider. She felt his thick head press into her mouth, filling it. Reversing, she eased off slowly. Fascinating.
"I'm gonna die," Brad groaned, making her giggle quietly. This is fun!
Now she'd tried taking his cock into her mouth, she imitated what she'd seen on the Internet. Leaning forward, she guided his erection into her mouth again, this time sucking gently and exploring it with her tongue. She stroked his shaft, fondled his balls, and actually felt his erection throb in her mouth. Another wave of horniness hit her, heat washing through her, her pussy clenching. She squeezed her thighs together.
Emboldened by his rasping breath and quiet groans, Michaela pressed her mouth down taking more of his erection, then more until she almost gagged. She pulled back, kissed the tip, felt him swell as she stroked it, and slowly, very slowly, took him inside again, lips tight, mouth stretching, tongue caressing.
Brad's hand touched her hair. She looked up at him and almost laughed. He looked like he was in distress! No smile. Eyes intense.
Michaela trembled. She was giving Brad a blow job and he liked it! And she knew, if she touched herself, she'd be able to cum, too! So exciting! She had so much power it was intoxicating.
Concentrating, she stroked his shaft and fucked him with her mouth, her head moving, his crown sliding in and out. She stroked him faster, wondering if she could actually make him cum. Jeez, she was so horny! She really liked oral sex!
Distracted, Brad caught her off guard. He inhaled sharply, gasped, "Mickey," and pushed her head off his erection. It stiffened and swelled in her hand.
Before she could react, it pulsed and hot cum spurted onto her nose. She froze at the sight. His erection pulsed again and it erupted, a huge spurt hitting her in her forehead and dripping down. She heard Brad gasp as she redirected his spurting cock and stroked him, hot cum shooting out onto her boobs. Like it was alive, it pulsed and spurted, finally slowing and stopping.
Wiping her nose, she laughed with delight. Awesome! She sniffed Brad's cum on her fingers - odd but not bad - and tentatively tasted it with her tongue.
AS THE FOG OF my climax passed, I first heard Michaela laugh, then saw her smell my cum, then taste it. It was a shocking sight to see a very young girl with cum dripping on her, and erotic as heck!
Michaela looked at me and smiled. She let out another single laugh of delight, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "I did it! I made you cum!"
She got up. "I have to clean up," she announced, heading for the bathroom.
I sat rather hard on the bed, dazed and confused. Nothing could have prepared me for the excitement I'd experienced watching a newly minted teen giving me a blow job - nothing. Seeing her small mouth stretched so wide, my erection appearing abnormally huge, and the feel of her mouth was a unique experience. I thought, if I hadn't pushed her off, she might have let me cum in her mouth! Where did she get such expertise?
And her laugh! The sweet delight it communicated! Fuck me!
Despite cumming, I was still hugely turned on.
The complexity of Michaela's personality was brought into focus when she emerged from the bathroom. Of all things, she had her arm covering her little boobs and a rosy dusting on her cheeks. Contrasting the signs of shyness were her eyes. They sparkled like sapphires, full of naughtiness. This most remarkable girl made me ache with love.
She slipped into bed drawing a sheet over her. I joined her.
"You really didn't have to do that for me," I told her.
She let out a sexy, soft laugh and blushed harder. "I didn't. I did it for me. Was it okay?"
"That's the other thing I want to ask," I said, drawing her into my arms. She snuggled. Her knee eased between my legs. "Where did you learn to do it?"
She was silent for a moment, then said, "Ginny, Saachi and me have talked about it a bit. I always thought it was sorta dirty. But with you . . . I dunno. I wanted to try it. So I looked at a bunch of videos in the Internet and copied what I saw."
With pink still dusting her cheeks, I asked, "Did it embarrass you?"
She looked at me. "No. It's just, you haven't said anything . . . if you liked it."
I rolled onto my back. Michaela cuddled to my side, her head in the crook of my shoulder.
"I loved it. Let me tell you something. I've had maybe six or seven girlfriends over the years. Of those, perhaps half have given me oral sex, and none of them have ever made me cum. It was only part of sex with them. You're the only one that's made me cum. As I said, I loved it."
"Me, too," she said. "Can I tell you something?"
"Giving you a . . . a . . . blow job, really makes me horny. I don't know why. But I love feeling your erection in my mouth and feeling it throbbing and hard and all that. Next time, I want to see what it's like when you cum in my mouth."
She squirmed a bit. "The whole thing really turned me on."
Her comment made me feel selfish. It also sparked arousal!
Urging her onto her back, smiling at her, I said, "My turn."
Michaela smiled with delight. I tugged the sheet off, leaned over and kissed her small breast, caressing the side of her body down to her hip, touching the string waist of her panties on her prominent hip.
I kissed her other breast, then teased her nipple with my tongue, then enjoyed myself slowly sucking her areola. At the same time, I cupped her sexy pussy over her satiny panties. It felt warm to the touch, sensually swollen, erotic.
As I removed my mouth, I noticed her areola had plumped up nicely. I gave its twin the same treatment. Finished, I glanced at Michaela as I moved down. She had a Mona Lisa-like smile, her electric blue eyes alight. Without urging, she spread her legs and I settled on my front, my sight full of a pouty little pussy straining against pure white - eroticism at its finest.
"You like my underwear, don't you?" Michaela observed.
"Mickey, honey, you don't have underwear. You have panties!"
"Not at all! Guys wear underwear. Sexy girls wear panties. Much more arousing, and these, well, these are seduction defined."
Michaela giggled softly. "Thanks. They feel sexy. I have them in pink and in yellow, too."
"I'm in heaven," I sighed theatrically, and kissed the top of her mons. I caught the distinct, subtle scent of her arousal, so exciting.
Michaela laughed once. While I pressed my lips into her soft, yielding mons, she continued, "I noticed you like any panties I wear. You're a panty-lover, aren't you?"
"Mmmm-hmmm," I murmured, nodding, the effect being my mouth rubbing her cleft.
Michaela sighed and pushed her pussy at me with a turn of her hips.
I settled in, first slipping my arms under her knees and bringing them up over my shoulders, then reaching up from the sides to play with her breasts. Rubbing my face against the silky material of her panties, I fondled her small boobs.
Michaela put her hands over mine. For the next few minutes, she undulated her butt, rubbing her pussy against me. When I withdrew my hands, hers remained covering her breasts.
Moving my head back, I fondled her spectacular pudendum, entranced with its softness and warmth, how it bulged against her panties, so suggestive. I traced her short cleft up and down, then pressed in, her panties forming a sexy camel toe. Sensing her clit, I rubbed gently, rewarded with a quiet moan of encouragement. This close, her delicate scent was stronger, a hint of earthy ambrosia that made my mouth water.
Michaela started curling her pussy up and down as I rubbed her clit. She murmured her pleasure. I noticed her almost caressing her breasts, her eyes closed, nostrils flaring gently as she breathed deep. She wasn't kidding when she'd said she was horny.
Then, eyes still closed, she smiled and laughed once, a sound of pure delight. I noticed a damp spot emerge on the gusset of her panties and my body reacted. Unbelievably, an erection slowly formed against the mattress.
With care, and mounting excitement, I pulled out the leg elastic buried deep at the side of her pussy, slipped my finger inside, and touched her. Michaela was very moist, her cleft slippery and warm. Her labia hugged my fingertip as I searched for her clit, found it, and started strumming it lightly.
Her reaction was immediate. She moaned loudly and said, "Gaaawd that feels good," her hips moving faster.
My erection lengthened and hardened as I watched Michaela's climax slowly blossom. It started with a hitch in her breathing, then a breath held, and a small frown crease her brow. A smile flashed across her face. She laughed once and inhaled sharply. Her body tensed.
She froze for a second and breath exploded in a small sweet cry of pleasure, her hips churning as I diddled her clit. Another cute cry of ecstasy and her body curled up. She tried to close her thighs and as she did, I saw a damp spot spread on her panties that turned me on like crazy!
With a final gasp, Michaela calmed, breathing fast, her body relaxing.
I was anything but relaxed. I wanted her. God, how I wanted her!
Selfishly, I tugged her panties down and off, exposing her sexy pussy and stunning thin cover of pubes. The tip of her clit peeked out from her slit. Below, her cleft glistened, damp.
Michaela didn't open her eyes as I moved up over her. She did when the tip of my erection brushed against her pussy. Surprise registered.
"Please," I whispered. "I have to have you."
She didn't answer directly, but her knees rose to cradle my hips, her eyes observant. Reaching down, I gripped my shaft, swiped the tip up and down her small cleft, slowly burrowing deeper - warmth and wetness greeting me.
That damned sexy little smile emerged on her face when I lodged myself at the entrance to her vagina, her plump labia bulging around me, and then I pushed.
Penetrating Michaela was an experience unlike any other. It was much more exciting, intensely erotic, so forbidden. At first, resistance. She yielded, so reluctantly, as I pushed and it felt like her pussy gave up suddenly, warmth surrounding my crown, thrilling, so fucking tight. Easing back, I thrust again and experienced heaven, my erection sinking into her snug pussy, deeper and deeper until I was there, buried in her young body, stretching her, my cock pulsing with excitement. Fuck it felt good!
Michaela reached up and hooked her arms around my neck. "Better?" she asked with a smile.
She laughed once, her vagina tightening and releasing, a sexy massage.
I had an urge to fuck her, take her, be selfish and seek release, and I might have if it wasn't for the twinkle in her remarkable blue eyes. It was as if she could read me, was seeing the fire of need in me, and she did nothing to stop me using her.
Instead, I kissed her and slowly settled onto her. Her kiss was sweet, soft, her lips moving. Her heels hooked around my thighs and she moved her pelvis in a circle. Deep inside her, I felt my tip rub against the end of her. Still kissing softly, I rubbed my groin against her pussy and Michaela snorted in a breath. She responded by rubbing her pussy on me. Together, we moved, nothing more than rubbing, no stroking.
Michaela pulled her mouth away, gasping, then saying, "I can't believe I'm horny again." Her eyes smiled at me. "I love how you feel inside me."
I kissed the corner of her mouth. "I adore you, honey," I whispered.
Michaela sighed. "Put all of your weight on me."
I did, resting completely on her. She was so astonishingly petite under me and I loved it. With my face nuzzled to her hair, I reached down and held her buttocks. Michaela hugged my chest.
Guiding her with my hands on her bottom, I started grinding against her. She joined me, undulating sexily, her tight, tight pussy clenching my entire erection. My cock throbbed, pulsing inside her. Circles slowly evolved into gentle small thrusts, slow and sensual. Then I withdrew almost entirely.
Michaela moaned her disappointment and I slowly fucked back into her velvet grip, my groin bumping against her clit. We moved together in a rhythm we set; grinding, then withdrawing, then stroking into heaven. It was exquisite, beautiful. Loving Michaela excited me so much. And slowly the pace changed as arousal drove higher. Michaela's movements became more forceful. She let out little gasps of pleasure every time my groin bumped her clit. Her heels tugged at me when I withdrew, and I fucked her harder, faster, utter heaven.
I reached the point where I could continue or cum, in control, attuned to her movements. Delayed climax was exquisite, my cock thick and straining, tenseness in my groin, and the excitement of release not far away - me cumming inside her again, filling her with my semen - on the cusp of utter ecstasy.
But, my supreme control was utterly demolished. Shattered in one incredible moment.
It happened while Michaela was undulating under me, her small body responding to my moves so sensually, her pussy almost clenching me to stop me withdrawing, gripping me tightly as I thrust into her, fucking her. She curled her pussy up at me as if trying to get me impossibly deeper inside.
And then she whispered, "Daddy," and I lost it.
I utterly lost it. My orgasm slammed into me, erection aching. I thrust into my child as deep as I could possibly go and came, exploding hot cum into her. Before I could gasp, I came again, a huge, endless, painful spurt bringing utter bliss. Groaning loudly, to her whispered "Daddy" ringing in my head, I fucked my little girl, gloriously spurting into her, cumming hard, my gut clenching, thrusting, spurting, thrusting, cumming until, with a final straining heave, my orgasm passed, sweet release washing over me, peace, drained, sweat cooling my back, exhausted.
Three weeks after her suspension from the soccer team, Michaela was back in action. The team had lost all their matches in her absence, which puzzled me as Michaela wasn't their big goal scorer. I'd decided to attend this after school match, their last of the year on the final day of school. Sitting hidden in the crowd of parents, I hoped she wouldn't spot me. I didn't want to upset her. It was the first match I'd attended and it was eye-opening.
Michaela, the quiet, calm girl I thought I knew, was a completely different girl on the field, much like her transformation in the bedroom. Despite being the shortest player, she was exploding with energy and seemed to energize her teammates. She was vocal, egging her team on, pointing, directing them like an orchestra. And, as I watched, I noticed something unexpected. Michaela demonstrated an acute awareness of the field and the positions of the opposing team. She seemed to know where her teammates would be before they did. Unlike almost every young girl on the field, her passes were crisp and hardly ever intercepted.
She didn't score once, yet her team won. And her teammates gathered around her when the game was over, all excited and energetic, jumping and celebrating and hugging. In their actions they showed Michaela was a natural leader. She was the player who brought cohesion to the team and gave them confidence.
Seeing my daughter's skill brought out a strange reaction; my chest grew tight, my eyes prickled with pride, and I felt stupid for it.
With the game over, I sneaked back to the pickup and drove away. Michaela had a sleepover celebration with her friends.
I'd never known anyone like her. She had two distinct sides. One was serious and disciplined and neat and methodical - her logical side. She was quiet and intelligent and observant and dryly witty. The other was a complete contrast. The other was as if a switch had been flipped. This Michaela was the sylph. She liked sex more than anyone I'd ever met and wasn't shy about it in the least. She was adventurous, inventive, free-spirited, and laughed with delight when we had fun.
I adored both sides of her. I'd never tire of her. But she had my number. She knew how to play me like a violin. And every so often, she'd pull out her most effective assault weapon; she'd call me Daddy. God knows why it impacted me the way it did. I couldn't help myself. I'd experience love and adoration and erotic excitement all at once.
Since her birthday night, I'd come to know her better and better. Michaela relished sex. She celebrated every experience. We'd discovered she couldn't climax with simple missionary intercourse. For her, she needed her clitoris stimulated to achieve an orgasm. Despite it, Michaela swore she loved me being on top, feeling my weight on her, and especially liked feeling me swelling and pulsing as I'd cum inside her. That alone would satisfy her.
We'd started experimenting with different positions where either she or I could stimulate her clit at the same time. So far, it led to some inventive positions. I had more positions I wanted to introduce her to. Not tonight, though.
Odd for me, the prospect of an alone night depressed me.
I caught myself absentmindedly scratching the scab off my wrist. Fresh, pink skin showed where I'd removed the scab. The damned burn itched like bejesus.
MICHAELA LAUGHED AS GINNY regaled them with her inept father's attempt to fix the dishwasher, the flood, and a panicked call to the plumber.
She was having a lot of fun. Ginny had a swimming pool and they'd used it after school, gossiping, swimming, and sunbathing in their bikinis. Ginny's brother, three years older, had checked them out, trying to be inconspicuous and failing. That caused much laughter.
Ginny's bedroom was nice and larger than her own - not that she used it much these days.
Saachi passed her bottle of nail polish to Michaela. Michaela passed her bottle of purple nail polish to Ginny. She looked at the new bottle. Nice! Vibrant green. Bending, she carefully painted one toenail. Yellow, purple, and now green. Looks good, she thought.
"Mom yelled at Dad last night," Ginny said. "He burped at dinner and Mom told him it was so rude. He tried to tell her he was showing appreciation for her meal. As if!" A brief pause followed while she studied her fingernails, then she continued, "I love him. He's my Dad after all, but he can be gross at times. Not like your Dad, Michaela. I bet he doesn't burp or fart."
Saachi exclaimed, "Gross!"
Michaela laughed. "I've never heard him, thank God."
Ginny continued, "Ever seen him naked? What's he like? I bet he's a gorgeous hunk. I saw Dad naked and wanted to die on the spot. Did I mention I love Dad? But really! What did Mom ever see in him?"
Saachi grinned. "You didn't answer Ginny, Michaela. What's your dad look like naked? Does he have a six pack?"
"Stop!" Michaela exclaimed. She felt her cheeks warm up. Fortunately, Ginny dropped a bottle of nail polish and jumped up to grab it. However, Saachi studied her, speculation in her expression.
It was almost midnight when they went to bed. They'd watched a romantic movie downstairs and ate chips and dip, discussed Matthew McConaughey's hotness, speculated on his physical attributes, and giggled as they tried to outdo each other on what they'd do if they were alone in a hot tub with him.
Michaela crawled onto the air mattress on the floor to join Saachi. Ginny slept in her bed. Darkness surrounded them.
About half an hour later, Saachi rolled to face her and said in a whisper, "You've changed since I met you. You're different."
"Not really," Michaela responded.
"Yeah, you have. You're really happy now. Not as serious."
"Maybe. After everything that happened, it's been tough. Brad," she paused, "Dad makes it easier."
"I don't know. You seem more relaxed. Confident."
"It's turning thirteen," Michaela suggested.
Several moments of silence followed. Then Saachi observed, "I don't think thats it."
"No. I think you're, like, in love," Saachi whispered. "Who is it?" A brief pause and Saachi added, "You've done it, haven't you? You've had sex."
"I haven't done anything," Michaela whispered furiously.
"Nope. I can tell. Who is he? Wait! Don't tell me. I'll guess."
"Don't! What are you? A witch?"
"Shhh! You'll wake Ginny up."
Michaela fought the desire to talk. Eventually, she asked Saachi, "Have you done it? You know, had sex?"
They whispered long into the night.
"I'm home!" Michaela called out as she entered. Getting no response, she headed upstairs, unpacked her overnight stuff, gathered dirty laundry, which included her now stinky soccer outfit, and headed down to dump it in the laundry nook.
With no sound from Brad, she headed out and wandered over to the renovated barn. Was he working out?
He wasn't. She found him in his home office. Sitting at a long, curving desk with computer monitors stacked in a half circle in front of him, he was completely absorbed.
For a moment she paused in the doorway and watched him. The room was surprisingly noisy from racks of computers working at the same time. There was a distinct smell in the air. She had no idea what was happening but the monitors, all of them, were extremely busy. Brad's fingers flew across the keyboard. He paused to study one monitor then typed rapidly again.
"Got'cha," he muttered.
Silently, Michaela backed away so she wouldn't distract him. Instead, she wandered outside and admired the neat gardens. Tidy and well cared for, with a profusion of blooming flowers and mixed plants in various shaped beds, they brought her peace. She liked order and neatness. It was calming.
Her mind turned to Brad . . . Dad. Familiar feelings blossomed; excitement, desire, a lovely hint of arousal, and something that had developed recently - adoration. She'd never experienced the intensity of one person's love before. She'd never even known it could exist. Somehow Brad made her feel as though she was the most important person in the world to him. The way he'd look at her made her heart trip every time. And the strength of her feelings for him surprised her. She loved him, sometimes so much she ached. Unconsciously, she turned the white- and yellow-gold interlocking dolphins ring on her middle finger.
Michaela climbed the steps to the veranda and sat on the restored wooden bench. She smiled to herself. I have a lover! Me! How cool is that?
She could feel it; the urge inside her awakening, the tickle of excitement, the desire to have sexy fun with him, feel ecstasy - a craving almost like a drug. He'd assured her that loving sex isn't bad as long as it isn't destructive, doesn't hurt her, or demean or humiliate anyone. When sex between two people is private, and each respects the other, anything goes.
That thought brought her mind back to Saachi and their conversation late in the night. Again, she experienced the discomfort and anger she had last night. Her eyes had been opened. She wanted to talk to Brad about her, but how?
She assessed the shed Brad was restoring. It still needed work. As far as she could tell, it was the only thing left to be restored. What would he do when he finished it? He liked puttering around too much to stop.
That made her think about him, such a quiet guy, confident and contained, neat, and calm. Michaela smiled. Except for their sexy fun. He had a hidden funny side that came out at times and tickled her pink, and the way he'd whisper "Mickey" would make her ache with adoration.
All in all, she felt incredibly lucky. She was happy. Which brought her thoughts back to Saachi. What to do?
Getting up from the bench, she headed into the kitchen to grab a Coke. She returned to the bench, sat, and sipped cold Coke, her mind busy.
"Penny for your thoughts."
Michaela jerked. Coke spilled. "Jeez! Don't sneak up on me like that!"
"I didn't. You were lost in thought."
I SAT DOWN ON the bench next to Michaela, took a sip from the bottle of beer, and draped an arm over her shoulder. "How was the sleepover? I bet you're exhausted now."
She shrugged. "It was okay. I missed you."
With a smile, I told her I'd missed her, too, then leaned in and kissed her lightly. She responded with twinkling eyes and a sweet smile, then leaned into my side, drawing her feet up onto the bench and hugging her knees.
The silence that followed was comfortable. I was happy enough to have her next to me on a fine summer day. A slight breeze couldn't cool the air. In the intense quiet I could hear the buzz of insects. It was a moment in time when everything's in balance. Rare and deserving appreciation.
Michaela pointed to the shed. "When you're finished with that, what are you going to do to keep busy?"
"Not sure. I'll find something."
A couple of minutes passed. Michaela broke the silence, saying, "In case I haven't told you, I'm really happy being here with you."
I hugged her shoulder. "Me too."
The companionship was really nice. I thought about shucking weekend chores so I could enjoy this for a while longer, maybe all afternoon.
"If someone is hurting and you know you can help them, should you?" Michaela asked.
"You didn't answer me. Should you help them?"
I gave it some thought. "If you can, and if you aren't making things worse, yes, you should try to help. But not everyone wants help."
"What if not helping will ruin their future life?"
"Who are we talking about?" I asked.
"No one. I was just wondering. I need to shower."
With that, Michaela got up and disappeared into the house. She left me puzzling over her questions. I'd known people who needed help but were unwilling to accept it. In fact, the attempts had only made matters worse. I knew she had someone specific in mind and wondered who.
Draining the beer, I went in for another. With a new ice cold bottle of beer in hand, I returned to the garden and wandered around enjoying it. Was I weird? Do normal guys get satisfaction when a garden comes together or like the contrast in shape, color and texture of different blooms?
Was I a repressed gay? That made me laugh. Right. Me gay? Michaela proved otherwise. Speaking of which, why had her sleepover been just okay and not great?
Eventually, Michaela joined me. Her hair was damp and glossy. She'd put on a simple yellow T-shirt and a short jean skirt, with sandals on her feet.
She smiled. I returned it, studying the jean skirt. Never seen before, it was short, as in extremely short - just reaching the top of her legs. I openly admired.
There was a lot to admire. The gap between her legs was noticeable and sexy. Her bare legs were slender and sexy. The skirt hugged her narrow hips and ass - young and sexy.
"You're a great gardener," she commented, crouching down to smell a rose. "One day you can teach me. Not this summer, though. I want to relax."
Why can't I stop time? Right now, right here, with the back of Michaela's skirt riding up enough to expose the bottom of her silky pale pink panties!
She stood. We strolled. At another flower bed, she bent over to smell a vibrant yellow rose bloom and her pantied rear was slowly exposed. I caught a glimpse of her pussy almost bulging in the incredible gap between her thighs before she straightened.
I thought my groan was silent. Her shoulders shaking told me it wasn't. It also told me she'd teased me deliberately! I grinned.
"Careful," I warned her. "You have no idea what you're toying with."
Michaela laughed lightly. "You're so easy. A flash of panties and you're hooked."
I was, absolutely, one hundred percent. I denied it anyway. "No I'm not. Besides, you get turned on just being in my presence. Talk about easy!"
"Not true. I get turned on by you getting turned on by me. It's the way you look at me."
"I look at you the same way all the time."
Michaela turned to face me walking backwards. "No you don't. You get a hot look in your eyes. Like you're hungry." Her finger jabbed towards me. Her blue eyes twinkled. "Like right now!"
"I'm not that easy, Mickey."
"Wanna bet?" she asked playfully, turning away from me and strolling.
It was too enticing to ignore. I knew she was right. I knew she had my number. And she seemed so playful about it, it was irresistible. Besides, that ass!
"Okay. Let's bet."
She proposed, "I bet I can make you so horny you can't wait until bedtime."
"You win," I confessed.
Michaela laughed. "Funny." She continued as if not believing me. "If I win, I get to do anything I want and you have to agree. No arguments. Okay?"
Even though she couldn't see me behind her, I nodded. "Done. You win."
She let out another bright laugh, stopped walking, turned, smiled at me and said, "You always make me feel so good about myself. Thanks. But you could at least try to play the game."
Reaching out, I grabbed her hand and pulled her into a hug. She hugged me and muttered, "You're a real pain, Bradley."
"I can't help it. I love you."
A pregnant silence descended. We both froze. Michaela tensed up in my arms.
She leaned back to look up at me. Her eyes were moist and full of sweet yearning. She blinked a couple of times. "You love me?"
"I guess . . . I mean . . . Yeah, I love you, Mickey."
She gave me a fierce hug and said quietly, "I love you too, Dad."
I suffered unfamiliar mushy feelings, my heart misbehaving. Fortunately Michaela released me, gave me the brightest goddamned smile and said, "Where were we?"
As she moved away, she casually added, "Oh, yeah. The bet," and scratched her butt exposing sweet pink.
I could've won the bet if I wanted to, but I wanted to lose. However, I wasn't going to make it easy. There was something utterly charming about Michaela sexually teasing me. In a sweet and innocent way, she was astonishingly accomplished at it!
When I returned to the veranda with another beer and a cold Coke, Michaela had propped her butt onto the balustrade, sitting sideways. I handed her the soda and sat on the bench. She twisted and sat fully on the railing facing me.
"Tell me about your sleepover," I suggested, and sipped beer.
"I saw you," she told me.
Confused, I asked, "At the sleepover? I wasn't there."
"No. I saw you at the soccer game. You tried to hide in the stand."
I nodded. "Guilty. Good game."
"Uh-huh. But, I didn't score."
She wobbled on the railing. Her knees parted slightly and I was treated to a full, head-on view of her pouty, pink-clad pussy bulging where it pressed to the railing. I didn't follow her while she talked about the game. Lust blossomed as I studied the sexy swell. My mouth actually watered! What I wanted to do was fondle her, feel the shimmering silky material of her panties, and explore the shape of her pussy. From experience I knew how soft and sensual it was.
My heart rate ticked up. An erection slowly formed growing tight inside my jeans as visions of bending her over, yanking her panties down and taking her from behind. She shifted again, her sexy pussy bulging and straining against her panties.
Pulling my eyes away from the sexiest sight ever, she had an innocent look, her beautiful eyes twinkling. "What's the matter? You didn't hear anything I said."
I frowned. "You don't play fair."
Michaela laughed. "You're soooo easy!"
"Don't tease a tiger," I warned her. "Eventually they bite."
"Tiger?" she asked. "More like a pussy cat!"
Michaela being a tease, silly and cute, was such a beautiful experience. I frowned and growled, getting up from the bench.
Michaela let out a scream of laughter, jumped down from the railing, and dashed towards the garden before I could grab her. The can of Coke tumbled from her hand. I gave chase and quickly realized playing soccer had made her remarkably fast and agile.
I chased her sweet ass. Flashes of pink spurred me on. She was giggling when I caught her and we tumbled to the lawn. She struggled to escape so I weighed her down with my body and, while she was trapped, I took the opportunity to grope her panties.
Her struggles faded away. Giggles stopped. A satisfied smile emerged. Pure blue eyes twinkled. She let me fondle her and boy did I!
There's a special excitement with touching a girl's panties. It's different from any other touch. It's naughty and erotic and intimate, full of possibilities. For as long as I could remember, touching a girl's panties had turned me on like nothing else; more than kissing, more than feeling her breasts.
Michaela's panties were my absolute favorite - slippery, smooth satin cosseting a soft, sensual pubis of remarkable shape. I loved how her cleft hugged the edge of my finger when I pressed. It excited me to explore the deep sides of her vulva and the exotic shape of her mons. My cock strained, crying out for release. A hard throb leaked precum.
Michaela's eyes softened. "I win," she said. "Let's go inside."
"No. We'll stay right here."
Her eyes opened wide. "Here? Outside? No way! Someone might see us!"
I rubbed her clit through her panties. "It's Saturday. No one lives near us. We're in the back yard."
"Outdoor sex can be exciting," I suggested, groping and caressing.
Michaela frowned at me. "I said I don't want to! I won the bet! You have to do what I want!"
"We can do what you want tomorrow," I suggested, preoccupied with her sexy pussy.
Michaela shoved my shoulders. "Get off!" Her frown intensified. She struggled away and stood. "It's always what you want, never what I want!" she exclaimed, clearly upset.
Her sudden anger was a like a dousing of ice water. She turned and walked back towards the house.
She disappeared inside. I got up and headed after her. What happened? Why the sudden change when we were teasing each other? Was it hormones or something more serious? Was our intimate relationship causing conflict?
Michaela sat quietly at my side watching TV while using her iPhone. She'd changed into soft, powder blue terry shorts this afternoon - a sure sign her mood had changed. She'd been quiet, yet calm, the girl I'd first met, without a trace of annoyance or anger.
My first instinct had been to force her to talk, but I'd been a coward and didn't. Instead, I'd puttered in the yard then spent time making dinner, making sure I wasn't pushing her. I gave her space and time.
Oddly, I found myself consuming a few too many beers and it'd had an effect; I was slightly tipsy. Eventually, as the evening news finished, I checked my watch. Eleven P.M.
"Time for bed," I said, getting up.
Michaela followed me upstairs and went to her bedroom. In bed, I wondered if she'd join me. If she didn't, she was pissed at me. If she did, she was upset by something else. I hoped it was the latter.
From the hall, I heard the toilet flush and water run in the sink. Michaela, in pajama shorts and top, came in and slipped into bed. She moved to my side. Hooking an arm around her, I pulled her closer. Her knee slipped over my leg as she rolled into me.
I kissed the top of her head and said nothing. The bedroom was very dark with moonlight barely forming shadows.
"Sorry," she said softly. "I don't know what happened."
"Yes you do," I countered. "No pressure. I don't need an explanation." It was a lie. I very much needed one.
If felt like forever before she quietly spoke again.
"I promised Saachi I wouldn't tell, but I have to talk to someone."
I made no move to encourage her.
"Saachi told me at the sleepover that she'd been molested by her uncle starting when she was eight years old. He forced her to have sex when she was nine and he told her she'd be taken away from her parents if she told anyone."
As hard as it was, I held my tongue, said nothing.
Michaela continued, "Saachi asked if I'd had sex cuz she thought I had changed. She wanted to know if sex was really as good as she'd heard, because she's scared of it now. That's why she's never had a boyfriend. I think it's why she's a bit weird, too. Have you noticed how she dresses?"
A moment of silence followed. Michaela spoke. "I lied to Saachi. I told her I was a virgin. The thing is, I wanted to tell her how great sex is and how making love makes me feel wonderful and how exciting it is. I think, if I told her, she might be willing to take a chance, you know?"
Giving it some thought, I suggested, "She could try therapy. Maybe she just needs time or to meet the right guy. She should tell her parents, too."
"She'd never do that. It's her mother's brother who forced her. It's just . . . I can't help her without admitting I've had sex and, well, I can't do that without getting us into trouble. See?"
"So lie. Tell her it was with some other boyfriend back in Albuquerque."
Michaela nodded against the crook of my shoulder. "I could do that. It might work. It's a good lie, right?"
Her hand rubbed my stomach. "This afternoon, I think I was angry because Saachi told me how frightened she was to be helpless and I felt a bit helpless when you wouldn't listen to what I wanted. Sorry."
"Don't be. It was my mistake and I won't make it again. I promise. In all fairness, you drive me nuts, honey."
Her hand caressed. "I know," she said softly, "and I like that
I do. Sorry."
"Stop saying sorry."
She froze, then laughed softly. "Oops." She turned her face up to me, pale and shadowed in the moonlight. "Thanks for listening to me."
Her hand eased lower. Even in the darkness I could see mischief steal into her eyes, confirmed when her hand slipped inside my boxers. Her hand was warm as it gently held my penis. A smile flashed across her face when she felt my response and, in very short order, she fondled me into an erection.
"It's amazing how it grows," she commented, now stroking me.
About to move, Michaela beat me to it, rolling on top of me, lying down, and wiggling her lower body.
I guided her face to mine and kissed her gently, our lips first brushing against each other. Then she let out a quiet "Mmmm" and pressed her mouth to mine, the kiss intensifying.
Reaching down, I held her little ass, caressing sweet buttocks, my erection growing stronger. As her tongue teased mine, I eased my hands inside her pajama shorts, felt the slinky material of her panties, confirmed they were bikini style, and squeezed - just perfect.
Our kiss became more passionate. Then she broke the kiss, rolled off and undressed. Mindful of her earlier comments about control, I did nothing. I let her take charge. There was an intensity emerging in her actions. She pushed my boxers down. I kicked them off and she moved back on top of me, her legs falling to my sides.
The sound of quiet movement, of a sheet shifting, and almost unheard moans were the only noises in the night. No words spoken.
Michaela kissed me and froze briefly when I caressed her sexy breast, then kissed me harder. From her warm breath against my face I could tell her excitement was building. She undulated on me, rubbing her body on mine. Reaching down, she repositioned my erection, pointing it up, and rubbed her pussy along the shaft, quiet moans of pleasure ensuing.
Michaela was very active. As if she had demons, she undulated on me, broke the kiss with a quiet sigh, and pushed herself up, sitting astride me. She cupped my erection, pressing it to her pussy, rubbing herself along the shaft.
Her eyes were intense and staring into mine, expression determined, and she rose on her knees - a beautiful pubescent nymph - pressing the head of my cock back through her slit, slowly, sensually. My erection swelled at the warm caress of her pussy against the tip, the way she moved me, her soft labia hugging me. Michaela's eyes lost focus. With me positioned to her satisfaction, she pressed down. Her entrance resisted, too tight. She backed off and tried again and I experienced the amazing, exquisite sensation of first penetration, her vagina squeezing over my crown, erotic, exiting.
Then she surprised me. She rose, my tip oozing out of her. Reversing, she eased my crown back in, then reversed. Her tight, tight entrance was fucking the head and I'd never experienced anything quite like it. My body was tense, taut, her tease making me want to grab her and fuck her hard. Yet, as difficult as it was, I held back.
A small shudder passed through her. At our groins, I could see the shadowed outline of my cock pointing up, so astonishingly thick against her small pussy. Michaela moved slowly, fucking my crown. She started touching herself and moaned quietly, her body rising, lowering, just my crown teased with her tight vagina.
Heart beating faster, my cock swelled. I ached to thrust into her, to be buried inside her, but Michaela was in a world of her own. Her eyes closed. A brief smile flashed across her face followed by another moan of pleasure, lifting and lowering herself, fucking herself on my cock.
Reaching up, I caressed her small breasts, tweaking her soft nipples. She shuddered again, her finger diddling her clit faster, and I felt her. I felt her vagina tensing and relaxing, gripping me. She rose and lowered herself, the tip oozing out, squeezing in, and a flush of red formed above her breasts.
Nostrils flared, her mouth opened. She breathed faster. Her head tilted back, lost in herself and, with sudden hard jerks, Michaela climaxed. Her whole body shook. A small cry of pleasure escaped, her pussy rhythmically gripping my crown, her finger a blur on her clit.
As if the pleasure was too much for her, she collapsed onto me, her body shaking. I held her tightly and let her cum, the entrance to her vagina now gripping me, my cock swelling, throbbing.
As she calmed, her hot breath panting against my neck, it was too much for me. Rolling us, with my weight on her, I reached down, gripped her buttocks, and thrust into her hard, hard. Michaela cried out quietly. In one firm stroke I was buried inside her, so fucking tight, so wet. Heart racing, breathing hard, I withdrew and fucked into her again, her whole body shoved underneath me.
Michaela gasped, "Daddy," driving me crazy with lust. She brought her legs up to capture my thighs and hung onto me as I fucked my little girl hard and fast, long strokes, so exciting. Need drove me. My cock swelled, aching, her pussy slippery yet impossibly tight, and I fucked her faster, harder, thrusting, withdrawing, thrusting, fucking my daughter, pleasure thrumming inside me. Gripping her butt cheeks, I chased my orgasm, my need almost manic, pressure building, an ache in my gut emerging and, with a grunt, I thrust into her all the way and exploded, sweet pleasure bursting. Withdrawing, I fucked her again and exquisite ecstasy blossomed. I came in a massive, almost painful spurt, hot cum flooding her. The dam broke. Holding her small body tightly, I fucked my young lover, cumming hard, exploding, bliss pummeling me, cock pulsing, spurting, filling her, filling her. With a final, aching pulse, my orgasm passed. Jesus Christ it was fantastic!
Michaela's movement woke me. It was still night. I had no idea how long I'd been asleep. She'd rolled onto her front, her arms up under the pillow. My bladder called. Slipping out of bed, I headed to the bathroom.
Light on, I peed and studied myself in the mirror. I looked the same, yet I was a different man than I'd been a few months ago. I no longer wanted a solo life. I wanted companionship, Michaela in my life, and I wondered why I'd cherished loneliness before.
Flushing the toilet, I moved to the sink and washed my hands. Then, as I walked through the doorway and back into the bedroom, reaching behind to turn the light off, I paused.
In bed, Michaela was still asleep on her front. Getting out of bed I'd pushed the sheet down. She'd put those sexy panties back on, had one knee cocked up, her dark hair messy on the pillow.
From my position, Michaela was full of sexy curves. Her ass was exquisite; two sensual rounded buttocks rising from her lower back.
As my eyes focused lower, my breath caught. From behind, straining against satiny pink, Michaela's pussy was so erotic. But making my heart race was the damp spot in the gusset; Mickey leaking cum! My cock stirred.
Turning the bathroom light off, I crawled into bed being careful not to disturb her, settled on my side next to her, bodies just touching, and cautiously reached for the sensual swell of rump. That first light touch of her panties excited me all over again. I loved the feel of satiny panties softly gliding over each firm yet soft cheek. Thoughts of waking her up, of sex in the middle of the night, of experiencing the tight clench of her pussy again rattled through my mind, so friggin' arousing.
Michaela moved her ass side to side. "Stop it. I'm sleeping."
Softly fondling her bottom, I asked, "Are you sure? You sound awake."
"I'm not. Stoooop!" she complained quietly. When I cuddled to her and wrapped my arms around her, rolling her and pulling her back against me, her sweet ass pressed to my groin, she asked, "How can you be horny again?" and moved her butt against my erection.
It naturally settled along her butt crack, her silky panties warm and exciting. I cupped her naked breast. "It's hard not to be horny around you," I claimed.
Michaela sighed. Her hand settled on the back of mine, pressing it to her breast. "Okay. But be quick."
It caught me off guard. I wasn't used to anyone offering me sex for my selfish pleasure. But, I was also horny.
"Are you sure?" I asked, hoping she was. "I'd be using you. That doesn't seem fair."
"I don't mind. But, I'm not going to help. I'm tired."
"Don't worry," I assured her, smiling to myself. "I'll do all the work."
Michaela's body shook with silent laughter.
Pressing my nose to her hair, I inhaled her delicious, unique, sleep-muted scent, and rubbed the pad of my thumb across her small nipple. It responded, beading up. On her side, her petite breast had such a sexy shape, so firm.
Now familiar senses assaulted my body: a rush of excitement; endorphins kicking in; heart beating faster; the unique allure of sex with my young girl so arousing.
Slipping my hand down, I found her rather prominent hip and the string waist of her panties, my cock swelling. Slowly, I eased her panties down. This precise moment was thrilling - undressing my young lover for sex. Pulses of excitement made my cock throb.
As I pushed her panties to her knees, Michaela used her legs to kick them off. Her warm, sexy ass pressed into my groin and my erection nestled between her cheeks, skin against skin. I rubbed myself through her bum crack, hugging her small body to me.
The night was silent and dark. No sounds reached us through the open windows. It was still hot, heat not dissipating from the day. Michaela was warmer.
Caressing her breast, it thrilled me when my hand spanned both. Curling my ass back, the tip of my cock slid down her butt crack and, as I reversed, Michaela partly raised her leg. My erection brushed along her pussy. She lowered her leg, her thighs trapping me with sexy pressure. My cock swelled again.
Without words, with my face buried in her hair, her sweet ass against my groin, and a diminutive boob in my hand, I started moving, easing my cock back and forth. Michaela's pussy was slippery, still leaking cum from earlier and the sensation of her wetness heightened my arousal. For several minutes I fucked her gently between her thighs, loving the sensation.
When Michaela gave me an extra squeeze of her thighs, her bum flexing, I reached down her front, touching her sparse, soft pubes, then touched the tip of my cock. I was already slippery with precum.
Hugging her tightly to me with one arm, I used my fingers to guide my crown back, arching my hips, the tip slipping along her cleft, across her clit, then back, emerging from the front. I repeated it, her cleft very slippery, and Michaela moved in counterpoint, rubbing her pussy against my cock.
As we undulated, I pressed the head harder into her cleft, her lips caressing me. Each slow stroke grew longer, the tip now concentrated on her clit.
Heart beating faster, I tilted my hips. Michaela responded, curling her bottom back, and the tip of my erection pressed against her slit, angled perfectly. Holding it there with my fingertips, I pressed, her labia oozing over my crown, the tip edging to her entrance.
Eyes closed, I concentrated on the sensation of penetrating her. At first, I couldn't detect the entrance, then silken warmth slowly spread, her labia slipping over my cock. I felt her entrance. I felt it stretch, a tight ring easing over me, liquid warmth greeting me.
Michaela sighed silently when my cock penetrated her, the crown gripped by her vagina. We paused. It was a perfect moment; my erection lodged inside her, her pussy a snug clasp, the promise of utter heaven when I'd sink into her.
Michaela moved again, urging me, pressing back at me. I pushed. In one exquisite, smooth stroke, I sank into her snug pussy. Fuck it felt good! She took me deep, a tight sheath gripping me and I responded with a strong throb. I felt my cock expand inside her. Her sweet buttocks pressed against me.
The excitement I experienced made me slightly dizzy. With us tightly joined, I searched her slippery cleft, found her soft clitoris, and rubbed it gently, slowly. Michaela's reaction was a quiet sigh and a delicious clench of her pussy. My cock responded with a throb.
With a kiss on her hair, I whispered, "Jesus, Mickey, I love sex with you."
Michaela responded with another tight clench, and urges took over. I slowly, very slowly, withdrew from her until just the crown was inside her, then slowly penetrated her fully. Unbelievable! I repeated the move while gently rubbing her clit, withdrawing almost but not quite fully, then stroking back into her warm pussy, pleasure flowing through me. God I loved fucking her!
A slow, quiet rhythm built. In the utter silence of the night, I fucked my daughter, holding her tight. There was no rush, no desperation, just sweet sex. My erection felt so thick, so rigid, throbbing, caressed by liquid velvet.
Michaela communicated her arousal with occasional clenches of her vagina. Like me, she was silent. We fucked languidly, every move felt. I even sensed the swollen head of my cock moving inside her; exquisitely pleasurable, fucking her, fucking her. Time passed slowly.
Then Michaela whispered, "Daddy," and came in the sweetest climax. Her pussy clenched rhythmically with each wave of her pleasure. Light shivers passed through her small body. Fucking my little girl while she climaxed was fantastic, such an amazing experience, more intense for our slow pace.
And, like the warmth of the morning sun suddenly basking me, my orgasm arrived. With slow, deeply sexy strokes, my erection swelled. An ache emerged, that perfect point on the cusp of cumming. With a burst of pleasure, my cock flexed and pulsed as I stroked into her snug pussy and I came, semen spurting, bliss. With slow strokes, I came in beautiful pulses, spurting into my young lover, filling her with cum, erection throbbing. Each spurt brought ecstasy, sweet release. I came completely, the pulses peaking and slowly waning, and I came to rest, drained, satiated.
I fell asleep still buried in Michaela's pussy. Jesus, I loved her!
MICHAELA NURSED HER ICED latte in the Café, keeping an eye out for Saachi. Through the window the sun was almost blindingly bright. Sunday was even hotter than yesterday. She was really tired, but in a good way.
She sipped the cool, sweet drink and smiled to herself. Last night had been so special. Pride filled her. She'd really driven Brad nuts the first time they had sex. He'd been almost out of control at the end, thrilling her that she had that much impact on him. But the second time, wow!
She really hadn't wanted sex when he woke her up. She'd felt his erection and his fondling her bum. She'd felt her panties where she'd leaked, and a small spark of arousal had hit her. Why did she so like feeling his cum in her panties? A few months ago she would have shuddered at the thought.
Last night, the second time they'd had sex, was completely different. It was completely new. To her, it wasn't just sex. It was loving each other, closer than they'd ever been. At first, she'd felt good that she was giving him her body, her choice. Very quickly, she'd lost herself in the sensation of being fucked, of his large erection filling her, his slow pace teasing her and arousing her, his gentle caress of her clit. But it was how tightly he'd held her, their bodies pressed together and fitting so well, that she really loved. Her climax had surprised her. It was a soft wave of utter bliss, not the raging ones she'd experienced so far. It had been intense and loving, beautiful waves of pleasure and, even better, was after, actually feeling Brad cum in her, his erection flooding her with wetness with every pulse. Would she ever tire of feeling him cum in her?
She wanted to do it again.
Thinking about yesterday in the garden, Michaela admitted the idea of sex outside excited her. If she wasn't so scared of being caught and losing Brad, it could be a lot of fun. But the risk?
Catching sight of Saachi, she waved and stood, draining the last of her iced latte. She'd get another.
"Sorry I'm late," Saachi said, giving Michaela a hug. "It was my turn to do the lunch dishes."
"It's okay. You look great!"
Michaela admired her purple jean shorts and black boots. With a gypsy-style multi-colored top, Saachi was outrageous and unique. Her olive skin glowed.
Drinks in hand, they headed out to stroll along the street, casually window shopping as they chatted. Eventually, they turned and headed to Janssen Park. There, they sat under the shade of an old oak tree.
Michaela, took a breath, then said, "I lied to you the other night . . . about being a virgin."
Saachi smiled slightly. "I know. I could tell."
"No you can't!" After a beat, Michaela laughed and continued, "Okay, how?"
Saachi shrugged. "It's how you behave when we talk about boys and sex. So," she asked, her voice lowering, leaning in, "Who is he?"
"Was. Just a boyfriend I had back in Albuquerque."
"You're fibbing. It's someone you've been with since you moved here. I know because you don't blush when we talk about sex the way you did when I first met you. Who is it? Wait! Don't tell me. Let me guess! Jason Kimble?"
"Oh yuk! No way!"
Saachi laughed and continued, throwing names out, all denied.
Eventually, Saachi stopped. She commented, "If you were lucky, it would be your hunk of a dad. Shame you're related."
Michaela inhaled sharply, mild panic making her heart thump. Her iPhone pinged. She glanced at the message - Brad letting her know he was going for a run and then shopping for paint, and might not be home when she got back. She didn't notice Saachi studying her.
"Anyway, that wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about."
Setting her Smartphone in her lap, Michaela started talking about sex, Saachi responding with disagreement at first, then questions, and more questions. A long discussion evolved lasting almost two hours.
At just past five-thirty, Michaela entered the front door and immediately smelled food cooking, a delicious aroma filtering out from the kitchen that made her stomach rumble.
She moseyed into the kitchen. Brad was dicing red peppers. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling with pleasure at seeing her. Michaela reacted with a flush of heat. Her heart skipped. Jeez, she loved being adored!
"How's Saachi?" he asked.
"Fine. What's for dinner?" she asked, peering into the oven.
"Coq au vin with a vegetable risotto."
"It is," he assured her. "You deserted me. I was bored, so I cooked." He paused and studied her. "Is everything all right?"
"Uh-huh. I'm gonna shower and change."
STUDYING MICHAELA AS SHE left the kitchen, I wondered what was up. She hadn't hugged me and her smile was halfhearted. I resumed dicing red peppers. After dinner, I'd ask.
Not two minutes passed when a scream echoed down to me. I dropped the knife and ran upstairs.
In the hall, Michaela, with a bath towel wrapped around her, was frowning deeply, her intense blue eyes cold.
Before I could open my mouth, she pointed to the bathroom. "There's a big-assed funnel spider in there!! I hate spiders! I'm never taking a shower in that bathroom again!
Relieved, I smiled.
"It's NOT funny!" she yelled.
"It's not a funnel spider. They live in Australia," I pointed out. "Go use my bathroom. I'll handle the spider."
Michaela, still frowning, said, "Check your bathroom first. Just in case."
Shaking my head, my smile growing, I checked the bathtub in my bathroom. "All clear," I informed her as she waited.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I am. Go shower."
As she entered the bathroom, she muttered, "It could be a funnel spider that hitchhiked on an airplane."
The door closed behind her. Still smiling with amusement, I went to hunt down the spider.
Dinner was well received. Michaela, still outraged that a spider had invaded her space, was convinced there was a nest of them in her bathroom.
After dinner, we lounged on the couch and watched TV. Michaela stretched out and leaned back against me, busy with her Smartphone. I draped an arm around her, my hand on her stomach. She looked cute in a powder blue cotton nightshirt and pink and white socks.
I caught up on the news: missile strikes on Syria - symbolic but unlikely to change anything; Trump's lawyer raided by the F.B.I.; a severe weather alert in the east, tornados in the mid-states, a wildfire in the west, mudslides in California; and a barrage of tweets from the President full of childish name-calling in response to Comey's revelations. The world had slipped into the twilight zone!
Bored, I switched the channel to English snooker - thank you Dish Network.
Michaela dropped her phone in her lap. "Why do you watch snooker? It's the most boring game ever."
"I guess you've never watched cricket. So, talk."
"You and Saachi."
"Oh. Yeah. It didn't go the way I wanted. Lying didn't work."
"She didn't believe I had a boyfriend in Albuquerque. She knew it was someone here in Mena."
"Yeah. And she didn't believe me when I told her how good sex feels and how much fun it is." Michaela laughed softly. "Saachi said she'd considered being a lesbian but not being attracted to girls was a bit of a hurdle."
Watching and appreciating the precision of shots being made on the snooker table, I observed, "Time is the best healer."
It wasn't until Michaela's hand settled on mine that I consciously registered I was gently caressing her boob over her nightshirt, and boy, was it magnificent. My love of big busts had been displaced by an utter adoration of petite breasts.
Unperturbed by my hand, Michaela continued. "She didn't say it, but I think she suspects it's you."
"Yeah. But don't worry. She keeps secrets like no one else." Michaela glanced up at me. Her eyes were intense. "Saachi needs someone like you to help her heal."
A bout of fear hit me. "Don't even think it!"
Michaela dismissed my comment. "I didn't say YOU, I said someone LIKE you. Someone she can trust and who will adore her and show her how wonderful sex is."
"She'll find that person eventually," I assured Michaela while watching a player clear the snooker table with suave elegance, using a deft touch to control the cue ball perfectly.
"Maybe she won't." Michaela yawned and stretched. "I'm so tired. Is it okay if I go to bed now?"
"Sure. I'll be up soon."
I wasn't. I stayed up late into the evening watching TV and deep in thought. I had many faults, but the one asset I had was honesty. I had always been brutally honest with myself. I never shied away from painful truths.
As the evening turned into night, I faced the truth of me. My sexual attraction to Michaela and experience with her had fundamentally changed me. She had altered my tastes and redefined what I found sexy or exposed something that had been latent within me, and the change was potentially catastrophic.
Before her, my tastes had been firmly in the camp of blondes with large busts and curvaceous asses and an excess of intellectual power. I'd found smart, sexy blondes intensely arousing.
Now, those women paled in comparison to Michaela and it wasn't simply her personality that turned me on. I could no longer deny that her immaturity and her youth were hugely attractive. Inside me, I'd discovered the power and excitement of illicit sex. The taboo of incest thrilled me. And, dear God, pubescence was the most beautiful, sexiest transition in the world!
Warm arousal stole into me as my mind recalled the excitement of holding Michaela, such a small girl, as we had sex. In my mind's eye, I could see her still childish face and barely blossoming body, and the excitement it caused was powerful. Would my desire for her change as she matured? No. I adored her personality. I loved who she was and that wouldn't change over time.
However, there was something twisted in me. Being brutally honest - and it pained me to admit it - the thought of sex with Saachi appealed to me. What would she smell like? What would her dusky skin taste like? How different would she be to Michaela? Would her climaxes be as free and unrestrained as Michaela's are? What sounds would she make as she experienced pleasure? How would she move against me?
My mind drifted. What would Saachi look like naked? Was she more developed? Less? While as slender, she was taller than Michaela but it was impossible to tell what her body was like under her unusual clothing.
In a flash of insight, I knew I could never do anything with Saachi. I couldn't encourage it. Anything that jeopardized my relationship with my daughter was too steep a price to pay, no matter how appealing Saachi might be.
Oddly, that realization saddened me. I wasn't the man I thought I was.
With a sigh of frustration, I headed to bed.
Michaela was sound asleep. She murmured in her sleep when I drew her close and she nestled to me, her intoxicating aroma washing over me. She was warm and cuddly and sweet.
MICHAELA WAS EXCITED. WHEN Saachi arrived and climbed out of her mom's car, Michaela rushed out to meet her.
Saachi pulled a carry-on suitcase and backpack from the back seat, leaned in, and said, "Bye, Mom!"
"Remember, behave yourself," her mother admonished.
"I will. Promise!"
As her mom drove off, Michaela grabbed Saachi's suitcase.
"I can't believe it! Five days!" Saachi gushed. "Ginny's so pissed off she couldn't come."
"Yeah. I know. Have you seen her messages? Put your stuff in our car."
Michaela opened the back of Brad's SUV and heaved Saachi's suitcase in to join her own suitcase.
"Tell me again," Saachi insisted. "I didn't understand anything past "come with me for five days to the Cayman Islands." Why are you going there?"
Rear door closed, they headed in. "Brad has a registered company there that needs his presence every so often. I don't understand the details but it's something about a directors meeting which is meeting with a lawyer and his bank."
They entered the house. "Brad usually spends two days there but I convinced him to spend five. I've never been to the Caribbean before."
"Me neither," Saachi enthused.
"All set?" Brad asked, descending the stairs.
"Uh-huh. Let me get my iPhone," Michaela said, darting into the kitchen.
An hour later, the noise of the Beechcraft Baron engine as it strained to climb into the clear sky forced her to use the headphones and mic to talk to Saachi. They settled in. Brad told them it was a ten hour flight, which included a stop in Tampa to refuel.
After four hours Michaela was bored. There was brief excitement when they arrived in Tampa, then boredom returned. But, as they passed around Cuba, she and Saachi studied the view; deep blue sea, small islands, tiny pleasure boats, and larger ocean liners. The sun dropped towards the western horizon. Then the Cayman Islands appeared just as the engine noise lowered.
"Seat belts, please," Brad announced, then he started talking to the island airport.
They both enjoyed the open Jeep and tropical smell of salt water and the warm, tropical breeze and, a few minutes before eight o'clock, Brad turned down a sandy lane.
Michaela hadn't actually asked where they'd be staying. She'd assumed they'd stay in a hotel. The first glimpse of the wooden clapboard house wasn't encouraging. It was weathered, paint peeling, and surrounded by sand and palms.
She held her tongue. Saachi didn't, observing, "What a dump."
Brad laughed. "Never judge a book by its cover. Hold your opinion until you've seen the whole place."
Dragging the rolling suitcase through sand was hard. She waited for Brad to unlock the front door, then followed him in.
At first, she couldn't see any difference inside; the furnishings simple, rustic. But then she did. She noticed how simple furniture was beautifully restored, how each piece was made of exquisite rare woods, how neat and well organized the home was.
And when Brad opened the floor-to-ceiling slatted doors in the main room, she was presented with the stunning view of a pristine white beach and the sapphire Caribbean Sea with gentle swells rolling in not forty feet away.
Dropping her backpack, she frowned at Brad. "This is YOUR place! I thought you wanted to live in the Virgin Islands."
He grinned. "I never said that. You did. I have this place; small, cozy, and private." He pointed. "The guest room is over there. It has a couple of beds."
Saachi, studying the beach and dwindling sunlight, asked, "Can we go for a swim?"
"Sure. Just be careful of the jelly fish. They come out at night."
Saachi shuddered. Michaela laughed. "He's kidding. C'mon, let's change."
In the small guest room, as they unpacked then changed, Saachi asked, "How do you know your dad's kidding?"
"You've gotta look at his eyes. They twinkle when he's joking."
As Saachi set her bathing suit on the bed and started undressing, she commented, "You've got a special relationship with him. I bet it's because you didn't grow up with him."
Michaela, nodded. You have no concept, she thought, then paused. Was Saachi implying something? She glanced at Saachi and had to smile. Her bathing suit was a frilly bikini in a neon orange, blue, and green flower pattern. It set her olive skin off beautifully, yet was outrageously loud.
"They're going to see you all the way back in Mena," Michaela observed.
Saachi looked down at her bikini and nodded. "I like colors. They make me feel good. Ready? Let's go."
I KEPT A CLOSE eye on the girls while they swam and dove, bright laughter reaching me where I sat with an ice cold beer on the back veranda. I hadn't actually asked if they knew how to swim, but judging by their antics, they were both competent - a relief.
My preconception about Saachi had proven right. She was lanky with long, long legs. Interestingly, her bikini top suggested she was almost flat-chested. I could imagine her becoming a model as an adult. She already had a way of carrying herself - her posture and movement - that I associated with models on a runway.
She also was the proud owner of a spectacular rump; curvaceous and plump yet small, her buttocks moving with a very feminine undulation.
Saachi made me uncomfortable. Part of it was the worry she'd figure out the truth of Michaela and me. Part of it was sadness at what had happened to her at such a young age and how it had affected her since. However, most of my discomfort was caused by her gaze. Saachi's exotic, dark chocolate brown eyes were so quietly observant. It felt like she was seeing things no one else could see, like she was peering inside my head and assessing what she found. Or maybe it was my guilt slanting my perception.
There was nothing flighty about her, despite the armor of outrageous clothes she used to distract. Saachi was, I suspected, intellectually the smartest of the three girls.
Watching them in the surf, one thing was obvious - they complemented each other. Together, they were happier and more free-spirited than either was alone.
I glanced around: palms surrounded by sand and sparse tufts of wild grass; the veranda peeling paint and sun-bleached, the wood old. Silence was broken by early evening insects beginning their foraging.
The closest neighbor was two hundred feet away. Isolation. I loved it. It suited me.
I could still remember the joy of buying this place. Recognizing I'd have to visit the Cayman Islands at least twice a year, I'd decided to buy instead of stay at hotels. The property wasn't perfect. The water was too shallow for a dock, so no trawler. In fact, with no boat shed, any boat was out of the question - the only negative about the property.
Driscoll Leith, my neighbor to the south-east, kept an eye on the property for me. He was eighty-something years old, single, with wrinkled nut brown skin, and a natural-born Cayman. Like me, he valued his privacy.
The sun settled casting warm amber light in the sky, its last display of glory before disappearing. The girls, wet and charmingly bedraggled, walked back towards me. In the growing dusk, details were fuzzy, but not the incredible gap at the top of their thighs.
They chatted, ignoring me, and passed into the house. I watched them. In the light, their butts moved with alarming undulations. Saachi's bikini bottom had slipped into her bum crack, exposing one perfect buttock.
It occurred to me that a five-day mini vacation with two teens might have been a strategic mistake.
That night I struggled to fall asleep. I missed the warm comfort of Michaela in my bed - sex or not. She'd seriously changed my life.
With a laugh, I lunged at Michaela. She let out a delighted scream and swam away.
Saachi laughed. "Beaten by a girl!"
I gave her a sneaky grin and lunged. She laughed and easily evaded me. A gender war erupted with splashing and taunts. And something significant happened by accident. Turning suddenly, I caught Saachi from behind. She tried to twist away so I wrapped my arms around her waist.
She struggled briefly, laughing, then stilled and went silent. I realized it was the first time we'd had any physical contact. Saachi had never invaded my personal space and I'd never invaded hers.
Saachi turned her head and gave me the sweetest smile. I released her. She moved away, turned, and hit me with a huge splash of water and a bright laugh before swimming off at speed.
That innocent event fundamentally changed Saachi. Over the next couple of days, she lost the reserve she'd had. She relaxed, frequently made fun of me, was full of smiles, and no longer maintained a physical distance from me. Yet, at times I caught her dark eyes observing me, studying me, assessing, and I wondered what she was seeing.
I enjoyed the sights on the trip. How could I not? Two very pretty young girls living in bikinis was a lovely distraction - especially when those bikinis were wet. It gave me a new appreciation for camel toes, plump pubis', and exposed sexy butt cheeks. On our daily trip into town to shop for food, the girls thoughtfully wore what could only be described as hot pants; short shorts made of some stretchy material that clung to every swell and dip, outlined bum cracks, and exposed the bottom of their buttocks. Those shorts showcased compact and slender asses, reinforced how young they were, and I found them inordinately sexy.
Both Michaela and Saachi complained obsessively when it was time to go home. And when we got home they pestered me for another vacation, next time longer, and Saachi gave me a hard hug and thank you when we dropped her off at her home.
Five days of bikini wearing thirteen-year-olds had taken its toll on me. Five days of Michaela's teasing had built up. Five days of her knowing subtle looks, understanding my desire for her, made me very selfish when we finally got home.
"I'm horny," I informed her, following her inside.
"I know," she replied.
"Really horny," I added. "Are you horny too? How 'bout a quickie?"
She laughed once. "I want to unpack and take a shower."
"You had a shower this morning."
"We've been traveling all day. I want to be clean for bed."
Disappointed and frustrated, I threatened, "I'm not taking you back to the Caymans if this is how you're going to treat me!"
Michaela laughed and went to her bedroom.
Considering how she'd reacted to my attempt to have sex outside in the garden, I decided not to press her. Michaela had proved she was determined and not easily swayed. I'd rather have a happy Michaela than an angry one.
When she entered the bedroom and walked into my bathroom, I briefly reconsidered my position. Would she let me wash her in the shower? Rub slippery soap over all her sexy parts?
Damn! I wanted sex!
Eventually she emerged, steam rolling out of the bathroom. Her shoulder-length hair was very dark, damp, scraggly, and very cute. I smiled at the sight of her blue and white striped socks. In a simple yellow cotton nightshirt, she looked sweet and innocent - so desirable.
Michaela sat on the edge of the bed and removed her socks. Why did she wear them to walk from the bathroom to bed?
She moved to my side. I put an arm around her shoulder and she rolled into me. Her foot rubbed my leg. The scent of clean soap and floral shampoo was strong.
"Saachi had a great time," she said. "Thanks for letting her come."
"No problem. I enjoyed her. She seemed to loosen up."
"Uh-huh. Big time!" Michaela's hand caressed my stomach. "She looked great in that bikini, didn't she?"
"I didn't notice."
Michaela chuckled. "Yes you did. We both saw you ogling our butts."
"Ogling? Nope. I might have observed, but I didn't ogle."
Michaela playfully asked, "So you didn't see how her bikini bottom kept exposing her butt cheek?"
Her hand drifted lower, toying with the waist of my boxers. Arousal returned slowly.
"She was doing it deliberately. It's a huge step for her. Thanks."
"Thanks? For what? Looking?"
Her hand moved lower, settling lightly over the erection forming inside my boxers. "For appreciating her without leering. It's giving her confidence." She explored with her fingers, strengthening my erection. "She thinks you're sexy."
"Yeah. But you made a mistake."
I caressed her slender back, now more interested in some amorous frolics. "What did I do?"
"You gave away our secret. She knows we've had sex."
"What?!" Holy shit! "I did absolutely nothing. I made a point of doing nothing!"
"I know. But Saachi's really observant. She saw how you were looking at me. I did too." Michaela glanced at me and smiled. "I love the way you look at me."
Fear made my previously forming erection flag. Didn't Michaela understand how dangerous this was?
She resumed playing with my cock. When I didn't react, she fished inside my boxers.
"Saachi's not going to say anything, so don't worry."
"Not worry? How can you say that, honey? We've had this conversation before."
I waited, eventually asking, "Because what?"
"If Saachi wants to flirt with you and do some of the things we do, she's not going to talk about it."
"That's simply not true and you know it," I pointed out. "This could ruin everything for both of us."
Michaela glanced up at me, her expression deeply serious. "You have to trust me. It won't. It's the answer to the problem." She smiled slightly, giving my deflated penis a squeeze. "Besides, tell me you don't think she's really attractive."
"That's not the point," I insisted, my mind automatically picturing her exposed, perky, olive-skinned buttock. My traitorous penis started expanding. She squeezed it again.
Frustrated, I pulled her hand out of my boxers. "Michaela," I said, "Stop fondling me. This is serious."
Michaela shook off my grip and went back to my erection, now stroking it gently. "I know it's serious. Are you saying you aren't attracted to her?"
My cock responded, revealing the truth; a truth I'd known for the past few weeks. It was Michaela's fault. She'd opened my eyes to the beauty and sensualness of blossoming young girls. Had it always been dormant inside me? Was it natural to find youth so desirable? No matter.
"Okay, I'll admit she's an attractive girl," I said. "But that's not the point. The point is, you and I have a special relationship and it's enough for me."
Michaela, now stroking me, encouraging a full erection, and testing it with a delightful, mind-emptying squeeze every so often, said, "Did I mention I'm not wearing any panties?"
Slipping my hand down and tugging the hem of her nightshirt up, I confirmed it; nothing but sweet, naked ass. Jesus I adored her ass!
While I fondled her exposed rear, while she stroked me, I made a last effort to be mature, even though my resolve was slipping dangerously the hornier I got. "Jealousy is a dangerous emotion. It can turn to anger and revenge in the blink of an eye. That's why it won't work."
Michaela appeared to be on a different wavelength. "I love feeling your erection. It really turns me on." She gripped my shaft sending bolts of pleasure through me. "I love how hard and big it gets."
She released me and started pushing my boxers down.
Rolling, I shoved them down and off and rolled back to face her. Michaela's deep blue eyes twinkled at me. She smiled. Fuck! Gorgeous!
I pushed her onto her back and moved over her, keeping most of my weight off her. Her legs parted, welcoming me. Her smile broadened. I kissed her smile, brushing her lips with mine before pressing softly.
"Jesus, you kill me," I whispered.
Michaela looked very pleased.
Moving, I worked my way lower on the bed. Her nightshirt was rucked up at her waist, exposing her narrow, prominent hips and the utterly astonishing swell of her mons dusted with silken pubes.
My cock throbbed. I kissed her mons, pressing my mouth into it, and caught the slightest hint of her arousal.
Michaela watched me, still smiling slightly. "Have you heard of polyamory? I researched it. It's being in love or romantically involved with more than one person at the same time."
I shuffled lower, settled on the bed and, as I kissed the top of her cleft, she brought her knees up.
"And then there's open marriages. It's a growing trend in America," she continued as I kissed her cleft lightly. "So I don't see what the problem . . ."
She stopped talking and let out a quiet moan when I pushed my tongue into her slit to touch her clit, so soft and pliable, and followed it with a single bright laugh - the one that so charmed me.
"I reeeealy like it when you eat me," she informed me.
After a quick trip to the bottom of her sexy cleft, tasting her wetness, I returned to her clit, now sucking her gently, the tip of my tongue strumming her. Involuntarily, I humped my erection on the bed, so fucking horny.
"This is what Saachi needs to feel," Michaela said, and humped her pussy against my mouth. She let out another moan of pleasure. Her thighs tightened and trembled against the side of my head.
Eating her, holding her sexy buttocks in my palms, I looked up along her body and admired her small, pert breasts, about the size of espresso cups, topped by flushed areolae. Michaela frowned, then smiled, humped my face, held her breath, her body pausing taut . . . and with a cute grunt, she came, breath bursting, inhaling, holding her breath, and her body shook.
"Gaaaaawd!" she exclaimed, vigorously humping my mouth, her hips moving faster. A flush of moisture hit my chin. She gasped, eyes closed, and as her body strained up, she moaned her pleasure and collapsed, legs falling apart and slipping down. Little aftershocks passed through her. Her face relaxed and a satisfied smile emerged.
Before I could move, she raised her head, her blue eyes twinkling, and grinned. "That's what I'm talking about!"
With a laugh, I climbed up over her, hovering above her, and kissed her gently.
She purred! "Mmmm."
The tip of my erection touched her pussy and Michaela reacted, moving up and down in a tease. "Are you horny?" she asked.
Mischief flitted through her eyes. "What do you want me to do?"
Moving back, I straightened, sitting on my heels. "Get on your hands and knees."
She did it slowly, very slowly, first rolling onto her front, then lifting her sexy little ass into the air, her pussy oozing out from between her thighs, buttocks rounding into perfection. Looking back at me, smiling, her eyes far too knowing, she smiled, raised herself on her arms and wiggled her damned ass. "Like this?"
I nodded, rising onto my knees, my cock jutting up. Michaela's pussy was tightly closed, her labia chubby. Glistening saliva. Sexy ass. In a fog of arousal, I gripped my shaft and guided the tip to her cleft. Clear precum spread.
But, what had my heart thumping and cock pulsing was the astounding size difference. My erection looked impossibly thick next to her young pussy, her slit far, far too small. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn she'd never be capable of taking me in without real pain.
In a daze of excitement, I stared at her sexy pussy, held her hip with one hand, and pushed. Her lips bulged even fatter, refusing to yield as my tip tried to pry them apart. I pushed harder and still they resisted.
Michaela shuffled her knees apart and my crown pressed into her cleft, her labia hugging me. Jesus, what a sight! Now feverish, I pressed, eased back, and pressed again, rewarded by the sight of her lips slowly surrounding my crown. She was wet and slippery and, as I pushed again, I experienced penetrating her, a vise-like tight ring edging over me. Oh so slowly, I eased my erection into her, welcomed by liquid velvet, snug and warm.
With slow, gentle movements, I burrowed deeper and deeper, my erection throbbing and feeling thicker than ever. Her sweet buttocks neared me and, with a final groan of utter pleasure, the tip of my cock touched the deepest part of her and her cheeks nestled to my groin.
Two rapid throbs threatened. I loved being buried inside her, being clasped, feeling her. I loved fucking Michaela more than any partner I'd ever had.
Then she clenched, exquisite tightness and, unable to resist, I slowly withdrew from her. Her vagina held on, almost everting as my glistening shaft emerged. When the edge of my crown appeared, I reversed, slowly fucking into her all the way.
Withdrawing again, Michaela surprised me. She shoved her ass back at me. My cock slammed into her end. She gasped, "Ouch!" but didn't stop, pulling away then shoving back, fucking me.
Leaning over her, I reached under, found her pussy, and rubbed her clit. I started moving, fucking her with slow, long, deep strokes. Michaela grunted with each thrust, still moving in counterpoint to me. She collapsed onto her shoulders, ass high, reached under, and pulled my hand away.
Straightening, I grabbed her hips and fucked her faster, her butt slapping into my groin, my cock aching, swollen, pleasure building. From her arm, I could tell she was diddling herself and it excited me even more.
I fucked her faster, my strokes getting shorter, harder, selfish, the promise of ecstasy stirring. And I might have lasted, might have enjoyed fucking her longer, but Michaela decimated my control again.
She whispered, "Daddy," and shook in a soft climax and the full fury of my orgasm was unleashed.
I groaned loudly. Pressure was released. My cock swelled, ached, and exploded, thick semen jetting deeply into her, utter bliss slamming into me. In rapid strokes, I fucked my daughter, exploding with every thrust, cum spurting, sweet ecstasy, cumming hard. I chased every glorious eruption, filling my little girl with cum, thrusting, spurting, pleasure wracking my body. With a final, aching thrust, I buried myself in her, spurted weakly, and my orgasm passed leaving my heart racing, my erection gently throbbing, my body suddenly weak, and pure adoration for Michaela.
Leaning back, I felt more than pride. On the computer screen was the result of several months work. I'd finally succeeded. Matteo Messina Denaro, a head of the Sicilian Cosa Nostra, had just lost a significant chunk of his liquid assets, the millions going to Sicilian community support centers anonymously.
Twenty-two of his top lieutenants had recently been arrested. Between that and now losing much of his wealth, Matteo was in for some sleepless nights. Very satisfying!
I shut the monitors off and let all the servers continue their hunt for an exploitable weakness in the bank computers of the Sultanate of Brunei on the island of Borneo. The son of Sultan Hassanal Boikiah has been a bad boy, embezzling money that wasn't his and living a life of luxury in Europe and America.
Leaving the barn office, I was greeted by intense early summer heat and buzzing insects. My watch showed four-thirty. I wondered if the girls were back from their shopping safari. They were. A burst of laughter cut through the air.
I almost headed back to my office. In the two weeks since our trip to the Caymans, a war had erupted. It was conducted in silence, in my mind; me against me. Michaela was convinced Saachi would overcome her fear of sex if she could experience it properly. She was convinced I was the solution. She was also not possessive in the slightest - an attitude I couldn't fathom.
Just thinking about Michaela being intimate with someone else would steam me. So why wasn't she jealous? Her insistence that polyamory and open marriages were proof that it worked didn't solve my issue. Why wasn't Michaela jealous? Was I not as significant to her as she was to me?
I had another battle waging. It seemed every time I got horny the concept of intimacy with Saachi excited me. And then, in the cold light of day, post orgasm, the concept terrified me: the price of exposure was so devastating not just to me, but everyone.
Michaela had made me aware of a side to my sexuality I not only embraced, I luxuriated in it. Sex with her was phenomenal! Her youth and petite body drove me nuts every time. Her uninhibited joy of sex was thrilling: her single laugh of delight, her expressive sounds of pleasure, her enthusiastic exploration of anything new.
During the day I would look at this quiet, serious, thoughtful, and logical girl and marvel at how diametrically opposed she was from the girl in bed.
Michaela had a hidden toughness that I admired and feared. I could not control her. She wasn't willing to be controlled. Being a young girl, her judgment wasn't mature. Her view of the world was far rosier than reality, her assessment of risks muted. She was adamant she knew what was right for Saachi and I'd deflected every time she brought it up.
Stepping into the house, I followed their yells through the kitchen and out onto the back veranda. Michaela, Saachi, and Ginny were playing soccer on the lawn, burning off excess energy.
I sat on the bench and watched. It was a wonderful sight; three teenage girls passing the soccer ball to each other, doing tricks, egging each other on, laughing at mistakes.
Then I studied them more closely. All three were in T-shirts of differing color. All three wore sneakers. And all three were wearing small, terry shorts that hugged every inch of them, and I mean every damned inch! Butt cracks showed. Camel toes showed. Narrow asses were busy, sweet buttocks moving, long legs bare.
Like a welcome drug I was seduced, soft arousal arriving. I hooked one leg over the other knee and enjoyed the show. I noticed Ginny and Michaela wore pastel green and yellow shorts, but not Saachi. Hers were neon pink, made sharper against her olive skin. The three of them were lanky, reflecting their athleticism, and Ginny appeared to be better developed in the chest than Michaela. Saachi was impossible to judge; too small.
I admired. I studied sexy asses. I appreciated plump pussies and stark camel toes. And when my erection strengthened to the point it might be obvious, I headed inside for a cool beer.
The girls were still full of beans when they finished, all three rather sweaty, gulping Cokes and discussing a miasma of topics; bouncing from music to movies to Instagram to fresh fruit.
Sugar from too many Cokes fueled endless energy that tired me just from being around them. The barbecue I provided - simple burgers - was consumed almost unnoticed. They were too busy yakking.
Ginny was picked up early, and Michaela blindsided me by asking if Saachi could sleep over. What could I say? No?
Saachi made a hasty call home. Michaela immediately organized.
And then the troubles started.
With Ginny gone, the two girls calmed. Dangerous whispering and quiet laughs made me wonder what they were up to. Hyper-aware, I noticed how familiar they were with me. Saachi stood closer to me while helping me wash dinner dishes, clearly inside my personal space, and comfortable about it, her arm brushing against me, bodies bumping when putting away dishes.
"It's movie night," Michaela announced as clean up ended. "We're going to shower and change."
My first trouble started when I puttered around, grabbed another beer - my fifth of the evening - and went out onto the veranda, sitting in the bench to enjoy the quiet evening. Dusk was arriving, shadows lengthening. The air was still hot and scented with pines and blossoms. Try as I might, I couldn't stop thinking about the three of them playing soccer. Emerging adolescence in girls was so magical. It seemed to blend sweet innocence with growing awareness of their sexuality, the dichotomy utterly magnetic.
My mind's eye was so sharp I could see their bodies and crossed my leg when a partial erection formed. Danger! Me aroused and slightly tipsy was an assault on my morals.
"Where are you?" Michaela yelled from inside.
Standing, I rearranged myself to hide my burgeoning condition, drained the beer, and got another when I passed through the kitchen. In the living room, Saachi and Michaela had laid claim to the couch. I settled in an armchair while they surfed the movie offerings, debating and discussing which to start with.
Saachi was wearing one of Michaela's cotton nightshirts. Michaela was similarly dressed, except she had striped socks on. I observed with interest how they constantly shuffled and moved on the couch. How they could still have energy was beyond me.
More trouble started when I noticed how they were sitting; crossed legs, their nightshirts forming a tent across their thighs and, dear God, an oblique line of sight to their panties.
At first, I looked away. Then I tried to unobtrusively look. I shouldn't have.
Michaela's baby blue panties coddled her. Her pussy strained against the cotton, so damned ripe. Guiltily, I looked at Saachi. Fuck! Shiny pure white, silken-looking, and like Michaela, tightly forming to her pouty pussy, so lush looking with a hint of her cleft.
They moved, legs now bent to the side, the erotic view gone. My regret and relief were short-lived. Saachi rose onto her knees to bend across Michaela, reaching for something, and the back of her nightshirt rode up exposing a beautiful ass, one side of her silky white panties slipping into her butt crack, a gorgeous petite olive buttock exposed. Below, her pussy bulged out between her thighs, her slit clearly outlined.
Michaela whispered something to Saachi. They both laughed. Saachi settled back. I tried to adjust my erection into a more comfortable and less revealing position.
At that point, the rational fear of the risk of discovery and ruin had vanished. At that point, my mind took flight into the erotic arena, imagining sex with two thirteen-year-olds, one an exotic olive beauty, the other a dark-haired sylph. A threesome, something I'd never experienced. Two naked girls in bed with me. Fuuuuck!
Warning bells erupted. Get out of Dodge before it's too late!
I might have, but the girls shifted again resuming their crossed-legged position and I couldn't leave. Not yet. Not while I had such a sexy eyeful.
"Here we go," Michaela announced. "The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn, Parts 1 & 2. We can watch both. You'll like it, Brad."
"Never heard of it."
"It has vampires and werewolves," Saachi explained.
I glanced up at her face. Her dark chocolate eyes were far too penetrating. A slow smile emerged. I felt so embarrassed I looked away. Was I blushing?
Trouble piled on top of trouble. Whenever they went for a new can of Coke they brought me a beer. By the second awful film - how could Kristen Stewart be so totally emotionless a lead actor? - I'd finished one too many beers. I was several beers past tipsy, a couple away from sloshed.
Too many glimpses of pantied pussies had done their deadly job. As it turns out, my favorite had been when the girls were afraid, of what I had no idea. They brought their knees up, feet on the couch the way girls do, knees hugged together, feet separated, and treated me to two succulent pussies oozing out between their thighs, panties tight so tight camel toes showed, their labia bulging. Sexy, plump, fucking illicit!
Had Saachi not been with us, I knew what I'd do; before Michaela even got into bed I'd have her bent over, face down, pull her panties down and unceremoniously take her hard, hopefully with her laughing.
Deciding retreat was needed before I did something stupid, I informed them I was going to bed, and did, stumbling only slightly.
The bed moved, waking me. The bedroom was inky dark. Clouds must have come in during the night. I caught her scent. Michaela slipped in and moved close to me. What time was it?
She whispered, "I'm sorry, Dad."
Immediately, I came alert. Michaela almost never called me Dad. Then the bed moved again and I picked up another, unfamiliar scent in the air: Saachi!
Michaela whispered, "There are spiders in my room."
"There really are," Saachi whispered from behind Michaela.
Still under the sway of too many beers, I agreed. "Okay." I rolled to face away from them for my own protection and slipped back to sleep.
Dawn was breaking when I stirred. I knew in the blink of an eye that I wasn't holding Michaela. Her scent was different, her body different; confirmed when opening my eyes, Saachi was sleeping soundly facing me, cuddled tightly to me, her head nestled under my chin, her arm draped over my waist.
How had it happened? Last night she'd been on the other side of Michaela. I eased my head away to look at her.
Saachi's face was relaxed, her dark lashes long, her nose flaring gently with each quiet breath. She smelled of sleep-muted blossoms. Oddly, it didn't arouse me. Protective instincts emerged. Saachi stirred other emotions in me.
Then her eyes fluttered open. She looked at me. Her eyes opened wider, speaking of surprise, her body tensing. Her dark exotic eyes moved back and forth as she studied mine. Some decision was made. Her body relaxed. Her beautiful eyes softened. She smiled slightly and made no effort to extract herself from my arms.
No words were spoken. However, a conversation occurred. I knew in that moment if Saachi decided she wanted to pursue a sexual relationship with me I'd let her and trust her, risk be damned.
Michaela bumped into my back when she rolled. Saachi whispered, "I have to pee."
I kissed her forehead and released her. She slipped out of bed and into the hall.
Michaela muttered. She woke up when I rolled to face her, a smile emerging.
"Morning," she said. "Where's Saachi?"
"Gone to the bathroom."
"In that case, give me a kiss."
I did, a soft and loving kiss. Michaela laughed softly when it ended, her blue eyes twinkling. Man I adored her!
Rolling out of bed, I grabbed my running gear and headed to the bathroom to change. Saachi and Michaela were in bed when I emerged, whispering. They both gave me a knowing smile.
"Have a good run!" Michaela commented.
I did. I felt energetic, my steps light, and ran for almost an hour. It gave me time to think and appreciate. With the moral struggle about Saachi resolved in my mind, I let myself appreciate a sight I'd never in my wildest dreams believed I'd see; two very cute thirteen-year-olds in my bed. My thoughts turned to intimacy. How would it progress with Saachi? What would Michaela be doing? How could I help Saachi to find the unrestrained joy of sex, to bury bad memories?
MICHAELA LAUGHED AT HER friend's comment. "I know! It's so much better!" she assured Saachi.
Saachi smiled and stretched in the bed, luxuriating, the morning sun slowly strengthening. "And the smell," she said, inhaling deeply. "Your dad has this amazing smell. You can still smell him on the sheets." Saachi brought the sheet to her nose and inhaled deeply.
"I told you," Michaela responded.
Glancing at Michaela, Saachi grew serious. "Thanks for telling me the truth."
"You knew it anyway."
"Yeah. I suspected before we went to the Cayman Islands. But I knew for sure when we were there. What's it like to have a guy look at you like that - like he adores you?"
"It's fantastic! You'll find out. He likes you a lot. I can see it in his eyes."
A couple of minutes passed in silence, then Saachi asked, "How come you're not jealous?"
Michaela yawned and stretched. "Why would I be? He loves me. I love him. And it's not like he's going to dump me if you and him do stuff. Speaking of which, what do you want?"
"I dunno. I think . . ."
The two chatted away.
SITTING AT THE KITCHEN table, I watched Michaela clean the lunch dishes. Saachi had left earlier after giving me a tight hug and sweet smile.
Michaela appeared to be her usual self; quiet, calm, and happy. She looked good in a pleated summer skirt and short-sleeved top. With the last dish washed and put into the drainer, she dried her hands and turned, catching me staring at her.
A slow smile emerged. Her blue eyes twinkled. She came over to me and straddled my lap, sitting, her hands resting on my shoulders. I held her waist.
"Were there really spiders in your bedroom last night?"
Her smile broadened. "No. Saachi wanted to know what it's like to sleep with a guy - just sleep. I'd told her how great it is to cuddle and stuff." She wiggled her ass on my lap.
"You've told her everything, haven't you?"
"Yeah. She guessed most of it. I told you, she knew from our trip."
Bringing my hands up, I cupped her petite breasts and caressed. Michaela's eyes softened.
"How is this supposed to work?" I asked.
Michaela, rubbing her ass on my lap, said, "You'll find out."
"Whenever." She leaned in and kissed me lightly. I rubbed her nipples, pleased that she was not wearing a bra. Her kiss deepened, eyes closed, her tongue brushing my lips. The kiss deepened even more, lips parting, tongues flirting, and underneath her, an erection formed.
When the kiss ended, I suggested, "Let's go to bed."
Michaela's eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Let's not." Her hand fished down and found the outline of my erection. She fondled. "Didn't you say sex in different places is exciting?"
"Outside?" I asked.
"No. I'm not ready for that. But how about here?" Her fingers played with the button on my jeans, then opened it.
My excitement built when she fumbled with the zipper. I stopped fondling her breasts and started unbuttoning her blouse. Michaela kissed me, her hand fished inside my boxers. She found my erection and wrestled with it.
Unable to fish it up, she let it go. I brushed her blouse open exposing her sexy boobs. Before I could touch them or kiss them, she stood, her blue eyes now heated. Reaching under her skirt, with a wiggle, she tugged her panties down. Cute white, daisy-printed cotton with blue elastic collected at her feet, she kicked them away.
I wasted no time, lifting my butt and shoving my jeans and boxers down, my erection jumping up.
Michaela straddled me, smiling. Without words, she reached down and gripped my erection, stroking me. Her short skirt covered her actions.
Staring at me, she maneuvered my erection, slipping the tip back and forth on her naked pussy. Slowly, she lowered herself. I felt her labia caress me. She aimed my cock and, holding it in place, pressed down, eased up, and pressed again. Slowly, exquisitely, Michaela worked my erection into her, liquid heat first surrounding my head, then part of my shaft then, with a sigh of pleasure, she took me in all the way, so deep the tip of my cock pressed against her end; snug in heaven.
"Dear God you feel good," I said.
I caressed her sexy little boobs, rubbed my thumbs over her small nipples, then squeezed gently, loving how firm her breasts were; as if they were ripe and bursting.
Michaela moved her butt in a circle. Her smile faded. "I love this, being so full of you," she murmured. She kissed me and her circles changed to back and forth motions, hunching with me buried deep. Her breath wafted warm against my cheek.
A little shudder shook her. The kiss ended. She stopped, sat up, and rose very, very slowly until I was half out of her, then lowered herself just as slowly. I felt every millimeter of her pussy. She did it again. Pleasure flowed through me. I let her boobs go and held her slender waist.
Staring at me, she rose slowly, my cock oozing out of her, then reversed, another small tremor passing through her body. Then something magical happened. The ghost of a smile passed on her face. Naughtiness flitted through her beautiful eyes.
She spoke softly. "I love sex with you, Dad."
I groaned. My cock swelled, and Michaela let out a little laugh of amusement.
"It really gets to you when I call you Dad, doesn't it?"
"You have no concept," I assured her. It drove me wild.
She smiled. "I like it too. It really makes me horny."
Michaela leaned forward, rested her head on my shoulder, and fucked me slowly, rising and falling, her tight pussy massaging me. God it felt good! Her pace never changed; slow, exquisite, teasing. Every so often she rubbed her pussy back and forth with me fully impaled inside her. My erection throbbed. Minutes passed, wonderful minutes full of slow pleasure.
And then she whispered, "I love fucking you, Dad," and I reacted immediately.
Gasping, "Aww Christ, Mickey!" I came, my erection swelling, cum charging up and exploding deep in her. Michaela continued to fuck me slowly as I came in rapid fire spurts, each exquisite, filling her with cum until nothing remained and still I pulsed, an ache emerging in my groin. She kept fucking me, her pussy now slick with semen, and I held her in my arms, inhaling her unique scent, heart thumping. As my orgasm passed, it amazed me that I was still hard, engorged.
MICHAELA kept fucking me slowly, pleasuring herself on me, murmuring her enjoyment.
And as the first tendrils of renewed horniness stirred in me, Michaela climaxed silently, her pussy rhythmically squeezing my cock, rising and falling slowly, breathing deeply. A shudder hit her and she finally slowed. She stopped moving, her body growing heavier, liquid.
Neither of us moved.
Eventually, Michaela clenched her pussy. "I felt you cum and you're still hard," she observed.
"What can I say? I can't get enough of you."
"Me neither. Want to spend the rest of the day in bed?" She squeezed me again. "After I clean up. We made a real mess."
We had. I felt cum on my groin.
For the next week I got no work done; not that I had a deadline or schedule to stick to. Michaela was busy with friends some days and stayed home other days. That week I had more sex than I'd had in my life! Sex in the kitchen had broken down any barriers Michaela had to being adventurous.
I was very careful about initiating sex at first, leaving it to her, giving her control. Slowly, I became greedy. My favorite was giving her a look which she'd immediately understand. In her calm, serious way, she'd respond, "No way. Not right now," or "I'm busy. Maybe later."
I wouldn't let up and inevitably Michaela would sigh as if suffering the burden all women do. She'd frown, then, when I'd give her another pleading look, she'd giggle lightly - my sign to proceed. We had sex almost everywhere inside the house. It wasn't intercourse every time. Sometimes I'd fondle her, turn her on, and as she complained about me making her horny, I'd fish into her panties and bring her off.
Michaela was no slouch. When the mood took her, she'd tease me with flashes of panties and sneaky smiles until I was desperate, then surprise me as we watched TV by giving me a blow job - something she assured me she very much enjoyed - or jumping my bones for a quickie. Other times, we'd sexually tease each other until, by bed time, I'd be desperate and very physical, which she seemed to find both amusing and gratifying.
I loved sex with her and Michaela obviously loved it, too. We found balance and trust. Life was good.
But, life wasn't all sex though. We worked out together, hiked some days, shopped on others, and I fell in love with this sober, thoughtful girl. She could make a dry observation, deliver it straight-faced, and have me laughing.
Since coming into my life, Michaela had changed. Hell, so had I! The essence of her personality had remained. However she was now so much more confident and relaxed, expressing pleasure or an occasional burst of mischief. She was developing into a riveting girl, adulthood peeking out and showing the promise of a fascinating woman.
Every so often, I'd ask her about Saachi. Michaela told me Saachi was moving at her own pace. She also had a real laugh when she told me about both of them flashing their panties at me that night and confided with me that Saachi actually got horny doing it.
And then Saturday unfolded. It started with twenty minutes of Michaela messaging on Snapchat over breakfast.
"Saachi's family is going on a road trip for the next four days. She doesn't want to go. She hates road trips. She wants to come stay here. I told her it's okay. It is okay, isn't it?"
I nodded. Saying no would have had minimal impact on Michaela's decision. And then my cell rang.
I answered it. Mrs. Roberts, Saachi's mother, was on the line.
"Mr. Wheldon, I'm sorry to bother you. But Saachi insists you agreed to let her stay over with Michaela and, well, those two might be springing a surprise on you. I just wanted to confirm you knew about it and it was okay."
I chuckled. "It's fine. Michaela informed me. She didn't exactly ask."
Mrs. Roberts laughed. "And it's really fine with you? You've already been so generous taking her to the Caymans and I don't want her to impose."
Smiling, I informed her, "Think of it as a vacation for me. Now Michaela won't be pestering me. She'll have someone to keep her busy."
Mrs. Roberts laughed again. "Thank you. I love Saachi to death but she does nothing but complain on our trips. This time we might have fun."
"No problem. Enjoy."
Michaela was looking very satisfied when I put the phone down. Immediately suspicious, I asked, "Did you two plan this?"
"You could have let me in on it."
"What fun would that be?" she dead-panned.
How could I be upset at her? She was too damned charming by far! "You'd better get busy cleaning the house before Saachi gets here," I told her. "Don't expect me to help."
Typically Michaela, she accepted it with a nod. "You need to shop for food. I've made a menu."
"You have, have you?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Where is this menu, Mickey?"
As she left the kitchen, she said, "Check your phone, Braaadley!"
Grinning, I did. Michaela wasn't kidding. A three day meal plan was listed and not one of the meals was junk food! Dry-rubbed smoked pork ribs with homemade slaw, Drunk Chicken with asparagus and Parmesan risotto, and Irish lamb shank stew headlined the main meals. While I appreciated her good taste and approved, each of the meals were labor intensive. Lunches were almost as complex, as were the breakfasts.
"Hey!" I yelled. "This is slave labor!"
She didn't answer. The vacuum started in the living room.
Oh well. I loved cooking. I'd buy a selection of good wines and interesting beers to make my labors more pleasant.
When I returned from shopping, Saachi had arrived. She greeted me with a bright, "Hi, Mr. Wheldon."
"Don't Mr. Wheldon me," I replied with a mock frown. "Get busy and help me unload the car!"
From upstairs, Michaela yelled, "Call him Brad. If you want to bug him, call him Braaaadley! He hates his name."
"If you want food over the next four days, don't call me Bradley," I warned her, pointing out the front door. "The car's that way."
With food put away, I took a Steam Whistle lager and went out to the back porch to relax before starting dinner, settling on the bench, feet up on the balustrade.
The sound of two girls chatting and several excited laughs echoed out to me. It was beautiful music on a picture perfect, sunny summer afternoon. I admired the garden, enjoyed a profusion of colorful blossoms, and the dense herb garden flourishing. Pines surrounding the property were sentry-still. Nary a breeze stirred. I could smell the flowers and hear insects buzzing.
The peace was broken by thumping music erupting from inside, shortly followed by a burst of laughter. Then the music changed from dance to Bollywood and my curiosity was piqued.
I sneaked inside and peeked into the living room. Saachi was dancing Indian style, head moving side to side, fingers poised in interesting shapes, her bare feet shuffling and stamping. Michaela was attempting to imitate her and failing miserably, both bursting into laughter.
The sight made me smile. I admired Saachi's abilities. Knowing nothing about Indian dance, and not really liking Indian Bollywood music, I enjoyed her performance. Even through my ignorance I could see the precision of her moves and elegant hand and finger movements.
Draining the beer, I set about preparing Drunk Chicken and the vegetables for risotto.
Dinner was a success. Oddly, both girls watched The Mummy Returns with me without complaint. I noticed silent communication between the two, their eyes busy, hidden smiles, too-obvious innocent expressions when they caught me looking at them.
At one point when Saachi went to the bathroom, Michaela said, "Whatever happens, just go with the flow, okay?"
She wouldn't explain. Just before eleven, both announced they were going to bed.
Alone, I switched the TV to a British darts championship, my mind trying to guess what Michaela meant.
I found out when I went to bed. Entering my bedroom, I found both girls in bed. Their whispering immediately stopped. Michaela smiled. Saachi looked slightly nervous. Saying nothing, I went to the bathroom and did my thing. When I emerged, under their watchful gaze, I undressed to my boxers as if having two teens in my bed was entirely normal.
"You're here," Michaela said, lifting the sheet. I settled between the two.
"Okay. What's up?" I asked. "More spiders in your room?"
Both laughed, with Michaela saying, "Nope." She rolled close and whispered to me.
"You're kidding! Seriously?" I asked, actually feeling embarrassed.
Of the many things I'd do or had done, exhibitionism was never one of them. In fact, I doubted I could do what Michaela suggested.
Michaela spoke again, "But first, Saachi wants to try kissing."
I turned to Saachi. Her dark eyes communicated embarrassment and insecurity with a hint of excitement. Despite obvious nervousness, she nodded.
Acutely aware of her prior experience, I confirmed in a whisper, "Are you sure?"
She studied me for a moment before nodding again.
I wasn't horny in the least. I didn't even feel the warm stir of blood. If anything, I was nervous as I leaned over her, propping myself up on an elbow. She watched me, my face nearing her. I caught her scent; slightly spicy and complex.
And then I kissed her, first brushing my lips on hers, then adding pressure, holding it for a moment before breaking contact. Saachi's eyes opened. I smiled and kissed her again - slight pressure, lips moving, ending by carefully sucking her lower lip.
When she opened her eyes, a ghost of a smile emerged and a twinkle appeared in her dark eyes, so sweet. I smiled again, saying "I think one more."
This time, when I kissed her, she responded. Her eyes closed. Her hand hesitantly touched my shoulder. Her lips moved. The kiss intensified when she gave my lip a slight suck and arousal stirred in me. I tasted her with a light touch of my tongue and Saachi responded with a quiet murmur, her tongue brushing my lip.
Her smile was more assured when the kiss ended, her eyes sparkling. I kissed her again, pressing my mouth to hers and, when her tongue touched my lip, I touched her tongue with mine, a little flirt. She froze, then participated gently, our tongues playing lightly. It was a sweet and intense kiss. My body responded.
Saachi smiled again when the kiss ended.
The numbing effect of arousal muted my embarrassment. With a quick kiss on her cheek, I turned to Michaela. She smiled. I kissed her and she kissed me back, her tongue active and excited. Her eyes crinkled with pleasure and winked out.
Kissing her, I carefully caressed her sexy boob over her nightshirt, teasing her nipple. Excitement building, I reached down and tugged her nightshirt up exposing her body, and fondled her bare breasts, tracing the slope of her petite boob, teasing her areola, rubbing her nipple before covering her breast and squeezing gently.
Still kissing her deeply, I slipped my hand down her body and snorted in a breath when I discovered she wasn't wearing panties. Her sexy mons rose, my hand moved down, her legs parted, and I cupped her gorgeous pussy. Curling my finger, I probed into her slit finding silken moisture; my daughter already horny. My erection strengthened, thick, hard.
While we kissed, I teased Michaela's clit, searched lower, found the entrance to her vagina and eased the tip of my finger into her, amazed yet again at how snug, how tight she was.
Michaela broke the kiss and inhaled, releasing a soft moan. I moved down, my mouth settling on her pert breast, sucking her areola and teasing her nipple. It hardened. Michaela moaned quietly again and twitched when I penetrated her pussy with my probing finger up to the second knuckle, then twisted my hand and rubbed her clit with my thumb.
Very slowly, Michaela started moving, undulating her hips slightly. I sucked her other breast harder and her moan was louder, her hand on the back of my head.
Michaela pushed my head.
Excited, I took her hint and moved down. She spread her legs making room for me. I settled on the bed. Her knees rose, her succulent pussy waiting, her cleft slightly parted exposing her clit.
When I kissed her warm pussy, I glanced at Saachi. She was on her side, one elbow propping her head and watching intently, seriously.
Cupping Michaela's butt cheeks, I tasted her - utter ambrosia - then tickled her clit.
Michaela groaned, "Gaaawd. So good."
While I ate Michaela and carefully probed into her vagina, I watched Saachi, how her eyes moved between Michaela and me. Sucking Miachela's clit harder, I added a second finger to her pussy, stretching her gently, so incredibly tight. Turning my hand, I found her G-spot, a distinctive rough patch, and caressed.
Michaela moaned with pleasure. Her muscles trembled. She started rubbing her pussy against my mouth in a now familiar sign - her climax not far away.
Even though I wasn't looking at Michaela's face, I knew what her expressions were. Saachi's watchful eyes moved from me to Michaela at the sound of her groan of pleasure followed by a single laugh of delight, her hips undulating. I sucked Michaela's clit and tickled it with my tongue, adding pressure and moving faster. She responded, breathing faster.
Michaela's body paused, straining. She held her breath for a moment then gasped, "Oh Gaaawd!" as she tumbled into her climax, her body trembling. Wetness flooded my mouth. Her hips churned. She gasped and shuddered, cumming hard and, with a last body strain, went limp, her orgasm passing.
My erection, pressed to the bed, strained. I'd watched Saachi. I'd seen her eyes open wider at Michaela's climax, then flit down to stare at me.
With a final soft kiss on Michaela's pussy, I raised my face. Saachi was watching me when I asked, "Would you like to try it?"
She froze. Then she nodded almost shyly, embarrassed.
When I moved, she rolled onto her back. I settled next to her and smiled before kissing her gently, placing my hand on her stomach. I felt her body tense up. Without moving my hand, we kissed, at first softly, reestablishing intimacy. Gradually our kisses deepened. The tips of our tongues touched, then flirted, then caressed, the kiss becoming more passionate. I sucked her lower lip. Her eyes opened. She smiled briefly but, when I edged my hand up her stomach, she blocked it, pushing it down her body, guiding me.
Anticipation thrummed through me. The prospect of touching Saachi intimately for the first time excited me. Slipping my palm over her nightshirt, I sensed the rise of her mons and the difference to Michaela was immediately apparent. Saachi's mons was more subtle, a moderate rise. Carefully, I reached down to her thigh and rubbed it, kissing her again at the same time, then pushed the hem of her nightshirt up, my hand on the inside of her thigh. I could sense the tenseness in her.
Our kiss was soft and intimate, almost languid, tongues brushing, no probing, lips moving. Her spicy scent filled my nose. And then I froze briefly.
Saachi, like Michaela, wore no panties. The edge of my hand touched the soft bare skin of her pussy. A bolt of excitement made my cock strain. Almost reluctantly, Saachi eased her legs apart and I cupped her pussy. Our kiss ended.
Her dark eyes searched mine, looking for what I didn't know. She must have seen the excitement in my eyes, or my smile assured her, because she gave me the sweetest smile. I kissed her lightly, then shuffled down. As I moved, I tried to lift her nightshirt higher and she refused, pushing it down to cover herself. Why?
My first hint came before I'd moved between her legs. I carefully edged her nightshirt back up, her hands reluctantly letting me, and saw her pussy. My heart thumped. My cock strained. Saachi's pussy was bald! Not a trace of pubic hair forming, her skin olive, her tightly closed labia slightly darker. Saachi's pussy was, despite her being taller than Michaela, smaller, more immature, and as sexy as heck!
Perfectly formed, her cleft was short and blended into the crack formed by her buttocks where they pressed to the bed. Halfway along her slit, the tip of her clit showed, cradled by her labia.
A sudden thought rattled through my heated mind. I moved back up to her side and kissed her gently, then whispered, "Are you embarrassed?"
"Don't be. You've nothing to be embarrassed about. You're gorgeous and sexy," I assured her.
A slight smile appeared. I smiled, too, then kissed her, my hand settling on her chest and another revelation was made; Saachi was almost flat-chested. Her breasts were no larger than sunny side up eggs, her buds like yolks. Yet, I could feel prominent nipples, larger than Michaela's.
I caressed one gently over her nightshirt. When the kiss ended, I asked, "Can I see? Please?"
This time, Saachi waited longer before whispering, "Okay." She raised her arms as I pulled her nightshirt up and off, my eyes never leaving hers.
Then I looked down. "Lordy, they're beautiful," I said softly.
They were. Barely more than raised very dark areolae, they were topped by prominent, dark nipples. I caressed, loving how firm her nipple was. Then I bent and kissed it, slowly taking it between my lips, my tongue teasing. And then I sucked.
Saachi murmured something. With a free hand, I reached down and cupped her small pussy. She was dry. I rubbed the tip of her clit and moved to her other breast. The tenseness in her body melted away. She murmured again. With my mouth I could feel the slender pad of her breast. I could feel her areola crinkle as she responded. And pressing my finger along her slit, I discovered a hint of moisture making me shudder.
With a last, parting suck of her remarkable nipple, I smiled at her. "Very, very sexy."
Saachi returned my smile, clearly pleased. We kissed and kissed again, passion slowly emerging, tongues frisky, lips sucked. And below, Saachi's arousal was evident; more slippery moisture, her pelvis twitching.
I moved down, removing my boxers as I went. Settling between her legs, I kissed her smooth pussy tasting her - pure, clean ambrosia with only the slightest hint of more. Pressing my mouth to her soft, smooth labia, I tongued her clit and she twitched, then calmed.
My erection pressed to the bed. It throbbed. I felt precum leaking and the heat of horniness. I couldn't stop rubbing myself on the bed while I ate her, the tip of my cock stimulated. Probing into her cleft, I found her warm entrance, nicely moist, and dragged my tongue up through her slit to her clit, strumming it.
Saachi responded by inhaling deeply. Looking up over her bare mons, I watched her close her eyes. Micro expressions flitted across her face; relaxed, a quick frown, nostrils flaring, a ghost of a smile.
Reaching up from under her bent legs, I fondled her nipples, teased her areolae, pressed my hands down on her almost flat breasts, all the while sucking and tonguing her clit. It excited me so much. Saachi naked looked so young, almost prepubescent; a dusky beauty.
Light tremors passed through her thighs. She started breathing through her mouth. A cute, quiet moan of pleasure escaped. I almost missed it. So soft and quiet, I almost didn't see her climax. Her brow furrowed. She let out another long, quiet moan of pleasure and slight tremors washed over her body. With a sigh, she calmed, her face relaxing.
I kissed her pussy gently before moving up to cuddle with her. Only close to her did I notice silent tears leaking from her closed eyes. I ached for her. Gathering her in my arms, I hugged her, drawing a sheet over us. Saachi, eyes still closed, cuddled into me like a lost, frightened kitten. Michaela's hand rubbed my back.
With a cup of strong coffee, I sat on the veranda, my ankles crossed and bare feet up on the balustrade. Late morning sun brightened the blooming flowers. Heat built.
Behind me the house was silent, empty, the girls gone. I'd dropped them off at the mall to meet with friends, window shop, have lunch, and see a movie.
Saachi confused me. The impact she'd had on me still rattled me. In my mind's eye, I could still see her silent tears and knew why they'd appeared. Sex for Saachi had been rough, unwanted, a violation, and utterly without pleasure; an impossibly awful experience for an eight-year-old girl. Last night, Saachi had experienced the opposite. She'd experienced what loving and being loved felt like, what pleasure felt like, even what trust felt like, and this morning, I'd seen how cathartic it had been.
My sleep had been restless. Turn one way and I had a naked angel. Turn the other and I had a naked angel. I was very conscious of them. It was very late when I finally slept properly only to wake up early to find myself spooning Saachi. Her scent was very distinctive.
Then other senses kicked in: naked skin against skin; the soft press of her buttocks against my groin; the tickle of her hair in my nose; and the feel of her hand carefully exploring the shape of my erection nestled between her silken thighs; her fingers brushing the tip where it emerged, then pressing me against her naked pussy.
My body had reacted, erection twitching. Silent communication started. Saachi slowly pressed her bottom back at me, encouraging me, her hand pressing my shaft to her pussy, her soft thighs holding me.
I hugged her. The height difference to Michaela was apparent, my face pressed to the back of her head. I moved again, just a slight press forward. God it felt good. Saachi clenched her thighs and relaxed. My cock pulsed.
With Saachi carefully holding me in place, I rubbed my cock on her. There was utter silence broken only by early morning birds chirping. Several minutes passed. One strong throb and Saachi's hand became slippery with precum. She spread it around. My cock glided along her cleft. It felt as though I was having intercourse with her, fucking her from behind, her sweet ass pressing to me.
For several minutes I fucked through her thighs slowly, enjoying every sensation, the touch of her hand, her sexy small bottom against me. It was a wonderful way to wake up. But, not having cum last night, I couldn't last. Throbs grew stronger and faster. My strokes grew longer, erection aching, the silken caress of her thighs and pussy so stimulating. And in the quiet of the morning, I shuddered and came, cock pulsing, semen spurting into her hand. Wetness spread. I exploded, a hard, gut-wrenching spurt, cum spurting. Fucking her thighs, I came deeply, everything wet and messy, bliss washing over me, pulsing, spurting, sweet ecstasy, my orgasm peaking, pleasure suffusing me. A couple of weaker spurts, a couple of slower thrusts, and I came to rest, drained and peaceful.
With a tight hug, I expressed my pleasure. We lay quietly, my cock softening. Eventually, Saachi stirred. She extricated herself from my arms, bent and collected her nightshirt from the floor and, holding it to her, went to the bathroom. I admired her naked buttocks.
Glancing behind me, Michaela slept peacefully, her hair a mess. The toilet flushed. The tap ran. The bathroom door opened and Saachi emerged dressed in her nightshirt, bashful expression, her dark eyes meeting mine then darting away. I smiled. She shyly smiled. Lifting the sheet in invitation, Saachi came back to bed. I drew her into my arms, kissed her softly, and said, "Thank you. What a wonderful way to wake up."
Sitting on the veranda, I experienced a stir of arousal at the memory - one I'd never forget. Michaela and Saachi had whispered together when I left the bed. At breakfast, I detected no jealously or competition between them. To the contrary, both had been touchy-feely with me, full of smiles and knowing looks. Saachi's comfort was immediately apparent. She was a different girl.
In a moment alone, I'd asked Michaela and been stunned to learn Saachi was only twelve years old, her birthday a couple of months away, which partially explained her almost prepubescent body.
Sipping coffee, I analyzed my feelings. They were complex. I adored Michaela. I loved everything about her and was unable to imagine a life without her - that's how deeply she'd affected me. Saachi stirred different feelings. She was a character with her own sense of style and abnormally intelligent. Yet I hurt for her. I hurt for what she'd experienced and had to live with in silence. Sure, I was attracted to her. Yes, she turned me on. However, overriding it all was a desire to abolish her demons, make her feel safe, and find joy in life again.
How? Was intimacy with her really the answer or was I abusing her in a different way? Then I remembered how I handled intimacy with Michaela; honestly, discussing it, being clear about my feelings and desires. Was that the answer?
There was one thing I knew: last night I'd stepped firmly into the realm of the socially unacceptable and I couldn't find a trace of regret or condemnation in me. Society wouldn't understand or forgive. But society hadn't seen the girls this morning. Kissing Michaela good morning at breakfast had been wonderful. Kissing Saachi and seeing her big, big smile of pleasure, was priceless.
MICHAELA LAUGHED LIGHTLY. SAACHI hadn't stopped talking about last night. She'd discovered the pleasure of sex.
Sitting on her bed, side by side, Michaela said, "I told you! Just wait. It gets, like, a hundred times better!"
"Seriously? It can't! No way!" Saachi claimed.
Michaela laughed again. "Seriously." In a quieter tone, she confessed, "I'm glad you know everything, Saachi. It's good to be able to talk about it and share it with you."
Saachi's smile faded. "Are you sure you're not jealous? I think I'd be if I had to share."
Michaela shrugged. "I'm not. I know how much Brad loves me."
"You're so lucky," Saachi sighed. She studied her fingernails and picked one where nail polish was flaking. "It was so different last night. It was like your dad adored me, and he didn't try to do anything I didn't want. He was so gentle, not rough like . . ." Her voice trained off.
Michaela grabbed her hairbrush and started brushing her hair. "He won't be, either. When I told him about you, it scared him. He's still scared you won't keep it a secret."
"I will!" Saachi exclaimed. "If I can keep what my uncle did a secret, I . . ."
Michaela cut in. "I know! You don't have to convince me. I was trying to explain. If you want to try anything, you have to tell him." She paused, then giggled.
"What?" Saachi asked.
"Um. Well, if you get him horny enough he'll take over. It's a lot of fun driving him nuts."
"First, we change clothes."
While they chatted and laughed and changed Michaela asked, "What do you want to do with him?"
Saachi started talking. Michaela gave her advice. Then, from downstairs, Brad yelled, "Dinner!"
Irish lamb shank stew, with potatoes and barley in a rich gravy was fantastic. Michaela ate far too much. Every time she and Saachi looked at each other, they tried not to laugh. Brad was flustered and trying not to show it. Between her and Saachi, they teased him with smiles and attention, brushing against him, touching him when close, and playing innocent.
Then they'd whisper together making Brad eye them with suspicion. And Michaela saw it in his sexy blue eyes. They grew intense. They lingered when looking at her and Saachi.
Then the fun started - she and Saachi flashing peeks of their panties under their nightshirts at him. She knew he could tell they were wearing the same type: satiny string bikini, Saachi's white, hers pink. Micheala admired how talented Saachi was in dropping things and bending over to pick them up . . . So did Brad, she saw with a silent giggle.
By the time they watched TV, Michaela saw adoration in his beautiful eyes that made her heart thump and gave her butterflies in her stomach.
He constantly shifted in the armchair.
When the second movie started, The Ring, she suggested, "Come sit between us."
Aside from the movie scaring the heck out of them, it was fun cuddling to him holding his arm. Saachi was having a good time, too.
I JUMPED AGAIN AND silently cursed the damned movie. Horror movies were not my favorite. On the plus side, having Michaela hide her face in my arm when creepy parts happened was nice.
The movie exposed differences between Michaela and Saachi. Michaela reacted to what she saw. Saachi reacted in anticipation of what was about to happen; Michaela in the moment, Saachi thinking ahead. Fascinating!
Other interesting contrasts emerged. Michaela was an accomplished tease. She knew exactly how to get to me. Saachi was far, far more subtle. I hadn't decided if it was shyness or deliberate. Either way, it was equally effective and, with her ever-observant dark eyes taking in my every reaction and expression, I was convinced she was honing her craft.
It was also significantly more comfortable on the couch. While I appreciated every peek of deliberately exposed sexy panties, it made sitting still uncomfortable. At least here, between them, I could think.
And think I did. I'd watched for any sign of jealousy from Michaela since last night and had seen none. My feelings were in conflict. It pleased me yet I wished she'd exhibit some possessiveness; not a lot, just some. There were people who didn't experience jealousy and people who were consumed by it. A hint of jealousy would confirm my importance to her and, as irrational as it was, I thought I might appreciate it.
And, what would happen with Saachi? The sexy play last night was more arousing than I could ever have imagined. But, if Saachi wanted to take it further, I was a bit old fashioned. Intercourse was private and intimate between two people. How was that going to work?
When we packed it in and went to bed, I'd underestimated Michaela again.
I waited for them in bed. Saachi appeared, smiling shyly. I welcomed her into the bed and asked, "Where's Michaela?"
"She said she's sleeping in her room tonight."
"Okay. Wait here." I gave her a stern look followed by a grin. "Don't go anywhere!"
She smiled and nodded. I slipped out of bed and went to Michaela's room. Michaela was in bed, her bedside lamp on, and reading a book.
She glanced at me. "What's wrong?"
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rubbed her leg. "What's going on?"
Michaela explained it was Saachi's decision and how she didn't want an audience. Once again, I was puzzled by Michaela's lack of jealousy and asked her.
Michaela smiled. "I am jealous. But, it's simple. You make me feel like the most important person in the world. You make me feel beautiful and loved and happy and safe. Why wouldn't I want you to share that with my best friend when I know you love me? It would be selfish."
We chatted for a while. When I returned to my bedroom, Saachi was waiting patiently. Her eyes had questions when I joined her in bed and I answered them without her asking.
"I had to be sure Michaela was okay with us." Reaching for her, I drew her close and kissed her lightly. I wasn't aroused in the least. "Will you tell me about what happened to you?"
Saachi, at first hesitant, slowly told me her story. She spoke of fear and shame and pain, of not understanding what was happening to her, and above all, the utter lack of control when her uncle would assault her. She talked about being scared her mother and father would hate her if they found out and how she couldn't live without their love.
Over almost ninety minutes, I cuddled with Saachi while she let the poison out without tears, coldly and calmly. Occasionally, I'd kiss her head. I caressed her back. And I made no move towards intimacy. But intimacy emerged.
It started with Saachi turning her face up to me from the crook of my shoulder, her dark eyes liquid, inviting a kiss, our lips brushing. More soft kisses followed and we rolled to face each other. I caressed her slender back, edging lower slowly, watching for any sign of discomfort.
Saachi smiled slightly when my hand settled on her rear. She pressed herself to me. Gentle arousal stirred. Her nightshirt glided over her satiny panties, her exquisite ass small and shapely.
So very slowly our kisses deepened, led by Saachi; her lips moving against mine, a playful flit of her tongue, her eyes crinkling with a smile. I smiled and kissed her again, groped her butt and whispered, "You've got a great ass."
Saachi laughed, her exotic eyes dancing with pleasure. She mimicked me, groping my ass. "You, too."
My cock swelled with a flush of arousal. We kissed again and I edged her nightshirt up to fondle her sexy panties. Saachi's tongue touched my lips. My tongue met hers and, as the kiss became passionate, her eyes winked out. Our tongues caressed in a sensual kiss. An erection formed between us. I slipped my fingertips inside the waist of her panties and down, holding her buttock, silky and cool.
Saachi murmured into the kiss and pressed her body against me. She froze for an instant when she felt my erection, then kissed me harder.
Excitement hit me when I felt her hand exploring the shape of my cock over my boxers. Kiss over, she looked at me almost bashfully, her hand still exploring, questions floating through her eyes.
"We'll do whatever you want," I whispered to her. "You're in charge. You can stop at any time. It's your turn to enjoy yourself. Okay?"
Saachi nodded. A small smile curled her lips, her eyes twinkling as she fished into my boxers. Her hand was cold. She curled her fingers around my shaft and squeezed, testing my hardness. I deliberately flexed my cock.
Saachi laughed lightly. "It's alive!" She squeezed it tightly. "And so hard." After exploring it, she asked, "What do I do?"
"Whatever you want."
If she could have blushed, she probably would have. Bashfully, she asked, "Would you like to get undressed together?"
She nodded. If it hadn't been for her prior experience, I would have undressed her. Instead, I rolled away and pushed my boxers down. Saachi pulled her nightshirt off then reached under the covers.
When she rolled back against me, I had her silken, naked body pressed to me, my erection pressed to her stomach. On her side, her waist dipped, hip rising, and, reaching behind her, I held her beautiful ass, pulling her tighter to me.
We kissed, softly, lovingly. Saachi's hand on my waist slowly dropped between us to hold my erection. I waited, cautiously caressing her sexy bum, our kisses varied and arousing; sometimes chaste, sometimes flirty. And as our kisses became passionate, her mouth opening, my tongue probing, hers following my retreat, Saachi started stroking my cock with a light touch that gained confidence with each passing minute.
Exerting real caution, I followed her bum crack down, lower and lower, then caressed the back of her thigh. On the return journey, my fingertips slipped deeper and I brushed her hairless pussy from behind.
Saachi responded, lifting her leg over mine exposing herself and the tip of my finger stroked her cleft. Our kiss intensified. Her breath wafted against me as she breathed harder and the tip of my finger eased into her cleft, exploring and finding her clitoris and, more exciting by far, slight moisture - Saachi turned on.
Her hand gripped my cock. Our kiss ended. Her eyes opened, searching mine. With a smile, I held her and rolled onto my back bringing her with me. Her knees slipped to my sides.
"Sit up," I suggested. Being on top would give her all the control.
She did. Upright and astride me, her sexy hairless pussy pressed to my shaft, her labia bulging sensually, slit spread, her clit touching me.
I held her hips and showed her how to move. Saachi looked down, saw the flared tip of my cock poking out. She moved, sliding back, my tip rising, then reversed, sliding forward, her clit rubbing along my shaft, the crown disappearing through her plump cleft. I throbbed. The sight of her hairless pudendum rubbing against an adult cock was stunningly arousing!
Saachi's confidence grew. She shuffled up slightly so the head of my cock rubbed directly against her clit. Her eyes, previously watching me, closed, her face relaxed. I let her hips go and reached for her almost flat chest, rubbing her dark areolae and astonishing nipples; so much larger than Michaela's.
For the next few minutes, Saachi rode me. Precum made us very slippery, my cock throbbing. The sensation was incredible, so pleasurable. Then she edged even higher and paused. Curling her hips, I felt my tip press directly at her cleft. She pressed experimentally, paused, pressed again, my tip surrounded by soft labia.
Reaching down, with her fingertips, Saachi pressed my crown back, positioning me, then lowered herself and I experienced the thrill of penetrating her. Her tight opening squeezed over my tip and when it popped in, she froze, shuddered, moaned quietly and lowered herself onto me.
Neither of us moved. With my tip in her, gripped tightly, I hugged her, caressed her back, and stroked down to fondle her sexy ass. Saachi raised her head and stared at me, dark eyes intense, probing.
"This feels wonderful," I murmured, kissing her. With the exception of my cock throbbing, I didn't move.
Saachi smiled slightly. "It does."
She settled her cheek on my chest. Her pussy tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed, and then she moved her ass, curling it back, my crown almost emerging, then reversing, hunching, and I penetrated her tight pussy deeper, exquisitely gripped.
Still I didn't move. The experience was incredible. Saachi took her time. She moved slowly, impaling herself on my erection, the entrance to her vagina edging lower and lower on my shaft until I was as deep as the position would allow. Then she stopped.
Inside her, my cock swelled, so damned hard. I whispered, "God you feel good, Saachi," and combed my fingers through her long raven hair.
She murmured something unintelligible. Urging her to lift her face, I smiled at her and kissed her. Her exotic dark eyes twinkled.
"Can we stay like this?" she asked.
"As long as you want," I assured her. "You're in charge. I'm your sex slave."
Saachi giggled, her vagina tightening even more, squeezing me beautifully. My body responded, cock swelling. She made the connection and toyed with me, tightening her pussy, my cock throbbing. It was a sensual massage that felt wonderful, pleasure growing, her pussy a warm, silken sheath.
We kissed playfully. She teased me. I groped her small ass. It was sweet and sexy.
Saachi finally moved. Hands pressing against my chest, she sat upright, completely impaled on my erection. My tip touched her deepest part. A small, pleased smile curled her lips, her eyes dancing.
I looked at where we were joined. All I could see were her lips pooched out, her hairless mons pressed against me. Such an arousing sight.
"Touch yourself," I encouraged.
Somewhat shyly, she did, her finger probing into her cleft and her reaction was wonderful. She shuddered slightly and exhaled. Her eyes party closed. With growing confidence, Saachi diddled herself, my cock buried inside her. Her nostrils flared as she breathed deeper. Her pussy clenches became regular. I noticed her dark brown areolae crinkle up, her nipples firm.
Holding still was becoming almost impossible. The desire to fuck her burned through me. Selfishly, I suggested, "Try lifting up and down," and held her narrow hips.
Saachi rose slowly. My shaft emerged, glistening, so impossibly thick, her small pussy so stretched. She reversed, settling down, taking me in all the way, and gave a light shudder.
I noticed her finger had stopped moving so I pulled it away and rubbed her clit. She shuddered again, rose slowly, and settled with a quiet moan of pleasure, her eyes now out of focus, concentrating on the feelings in her body. She rose and lowered, repeated it, and without realizing it, Saachi was fucking me. Her pace was agonizingly slow, her pussy so fucking tight, my cock oozing in and out.
I rubbed her clit faster and she responded, riding me faster, fucking me. Her brows furrowed in concentration. Her nose flared. She moaned, riding me, and then suddenly, she froze, her body trembled. She inhaled with an almost silent gasp, let out a quiet moan of pleasure, and fell forward onto me.
Holding her hips, I fucked her, stroking into her gently. It took no effort to cum. With Saachi letting out a quiet mewl of pleasure, my cock swelled and pulsed, cum spurting, sweet bliss hitting me. I came in strong pulses, excited by her young body and spicy scent. Saachi's pussy massaged me as I exploded, straining, drowning in pleasure until, with a final shuddering thrust, my orgasm passed.
It was much, much later when the bed moved as Michaela cuddled up to me, Saachi pressed to my other side.
I served breakfast - bacon and eggs - to two animated girls. They chatted, whispered, laughed, and every so often Michaela exclaimed, "I know! Didn't I tell you?"
Saachi was a completely different girl. The change in her was astonishing. Her eclectic fashion sense was the same. However, every time Saachi looked at me she smiled broadly, her eyes dancing with delight, no trace of shyness.
As was my habit, I planned my day, starting with mixing spices. Tonight Michaela had ordered dry rub ribs. I wanted to smoke them on the barbecue.
When Saachi went to the bathroom, Michaela hugged me from behind.
"Thanks," she said. "I knew you'd help her."
Turning, I smiled. "It's good to see her so bright."
Michaela smiled broadly. "It is, isn't it? She's silly. She said she loves you. I told her you're mine and don't try anything."
Michaela's comment deeply pleased me. Saachi was a wonderful girl. However, I was in love with Michaela and her possessiveness caused mushy feelings to emerge.
About to tell her, brisk knocking at the front door ruined the moment. I left Michaela in the kitchen.
When I opened the door, I had a heart attack. My stomach dropped. My hands shook. Two burly policemen about my age were standing at the door. Behind them, a young lady stood on the drive.
"Mr. Wheldon?" one asked.
My knees weakened. I knew why they were here; to arrest me for molesting Michaela and now Saachi. "Yes."
"Is Saachi Roberts staying with you?"
My heart raced. Sweat trickled from my armpits. Could they see me shaking? "Yes."
Michaela spoke from behind me. "What's going on?"
"It's the police," I told her.
One of the officers, his expression serious, addressed me. "Can we see Miss Roberts?"
Fear made my mouth dry. "Michaela, can you get Saachi?"
I focused on the officer. "What's this about?"
He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to inform you that Miss Roberts family died in an auto accident yesterday evening." He indicated behind him. "This is Sarah Perkins from the child welfare department to take care of Miss Roberts."
Immediate relief flooded me, very quickly followed by shock.
Three lives were changed that day. Saachi was taken into the uncaring arms of government services. Michaela reverted to her quiet self, reliving her recent experience of loss and internalizing her pain which was still acute. She grew distant. Her smiles vanished.
For me, I'd lost two people I cared deeply about. I lived in a fog, disembodied from life for several days. My attempts to console Michaela were rebuffed.
I wasn't aware that Michaela was texting Saachi until, while we quietly watched TV one night, she exclaimed, "NO! They can't do that!" after reading a text.
She glared at me, her blue eyes fire and ice, and with more animation than I'd seen since Saachi had gone, she said, "They're sending Saachi back to India to live with her uncle! How can they do that? How can they force her to live with the man who assaulted her!!"
Before I could open my mouth, Michaela, brows furrowed in anger, finger jabbing towards me, said, "You have to do something, Dad! You have to help her!"
I nodded, draped my arm over her shoulder, and pulled her against my side. "I will."
I nodded, now lost in thought. Michaela, thumbs a blur, texted Saachi.
Tuesday, I flew us to Atlanta. After much research and consulting with acquaintances, I'd found some high-powered lawyers. We met the team that morning, explained the situation and her uncle's actions, informed them money wasn't an issue, and that time was critical.
Events unfolded in a flurry. State officials visited us several times, asking questions, investigating my background and financial situation. I had some fancy footwork to do to project legitimacy and hide my true source of income. Fortunately, they took my word that I was an accountant for charities, accepted income tax returns as proof of income, and home ownership as proof of stability. Hearing about Michaela's background softened the work-hardened hearts of officials. I was officially certified to be a foster parent - the first step of our high priced team of lawyers.
Two weeks after her parents died, a funeral was held in Mena. It was the first time we'd seen Saachi and it brought home how important our fight to keep her was. She was so pale, her dark eyes haunted. She'd lost weight. Otherwise, she was clean, groomed, and dressed for the occasion. Sarah Perkins, the child welfare worker who'd picked her up from our house, accompanied her.
Seeing Michaela, she ran towards us. The two hugged forever, observed by a sharp-eyed Miss Perkins. I was given a fierce hug. The service, well attended, felt like it took forever, and when we parted, the tears glittering in Saachi's eyes hurt me deeply. Michaela whispered to her. Saachi nodded. She hugged me and whispered, "Thank you."
Next, our team of lawyers took the case to court to obtain a temporary restraining order, preventing the government from sending Saachi to India, their preliminary justification being that Saachi was an American citizen. Shortly thereafter, with the testimony of a child psychologist, Saachi's sexual assault at the hands of her uncle was revealed in order to obtain a permanent injunction against sending her to her only surviving relative.
It was a time fraught with stress. Fear that I'd be exposed made me want to hide away, to run as far as I could. I had no idea what Saachi was saying to the authorities or would inadvertently reveal. My temper was short, even with Michaela. Stress aged me.
Three weeks into the maelstrom, Michaela became frantic when Saachi stopped answering her texts. Worried, I called Child Protective Services. They assured us Saachi was fine. Michaela didn't believe them, so we made the journey to Little Rock where she was being housed. Michaela was silent the whole trip. She wasn't handling the situation well. Short-tempered, she was critical of almost everything, me included. It was difficult not to argue with her but, knowing she was reacting from experience, that these events were forcing her to relive her own trauma, I focused on being the voice of reason and hope.
Saachi was fine if morose. Her cell phone service had ended intensifying her sense of isolation and loss. I immediately added her to my plan and restored communication. We spent the day with her. It helped both Saachi and Michaela. It severely depressed me.
Five weeks after losing her parents and brother and sister, we attended a final court hearing. Five expensive lawyers were present. Their case was presented to the judge. Strangely, the government put up no objection and, at four-forty in the afternoon, Saachi was placed in my custody. Our legal team informed me that an arrest warrant had been issued for her uncle, charging him with sexual assault of a minor. It would prevent him from ever visiting America. They'd referred the case to Indian authorities.
It was the last day in July. We picked up Saachi's things and drove home. The sight of the two of them huddled together in the back seat brought tears to my eyes, the road blurred until I wiped my eyes.
Stress has strange effects. With me, I was exhausted. I felt the weariness all the way to my bones. Michaela's short temper evaporated. She was back to her quiet, dryly witty self. Saachi had fundamentally changed.
Visibly, she was underweight. She'd lost her eclectic sense of fashion, now wearing drab clothes. Often, I'd catch her looking at nothing, her beautiful dark eyes unfocused and full of pain. The world was passing her by, uninteresting.
The first night at home, both slept in my bed. Saachi clung to me all night. I woke up at one point to find her crying silently, her agony exposed. I hugged her tighter. What more could I do? It hurt me deeply and my sense of helplessness added to my pain.
I roped Michaela into helping Saachi. Between the two of us, we encouraged Saachi to talk about her feelings, her life, growing up, and to tell us about her family.
As spring inevitably follows winter, Saachi slowly recovered. Michaela made me proud with her determined dedication to helping Saachi heal. Cautious laughs became real laughs. Saachi's unique sense of style returned one item of clothing at a time. Her eyes lost their haunted expression and she began interacting with the world around her.
It was the third week in August when I knew Saachi would be fine. It was the two of them watching TV late at night while giving me subtle peeks of their panties, whispering to each other, their eyes full of mischief, and laughing when I shifted in the armchair.
With the warm flush of arousal, I realized stress had robbed me of my libido for almost two months. Throughout the turmoil, Michaela had slept with me. However, beyond affectionate kisses, we hadn't been intimate. We hadn't had sex. Worry had distracted us. It spoke to the depth of our concern and affection for Saachi.
With their knees up and feet on the couch, I was treated to two sexy pussies straining against cotton panties, bulging sensuously at their crotches.
"What's the matter, Dad?" Michaela asked when I crossed one knee over the other, her sharp blue eyes twinkling.
I growled playfully.
They both laughed; the sweetest sound ever.
That night, Saachi was the first to join me in bed. Still in her tie-dyed nightshirt, she smiled slyly and moved to my side. Propping herself up on one elbow, she asked, "Can I kiss you?"
"Anytime you want," I assured her.
She studied me with her endlessly deep dark eyes, brought her face so close I could inhale her minty-clean breath. Another slight smile crossed her face and her soft lips brushed mine, a delicate touch, then settled, pressing gently.
I put my arm around her and caressed her back and, just when the tip of her tongue teased my lips, we were interrupted.
"Hey! No starting without me!"
Saachi giggled quietly. The bed dipped. Michaela, in her favorite pale yellow nightshirt, moved to my other side, naughty excitement in her perfect blue eyes.
A shiver of excitement hit me. Two girls in bed with plans. It might have embarrassed me before, but not now.
"Are you well rested?" Michaela asked.
I nodded. "Yup. I am." Easing my arm around her, I fondled her ass.
"Lots of stamina?" she asked, her hand rubbing my stomach.
Knowing why, I asked anyway. "Plenty. Why?"
"Cuz we're both horny, aren't we, Saachi?"
Saachi smiled slowly, voraciously. "Yup. Veeeery."
I groped her sweet ass as well. Heaven. Two sexy little butts in cotton panties. "How is this going to work?" I asked, never having had sex with both at the same time. "Not that I'm complaining. I need to plan it out."
Micheala laughed. "It's simple. You make both of us happy and then we'll make you happy."
Saachi nodded, finally speaking. "You can do anything you want to us."
"Reeeeallly?" I said with a sneaky grin. "Anything?"
"Yup. Anything . . . If you have the stamina," Michaela confirmed.
As my mind processed the possibilities, an erection formed. I'd never experienced a ménage á trois. Until tonight, I'd never wanted to. But now? Two sexy young girls?
Michaela's hand found my erection. "He wants to," she observed, squeezing my shaft.
I started, "Okay. Ground rules . . ."
"You have to make us cum first," Michaela cut in.
"Both of us," Saachi reinforced.
"And you can't cum until we have," Michaela threw in.
"And we get to say what we want," Saachi said.
I laughed. They'd obviously planned. "What's the safe word?"
"Huh?" both responded.
"The word you use when you seriously want to stop."
They looked at each other.
I suggested, "Humperdink."
"That's stupid!" Michaela said, laughing.
"When's the last time you used Humperdink?"
"Never! Have you used it?" she asked Saachi.
"Never. What's a Humperdink?"
"It's a name," I told them.
"Wow! Some mother didn't like their child!" Michaela commented dryly, making Saachi laugh.
I chuckled. "Now, back to the ground rules . . ."
"We already covered them."
"Stop interrupting, Mickey!"
I continued. This conversation was so much fun, I decided to tease. "You have to get naked. No complaining when I tie you to the bed." Their eyes opened in surprise. "You have to keep your eyes closed when I tickle you with a feather and no complaining about how cold the whipped cream is."
It was hard not to laugh at their shock. I continued, wondering when they'd catch on. "You're not allowed to climax until I tell you, no matter how bad it gets."
Typically, Michaela was first, laughing at me. Saachi dryly observed, "Very funny." Then she tilted her head in thought. "Whipped cream might be interesting."
The two missed the point. They discussed how they'd used whipped cream on me! I let them discuss it. When I slipped my hands inside their panties and squeezed two firm buttocks their conversation stopped.
Michaela's eyes sparkled. A ghost of a smile passed over Saachi's face.
"Time to get naked," I informed them.
"You, too," Michaela ordered.
While I shucked my boxers, the two pulled off their nightshirts, then wiggled under the sheet removing their panties. I briefly regretted not being able to remove their panties myself, but was quickly distracted by two naked young girls cuddling to my sides. Lovely!
"So how's this going to work?"
"Me first and then Saachi." Michaela announced as she rolled onto her back, stretching languidly. The sheet covered her from the waist down, her pert little breasts exposed.
I rolled towards her, propping myself up on an elbow.
Saachi spoke. "Can you move to the other side?"
Lifting myself over Michaela, I smiled at Saachi. "You like to watch?"
On her side, she nodded. "I do. It's like you adore Michaela."
"He does," Michaela assured her.
Saachi smiled. "I like seeing how gentle you are. It's so different from . . ."
I nodded I understood and kissed Michaela. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back, the soft pressure of lips evolving as tongues teased, then flirted, then intertwined, passion emerging. Michaela murmured "Mmmm," into the kiss.
Moving down slightly, I kissed the tips of her sweet breasts, then teased her areolae with my tongue, and Micheala murmured her pleasure when I sucked her breast into my mouth; so delightfully firm and petite. After treating her other breast to some loving, I slowly kissed my way down her stomach, skipped her pouty mons, and kissed her bony hip instead. My journey continued to her thigh, light kissed brushing her skin as I repositioned myself between her legs.
Her sensual aroma filled my nose; a very light scent of arousal that so excited me. Kissing my way up the inside of her thigh, I skipped her pussy and stopped. Michaela's eyes showed her arousal. A little smile curled her lips. Her smile broadened as I lowered my mouth to her succulent mons.
I murmured, "Mmmm."
Michaela let out a soft, single laugh. Then, when I kissed her cleft, her head fell back to the pillow. She made me smile, saying, "Oh, yeah."
With her legs parted, knees bent, I tasted her exciting ambrosia, my tongue starting at the base of her slit, probing deep between her labia, touching the silken opening to her vagina and moving up, finding her small clit. I caressed it, then sucked, then caressed. A small shiver of pleasure passed through her thighs.
Glancing across, I saw Saachi watching us, her dark eyes moving between me and Michaela's face. She noticed me looking at her and a smile emerged.
The fine, silky hair on Michaela's pussy tickled my nose, drawing my attention back to her. I experienced the same thrill of arousal at my daughter's barely pubescent pussy; her thin, soft coating of pubes so exciting. And again, I suffered the intense desire to cum in her, take her, make her mine. It was a raw, possessive, carnal desire.
Michaela inhaled suddenly. "Enough," she said, pushing my head away. She lifted one leg over me and rolled. "Get on your back."
I moved up, paused to kiss Saachi gently, her lips receptive and warm, then lay back, my erection complete, swollen, stiff.
Michaela straddled me, knees to the side. With her hands on my chest to support her, she leaned over and kissed me. Blue eyes twinkled. "If you don't cum, Saachi and I have a treat for you."
"No problem," I assured her, then immediately changed my mind. Michaela sat up, smiling, and slowly, with a sexy, sexy wiggle, settled her pussy on my shaft. I glanced down. Her cleft had plumped out, sandwiching my erection, the head visible.
She was a petite Goddess, her dark hair free-flowing to her shoulders, her gorgeous breasts gravity-defying, perky, sweet, young. Astride me, her body had sensual shape from her hips down.
It started with a slight edging up and down; Michaela using me to masturbate. With each back movement, my tip raised up off my stomach only to be pressed down when she rubbed her pussy forward. Her hip movements were slow, back and forth; her reddened clit peeking at me then disappearing, and gradually her strokes became longer. I felt her slippery pussy, watched her face as her eyes lost focus, thrilled at her small frown followed by the flash of a smile and single laugh of delight. Michaela was so uninhibited with sex. She relished it without shyness and the effect was intensely arousing.
My cock throbbed. A bead of clear precum leaked and Michaela drove me crazy by collecting it with a finger and rubbing it on her clit. Her hips moved faster, strokes longer, her nose flared as she breathed deeper.
I reached for her small breasts and lightly pinched her nipples. Her groan was louder, eyes closing, humping my cock, diddling her clit. I started struggling. It would have been so easy to cum. It would have been so wonderful to lift her up and thrust into her sexy pussy. Then a red flush blossomed over her breasts and spread to her neck. She inhaled sharply, quietly gasped, "Daddy," and climaxed, her eyes tightly shut, scrubbing her pussy along my cock, her stomach muscles tightening and relaxing, waves of pleasure coursing through her, and as they built to their peak, my little girl froze, taut, and mewled out her pleasure, falling forward into my arms. I hugged her trembling body tightly, my cock pulsing hard, tamped down an incipient orgasm, and waited her out.
She calmed. With a groan, she said, "Gawd that's good!" Lifting her head, she smiled and kissed me. "Thanks, Dad." Rolling off, she added, "Saachi's turn."
I slowly rolled towards Saachi. She smiled at me. "What would you like?" I asked.
A sweet shyness emerged. "Would you eat me?"
Moving close, my face very close to hers, I whispered, "Gladly," and kissed her, our lips brushing. I found her remarkable large, dark nipple and rubbed. On her back, what little breast development she had was imperceptible; just her dark – almost black - and delicious puffy areolae and incredible nipples.
We kissed gently at first, then intensified with pressure, the brush of a tongue, tongue tips meeting, a slow caress forming and, when Saachi opened her mouth to me, I fell into a sensual kiss, probing into her mouth, tasting her. My hand caressed down her flat stomach and settled on her hairless pudendum; her mons not as plump as Michaela's, but so very arousing.
She parted her legs and I traced her tightly closed cleft down, moaning into the kiss when I discovered wetness, her warm moisture, Saachi aroused. For the next little while, we kissed passionately. I explored her slit, easing my fingertip between her hairless labia to find the entrance to her vagina, penetrating her only slightly before searching for her clit. Like her nipples, Saachi's clit was bigger than Michaela's, yet just as responsive. She moaned into my mouth when I caressed her.
Kiss over, I moved down, first kissing her nipples, sucking on them gently, then harder. Amazingly, they plumped up, thick and hard, simply stunning! With kisses trailing down her stomach, I started to move down, planning on settling between her legs.
Saachi had other ideas. She reached down and pulled my head, stopping me. Glancing at her I asked a silent question.
I'd never have believed, with her beautiful olive skin that she could blush, but she did, her cheeks dusted darker. Sweet shyness blossomed in her exotic dark eyes. Hesitantly, she asked, "Would you lie on your back?'
"Sure," I responded with a smile. If she wanted to ride my shaft like Michaela, I wasn't going to complain.
Saachi had no intention of riding my shaft. None. She straddled me without settling, bent to kiss me with surprising passion, then rose up. She shuffled up slightly and I grasped what she wanted, what she was suggesting with small movements, shyness radiating despite her movements.
With a broad smile, I held her hips and guided her. Some shuffling and repositioning and Saachi was kneeling astride my head. The view from underneath was stunning. Her hairless pussy looked lusher. Her sexy slit had parted slightly exposing her clitoris, the undeveloped inner labia as dark as her areolae and nipples, and the arousing contrast of lighter pink inside her. Her sexy ass swelled out. I could see the entrance to her vagina, and marveled at how small it was. It brought to mind the experience of penetrating her and the utter pleasure of it.
My erection swelled, rising off my stomach. Precum dripped. My pulse jumped.
Still holding her slender hips, I guided her lower, brought my head up slightly, and kissed her pussy, her skin so warm and soft. Saachi's flavor was different to Michaela, just as pleasing, subtler, her aroma was stronger; sweetness with a delectable hint of earthiness, pure elixir.
Holding the headboard, Saachi looked down at me as I ate her, her long, raven hair tied back. I watched her eyes carefully. Shyness was joined by a sweet smile. When I caressed her clit, her smile faded, eyes growing intense. She held herself over me. I sucked her clit making her twitch, then rubbed her clit, strumming it with my tongue.
Little sounds escaped from her; a sigh of pleasure, a very quiet moan. And when I penetrated her with my finger, probing gently to find her wet and slippery, she inhaled sharply. Teasing her clit and sucking her, I fucked her with my finger - slowly, gently. Little twitches in her body evolved into slight humping, her pussy rubbing against my mouth, my finger slipping deeper into the tight vagina. She was close. Her eyes closed. Like Michaela, a small frown appeared on her brow, her nostrils flaring with each deeper breath. Her hips gained a seductive rhythm, her pussy slippery and moist. Small moans broke the silence.
And then I felt it. I felt Michaela take a hold of my erection and stroke me. It was my turn to moan into Saachi's pussy. My cock strained, aching. Then I felt Michaela's warm mouth take me in, slipping down over my crown, down my shaft. I groaned deeply. Driven by horniness, I pressed my middle finger against Saachi's rosebud and slowly, so slowly, penetrated her bottom. I started to finger both pussy and butt. Saachi's response was immediate and stunning. She gasped loudly. Her whole body shook as she exploded with her climax. Soft cries of pleasure broke the silence. Her body shook and heaved, intense, her cries of pleasure intensifying. Tremors shook her thighs. I sucked her clit through the turmoil of a strong orgasm; the strongest I'd seen from her.
With a final agonizing cry, she gasped, "Stop! Stop!" and twisted off me, collapsing to the bed, holding her pussy and curling up, her body still wracked by shudders. It was so intense, I forgot about Michaela. She stopped sucking me. And when I noticed tears leaking from Saachi's closed eyes, both Michaela and I settled on each side of her and hugged her between us.
Saachi calmed. Silence returned.
Michaela whispered to her. "What happened?"
Saachi, finally opening her eyes, wiped them. "I never knew it could feel so good. I thought I was going to die! It almost hurt."
Michaela looked at me. "What did you do to her?"
I shrugged. What had I done?
Michaela asked Saachi, "What did he do?"
"I can't say."
"Course you can," Michaela insisted. "Tell me."
Saachi's embarrassment was cute. "He put his . . . um . . . his finger in my butt."
The two chatted. My mind drifted, my erection forgotten. I'd heard of females being capable of anal climaxes but never actually been with one. Not that I disliked anal sex. Conceptually, I thought it might be exciting. I'd never had the opportunity before. Now, I wondered. Would Saachi be willing to try?
My musings were interrupted by Michaela rolling onto her back, saying, "Time for your treat, Dad. I hope you like it."
Saachi turned onto her side to face Michaela and edged close. I had to move from behind Saachi to see what they were planning.
Arousal stormed back at me when they kissed. It wasn't a chaste kiss. Oh no! They opened their mouths, tongues intertwining in a passionate kiss that drove me nuts, my cock pointing up and straining. Saachi caressed Michaela's breast. She slipped her knee over Michaela and suddenly I was presented with the sight of her hairless little pussy at her groin glistening from my saliva, her cleft once again tightly closed.
As they kissed, Michaela's finger appeared between Saachi's legs, her small finger rubbing Saachis' cleft. The stress of being aroused for the last half hour or so got to me. Selfish need bloomed. I wanted to fuck Saachi!
Shuffling up on my knees, I straddled her lower leg, pushing her other knee higher on Michaela. Gripping my shaft, I guided it to Saachi's pussy and rubbed the tip along her cleft; so soft and sexy. Saachi wiggled her ass in an invitation. Heated desire fueled me. Pressing, I forced the tip of my cock between her hairless lips, watched them bulge seductively, slowly separate, and hug my crown. Fuck!
With small strokes, I probed deeper, her dark labia spreading, stretching. The sight of a thick adult cock poised to penetrate her immature pussy was so goddamned erotic! And then, holding her hip, gripping my shaft, I pressed in. Resistance. Slow yielding. A tight, tight ring slipped over my crown and gripped my shaft below the flared ridge. I was in. Reversing, the edge of my head eased out of her. I stroked in again, her slit almost obscenely stretched, and penetrated her another glorious, tight inch. Pulling back, I pressed in and my cock penetrated into her, burrowing deep, deeper, until I was as deep as I could go in this position. My erection swelled alarmingly. Jesus she was tight!
With the two still kissing passionately, with Saachi still caressing Michaela's breast, and with Michaela's finger exploring where I penetrated Saachi, I started fucking her, long withdrawals, my glistening shaft emerging, slow thrusts, sinking into her snug velvet vagina, withdrawing, thrusting, fucking her slowly. My cock strained, so damned hard, the sight of me penetrating her small pussy so friggin' erotic. Gradually, I fucked her faster, thrusting into her slippery vagina, hugged by liquid velvet. I fucked her faster, harder, her body moving with each glorious thrust, my heart racing, eyes locked on where we were joined. My erection swelled. I fucked Saachi faster, pleasure washing through me, and slowly my orgasm neared; balls tightening, pressure building, stomach tightening.
Leaning over her, supported by straight arms, I fucked Sacchi with firm thrusts, slapping against her buttock, straining, and heaven arrived.
"Dear God!" I gasped. My cock swelled. A pulse hit. Heaven arrived with another aching, hard explosion, semen erupting deep inside her. Withdrawing, I thrust again and exploded, cum jetting out, erection aching, the sweet pleasure of release wracking me. Riding ecstasy, I thrust and spurted, thrust and spurted into her, each bringing pure bliss. I emptied myself, fucking her, cumming, cumming until, with a final gut-wrenching heave, my orgasm passed, spurts weakened and stopped. Slowly, I lowered myself to the bed, partially on Saachi's back, my heart still thumping. Sweet lassitude arrived.
In cargo shorts, with my bare feet up on the balustrade, I sat on the bench looking out over the back garden. Summer heat, even in the shade, was oppressive. Perspiration trickled down my temples. I sipped a cold Rolling Rock beer and reviewed plans for tomorrow; August 31st - Saachi's thirteenth birthday. It was going to be busy. Eighteen girls and boys were due at five o'clock for a party and barbecue and loud music and whatever else they wanted to do.
It was significant, too. Michaela had told me how Saachi had avoided boys before, and was now comfortable around them. I knew it. I'd seen it. Since becoming her guardian, Saachi had recovered from her loss and flourished. Sex, while an important part of it, wasn't the main reason. Saachi found love and affection and safety in our home. No one judged her. No one pressured her. She was accepted for who she was and she was a very rare gem.
The sound of the two laughing filtered out from the kitchen accompanied by music turned too high. On the slight breeze, the scent of spices reached me. Michaela was learning how to cook. Saachi was starting with butter chicken.
The sound of them having fun made me smile. Two completely different girls had found an amazing friendship. Saachi was a walking disaster. She sowed disorder wherever she went. It wasn't deliberate. She was forgetful, her remarkable mind preoccupied with something else. Michaela complained at the beginning, letting disorder build until she couldn't take it anymore and then straightened up in a frenzy of energy. Eventually, an accommodation was negotiated; Saachi could make a mess of her bedroom, but common areas had to be restored before bed. However, small things were left here and there; her backpack by the front door, her shoes left where they were kicked off.
Until the accommodation was made, I'd suffered from the mess, my world in disarray, afraid to say anything. Saachi had noticed. Maybe that's why she changed. Either way, some mess was the new norm, and I was forced to adjust my compulsive neatness. Saachi had had an impact on me.
Our sex life had evolved as well. Oddly, they didn't sleep in my bed every night. Sometimes they both joined me. Sometimes only one would. And I never heard an argument about it. I hadn't probed. Why would I? It was obvious what was happening. When both were feeling frisky and having fun they'd both join me. When one or the other wanted to be loved, softly, intimately, she'd be alone in my bed. Jealousy over sex never reared its ugly head. Clothes? Yup. Makeup? Yup. But never sex.
I was, I decided, extremely lucky and abnormally happy. The future was of no concern. Whatever happened, as long as Michaela and Saachi were with me, would suit me just fine.
"Hey, Dad! Come check it out!" Michaela yelled from inside.
Smiling, I got up. That was one change with my daughter. Since Saachi's arrival, Michaela now called me Dad unless she was pissed at me, in which case I reverted to Braaadely. I suspected her use of "Dad" was her subtle way of maintaining her primary position with me. I rather liked it. Inevitably it made me feel mushy.
Entering the kitchen, I held my tongue and shuddered. It was a disaster! Ingredients, pots, pans, spilled spices, and utensils littered every surface. Exotic spices scented the air. I could distinguish garam masala and curry and . . . cumin?
"Look," Michaela instructed. "I diced onions and garlic! And check it out. I cubed the chicken! I'm a chef!"
It was a delightful sight to see two willow-slender young girls dressed in tight terry shorts and loose T-shirts, Saachi barefoot and Michaela in sandals, both sweating from the heat of the stove, disheveled and cute.
"Bravo," I told Michaela, giving her a kiss on her head.
She smiled knowingly. "Don't worry. We'll clean it up."
I said a silent, "Thank God."
"It took Michaela forever to dice," Saachi informed me, "and none of the onions are diced the same size."
I kissed her head and leaned over the stove. "What's cooking?"
"Onions and garlic and all the spices. Michaela's going to brown the chicken pieces, if she can figure out how."
I inhaled the aroma. My stomach growled. "How long till it's ready?"
Saachi jumped with a screech when I grabbed her sweet buttock and gave it an appreciative squeeze. She swatted my hand.
Laughing, I opened the old fridge. Cool air washed over me. "Can I get you girls anything to drink?" I asked, taking a bottle of Red Stripe beer out. I liked the chubby bottle.
"Coke. With ice," Michaela said.
"Me too, please."
With them served, I returned to the peace of the veranda and the organized beauty of the garden and mentally reviewed the birthday gifts I'd bought for Saachi.
SAACHI WAS EXHAUSTED. THE birthday party was fun, but cleaning up after was a royal pain. She put the last of paper cups in a garbage bag and studied the living room. Clean again.
"Don't forget your sneakers," Michaela mentioned, carrying pop cans to the recycle bin.
"I know. No need to remind me."
Michaela dropped the soda cans into the recycle bin and turned. "You're down. How come?"
Michaela studied her. "No you're not. What's up?"
Saachi shrugged. She didn't really want to talk about it. Her birthday party had reminded her of her family, of how much she'd lost. Despite having Michaela and Brad in her life, despite loving the birthday gifts, inside she didn't feel well. It was a deep melancholy, a constant deep river of sadness that flowed every day, always present even when she was laughing and having fun.
Michaela, as if she knew, came over and hugged her. "Go to Dad. Talk to him."
"I think I want to be alone tonight."
Michaela looked into her eyes. "Don't. Trust me, Saachi. Go to Dad."
With the cleanup done, Saachi headed upstairs, brushed her teeth, and changed in her bedroom. She looked at the colorful clothes spread on the bed, purchased this morning with gift certificates from Brad. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the intricate gold earrings, fingering them. They were beautiful.
What she really wanted to do was crawl into bed, curl up, and cry a bit. Getting up, she collected the new outfits and moved them to the chair.
Brad appeared in her doorway wearing only boxers. She studied his lean body, then his face. Clear, sharp blue eyes looked at her. She felt as though they were boring inside her head. Could he read her mind?
Without a word, he extended his hand and waited. Reluctantly, she took it. He led her to his bedroom, drew her into bed, pulled her into his comforting arms, and said, "It'll get better in time. I promise you."
She snuggled closer to him, his distinct smell, pure guy, familiar, comforting.
"Do you think Michaela's happy?" he asked.
She nodded against him. Michaela was. Unquestionably. Did she still feel the loss of her mother?
As if reading her mind, Brad continued, "It never goes away. It never should. It's a way of keeping your family alive. Don't fight it. Embrace it."
Tears welled. She cried silently, held in a comforting embrace.
Saachi woke up slowly. Brad was spooning her, his arm draped over her, heavy, comforting. Breaking dawn. Birds chirping. Window open. His scent hit her; masculine, strong, sexy. She felt better, darkness back in the underneath river.
For minutes, she enjoyed being held and watched sunlight slowly intensify through the window. Then, she experienced something new; Brad waking up. It started with a change in his breathing. Then his arm curled to hug her. She heard him inhale the smell of her hair and smiled when he murmured, "Mmmm."
At that moment, Saachi had a revelation. She loved him. He cared. He comforted. He made no demands on her and didn't judge her. He even seemed to appreciate her sense of fashion, always with a compliment.
Still relaxed and sleepy, she slowly wiggled her butt against him, rewarded with another quiet, "Mmmm."
A tickle of excitement stirred her blood. Against her bum, she felt his erection slowly form and smiled to herself. She loved the power she had to arouse him, knowing she was safe, that she could stop at any time and he wouldn't be angry or upset.
His hug tightened even more, his hand on her chest, and she felt his thumb gently caress her nipple. It perked up, her areola crinkling. The tickle of horniness built.
Without a word, she took his hand, guided it down and under her rucked up nightshirt. His warm hand slipped up her body, settling on her chest. She wished she had real breasts like Michaela, but Brad didn't seem to care. He loved her nipples. His thumb teased one sending little shivers of pleasure through her. Why were her nipples so sensitive?
Against her bum, his erection nestled between her buttocks, thick, hard, so exciting. She gave it a squeeze. For a few moments, it was quiet; yet, to her, they were having a conversation, the language small body movements, breathing, touching. She loved it.
The tickle of arousal spread, her pussy first tingling, feeling fuller, warm, a pleasant ache emerging. It intensified as she thought about Brad being inside her, the joy of being stretched, full of him.
Careful not to lose the lazy feeling, she pulled her nightshirt up and off, then turned to face him. Her breath caught at the look in his sexy blue eyes, his short dark hair unruly. Her heart thumped, warmth flooding her. Brad's eyes were full of adoration and kindness with a hint of amusement; intense and breathtaking. A slow smile formed, a twinkle emerging in his eyes.
He kissed her, brushing his lips on hers, then settling, gentle pressure, his scent filling her nose. In her head she moaned. Reaching down, she carefully explored the shape of his erection over his boxers. It wasn't good enough. She needed to touch him. Fishing inside, she wrapped her fingers around him, his shaft so thick, so soft to the touch, so hard. Pride filled her.
The kiss intensified, tongues touching, and she opened her mouth to him. Heat flushed through her, the kiss passionate. She needed more. She pushed the waist of his boxers down. He eased back and pushed them off. She shoved her panties off and rolled back into him, his erection so large against her, skin against skin.
Brad smiled, then kissed her again, his hand running down the sweep of her spine, settling on her butt, caressing. In her head, she moaned. Her skin was sensitive. She could feel her nipples, taut. Below, her pussy throbbed and she felt herself grow moist, desire blossoming.
Ending the kiss, she rolled onto her back, pulling Brad. He rose, moving over her, so large. A brief tremor of fear hit her when it reminded her of her uncle. Then she saw his eyes. She saw Brad. She saw care and adoration, his blue eyes smiling.
Reaching up, she urged him down and sighed when his weight settled on her. He was heavy, large, his body toned, not flabby like her uncle. His kiss started soft; small pecks, lips brushing, a sexy suck of her lower lip. His eyes twinkled. She smiled, relaxed, and reached between them, holding his erection, and guided it, her knees rising to cradle his hips. Excitement rushed through her.
The tip of his erection brushed her slit sending shivers of pleasure through her. It teased her clit. He kissed her again, passionate, hot. She closed her eyes and guided his erection, moving it side to side to nestle into her slit, positioning him, her body now almost crying out with need.
She pushed her pussy up at him and gasped, ending the kiss. He stretched her slowly, so slowly, and as a twinge of pain hit, he penetrated her, pressure easing, his tip locked inside her.
Brad stared into her eyes and moved very carefully, slightly pulling out, easing in, a shiver of pleasure hitting her. Reaching around him, hugging him, she pulled his full weight down, her body pressed to the bed, his weight feeling so good.
His face nestled into her neck. He whispered, "Saachi," so lovingly it made her heart trip. And slowly, almost agonizingly, he moved, his erection oozing out of her, oozing in, deeper, stretching her, easing back, slipping in, deeper, deeper, filling her. Hugging him, she could feel his body shaking with the strain of penetrating her slowly. It pleased her so much.
She encouraged him, pressing her pussy up at him, curling her hips back, pressing up, taking him deeper and deeper until, with a silent sigh, she had all of him, her pussy so full, stretched, so beautiful.
They paused. She thrilled at feeling his erection swell inside her and clenched her pussy.
"God, Saachi," he whispered.
Smiling to herself, she relaxed and enjoyed every movement; his long, slow withdrawal, empty, his very slow stroke, filling her. Her heart beating faster. She held him tightly - Brad loving her.
Time passed slowly, pleasure warming her, her body responding, pussy slippery, tingles radiating up. She lost herself in the pure joy of sex, of giving herself to him, the scent of him strong.
In the quiet of the morning, she experienced something completely different. It started with Brad's body tensing, his thrusts agonizingly slow, so erotic. She noticed the change in his breathing, slightly faster, his breath warm against her neck. She felt his arm tighten, his other hand on her buttock urging her up to meet his strokes, her pussy so full, empty, so full. Excited, she undulated underneath him, fucking him, taking him deep.
His groan of pleasure was almost silent. His body tensed, fucking her slowly, and suddenly, his erection was pulsing rapidly, swelling, and she knew he was cumming inside her, thrusting slowly, pulsing, cumming, his body straining, stroking into her deep, deep, pausing, then relaxing, his body growing heavier and coming to rest.
Saachi hugged him. She loved it. She loved the intimacy. She loved being able to bring him such pleasure. And she loved feeling him cum, experiencing his orgasm, his erection pulsing. Somehow, not climaxing intensified the experience. In her mind, she told him, "I love you." She did, totally, completely.
I STUDIED THE SCHOOL records the principal, Mr. Saunders, handed to me. School had started to mixed reactions. Michaela was excited. Saachi didn't seem to care one way or the other, only excited about playing soccer again.
My presence in the administration office was a legal requirement; proving I was Saachi's guardian. Even though everyone knew it, formality required me to present the court documents.
Mr. Saunders had invited me into his office, passing me Saachi's academic records without comment.
I knew she was intelligent and her grades proved it; straight A's.
"Mr. Wheldon, I had a chat with Saachi. As you can see, she excels academically. I suggested she consider skipping ahead a grade. She flat out refused. My concern is she's not being challenged academically and our experience is children of her ability can change quite dramatically when they aren't. Far too often, when not, they go the other way, their grades suddenly declining. They seek stimulation outside the school and that leads to disruptive behavior."
"Did you ask her why she didn't want to advance a grade?"
"I did. She wouldn't explain. I thought you should be aware of the situation."
I stood and placed Saachi's academic records down. "Thanks." Reaching across his desk, I shook his hand. "I'll have a chat with her."
With a grin, I asked, "How's my daughter behaving? Has she KO'd anyone?
He laughed. "No. Not yet. Soccer practice has just started."
I liked him. He cared for the kids, was fair and tough and easygoing.
That evening, I tried to find some privacy to chat with Saachi, inviting her out onto the veranda, patting the bench next to me.
She sat, quiet, her exotic eyes taking in everything. Michaela emerged, parking half her butt on the balustrade.
"Can you give us a minute or two?" I asked Michaela.
"I want to talk to Saachi."
"About what?" my obstinate daughter asked.
Before she could move, Saachi said, "Stay. I don't mind you hearing anything."
Saachi turned to face me. "What about school?"
I explained about Mr. Saunders conversation with me, her grades, his suggestion she advance a grade.
Michaela, hearing it, interrupted, "Holy Hannah! For real? Like, straight A's?"
"Apparently you told him you didn't want to advance a grade. Care to tell me why?"
Saachi waited a beat. She shrugged. "I want to stay in the same grade as Michaela."
Michaela's mouth dropped open. "Are you crazy?" she asked. "Why?"
Saachi, looking away, said, "You're my best friend. I want to be together."
Michaela spoke just as I was about to. "You're nuts! We spend every day together here! Are you really that smart?"
"She is," I assured her.
"What's it like being so smart?" Michaela asked. "Do you have, like, a photographic memory?"
Saachi didn't respond. It was my turn to gape at her in astonishment. "Do you?"
She didn't respond, looking away at the garden.
With a finger, I turned her face back to me. "Do you?" I asked softly.
She shook her head. "I don't think so. I just remember everything. I never forget."
Michaela cut in. "Like what? Can you remember conversations?"
"Every one? Word for word?"
Saachi spoke: "Ginny said, "What's it like living with a hunk like that? Look at that body!
"Stop it, Ginny! He's my dad!
"Have you seen him naked? I've seen my dad naked and, let me tell you, once was enough! But, if Dad looked like that . . . "
Michaela's mouth dropped open again. She blushed. "Holy cow!"
My reaction was completely different. What struck me was, what would it be like to remember every cutting remark, every slight, every bad minute of your life? How could anyone live with it and remain sane?
I put my arm over her shoulder. "It must be tough."
Michaela disagreed until I explained it. A discussion ensued. Eventually, I brought the conversation back to school. My daughter, bless her heart, and I, presented a united front: Saachi must take advantage of her intellect.
Later, as I prepared dinner, Michaela and Saachi huddled in the living room, whispering together.
That night, Michaela joined me in bed, alone. She wasn't frisky. She didn't initiate intimacy. She wanted to be hugged. We kissed lightly. She settled, her head in the crook of my shoulder.
"Saachi's in love with you," she said. "We've decided you'll marry her."
"I'm serious, Braaadely!"
"Riiight!" I drawled.
My daughter rose up on an elbow. Her brow furrowed in annoyance. Her icy blue eyes stared. "I'm NOT kidding!"
I pulled her down. "I'm not giving you up. No way."
She muttered, "You can't, even if you tried."
Easing the throttles back, I piloted the 77' trawler towards the dock. Heat beat down from a clear blue sky. The trawler slowed as I approached the Christiansted Harbor Marina. With the bow nearing the mooring, I reversed, swinging the stern. The boat kissed the pier.
Engines off, I moved onto the deck, quickly attaching mooring ropes. Even in shorts, a T-shirt, and barefoot, I was hot. I scanned the marina. No sight of her.
The Bering Expedition 77 long-range trawler hardly moved from slight swells, the hull rubbing against cut-rubber tires on the pier with quiet squeaks.
Excitement raised my pulse. So many years and she still affected me.
A taxi cab pulled up. Michaela emerged, spotted me, smiled broadly and waved. My heart did a little flip. Twelve years and she'd hardly changed. Her dark hair was a little shorter and fluffed in the breeze. Subtle curves did nothing to alter her willow body, toned from her ongoing love of soccer. She'd matured into a beautiful young lady.
"Dad!" she yelled, pulling a suitcase down the pier.
I met her halfway. She came into my arms, hugging me tightly. Her scent, so familiar, calmed me. My daughter's head nestled under my chin. Still petite, she'd topped out at five-two, the same as her mother.
I hugged her forever and it wasn't enough. Six months since last seeing her was far too long.
She eased back, smiling. "I missed you."
"Where's Saachi?" she asked, looking behind me.
I grabbed her suitcase and followed her as she walked towards the trawler. "She's inside straightening up."
Michaela laughed. "Right! As if!"
On the rear deck, the sliding glass door opened, Saachi emerging.
Michaela let out a squeal of excitement, "Look at you! It's showing!" and immediately hugged Saachi tightly, chatting away.
The size difference between the two was stark now. Saachi had, as I'd predicted, grown into a five-ten, willow-slender woman. At twenty-two, she was a ringer for a modeling career; narrow hips, endless legs, sun-darkened olive skin that glowed, and long, long wavy raven hair. Her shorts showcased her legs. Her spaghetti strap tank top revealed her still-small bust.
Most amazing to me was her face. Through her teens, her face became sculpted, cheekbones high, her mouth becoming more lush and, as impossible as it seemed, her exotic dark eyes gained depth and character, so communicative they were capable of speaking paragraphs.
Saachi glowed with health, the kind of glow only bestowed through pregnancy. She was now four months along.
Michaela rubbed the slight swelling, clearly excited. I left them on the deck and took her suitcase to her stateroom.
Much had changed over the last ten years. Britain had tabled legislation requiring the Cayman Islands, along with the British Virgin Islands, to create a beneficial ownership registry to reveal who owns companies. It had forced me to make changes to my financial affairs. Major decisions had been made.
Saachi had skipped a grade in high school and headed off to the University of Georgia in Athens. Not surprising me in the least, she excelled and, with a heavy class load, graduated in three years specializing in Public Affairs.
Michaela, a new graduate as of last week, chose the University of Arkansas to stay close to home. It didn't work out for her. Her first year there, we moved.
I retired. To occupy myself, I moved to Anguilla, bought a fixer-upper on the beach, and purchased my lifelong dream: a Bering Expedition 77 long range trawler.
For two years I commuted to the States to visit both girls, learned how to pilot a large boat, how to maintain it, how to scuba dive, and slowly restored the house. I couldn't remember being happier.
Then, two years go, Saachi graduated, just twenty years old, and came to stay while, I assumed, she decided what she wanted to do for a career. Stupid me. The memory brought a smile.
Two months after her arrival, we'd been sitting on the yet-to-be completed rear veranda with a sweeping view of a pristine white beach, soft swells rolling in and slapping onto sand, when I asked about her plans.
Saachi, calm and serious, had responded, "I'm going to be your wife." Her deep, dark eyes had turned to me, full of mystical thoughts.
My breath caught. Marriage had never been discussed. "My . . .?"
"Why didn't you warn me of your intentions?" I asked while absorbing the startling information.
"We did," she calmly answered. "Michaela and I decided years ago, just after my thirteenth birthday. Michaela told you that night."
Had she? I couldn't remember. Given Saachi's memory, I had to believe her. Then I noticed how she was watching me, waiting, and I kicked myself.
Smiling, I asked, "My wife? Like, 'To honor and obey?'"
She laughed. "To honor, maybe."
Reaching for her hand, I urged her to move. She settled in my lap, her arm around my shoulders. "I'm old," I warned her.
She snorted a laugh. "You're thirty-six, fit and physically healthy. We can worry about your mental deterioration later."
I grinned and kissed her. "Well, Mrs. Wheldon, get busy and make me dinner!"
Our marriage had been on the beach, Michaela and the local priest the only guests. Her pregnancy was no surprise. Five months ago she informed me she wanted a family. I put up no resistance. A baby Saachi? How wonderful.
"Hey! Dad! Get up here and let's get moving!" Michaela yelled.
Smiling, I took a quick look around her stateroom to make sure it was pristine. It was. It was also beautifully appointed; high bed, underneath drawers, natural blond wood, cream walls, thick matching carpet - exceptionally elegant.
Saachi cast off. At the upper, covered helm, I edged the trawler away from the pier and piloted it out to open ocean. Sun reflected off calm waves, twinkling painfully brightly. Under my feet I could hardly feel the rumble of the twin Cummins. The smell of salty water calmed me.
The start of a two-month cruise was beginning with perfect weather. We'd putter along at our cruse speed of eight knots, lazy, idyllic.
Michaela joined me, passing me a Heineken beer.
I noticed the white- and yellow-gold ring with interlocking dolphins on her hand, the one I'd bought her so long ago that had never been removed. Interestingly, the ring wasn't on her middle finger of her right hand. It was now on her ring finger of her left hand. I wondered if there was significance to it.
She sipped a cocktail and put one arm around my waist, leaning her head against my bicep.
"I've missed this," she said. "On the water, every last piece of stress melts away."
"Um. Well . . . the stress of telling you I've met someone."
My gut clenched. A jab of jealousy immediately hit followed by a burst of anger. Who was this person daring to take my daughter away from me? Who was this person who'd rudely displaced me in her affections? I calmly asked, "Who?" belying the turmoil inside.
"He's tall, about your height, slender and handsome. He has a smile to die for and he's the kindest, most considerate guy I've ever known."
"Huh," I muttered, not impressed with her dreamy tone of voice.
Michaela sipped her drink. "We haven't been able to spend as much time together as I want 'cuz he doesn't live on campus." She paused. "He's a bit older than me. You don't mind, do you?"
I fucking did! "Nope. As long as you're happy."
"I am, Dad. Truly, I am."
Who was this shit? "When do I meet this guy?" I asked nicely.
"You already know him."
Michaela laughed brightly. "It's you, you doofus! Jeez, you should see your expression, Dad! What a hoot! Hairy eyeballs and all!"
"Not funny!" I couldn't restrain a grin, relief pouring through me.
"Hilarious!" my daughter responded, laughing harder.
"Wait until I tell my wife," I threatened.
"I heard it all," Saachi said from behind. She moved to my other side and slipped her arm around my waist, joining Michaela's.
The ocean spread endlessly ahead. Adventures awaited. Unquestionably, I was the luckiest man on earth!
Two hands dropped to my ass. As if coordinated, they both squeezed my butt cheeks. I laughed.