It’s difficult being a single parent.
Doubly so, as a man with a daughter though I suspect the same can be said of the opposite!
I can’t blame my wife for leaving even if I did at first. I was the one who wanted kids and yet was a workaholic. I’d ignored my wife’s career and failed to support her, at least in regard to emotional support and time. It was hardly a surprise; the signs had been there along with the actual arguments and eventually an ultimatum.
All of which I ignored.
So, my life changed with the help of a beautiful, three-year-old girl called Lucy.
At first, I was an emotional and physical wreck and I doubt ‘we’ would have survived if it hadn’t been for my older sister, Emma! She was there in the early days and when I had got myself together, she was there with advice and support through the early years and was to all intents and purposes, Lucy’s ‘mom’ and her own son and daughter were her siblings.
Emma was definitely a godsend when it came to my daughter’s sexual questions even though Lucy, around the age of sixteen, occasionally interrogated me just to watch me blush and stammer. Now just shy of eighteen my only problems are that she is almost a facsimile of her mother with a tendency to wear as little as possible whenever she can. The previous harsh, cold winter was a welcome reprieve forcing her to wrap up and it was only towards the end of January she noticed that the thermostat was often set on the cooler side although the primary reason was the fuel prices.
That lucy didn’t walk around the house in just panties and T-shirt, unlike the summer months, was a bonus!
I was sat on the couch barely watching some action flick on Netflix, my focus drifting every few minutes to my phone checking the time as the digital number crawled towards eleven pm. I was never one for an inviolable curfew and she still had an hour plus before she’d be late. I’d also refrained from checking her location on the phone’s App even though I normally did with her full knowledge. It was Valentine’s Day and the ‘centre’ of my life was out on a date. Emma had told me not to “helicopter” with the unspoken subtext that my daughter may be wanting to have sex with Paul, her boyfriend of three months.
I, of course, fell into the ‘factory settings’ of believing that he wasn’t good enough for my girl but the truth was she seemed to have picked well.
I was surprised when I heard the key in the door and checked my phone to see that it was still three minutes shy of eleven. I actually raised my eyebrows as this was an unheard-of event in Lucy’s life so far. An hour early? I thought to myself and feared that the romantic date hadn’t gone well. I suppressed my smile before she entered the room.
She strode into the room without a word, dropping her clutch bag into the single seat simultaneously kicking off her heels and dropping down onto the couch beside me and staring at the television. I suddenly wished my sister was here as I knew I had no idea what I should say and that, quite possibly, whatever I did say would ignite the nitroglycerine disguised beneath a mid-thigh, royal blue dress beside me.
It was at least five minutes before Lucy pulled her legs onto the couch beneath her and twisted to look at me. I actually gulped as I felt her gaze bore holes in the side of my head.
“It’s all your fault,” she stated as an incontrovertible fact.
I stared at someone, on screen, throwing a knife a quite considerable distance and killing a spare henchman instantly. “I’m… sorry,” I replied and muted the film before turning to my daughter.
“Well, it is!” she repeated.
I nodded, “Yes… I’m sorry.”
She punched me on the shoulder, hard enough for me to wince, Damn self-defense lessons I thought. “Why do you have to be like that?” she accused me and pouted.
“Err…” I responded with a lack of what to say.
Her eyes hardened, “Don’t you ‘err’ me!”
I opened my mouth and stopped myself from repeating my last comment. I took a moment and asked softly, “I am like what, exactly?”
“All gentlemanly and what-not!” she declared
“Gentlemanly and what-not?” I queried.
“You know…” another, at least a little softer, punch landed on my shoulder, “All… opening doors and sliding seats in behind me…” she answered and her head dropped to look down between us.
I stared at the top of my daughter’s head fully aware that her dress had ridden back along her thighs beyond her hold-up stockings, exposing far more flesh than I wanted to see. That I could cope with seeing!
“I… er- ‘m not sure I fully understand,” I answered truthfully.
“Oh my god, Daddy!” she answered in frustration and raised her startling blue eyes, which were perfect facsimiles of her mothers’, to mine. “YOU are a gentleman and if someone doesn’t do as you do’ THEY are not!”
The light finally dawned. “And Paul didn’t slide the seat in behind you?”
“NO!” Lucy almost shouted, “and I was gonna-“ I watched as my daughter cut herself off from finishing her statement.
It was at that moment I figured ‘turn-about’ was fair game.
It seemed like a ‘bit of fun’ at the time but in hindsight, it was a very ill-conceived decision.
“You were going to… what?” I asked feigning naivety.
A rabbit in the headlights appeared before me! “I… err…” she stammered.
“Don’t you ‘err’ me, young lady!” I shot back.
Lucy squirmed and hung her head as her cheeks started to blush. My own gaze also dropped passing over her heaving chest and down to her stocking-clad thighs. Her dress, very similar to the style my ex had worn had fallen further back and a lacy pair of blue panties were easily visible between her legs.
Suddenly I felt my own cheeks warm as I stared transfixed at what my daughter had probably been meaning to give her boyfriend tonight, well ex-boyfriend now. In my head, I wondered if she had been intent on going ‘all the way’ and the unbidden image of her lying back in just her underwear waiting, wanting to be fucked appeared.
The idea shocked me and broke my paralysis and I hastily stood up and turned to face the fireplace acutely aware that the crotch of my jeans was suddenly tighter. You fucking pervert! I cursed myself inwardly.
Sometimes the universe conspires against you as Lucy finally replied, “Something like that, I hoped.”
“Err…” I answered confused and turned slightly to see her staring and pointing at the muted television.
My eyes followed her gaze and saw the hero, possibly the baddy, lying between the thighs of a naked, thrashing, nubile young woman eating her out. “Oh,” I simply commented. Both of us stared at the simulated sex on the screen watching as the hero/baddy raised himself up giving the viewer a typical ‘Hollywood’ shot of his taut, muscular rear as he slid up between her legs. I glanced at my daughter sitting on the couch, breathing heavily and the remote control lying beside her knees.
“Maybe we should...” I began.
Lucy pulled her eyes away from the screen and I watched her tongue briefly wet her lips, “Yes… I guess,” she agreed and looked about for the remote. She picked it up and pressed it as she nibbled her bottom lip.
“Oh, fuck yes!” sounded loudly from the screen shocking me as I locked eyes with my daughter. She grinned watching my embarrassment and finally turned off the television.
“Well, I err… think it’s time for bed,” I blustered and headed for the stairs.
Just as I was about to leave the room Lucy answered, “Yes… Daddy.”
I paused for a second. It had been years since she had called me ‘Daddy.’ Her usual was ‘Dad’ or sometimes ‘Martin’ if she had the desire to be seen as an adult. “Daddy,’ when she was younger, was always whenever she had to have the ‘must-have’; and as often as not I eventually conceded.
I literally gulped before I headed up the stairs not daring to look back at my daughter as the thought that Lucy had deliberately interpreted my last statement as an invitation.
I shut my bedroom door behind me and finally breathed as I leaned back against it. “You fucking eejit, Martin!” I declared to the room.
My heart pounded in my chest as I heard Lucy ascending the stairs, a cold shiver ran down my spine as I listened to her pass my door and then the click and whir of the bathroom light and fan. I breathed again looking down at the sizable lump of my twisted cock trapped within my jeans. “Judas,” I whispered and finally moved from the door.
I was trembling as I pulled off my shirt and socks before undoing my jeans. The revelation that my boxers had a large damp stain atop my glans came as no surprise and there was relief as well as guilt as I finally dropped my underwear. I stood there, looking down at my traitorous organ, a long string of pre-cum hanging from the tip, and was fully aware that if was possible I had never been so hard in my life.
“Wrong,” I declared to my ‘little brain’ and stepped towards the en-suite. I froze and looked to my bedroom door as I heard the door open in the corridor and once again listened as my daughter passed my room towards her own. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or not but I would swear that the sound of her bedroom door closing was significantly later than normal.
“No,” I breathed as my gaze lowered to the keyhole and knew that I was perfectly framed within its view. Again, my mind imagined the disturbing scenario of my daughter kneeling outside watching me. I clenched my fists, denying them the ability to stroke my ‘blue-steel’ shaft, and finally made it to the bathroom. The fan whirred above my head as the light flickered on and I stepped into the shower and turned the tap on full.
