Sometimes I'm sitting on the couch in the evening, watching the game, and she comes home after work and pounces on my lap. I look at her, her eyes wide and her skin glowing form excitement because she's just hit on another great idea for the children's storybook she's one of the writers for.
She looks like a little girl, and I hold her like she's my own.
I wait for midnight on her birthday to send her a birthday text message, like all dads do to their little girls. She bought me a present for Fathers Day last year, when it came around. She told me she'd just seen it in a display when she went shopping with the girls in town and thought it'd look good on my wrist. It was the first time she'd done that, and she never did it since.
She used to be a messed up little hooker whore on the streets. The first time I'd seen her was in the corner of an alley, wearing a tight red dress and high heels. I'd come there looking for reception, to tell a colleague to pass me the minutes of the meeting we'd just had. I didn't notice her until she walked up to me, like a ghost.
I was stressed and everything seemed hopeless at that point, so I let her untie my tie and take my shirt off. We made out for a while, and she told me her price. Ten dollars. She was just playing cheap. A girl as young as her usually went higher than that.
When I walk with my sandals on and my pants rolled up because it's hot, she looks at me, laughing, because she thinks that I look like an old man. She doesn't have pictures of her parents or granddad, but she sees men with sandals on and their pants rolled up in magazines, and tell me that she imagines them like that.
Sometimes I walk into our bedroom to find the clothes spilling out from the wardrobe. She tries on different outfits, telling me to close my eyes as she undresses herself. I pretend to but I don't. She has tons of clothes. I give her money to buy whatever she wants and so she buys everything.
I love the way she moves. When she gets off my lap and turns, and her face disappears, my eyes are drawn to her hips and figure. She's tiny, even for a girl. I tower over her. It makes her seem so small and fragile, which she is. As she walks away, the distance between her and me becomes unbearable to me and I stand up to walk to her.
I hug her from behind and she leans into me. She's so light.
"What do you want to do today?" I ask.
"You," she replies, a smile on her face as she pours milk into the glass.
"Want some?" she asks. I shake my head, kissing her hair and then moving down to her neck and collarbone. She turns her head slightly to look at me and I put one hand around her neck. She puts down the glass of milk and turns her body to face me. I grab her behind the thighs and hoist her up onto the kitchen counter to kiss her on her lips. I taste fresh milk on her breath as she opens her mouth for me and I lick what remains of it on and around her lips.
"I can't decide what I want to do to you today," I say. I fumble with the button on her jeans. She looks down at my hand as I try to pop it open. She doesn't move to help me.
"Stop," she says.
"Why?" I ask.
"It's weird," she replies, still looking away. I bring my hand to her chin and try to push her eyes up to meet mine but she shoves my hand away, getting off the kitchen counter. I'm left there like a fool as she goes back to her shopping, rummaging through the bags.
"Why is it weird?" I ask. She doesn't answer. She merely picks up a few and goes into our bedroom. I hear her throwing them onto our mattress and I rush to the door, holding it open before she can slam it shut. I go in, my temper rising. She gives up trying to push me away and sits down on the bed, her hands clasped in front of her. I walk to her, bringing my crotch closer to her face and begin undoing the buckle on my jeans. She turns away from me.
I unbutton and unzip my jeans. I see a tear sliding out of the corner of one eye. I push back the calming words that form a lump in my throat and thrust my cock into her mouth. She holds it in for a while and then tries to move away. I hold her head, keeping her from moving and force myself down her throat. She coughs, choking and spit drips down her mouth. I can feel her teeth sinking into my dick as she tries to shut her mouth and I draw it out, covered in spit. It drips onto the floor, where there a pool of it has already formed. Saliva runs down her chin and front, staining her clothes. I shove my cock, now fully flaccid, back into my boxers and do up my jeans and belt again.
I sit down next to her on the bed, using a towel I grab from the rack to clean her up. I put an arm around her and bring her face to my chest. I want to say sorry for what just happened, but I'm not sure what did. She doesn't understand apologies any more because people have apologized to her and hurt her again. She snuggles into my warm body and lets me take off her shirt to clean her up further.
"I need a shower," she whispers. I nod. She straightens up and I get off the bed. She follows me to the bathroom where she strips and I run the hot water into the tub. I get a bubble bath ready and go off to find some bath salts. They were under the kitchen sink. I come back to find her already in the tub, playing with the bubbles on the surface of the water. I smile slightly as how adorable she looks. She smiles at me, her way of telling that she'd rather forget what just happened. I put the bath salts in the tub, mixing them with the hot water.
I can't resist. I sink my arm in deeper to slide my hand between her legs. She's slippery and wet, mainly from the water and soap she's in; although I can feel something else that makes me hard. I rub her clit, watching her face as she sighs, tilting her head back. I shift forward to kiss her on the lips. She opens her eyes and looks into mine.
"I feel something," she tells me.
"So do I," I say.
It's unholy and it feels so wrong, but I push one finger in and she loves it. Soon she's reaching for the buttons on my shirt and pushing it off my shoulders. I remove my hand, getting up to take my jeans off so I can crawl into the tub with her. The water overflows slightly as I get in and I hear it splashing on the floor as I set my cock in between her lips. I slide it downwards and into her. She grabs the edge of the tub as I enter her, gasping.
I said before, she's tiny. She's been a hooker whore for years and she's still so tight. We've gone seven days without doing this and I've missed it. I thrust in and out, my arms on either side of her, holding her close. She grabs a handful of my hair, pulling on it as she comes. I go faster even after her orgasm is over and she writhes beneath me from the sensitivity. I don't stop. She's mine.
I come seconds later inside her. We don't have time to worry about the consequences. I lean my head against her shoulder, breathing deeply. My hair is wet from water, soap and sweat. Her neck and shoulders are pink. I plant a kiss on her shoulder, moving down her collarbone until I'm at the spot on her where her body meets the water. There I sink my face into the water, holding my breath.
I get to as long as I can take until she lifts me up, looking into my eyes. She kisses me on the lips, holding me close like my mother used to do. I stay there, not wanting to be in control any more. My eyes are heavy and I begin to lose myself. The last thing I remember before I fall asleep in the water is her kissing my cheek, telling me she loves me. She also tells me how much she loved what we'd just done. It's not weird any more. It's just what we do.
It's also who we are.