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Okay, I’m taking the pledge. I’m joining the MeToo movement. Who wants to be left behind?
So, don’t expect a report from Caligula’s palace. This is about the bizarre summer when I was graduated from the Academy and came home.
I’ve written that I suspected why I was shipped to the Academy-a uniformed, co-ed boarding school in Hanging Snot Woods, CT. Stop leering; that means ‘Connecticut’. Actually, I did tease some cock, there. Read, “I See Brucey Knickerbocker’s Dick.”
I figured that Mom deposited me there for safe-keeping when she remarried. My stepdad, Frank, seemed to have a connoisseur’s eye for my tall, leggy, breast-free body; beautiful pale skin; and cute face with smoldering brown eyes and short jet-black pixie hair. The Gamin look. I actually made some money posing for teen magazines.
But nothing happened with Frank when I came home to the Upper West Side Manhattan on holidays and vacations. Except trying to find sex. I wrote about buying my first vibrator at the Pink Pussy Kat Boutique in the West Village and falling right into a trap set by a sexy little future trafficker at the Academy.
Coming home, with slightly bigger breasts (let’s call them what they are ‘titties’) each summer, Frank was fine. He loved to stare at me, but he is well-built and handsome, only mid-forties, then, and he forced me to take money every time I walked out the door. Great dad!
Anyway, I came home early June, educated and with my social graces polished by the school, and moved into my old bedroom in the sort of gigantic rent-controlled apartment that the city’s aristocracy occupies for zilch rent. That way, they can afford a house in country and everyone knows the city is protecting the poor, who have long ago left for somewhere else or live in the streets.
Ellen, are you ever, ever going to get to the story?
So same week I arrive back, my Mom is off on a business trip. I come home from running in Central Park with beads of sweat trickling down between boobs under the sweat suit. A wave at Frank, into the bathroom, firing clothes onto the floor, and into the shower. God, what a great feeling!
Our shower an ample free-standing, glass-enclosed display case, completely round. Half-round sliding doors. The kind the poor use. I am in the Heaven of Falling Waters, my eyes shut, one hand working up suds in my natural, jet-black, unshaved pooch.
I might have heard something, but you don’t notice casino oyna when you don’t expect something. So, I’m stretched back, facing up to the blasting shower, taking a beating on my titties, which by now are nicely conical jobs, separated and graceful upturned, with oddly large and too dark nipples, now a little stiff.
And I hear Frank say, “Don’t jump, Ellen. It’s just me.”
Oh, just Dad. Whew, I thought it was some kind of pervert! What a relief!
I jump so abruptly that I slam against the back of the shower, almost slip on the wet glass and fall on my ass. In best classic pose, one arm flies across my nipples and one hand covers my pussy. My eyes fly open, immediately stinging with soap. And I say, as I recall, “Whaa da fugg fuh crise sake gedda fugg otta heah…”
Not sure if that’s an exact quote. My heart is racing. I am not an especially modest girl. Wasn’t then. Actually, kind of an exhibitionist. I liked modeling, though dressed, of course-in skimpy black $3,000 sheathes…
“No, listen, I just want to talk with you, okay?”
I am blinking away the suds, splashing water in my stinging eyes; through tears I see Frank has sat down on the toilet and is looking at me.
You have to talk with me now, this second? Is there a civil defense warning on TV that North Korean missiles are coming over the horizon? We have 15 minutes before we go Hiroshima? I did not say that.
Have I won the lottery super prize for $350 million? Probably not; the odds are much worse if you never buy a ticket. Anyway, even that could wait till I came out of the bathroom. I did not say that, either.
I am a very resourceful lady. I am always being drawn into something that someone should have warned me not to do. I am a risk freak. I already was processing what was happening. I won’t say for one second that I was getting slightly turned on; that would be inappropriate.
“This couldn’t wait, Dad? Did I leave the bathroom door unlocked? What the fuck are you doing?”
“Just talking. You’re home for the summer. You need plans, don’t you?”
Oh, jeez! Of course! Maybe you could come in while I’m shitting to discuss college. Oh, but where would you sit? On my lap? I did not say that.
I did two things. I said, “This is totally ridiculous and totally inappropriate, Dad.” And I reached for the shampoo to do my hair.
And I added: “Is this a plot to do away with Mom? That’s why we have to huddle canlı casino in the bathroom to discuss it? She’s out of town, you know.”
He laughed. “Hey, I’m not your real father, though. I’m just a guy.”
I was odd. I was imagining what he was seeing through the slightly misty, clear glass. Long lean legs, wet triangular mop, nicely firm midriff, shiny wet uplifted breasts with glistening burnt-sienna nips, blinking brown eyes under a helmet of foaming soap…
“I just want to know if you’re getting a job this summer? Do you want to?”
Fucking surreal. “Not especially, know that I gotta.”
“What would you rather do?”
“I don’t know. Work out, read a lot, maybe starting to write a novel. Write poetry. Luxury I can’t afford, I know.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, see? I think you were very brave and accepting to head off to the Academy freshman year, so your Mom and I could have some privacy.”
Oh, not a problem! Glad to it, pops. I know how you value your privacy. I did not say that.
Both hands up soaping my hair vigorously, my firm titties shaking a little with the action. I stepped closer to the side of the shower to hear him better. Actually, I think my nipples pressed flat against the glass. Nice view, for Frank.
“It was a good experience,” I muttered. “Cost a lot, though.”
“We were glad to do it. I want you to develop all your talent and achieve all your dreams.”
Got a little nightmare going, right here, Hon. Actually, I probably am dreaming, why didn’t I think of that? I’m going to wake up and have a good laugh.
“College should be good,” I said. Rising the hair, now. Melting icebergs of soap suds drifting down my body, rivulets of water channeling between my twin peaks. I added, “Not cheap—again.”
“We’re okay with that, Ellen. We think you’re an amazing talent just from your poems and stories. Not to mention those incredible term paper! I swear, you could revise them for the New Yorker.”
Oh, shit! He’s been smoking dope, too. Kind of liked to hear it, though. Getting used to the dream, now. Warm and wet, slightly tingling on the tips and in the crack, good feelings…a certain excitement. Must be like the womb just before you’re born. I was standing now with my nips pressed to the glass, listening.
“Where are we going with this?” I meant the stuff about the writing and work. The Dear Savior only knew where we were going kaçak casino with the sex.
“Just this. I don’t need you to work for college money, if you’re willing to make a plan and work really hard at your writing. And on your physical stuff, too, because I know you have a future as a model, if that’s part of the dream.”
I liked that, Not just buying the strip tease; throwing in some discipline. He knew my weakness. I like being disciplined; sometimes, I’m all over the place. Oh, discipline me, Dad!
“I can cover college, no problem. And if you regularly produce some writing, take this seriously, I’ll give you money to spend over the summer, too. That sound workable, to you?”
Oh, yeah! But hey, I notice you don’t have you dick out, yet, Dad? When do I starting sucking?
Think I was being a bit too cynical, there? Didn’t say it. I just think about twice as much as I end up saying.
“I don’t know about Mom…” Done showering. I open the door and step out in big woof of steamy air. I had to walk right past him to grab the towel.
Nope. He handed it to me. Big smile. “Your Mom will be fine, with it. She doesn’t especially have to know about the spending money, though. She’ll probably think you should earn your own. Which in a sense, you will do, by writing.”
I was getting off on this, just a little. I won’t have to report that part when I go #MeToo. I started by drying my hair, arms up, nice tilt to the taut titties. I was about two-and-a-half feet from Dad, facing him. He could have reached out and given my bush a playful tweak. He behaved himself.
Whoops. Not entirely. When I turned around, he pulled away the towel and dried my back and butt. I let him. If Mom knew about this, she would… I wondered. What would she do? Was Frank really taking this flying dive at my bod just hoping I’d shut up and take the money?
Quite a risk. Could get all your chest hair torn out that way. Or arrested. Well, maybe not arrested. I was 18, by then. Maybe that’s why Dad waited till that summer. Sure, it was.
He was rubbing the towel over my not-so-big, super-firm butt cheeks and tending to the crack. I wondered if he would do between my legs. Will you have the pussy done, this time, ma’am?
He was standing up, by now. I turned around, smoldering brown eyes wide and bright, blinking.
“Yeah! That’s all great, Dad!”
I gave him a full-body-contact hug and a long smooch on the cheek. He reached around me and used by twin cushions to pull me against him.
“Going to be a great summer!” he said, one finger casually resting along my great divide.
Wonderful. And it kept getting weirder.
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