Don't Tell Your Father

Paul and my father went way back. They were close friends since their college days 20 years before. They stuck together through Paul's deteriorating marriage, my mother's death in childbirth, my father's alcoholism, etc. Paul was always a stable fixture in my life, and often times asked me to call him uncle.

That all changed when I hit puberty.

Suddenly I realized how appealing Paul was as a person rather than just my dad's friend. He was tall and firm with short smoky brown hair and eyes that glittered like liquid gold. Though he spoke little, what he did say was important and insightful. He liked to watch rather than participate, listen rather than speak, and read rather than play poker and drink like my father.

He worked as a District Attorney, and over the years the stress of his copious trials made him even more distant and somber. Lines creased his forehead, spread on the corners of his eyes, and sprouted from the corner of his soft lips. He was all man; he enjoyed working on home improvements and spending time outdoors. His work made his hands rough and calloused, which made them even more appealing to hold.

In spite of his attractiveness, Paul never dated. Laura left him ten years earlier, but he still held a torch for his ex-wife. Whenever he spoke of her, his eyes almost seemed to turn on and his voice deepened. The way he remembered her looks, her touch, made me insanely jealous and at the same time incredibly in love.

My epiphany at 16 that I loved Paul way more than I should factored into my decision to distance myself from him. He would never be interested in a girl 26 years his junior. Plus, I had brunette hair and emerald eyes; Laura had blonde hair and the most beautiful blue eyes. If that was Paul's type, clearly I didn't fit the bill. I felt young and trivial whenever I stood next to him.

If he or my father noticed anything when I suddenly spent less time around the house, they never mentioned it to me. Perhaps they did notice and merely boiled it down to my teenaged temperament. I started dating boys, picturing my future, and growing up. Though my self image improved and I became a little bit more comfortable in my own skin, I knew I was no match for Paul. And so I continued to stay away for two years.

Then finally it was time to go to college. I was 18, ready to take on the world and ready to make myself over in a university 10 hours away from home. I could tell my father felt a little lost that his only companion was leaving him, but it was time for me to go. I worried that I wouldn't be around for him in case he relapsed and started drinking again, but I told myself that he was a grown up and it was time for me to be one, too. I managed to avoid Paul during the time I prepared for college, but a few days before my father was supposed to drive me to school, he told me something that totally unhinged me.

He'd asked Paul to drive me instead.

Never one for goodbyes, my father had decided a few weeks prior that he just couldn't be the one to drive his only child off to school. He feared he would be incapable of leaving me behind. So he asked his old buddy to do it, and of course Paul said yes.

I wanted to shrivel up in my bed and stay as far away from Paul as possible. Of course I couldn't, however, and of course I couldn't try and persuade my father to change his mind. I was stuck, and I thought it ironic that not spending time with Paul all these years finally came and bit me in the ass.

A few days later Paul was ringing my door bell. Dad had already gone to work, and I was frantically putting on my coat and scarf. I swung the door open as I tried to zip up my coat.

"Sorry, I'm running a bit behind," I told him, not looking him as I wrapped my scarf around.

My eyes unfortunately gravitated to his, and I was shocked to see how gorgeous he still was. He appeared surprised about something, too, but what it was I couldn't figure out.

"My bags are right behind me," I told him, stepping aside so he could walk in.

"Did you pack up your whole room?" he asked with a smile once he spotted my bags.

It was true I had probably over-packed, but I couldn't help it. I worried that I wouldn't have just what I needed at some point.

I smiled back at him, trying to ignore his smile's affect on my body.

In no time Paul put my bags in the back of his car and started the engine. We were silent for the first half hour. Paul hummed along with the radio and I stared out the window, trying to envision my new college life instead of envisioning Paul. His cologne and his proximity wasn't helping me switch up my imagination.

"So," he finally said, his voice jolting me, "what do you plan on studying?"

"I think I'm going to be an English major."

He glanced at me. "That's good. There's a lot you can do with that."

Silence blanketed us again. As awkward as the silence was, I figured talking would be doubly so. Paul, however, didn't seem to think so.

"Do you have a boyfriend you're leaving behind?"

I looked over at him and saw him smile.

Involuntarily, I smiled too. "Not really."

An eyebrow rose. "'Not really'... That's an enigmatic answer." His smile widened. "I bet you have several."

I said nothing.

"It's nice that your dad asked me to drive you. I haven't spent nearly as much time with you as I should have these past few years."

"Yeah," I murmured. "It really worked out."

Both silent now, we stared out into the great expanse of snow-dipped road.

_________

We spotted a diner and a tiny motel a few hours later, and Paul proclaimed we should take a break.

"I'm not as young as your boyfriends," he explained with a grin.

I stayed in the car as he got us a room. He walked slowly out of the building and gave me a look once he plopped back into the car.

"What's wrong?" I asked after a minute.

Sighing, he shut his eyes. "This crappy motel is the only one for miles and somehow it only has one room available." His eyes opened and met mine. "It only has one bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

"No, I will," I said instantly, seeing how tired Paul was.

"No, I will," he said with a tired smile. "I insist."

"I insist more." What I said next just flew out of my mouth. "We can share the bed. It's probably roomy."

Paul's head snapped up and he no longer appeared tired. For a long moment he was silent, and my cheeks burned. Then a small smile crept onto his face. "As long as you don't mind."

"I don't mind," I told him, freaking out over my words but at the same time thanking God I said them.

"And don't tell your father," he laughed as he opened his car door.

"My lips are sealed."

________________

We had a quiet dinner at the little diner attached to the motel. Once we'd had our full we drowsily made it back to our room. Paul rummaged through his bag and yanked out a toothbrush and toothpaste.

"I'm going to take a shower and get ready for bed," he announced before disappearing into the bathroom.

While I waited I flipped through the channels on the archaic TV. It only offered the most basic of channels and the reception left much to be desired. Eventually I gave up and turned it off. Before I could shut my eyes, Paul came out of the bathroom. My jaw dropped.

His skin appeared to be gleaming. His hair was wet and deliciously floppy.

And he was only in his boxer trunks.

I stood up quickly and rushed to the bathroom, my cheeks burning as I passed him without looking up. I prepared my shower and stood under the cold spray, trying to remind myself that Paul was not a man I should be lusting after. But these thoughts only generated more of Paul, his tight legs and the shape of his crotch in those tight boxers.

In spite of standing beneath the cold water, my flesh warmed up and I pictured Paul in my favorite scenario-- missionary with him on top, banging the ever daylights out of me. Since he was so reserved normally, I loved to envision him completely out of control with lust.

Naturally my hand dropped down to my puffy pussy and two fingers worked their way inside. I imagined they were Paul's and neary came right there. His fingers were thick and long, and even if he stuck a tip in I'm sure I'd come all over it. I slipped them in and out, thinking of Paul slipping in and out of me. I liked picturing him cursing, too. I wanted him to be like an animal, so crazed over me that he lost all control.

"Fuck," I whispered to myself as my other hand massaged my nipples. They were hard and nearly painful, and the icy water got them even harder.

I leant against the cold tile of the wall and stuck in another finger.

"Oh, my God."

My silky walls held on to my fingers as they contracted from the unbelievable pleasure. Paul was inside me now, thick and wanting. He was taking what he wanted from me and not slowing down until he got it. He was lust personified. He was...

"Kate?"

...knocking on the bathroom door.

I stood up straight and removed my hands from my body. "Yes?" I asked, my voice shaky.

Shit. How long had he been knocking? Did I make any noises he could hear? Probably.

"Just checking in on you," he shouted back.

"I'm fine." Quickly I washed the soap off my tender skin and turned off the shower. I slipped into my less than attractive sweat pants and a shirt of my father's that said "G'day Mate".

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Paul had his back to me. He turned slowly and spotted my shirt. He laughed.

"Did your dad tell you that he stole that shirt?"

Paul launched into a story that thankfully took my mind off my bathroom activities and made me laugh. I thought I had gotten away with it-- he didn't hear me. All was well.

And then... "So what the hell were you doing in the bathroom?"

My heart pounded. He probably could see my pulse on the side of my throat throbbing. "What do you mean?"

He grinned. "You were moaning and crying out. Did you hurt yourself?"

I was about to lie again when I noticed something more in his smile and his twinkling eyes. He knew exactly what I was doing, and there was no point in me lying. Of course a man like Paul would know what it sounded like when a woman got off. My cheeks burned hotter, but for some reason I didn't look away from Paul. I stared back at him with the same intensity I felt in the shower until he looked away, flustered with his own cheeks turning red.

"Well, I found out where the little liquor bottles were hiding," he said after a moment.

"Would you like one?"

I spotted vodka and pointed at it

"Just don't tell your father."

I laughed nervously and took the bottle, hoping it would help me feel less nervous around him. I took a big swig and watched Paul do the same.

His eyes never left mine as he gulped back a nice portion of his own bottle. "I can't believe how much you've grown. I still remember you twirling around when you were five." He was silent for a moment. Then, "Why did you choose a school so far away?"

I took another sip and thought about it. "I wanted a fresh start."

He nodded. "You wanted to get away from your father, too, I imagine."

As painful as it was to admit it, I had to nod at him. I needed freedom and I was never going to obtain that if I was too near my father, constantly worrying about him.

Paul smiled sadly. "If only things had been different for your father and I. We'd have been much better men."

Frowning, I shook my head. "You both are outstanding men."

Staring at me for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. "My wife didn't seem to think so," he muttered bitterly.

"Some people don't realize what they're missing," I whispered, "and others know what they're missing too well."

Paul stared again. "Who are you and what have you done with the little girl who always had chocolate syrup on her face?"

Grinning, I grabbed another bottle. My confidence was kicking in, courtesy of Grey Goose. "Would you rather she be here with you?"

Again the words spilled out of me, and in spite of my liquid courage I was still embarrassed at my flirtatiousness.

Paul's eyebrows rose. "I feel like sometimes she is with me and then sometimes a stunning woman takes her place. I don't know if I want one or the other with me," he smiled seductively, "or if I want this delightful combination of both."

I finished off my second bottle. Paul handed me another, and my smooth fingers brushed his roughened ones. Paul pulled his hand away and cleared his throat; I nearly passed out from that slight touch. Already the alcohol was taking over my brain. Never much of a drinker, I was well on my way to being completely intoxicated. Coupled with Paul's own brand of intoxication, I was a goner.

Paul was already polishing off his third and moving on to his fourth. "Laura came back a year ago," he said in a rush. His golden eyes drifted up to meet mine. "She was sorry. She wanted to try again. I nearly said yes."

I felt uncomfortable. Why was he telling me this? I waited for him to go on, but he continued to drink. When the bottle was done, he looked back up at me.

"Do you want to know what stopped me?"

I nodded.

"You," he responded simply. "I looked at my table and there was a picture of you on your 15th birthday, already radiant and beautiful. I couldn't go back to a woman who'd hurt me so much, and I couldn't stop thinking about a girl I shouldn't have started thinking about at all."

My eyes grew wide. "You thought about me?"

Paul looked disturbed. "All day every day." He picked up another bottle. "I thought you knew."

"How would I know that?" I asked, puzzled.

"You stayed far, far away from me-- the big bad wolf." Sprawled on his bed, wearing his smile and staring at me with golden slits, he did look like a wolf ready to slaughter a lamb.

"I stayed away from you because I couldn't stop thinking about you, either," I blurted out. "It hurt too much to be around you."

He looked surprised. "Really?"

"Paul..." I whispered, "you're a very... sexy man."

"You think I'm sexy?" he asked, his voice emanating his shock.

"Of course--" but before I could finish what I had to say, those lips I'd dreamed of for years were on mine.

His kiss was passionate but heart-breakingly slow. He massaged my lips with his own, occasionally tonguing my lower lip. He wrapped a hand around my pulsing throat, and wrapped his other arm around my waist. Skillfully he got my lips to part and then his tongue met my own. He twisted our bodies so that he lay on top of me, his weight pressing down pleasingly against my own body. I already felt his bulge, in disbelief that I caused his weight cock to rise up so quickly.

Though everything was happening so quickly, I thought of my father for a brief moment. He certainly wouldn't have given his blessing to such a situation. But then Paul touched my clit and all thoughts of my father vanished from my mind.

Forcefully, Paul yanked my pants down and stared at my soaked slit. He licked his lips and I realized he intended on going down on me. My heartbeat quickened. I thought it quite possible I might die of a heart attack before he touched me again.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he said, more to himself. His golden eyes seem torn between my naked flesh and the eyes that looked up to him ever since I was a baby.

"Please, Paul," I nearly cried, "I need this. I want this."

The worry in his eyes evaporated and all that was left was lustful, hot magma, firing up the gold in his eyes.

"So beautiful," he whispered against my neck as his first finger plunged into my wetness. The dual sensation of his breath against my sweaty flesh and his thick finger inside of me made more of my wetness seep out of me and my body to arch.

He quickly put in another finger. I cried out and kissed his mouth. His tongue slipped into me just as his fingers burst inside of me again.

"Paul," I whispered, too drunk off of Paul's hands and mouth to say much more.

"I've wanted you for so long," he whispered. "I knew it was wrong but I'd lay in bed at night," he stuck in another finger, making me moan, "and think of you and pray that you're 18th birthday would come soon. You know why, Kate? Want to know why I prayed for your 18th birthday?" Another finger pushed its way in. I felt delightfully full and more turned on than ever. I merely moaned and arched my body again. "Because I would jack off to thoughts of you, Kate. I made myself cum all over the place. I couldn't wait for you to be 18 because I vowed I'd have you. I have you tonight, my girl."

I couldn't believe it. For a moment I thought I was dreaming, but these sensations were too much to dream.

"Paul... please," I begged, needing something more. He stuck his last finger into my impossibly tight pussy. "Oh my God!" I was cumming before I even knew what hit me. My juices sprang out all over Paul's delicious hand.

"Yes," he whispered to me, "cum my little girl."

And I did. As a matter of fact, it felt like it would never end. Wave after wave of pleasure slammed into me. Finally my body simmered down and became fixated on having Paul inside it.

He made a move to get off me, but I grabbed his clothed cock and held it against me. He was harder than steel. I needed him. He moaned as I squeezed and dropped his head against my shoulder.

"What are you doing to me?" he cried out. "I can't fuck you, Kate. I told myself I would only," he gasped as I twisted my fist, "only make you cum... Your dad-- oh my God!- your dad would... he'd kill us."

I didn't care. I stuck my hand inside his pants before he could stop me and felt his soft head. "You're coming inside of me, literally and figuratively, before tonight is through."

He moaned and rocked himself against my body.

"You're going to kill me," he moaned. "I've created a monster!"

He did, indeed.