Piper

Before my last promotion, about five years ago, we were still living in that rented house we'd moved into when she was pregnant with Piper. It was supposed to be temporary but ended up serving as home for a lot longer than anticipated. Now, the kids are gone and it's just us in this new house, too big for two but pretty perfect if you like to entertain as much as we. Besides, now that the kids visit, they seem to take up more of our space than when we were all under one roof. Maybe it's because the time they spend is temporary so we notice each encroachment more. I don't know, maybe not. This house may be too big for just Wendy and me but I kind of like going into rooms we never use – makes me feel almost like I'm trespassing. A sense of secrets, hiding, furtiveness, you know... then I realize I own it and I find myself pretty content with how life's turned out.

But back to the old house since that's where this story lives.

Though I'm glad we own and no longer rent, you can't help but put down roots in a place where your children spend their first days out of the hospital. Where you remember your wife walking around with that huge swollen belly full of a living, growing representation of your love for each other. Where your kids learned to walk, talk, fall, read... Where you fought, made love, watched movies, waited up for kids out on first dates. Where you become more than a couple: a family. I have good memories of our time there... very good memories.

We only had the one bathroom between the four of us. If that wasn't bad enough, my daughter and wife love to be beautiful – you can imagine the schedules that revolved around bathroom time. I was never entirely happy when my showers ran cold or I was hurried out by the banging on the door but, looking back, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

I remember walking down the hall from our bedroom one evening and seeing the bathroom door closed with a strip of light beneath. None too happy, with a very full bladder, I waited a few feet away. Two minutes turned into five, five into seven and I was getting annoyed. We were typically pretty courteous as a family, especially about the bathroom. While the women always wanted to primp in the mornings, they weren't ever really rude about it, just insistent. And primping in the evenings wasn't the norm unless Wendy and I were going out or Piper had a date and I knew neither of those was the case this particular eve.

Almost twitching around ten minutes in, I moved closer to the door, intending to make my presence known in case the culprit was just unaware – a cleared throat, a light cough... something like that. Closeness brought sounds though, and I realized it was Wendy. The noises were soft and had nothing to do with going to the bathroom. Amused into (almost) forgetting my reason for waiting, I planted my feet, leaned into the wall and listened with a shit-eating grin on my face.

I knew my wife masturbated, hell, sometimes she'd let me watch and most of the time I'd take part. The bathroom, though, was usually where I went to rub one off. In fact, I couldn't recall the last time she'd done this anywhere but our bed.

Arms crossed, I looked down the hall to see if the kids' doors were closed, just in case. All was quiet on the western front. Thinking about it made me realize that, if Wendy'd wanted me to participate, she'd be in bed and, while it hurt my ego to think she'd rather be alone, I was kind of turned on at the thought that she might have a fantasy she wanted to keep quiet. So I didn't disturb her time alone but I'd be damned if I wasn't going to at least listen.

Wendy's voice has always been an intangible but undeniably erotic part of our intimacy. If it weren't for everyday life and needing to earn a buck, socialize, behave like a normal human and raise a family, I could be all too happy just closing my eyes and listening to her talk. Ok, I'll be honest, the talking voice has always been fantastic and such a turn on – primarily because she has no clue – but it's not just talking. When she's aroused her voice is infinitely more erotic. She plays the scales and hums and sighs and squeals and squeaks and moans and speaks in French. Essentially, she lets go. She just lets herself feel and every sensation seems to be embodied by that voice of hers. It never fails to turn me on and keep me running. So, I knew listening would put me in a mood and that was part of why I stood there.

Enjoyment had my eyes closed, trusting that I'd hear the kids' doors open before they'd have a view of my face looking a bit too euphoric for someone just waiting to pee. Standing against the wall, images swirled behind my eyes and I was most definitely hard. Wendy had always been a little shy when it came to her body but she knew I loved everything about it so she was never restrained with me. Pictures of her flew through my head and were all variations of this: on her back, feet planted apart on the bed with knees together; one hand between her thighs, dipping gently to moisten her clit and play; the other arm thrown up above her head, fingers sporadically twisting a lock of her long hair; eyes closed, slight smile, head to the side, neck straining just a little; her chest rising rapidly, nipples firm, areola puckered in an aroused state; hips moving gently, rhythmically; shoulders pressing into the bed; and, of course, the voice. My hand had travelled under the waist of my pants and underwear and I was slowly stroking as I listened, pictured and smiled.

Waiting in the hall had never been so fun. I did, though, have an intense need to kiss that little concave space where her collarbone and throat met, to take each ankle in a hand and gently move them to better frame parts of her I loved to see... and I really had to pee. The noises in the bathroom hadn't subsided, if anything, they'd gotten a smidge more intense. Lips licked, jaw tensed against wonderful thoughts of my wife, an attempt was made by a few cells in my brain and body to relax, soften what had become hard and think about Wendy's grandmother, Fern, and her atrocious hat collection. Wasn't really working... nothing ever really worked when it came to Wendy's voice... but I had to try.

As my bladder threatened to burst, I decided I had to be rude and she'd just have to forgive me. Anxiety. Knuckles rapping gently but insistently on the surface of this little blockade.

"I really have to go, honey, can you hurry it up?"

Nothing, utter silence. Damnit, I hadn't thought she'd be embarrassed, I mean how long had we been married, anyway? She'd really just have to forgive me on this one, I had to go!

"Sweetie, I'm so sorry but I really have to go. I've been waiting out here for almost twenty minutes..."

Sure she'd come out laughing, embarrassed a bit but ready to make fun of me for whining and not knocking sooner, I stood with my palm spread on the surface of the door and waited to feel it moving as she opened it with a blush and let me in. Nothing like that happened. In fact, nothing happened at all.

"Ok, come on, it's not like I haven't heard you doing that before," trying to joke. I lowered my voice to let her know I was very aroused and coaxed, "you know all you need to do is get on the bed and wait for me... I'd be more than happy to finish this."

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Now, I was getting annoyed. She couldn't be this embarrassed, come on. I waited... Bladder still full.

"Hun, really, just open up. If you don't want me to help that's fine but I really have to go!" Stress on the last four words should have done the trick. The door didn't open, she didn't make a peep.

"Wendy."

Nothing.

Resting my forehead on the door I started trying to figure out if she'd been mad at me earlier or if I might've done something wrong. My head was pretty empty but my bladder was still very full. Silence in the bathroom. That would be a good title for a book on couple's therapy anecdotes or something... Have the husband recount the history of how his wife abused him by locking herself in the bathroom and giving him the silent treatment... Have him tell of the trauma of having to hold in his liquids. I'd read that, "been there! Done that!" I'd say during that chapter. Oh, the trauma. Brain working furiously to figure out why bladder remained so full, I didn't hear footsteps padding down the hall in my direction until a hand was on my low back.

"Hun?"

Wendy? Oh... Wait... What?

"Oooooh," she breathes, with a knowing smile. Her own knuckles lightly hitting the bathroom door three times. "Ok, come on out. Dad has to go," Wendy smiles up at me, obviously believing she's rescued me from the ignominy of an eternally full bladder. She leans over and kisses my upper arm through the fabric of my t-shirt, gives my waist a little squeeze with her left arm, smiles up at me and says, "I'm sure you'll get in soon," before turning and going into our bedroom.

I'm now sweating profusely and my feet are in blocks of concrete so I probably couldn't move if my life depended on it. The noise of toilet paper being pulled off the roll. Suddenly my feet have a mind of their own and are carrying me into the living room, thank goodness they think like me. Very happy there's no mirror around because I sure as hell don't want to have a shade of red named after me when I discover it's vibrant hue on my face. Glazed eyes on the TV, oops, forgot to turn it on. Reaching for the remote, I hear the bathroom doorknob turn. Wow, never really heard that before, heightened senses maybe?

All I wanted in that moment was to be able to pull off being interested in the TV. Couldn't have done that since it still wasn't on but moreso because my head whipped around without asking permission and I found myself staring at my daughter, Piper, emerging from the bathroom.

Cheeks flushed and eyes down, she was doing a very good impression of someone who doesn't want to be noticed. I watched the tip of her tongue snake out and dance across her pink lips right before she took a deep breath and stood up straight. I guess she thought I must've gone back to my bedroom because her eyes flitted in my direction and she seemed even more shocked than I that I was sitting, staring at her.

Freshly licked lips are a beautiful thing. Why did I have to notice them? A girl caught doing something natural but possibly naughty is a beautiful sight. She's likely to turn shades of pink you always wished you'd known about in high school. She's likely to breathe a bit more shallow and quick than normal, something like a scared animal. She's likely to be just about the most innocent and guilty creature you've seen in your life. Put it all together and you have something approximating perfection in female form.

My daughter should not be looking like this. Sure as hell, I shouldn't be the one looking when she looks like this. Damnit.

I was still staring at her and realized my jaw was clenched so tight that I gritted my teeth and my scalp was tensing too. She was still frozen except her mouth. Her lower lip was quivering just a little, made you want to suck it. Damnit.

Blinking hard, I concentrated on relaxing my jaw since looking away was out of the question. If she moved, I had to see. Damnit.

I noticed that she wasn't the only one breathing rapidly. My chest was nearly heaving and I was hot as hell. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't... too late. The bulge in my pants was just a little too much not to think about. Damnit.

Nipples. Damnit.

Women were made to titillate. They were made for arousal – not really, I love and respect them but in this moment, that's what my mind is thinking. Take nipples, for example. Even when they aren't aroused, you want to touch, suck, lick, flick, pinch, I mean verb after verb comes to mind. Seeing a nipple straining against fabric is like having a hand down your pants; what man doesn't enjoy it? She has nipples! She's a she, of course she does. Wait, I have nipples, we all have nipples. Whew, I'm not a dirty old man. Wait, I'm salivating... I am a dirty old man. Damnit.

Her feet were slightly apart and all I could think about was the noise I'd been hearing when the door was closed and how wet she must be. Maybe she made the noises because she was humming a song? What the fuck... that wasn't any song... well, maybe the one that gets me hard every time. Damnit.

We're still staring at each other. I guess we both heard the other and there's really no way of pretending ignorance on this one. My baby girl masturbates? Oh my god, I want to masturbate my baby girl. How fucked up is that? Maybe I don't? Maybe I had heard Wendy in another room and I just thought it was noise in the bathroom... Nope, nice try though... Damnit.

I swallowed hard and tried to blink normally. Necessity is the mother of invention, they say. Well, I wasn't about to invent anything tonight – any invention would have been geared toward getting my daughter to orgasm with me alongside and that was just unforgivable... if also unforgettable. All I could do was return to an old standby and try to picture Wendy's grandmother, Fern, and her god-awful hat collection. It wasn't working, just like it hadn't worked when I thought Wendy was the one in the bathroom. Mental note: get a better turn-off picture, this one's not cutting it. Damnit.

Why didn't she move? Is she as mortified as I? Is she as turned on as I? I know she was as turned on as I but what about now? What would she do if... Damnit.

Take control of the situation, you idiot. You have to do something. This poor girl's going to need therapy if you just keep staring and slavering like a hungry dog. Damnit.

There are times in a man's life when he realizes he's got some deep well of willpower. This was not one of them. I was realizing how weak and easily unhinged a man I really was. I remember being immensely turned on by it while simultaneously shamed by the whole thing. I have no idea how it happened because there's a minute of blank in my memory banks but, from couch cushions to standing in front of Piper wasn't as great a distance as I'd feared.

I tried to keep a fatherly and gentle smile on my face as I leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. I didn't hug her in part because I was so hard and didn't want to freak her out but also because I was very afraid I'd get even more turned on and forget she was my daughter. I was already close enough to that point and had no inclination to push. Well, that was a lie, a big fat lie but that wasn't a night for being honest with myself. It was a night for lying like a rug and I was doing my damndest to exceed expectations for even the best rug ever made. Lie, lie lie and then lie some more.

Then she sighed, stepped close and hugged me. Shit. My arms wrapped around her and I kissed the top of her head again, breathing in.

"Thanks, dad," she said quietly. "I had no idea you were out here. I'm sorry," this almost more a question as her voice lilted up at the end. That voice.

She also sounded like she was about to cry so I just held her tighter. I knew if I said something my voice would crack like some kid going through puberty so I just shot for stoic and understanding silence, hoping I'd hit at least close to that mark.

Piper took a deep breath and I loosened my arms, expecting her to back up but she just leaned into me further and whispered, "love you, dad."

Her head was on my chest so I was worried she'd hear my heart pummeling the inside of my ribcage like a boxer mid-combo. The pulse on my throat was surging and my fingertips were damn near vibrating like an electrical current ran through them. "It's ok, hun," was the entirety of my arsenal. Pretty pathetic but all I could muster as I realized my hard-on was very firmly pressed against her abdomen.

We just stood there for ages (probably no more than five minutes but it was all the time in the world for me) and she didn't let go of me. My arms held her more tightly while my mind repeatedly admonished me to let her go and get into the bathroom where the door could be a perfect barrier between myself and the real world for the next ten minutes or so. I didn't move and my heart didn't slow but my brain finally started winning it's internal war, victors on the side of reality and normality, not to mention socially acceptable.

As I stood there, holding my daughter, drowning thoughts of her moaning and sighing as I touched, licked, nibbled, and kissed, I noticed my lips were still on Piper's hair. Realization led to notice of aches in my neck as well. Slowly, I lifted my head and turned it from side to side to stretch muscles tense and taut.

"That was nice," I heard my daughter murmur into my chest and my eyes went from half-closed to wide open. Did I hear her right? What does that mean? She liked me kissing her hair? She enjoyed herself in the bathroom? What? Damnit.

"Hmm?" Again, I had no weapon against this. I had never experienced anything like this and had never thought about my daughter except as a sexless person who was innocent and wouldn't ever come close to masturbating, much less sound way too much like her mother and boil my blood. So, that was all I could muster.

There was another stretch of silence with only heartbeats and breath and then she took my breath away again by quietly saying, "I don't know... I was just listening to your heart and it felt so nice to be kissed like that... I don't know..." She said it so quietly I had to hold my breath to hear and trailed off at the end so I wasn't sure if she said anything more. I was quiet a minute and finally remembered to breathe as my pulse thundered in my ears and my daughter kept hugging me close.

"Honey?" I said.

She looked up at me and all I could see was this translucent image of my beautiful, innocent daughter and this lovely person becoming a woman in her own rite. It made so little and so much sense in the same instant that it couldn't have been more real. I just stared.

Piper blushed and smiled coyly as she watched me watching her. "Dad, you're handsome you know..." she ventured.

Ok, that snapped me out of it. I don't know, maybe someone else would've been turned on by the compliment but all I heard was my daughter being insecure and cute. I chuckled and hugged her close, smiling at the two of us being stupid in the hallway. I may not have softened but I wasn't unable to disengage anymore either.

Kissing the top of her head one more time, I let go and stepped back. "Thanks, Pipe. Means a lot to this old fogy," I laughed again as I looked at her. She looked disappointed and petulant and I just couldn't help being amused.

"I mean it, though... you are."

I couldn't remember the last time Wendy told me she thought I was handsome but I knew she did. I wasn't even old, mid-forties doesn't exactly qualify as geriatric. Somehow, hearing this young woman tell me she thought I was handsome with surprise in her voice just made me chuckle. Thank goodness it wasn't arousing like the rest of her. Those eyes looking up at me with trust and something more heated. The nipples tipping those shapely breasts, making themselves known to the world by pressing incessantly against the fabric of that tight t-shirt. Those sweet hips looking so touchable. The flush on exposed skin. Those beautiful little feet with shimmeringly pink toenails. The backside just begging to be massaged. Everything so utterly feminine and desirable. Damnit.

I backed away from her a little and tried to keep the smile in my eyes as my mind began wandering back to the beckoning siren: pictures very much unwelcome and fantastic. She wasn't giving up, though. She stepped forward, making cloth-to-cloth contact again. Why are nipples the first thing to reach out and touch somebody? Why was she still looking up at me like that? She looked like the most kissable person I'd ever seen but... Damnit.