It was Saturday afternoon and I was whistling! I had a reason to get up out of bed, get dressed, and go somewhere! My step-daughter, Sharon, was coming home from her first semester at college. It was only six months ago that her mother had died, only five months since I had stood at the airport security line and said goodbye. Neither of us had had the courage to cry. A quick hug, a forced smile, and I was alone.
I had raised Sharon since she was six. She was the youngest of three step-children, two teenage boys and a girl, and she was the only one that wanted anything to do with me. My wife had her hands full with the boys, who viewed me as an interloper, a foreigner in their country. So while Mary occupied herself with the older children, Sharon played with me every chance she could get.
I would sit for hours on Saturday nights, playing make-believe and inventing stories. Sharon's favorite was playing house. She would have me sit in her rocking chair while she lined up her dolls on the bed. "You be the Daddy and I'll be the Mommy," she would say. I would make believe I came home from work, grumpy and tired. She would take care of me, take off my shoes, make me a drink, and if I gave her a kiss, she would give me a little back rub.
She would talk about how the children had misbehaved and tell me which ones needed to be given a good talking to. Then she would serve a make-believe dinner, clean up the kitchen, wash and dress the kids for bed, and send them to me for a kiss goodnight. We had so many children that they had to sleep three to a drawer in her dresser.
When all the dolls were asleep, she would get dressed in clean panties and her nighty and climb up into my lap. I would wrap one arm around her shoulders and head, the other arm around her knees, my hand sliding inside her nighty. I would hold her tight to my chest, her little panty-covered bottom in the palm of my hand. Each time I gave her a gentle squeeze, she would nuzzle her head into my chest.
As I drove the hour and a half to the airport, I remembered playing with Sharon as she got older. By the time she had turned ten, her brothers had left, and the whole house became her playground. We would drive her mother crazy with the games we played. I'd chase her around the house, scaring her as the big bad monster. She always ended up running into her room, where she would scream when I came barreling in, a growling savage animal. She would jump into her bed and hide under the covers. I would grab her, roll her up in her blankets until she couldn't move. She would be screaming with a mixture of fear and laughter, muffled by layers of blanket. Growling, I would reach up into the bottom of the roll, between the layers, until I found her feet. Then I would slide my hands up her legs, loosening the blanket roll enough for me to reach up to her sides and tickle her. She would kick and scream and go crazy, trying to wiggle away. I tickled, knowing that if I tickled long and hard enough, she would cry out, "STOP! I'm gonna pee!"
I would answer, "I can't hear you. What did you say?" and I would tickle even harder until a wet spot began to spread across her panties. I would pull myself out and loosen the blankets around her head. She would be bright red, hot and out of breath.
I would ask in my sweetest voice, "What did you say?" "STOP!" she would say, breaking into a big smile and giggling. "Oh, is THAT what you were saying," I would answer. It was her favorite game, and she asked me to chase her every chance she had.
I blinked, and realized I was about to miss the exit for the airport. How did I already get here? I am amazed how I can daydream and drive, then have no memory of driving...
I headed for the short-term parking garage. I was half an hour early. I parked and remembered how sad we had been when I dropped her off.
The year before Sharon left for college had been very difficult. Her mother had been struggling against cancer for the better part of a year, in and out of the hospital for treatment, home for recovery. We took turns helping her. Sharon was much better at it than I was. It wasn't until the very end that Sharon broke down and I took over caring for what was left of the woman we loved.
I had been there when she had died, each breath so far apart, until I heard her lungs release a breath with a wheeze so final that I knew she was going. I held her hand until that, too, lost all sense of being alive.
When it was all over, the cremation, the service, the family and friends, the empty sounding condolences, and everyone had finally left us alone, Sharon and I cried in each other's arms until we collapsed with exhaustion.
I blinked, looked at my watch. Sharon's flight should have just landed. I went to the terminal and found her flight had landed ten minutes early. I rushed to luggage carrousel five. She was standing there, her bags at her side. When she saw me, she ran into my arms. We hugged tight, neither letting go, for what seemed a long time. When I felt her loosen her hold, I loosened mine, and her body slipped back down to the ground. When her feet reached the ground, I pulled my head back to look at my little girl. She leaned forward to give me a kiss, and for the first time, I didn't turn to give her my cheek, but lowered my head to let her lips reach mine. She was surprised, and pulled back, but when I moved forward to give her another kiss, she wrapped her arms around my back and pressed me hard into her. For a second, our lips seemed hard and foreign against each other. Then I felt the blood rush to soften them as I relaxed into her. My lips separated and I felt her tongue between her lips. I pulled back.
"I guess you've learned something at college," I said, thinking of all the boys that must have called on her, must have kissed her, must have...
"Some things," she said, blushing and lowering herself from her tiptoes. "I've learned how much I missed you."
I melted and began to cry. "Sorry," I said. "I'm still pretty weepy."
"Me, too," she said. "Let's go home."
I stacked her bags, both heavy.
"You pack just like your mom!" I said.
She took my arm and walked without saying a word, hugging my side, all the way to the car.
She was quiet on the ride home, too. When I looked over, she was somewhere else. She looked grown up, not older, but more mature. She seemed so much more confident, so sure of herself. I was about to say something, but decided to let her be with her thoughts. I drifted back to the first time I saw her as a woman.
When Sharon had started going through puberty, I stopped playing chase. She became more affectionate, hugging me longer and harder, kissing me on the cheek and just hanging on to me. She still wanted to sit in my lap, but as she got older, I told her not to. "You're getting too big for Daddy's lap," I would say. She would purse her lips in a big pout. "Want to watch a movie?" she would sometimes offer, and she would curl up next to me on the couch to watch the TV.
Her mom often sat with us, and Sharon would ask her mom to rub her back. Her mom would rub her back until Sharon whined, "Underneath!" Then her mom would slide her hand under Sharon's shirt and gently rub.
"When is it MY turn?" her mom would ask, and then Sharon would rub her mother's back. Then Sharon would ask again, "Rub my back." This would go on the whole evening until it was time for bed.
By fourteen, Sharon was staying up later than her mom. Friday nights became our special night. My wife would go to bed by nine, leaving us to have some time together. We would get ready for bed. I let Sharon pick out a movie, always a romantic comedy, and we would snuggle up together on the couch. I would get myself comfy, lying on my back. Sharon would lie on her side in the space between me and the back of the couch.
As I watched the movie, Sharon seemed more interested in feeling her fingertips against my skin. She would start with my arm, sliding her hand along my forearm. If she sensed that this was alright, she would wrap her arm around my chest, first rubbing outside, then slipping underneath. She particularly liked the hair on my chest, and often twirled the hair around my nipples.
"Yours get just like mine," she said one night. "I think we better stop," I said, pulling her hand out and tightening my robe around me. She sat up. "Rub my back," she said, hunching forward, her arms on her knees.
I sat up halfway and rubbed her lightly.
"Underneath," she pouted.
"Go ask your momma," I teased.
"She's not here... Rub my back," she asked again, purring and chinning my shoulder like a kitten.
"Okay, okay, but just for a little."
She arched her back to let my hand slide easily under her top. "Mmmm...," she said, now hunching her back again. "Higher," she said. I felt my fingertips graze her fine skin as I went up her spine. She shivered when I came down her spine. "That feels nice," she said, her voice getting quiet.
"That's enough," I said, and lay back down. "You gonna watch the movie or what?"
She lay down beside me, snuggled her head into my chest, and slipped her top leg over my legs, lifting her knee up to my crotch.
"Oh!" she said as I sat up quickly. There was no doubt that she had felt my erection. I was scared, not because of what she had done, but because of the feelings I had running through me. She wasn't a child any more. She was a young woman, and I was a man.
"I think I better go to bed," I said, and left before Sharon said anything.
The next morning, I had a talk with Sharon, about how we shouldn't touch each other so much.
"You mean like lying beside each other?" "Yes, like lying beside each other."
And we didn't. I did the only thing I knew to keep me from thinking of her. I became aloof and reserved, feeling self-conscious whenever I would hug her, which was now only ceremonial, when we said good morning or goodbye.
Then her mother had gotten sick.
"Didn't you want to take that exit?"
I saw the exit sign just before it disappeared behind us.
"I'll take the next one."
"You ok?" Sharon asked. "Yeah... Just remembering... How we used to watch movies together..."
She reached over and put her hand on my leg. "Yeah, I remember...," she said, giving me a squeeze. I swallowed hard as I felt my heart race.
"Don't miss the exit!" she said, taking her hand off my leg to point at the upcoming sign.
"Thanks," I said, and turned off the freeway.
When we got home, it was already dark. I took Sharon's bags up to her room.
"I put you in your old room," I said. "But you can sleep wherever you like." There was an awkward moment, then Sharon said, "That's what SHE said!"
I had forgotten how we teased each other this way. I smiled, and felt my heart jump the way she smiled back at me. She was definitely more confident, I thought. I took a step toward her. She put her arm up on my forearm and looked into my eyes. I saw my little girl. I looked down, embarrassed by my feelings. I turned and walked out of her room.
"Ya wanna watch a movie?" she said.
I stopped, looked around. "Aren't you tired? Or hungry?" "I got lots of sleep on the plane," she said. "And I've been thinking about coming home since I left. I just want to be with you," she said, her voice going very quiet. We looked at each other, sharing the sadness of who wasn't with us this Christmas.
"Ok... I'll go set it up." "I'll get into my jammies," Sharon said, giving me a sly look.
I started to walk downstairs, but then went to my room and got into my bathrobe.
"I've got your favorite movie ready to go," I said.
Sharon must have seen the reaction I tried to hide when she came in the room.
"You like?" she said, spinning around.
I was speechless. Her outfit was stunning. I wasn't sure if I was imagining it or I was really seeing her body, all her body, under the light material. There was definitely a dark patch at her crotch, and two more where her breasts poked forward.
"That's not your jammies," I said. "When did you start wearing lingerie?"
"I'm 18 now," she said. "Lots of us wear these in the dorm. I'm not a little girl any more, John."
My heart broke when she called me by my name instead of Dad.
"I know you're a woman," I said, "but you'll always be MY little girl."
She looked like she was going to cry, but ran over and plopped beside me. She was wearing a very sophisticated perfume.
"What's that you're wearing?"
She lifted her face to mine, the scent wafting off her beautiful breasts with each breath she took. I felt dizzy.
"You like it?" She leaned forward, putting her hand on my thigh for balance, and gave me a kiss. "Rub my back?" she crooned, and turned her back to me, taking her hand off my leg, putting the other hand higher on my thigh, then squirming into position, pressing her fingers into my upper thigh. I could feel her warmth even through my robe. I continued to feel dizzy and I let myself be overtaken with a feeling of light-headed pleasure.
I put my fingers on her back and let them wander up to her neck. The material was so sheer, it felt like I was touching her skin. As my hand came back down her spine, she moved her hand on my leg.
"Underneath," she whispered. I moved my hand to the lacy opening, then slipped up the left side of her back. Her hand moved down my leg to my inner thigh. I felt like I was floating. I swallowed hard, then whispered, "Underneath."
Without hesitation, she gently moved my robe aside and I felt her fingertips on my bare skin. I was shaking as I let my hand move from her back to her front. She raised her arm and I let my fingers graze her soft underarms.
I pressed my leg into her, making more room for her hand at my crotch, her fingers now only inches away from my pulsing manhood.
I lowered my hand, finding the curve of soft flesh that would guide me up her breast. She curled her fingers and let her nails scrape the skin and coarse hairs as she moved up my leg.
My fingers slowly climbed her breast, fingertips barely touching, until I felt the tiny bumps of her outer nipple. I lifted my fingers and brushed over her nipple with my fingernail.
"Mmmm...," she shuddered, leaning her palm firmly into my crotch. "Unhhh," I gasped. "Yes...," she said, with a hiss that rang in my ears.
She wrapped her fingers around the head of my raging cock, gave a squeeze, and slid her now slippery fingers down my shaft.
I wrenched myself, as if out of a deep sleep. "Wait," I said, "No!" I pulled away and stood up. "What..." I couldn't say any more. I shook my head, giving me room to think.
Sharon looked worried. "Did I hurt you?" she asked. When I didn't say anything, she went on, "A girlfriend told me... I don't... I've never really..." I saw the tears growing in her eyes and my heart melted.
"It's just that..., I don't..." I stammered. I didn't know what to say.
She looked up at me and implored, "Tickle me?"
A smile of relief spread across me face as I remembered the game we used to play. I reached down and pinched the sides of my little girl. She started laughing and giggling.
The distraction was working, and I started to tickle her good. She jerked and kicked. Her legs were longer and stronger than when she was younger. I leaned forward, pushing her legs to each side of my waist, finding safety from her feet and knees. As I pressed my weight forward, I held her down so that she was only able to twist and bump. She was laughing so hard she was gasping for air. I found just the right spots at her sides and poked mercilessly. She put her feet down used her legs to push her butt up. It felt like my bathrobe had slipped open as I felt her rub against my crotch. I kept tickling, leaning forward, becoming more aware of her warm crotch. I started to feel a dampness, too, and so redoubled my tickling.
The more I leaned forward, the more her movements were limited, until all she could do was rock her pelvis against me. I felt my focus being drawn to the movement of her pelvis against my cock. At some point I stopped tickling her, but kept rocking,. I rocked with her, holding her tight against me. Her laughter turned deeper, into a rhythmic grunting. I watched as she closed her eyes, her lips parted, and her breathing became shallow and faster.
I heard a voice far away in my head yell "Stop! Stop!" Then she twitched, arched her head and back, pressing her crotch hard into me. "Unhhh," she said, pressing into me again. Her knees clamped at my sides. Her hands grabbed my forearms and dug fingernails into my skin. I felt her quiver against me. "Unhhhhhhhh," she groaned.
"Oh my God" I thought. I froze, trying to control my shaking. She was still breathing erratically. Then I felt her relax her grasp. I took a deep breath, then swallowed hard.
"Are you okay?" I whishpered.
Her face was flushed, her cheeks bright red. She opened her eyes, blinked a couple times, then stared at me. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. Then a weak smile filled her face.
"I'm ok," she said. "I just feel... dizzy." She let her legs fall from my sides. I stood up, wrapped myself back in my robe. She took a deep breath and sat up.
"I don't think you've EVER tickled me THAT hard before," she said. She looked down at her crotch. I followed her stare to the wet spot. "I think I peed!" she giggled.
She stood up, holding me for balance, then wrapped her arms around me. "I love you," she said, then turned and wobbled to the stairs and went up to her room.
I sat down, shaking, not sure what to do. She didn't seem upset or worried. She didn't even seem to know what had happened. Maybe she didn't... Maybe she just... I sat for a couple minutes as thoughts flew through my head. What if...
I knew I had to talk with her. I went up to her room. Her door was open and she was sitting on her bed.
"I need to talk...," I looked down, then back up, "about what happened."
She smiled and motioned for me to come into her room. I came in, looked around for a place to sit, then she moved to make room for me on the bed.
"I... It was my fault," I stammered. "I let things go too far."
To my surprise, she got an angry look on her face. "It wasn't your fault. It was my fault, too."
Oh my god, I thought, she DID know what happened. "No, I'm the adult. I'm the one who needed to stop."
Now she got really angry. "No it wasn't. I could have stopped, too. I'm an adult. I knew what I was doing."
The words hung in my head like the echo of a gunshot.
"What do you mean?" I asked. I stood there, staring at her. She just stared back. Then her face relaxed. She started to says something, then hesitated. She looked me in the eye and said, "You remember when you used to chase after me and tickle me in the blankets? You'd wrap me up tight, then reach in and tickle me?"
"Yes, I remember."
"You remember when you tickled me so hard I peed?"
"I've known I loved you ever since," she said, and waited. "You've always made me feel good...," she said, now looking down, embarrassed.
"What does that have to do..."
"You've always made me feel good," she interrupted, "that way."
I looked at her, not understanding. What did she mean by "that way"? She just stared back at me until all at once my face turned bright red.
"That's not possible," I said. "You were too young..."
She looked up at me. "I've been able to feel good since I was seven," she said.
"And I've ached to touch you ever since, ever since you stopped," she said, putting her hand lightly on my arm.
I thought about how sad I had been since she was fourteen and I had said we couldn't touch, how distant I had felt from her, unable to express how I felt.
"I was afraid," I said quietly.
She leaned over, lifted my chin, and kissed me on the lips, soft and wet. Our mouths opened, and I played gently with her tongue in my mouth. Her hand came up my thigh, inside my robe, and pressed on my cock. I pulled away.