A Final Valentine

She also picked up a couple of jobs in addition to attending classes and studying. One scooping shit at a veterinarian's office. The other, of all things, helping out Juanita at the store where we'd first met.

I hadn't even pitched much of a bitch when she'd bought a little rice-burning crotch rocket to zip around town between her two jobs, her school, and the real martial arts class I'd insisted she take from a reputable teacher. I'd ridden a motorcycle through Lubbock traffic and knew just how fucking dangerous it was. But, I'd just insisted on a full faced helmet and protective leather gear with kevlar inserts. It was her body and the money she'd bought it with.

But, damn it!

I only had three rules I had insisted on. And bringing a guest home was one of them. I didn't care who she was friends with elsewhere. She could be friends with anyone she wanted. But, I didn't want them in, or anywhere near, our home. Didn't even want them to know where it was.

And, besides. It was Valentine's. And I'd had plans that didn't include a guest.

I hadn't responded to her text. Instead, I put the dinky little ring I had bought, that I had intended on going to my knees to offer her, into a drawer.

In the bathroom, I flipped on the light and began the process of counting out the pills I'd let her (with Brannon and to a lesser extent Krista backing her up) coerce me into getting put back on. I stared at my face for a moment in the replaced mirror under the harsh glare and wondered why I bothered, if I still was going to take them.

Which was bullshit. I knew damn well I was going to swallow them because she wanted me to and it was important to her.

I carried the pills with me to root around in the humming refrigerator for a cold Coca-cola and paused to glare at the preparations I'd already begun for a special evening meal I hadn't intended on sharing with anyone but her.

Bitty came limping in to let me know she needed to go outside again. At nine years old, and a large breed, Bitty had shot ahead from middle-aged to elderly over the past year. It wasn't near time to be thinking of putting her to sleep, of letting her go. But, she was having a harder time getting around. And had to pee much more often.

Although, Angela told me her Vet boss/buddy had told her that was more because of the cat food. Apparently, dogs can't process the extra proteins and fats as well and it breaks down into uric acid.

Which didn't make just a whole lot of sense to me. Liquids make you pee. Food makes you shit. Doesn't it?

I took her word for it, though. Angela is much smarter than I ever was or will ever be. And, she'd found a dog food Bitty would accept as a substitute.

I let Bitty out and settled on the bench her lead was tied to, to sip cold Coke and smoke my Djarum Blacks and wait.

Two Cokes and five smokes for me, and four squats for Bitty later, Angela came roaring up from the alley with a passenger behind her.

Well, at least it was a girl instead of some pimply-faced hairy-legged boy. And not just a whole lot bigger than Angela. If I had to, I could probably bend one over each knee if I had to. And I was strongly considering it.

The blonde haired girl eyed Bitty and me and we both eyed her right back as Angela pushed her bike up into the storage closet/electrical room to secure for the night.

When Angela stepped out, she was carrying that full faced helmet under one arm and unzipping her leather jacket to expose either a black bra or bikini top that I knew damn well wasn't what she'd been wearing when she'd left that morning.

"Hi, Bitty," she said aloud, her hands being busy. "Hi, Daddy."

"Don't 'Hi, Daddy' me," I signed at her. "You're in trouble, young lady. Who is this?"

Angela put one hand on her hip, a practiced move to spread that jacket wider. She'd put on some weight in the last year. Enough that I couldn't see her ribs anymore. And most of it was hard muscle from her continued workouts. Her tits had plumped up a little bit too, to b-cups when we bought underwear. She looked good and she knew it.

And I wasn't about to be swayed by sight of that sexy body and let her know in a hurry.

"Who is this?" I repeated.

Angela huffed and rolled her eyes, but she set the helmet at her feet to free her hands.

"Daddy, this is Jordan," Angela signed. "She's deaf like me. And she needs our help."

The last I could see for myself as the blonde was sporting a shiner that put any I'd ever worn to shame, both for size and color contrast.

"Hello, Jordan," I signed. "I'm not really Angela's Dad, in case you didn't know. My name is Aaron. But, I have two questions. First, how old are you?"

"I'm twenty-two," Jordan signed.

I doubted that. But, then the last time Brannon and Krista had hauled us out on a double date at a real restaurant just before New Years, they'd had a fetus working as the hostess. So, what the fuck did I know?

"Ok," I signed, accepting her at her word. "Are you injured? Do you need medical help?"

"No," Jordan signed. "Just this."

"Ok," I signed and looked back at Angela.

"First things first," Angela signed at Jordan. "You stink. If you are going to stay here, you will have to shower. Go on in and get started while I talk to Daddy for a minute."

Jordan edged past, keeping Angela between me and her as much as she could, and slipped inside the opened door beside me.

The second she was out of sight, I leaned forward and slapped my lover on the ass as hard as I ever had. Which was nowhere near what she'd experienced before she'd found me.

It was still enough to make her jump and yelp before giggling at me.

"I'm mad at you," I signed. "What are the rules?"

"No drugs," Angela signed dutifully. "No fucking around without telling you first. And no guests."

"And yet, you brought a guest."

"But, Jordan needs us, Daddy," Angela signed. "She might need you more even than I did. After her mother died, her father made her the woman of the house in every way. He's broken most of her ribs several times and her arm twice. Got her pregnant and then beat her until she miscarried. And you know when they start hitting in the face, it's just one short step to something more permanent. When I saw that, I knew we had to help her tonight, since she might not be around to help tomorrow."

I scowled at her for a long moment. This is what comes from letting people think you are "nice" or "good." Take her in, give her food and shelter. Give her shoes and books...

"Fine," I signed. "But, tomorrow we will look at other solutions. Real solutions."

"Forgiven?" Angela signed as she stepped up close enough she almost buried my nose in her almost non-existent cleavage.

For an answer, I swatted her again on the other cheek, making her jump, and yelp, and back out of reach.

"No," I signed. "I'm still going to spank you. I mean it this time."

"Oh, promise, Daddy?" Angela asked aloud as she scooped up her helmet before flouncing away inside, giggling.

I looked at Bitty to find her looking at me with her head tilted to one side.

"Don't look at me," I said. "It was your idea to chase her down and bring her back."

Damn dog just lolled her tongue out in a canine grin and wagged her tail at me. I considered whether to go inside or smoke one more before I did.

One more smoke won.

There is no such thing as "happily ever after." There are just stories that haven't reached their true end. And it looked like it was time to start another chapter as I lit another and followed the trail of smoke with my gaze to the brilliant West Texas stars shining down on Valentine's.

How many days does it take before you take the one you love for granted? That they will be there for you to tell or show you love them later? I hope I've learned my lesson. I've tried to live each day as if it might be our last together. Because someday, it will be.

How many months does it take before it stops hurting that they are once again gone from your life? To stop regretting the missed opportunities to tell them and show them just how you felt? I'm beginning to believe I will never know. I just know I haven't gotten there yet. I still miss my red-haired wife and regret that it took losing her for me to learn the last of her love lessons even as I treasure the last Valentine's gift she sent me.

How many Valentine's Days would be enough to spend with someone you love more than life, that means more than the promise of Heaven or Hell to you? I don't know that either, but I strongly suspect it would be one more than I'd had no matter what that number was.

*****

If you've made it this far, slap us a star or three. If it wasn't your cup of tea, there's more writers than me. If you love Valentine's, don't be shy to give them all a read.

Literotica.com Valentine's Day 2018