Awkward, a Love Story Ch. 02

"David, where'd you go?"

I returned to the room. It was a pretty day outside, and I liked looking out the window. "Nowhere."

"I was wondering how things were going with your tenant."

I looked at my therapist. She was wearing a navy-blue suit and a stiff, white blouse. For not the first time, I wondered what she looked like naked.

"I bet you wonder. I'm curious what you think I'd do with the situation. Shall we make a bet as to whether you're right?"

"She's been there for 10 days, and you haven't mentioned anything."

"Biding my time."

"Biding your time with me or with her?"

"This is why I trudge across town to see you. You're funny." I paused. "So, you want to know whether I've slept with a teenage tenant?"

She bent her head, by which I assume that she meant, 'hurry up and tell me whether you're a bad person.'

I thought about the sex I'd been having. It was transgressive and secret on multiple levels, and I debated how much to reveal. Ah, what the hell.

"Well, yes, I have. It's been fun, and I don't think anyone has gotten hurt. Well, there's been some pain, but there is always a little pain in a good sexual experience, at least that's been my experience. Long-term psychological pain remains to be seen."

I think I saw her slump a bit in her chair. Hard to tell. She's a pro.

My doctor was asking about my 18-year-old tenant for the month of August. She's my 1st cousin's daughter. I'd spent a whole damn session talking about my hot cousin, with whom I've maintained an--ahem--relationship since we were teens. My cousin, Caroline, got married at 20, and they stay happily married. They have four kids, two of whom are mine, depending on one's definition of parenthood and responsibility. The eldest of those kids is 18, and she is my August tenant. Unlike actual tenants, which I've never had, she doesn't pay rent.

"Well, I'm off for the summer, as you know. Life of an academic has its perks. And it has given me the opportunity to get to spend some alone time with her."

"Uh huh."

"Did I mention she brought a friend with her?"

"A friend?"

"Yeah, one of her school friends. She's also a long-time family friend, from their fundamentalist church. The two of them thought it'd be fun to hang out with old Uncle David before they went to college."

"Which have you been sleeping with?"

"You've gotten very directive lately. I thought you were more of a 'say what comes to mind' kind of gal."

"I'm a gal?"

Silence.

My therapist cleared her throat. She does that all the time. Well, she alternates the throat thing with uh huhs and tell me mores and the occasional leaning of the head. Did I mention she has very pale skin, my therapist? And especially pale for someone who lives in southern California. I've asked her what sort of sunscreen she uses, but, unsurprisingly, I got no answer.

"Usually, you let me just talk, talk, talk. I bet you're worried about her. Y'know, she's not officially my daughter. We wouldn't be breaking any laws. And it might not be a law."

"Might not be one?"

"I want to be brutally honest in here. Well, I don't like being brutal, but I do like to be transparent."

Clearing of throat.

"And some might get legalistic about this situation. Maybe we would be breaking the law, but she doesn't know about the family drama, and neither Caroline nor I are planning to send out an announcement. Is there some sort of rule that says you'd have to out me? If so, now's a good time to air your scruples."

"David, this therapy is about you. I don't do police work."

Silence.

"Both of those are true statements. The therapy is about me, and you aren't a policewoman. But you know, my impression is that it is illegal for a father to have sexual intercourse with his daughter--regardless of their ages and whether she is as hot as her mother, and even if they are both having the best damn sex of their lives, and even if one of the two might think it's second-tier incest rather than the big kahuna transgression. So, my question, doctor, is whether you are obligated to report, if this would be considered a crime for which there is mandatory reporting. I ask not just for my sake but for yours--I wouldn't want you to be an accessory after the fact. And I also wouldn't want to have to lie, and I obviously wouldn't want to hurt the girl, or her mother."

Silence.

"And I'd also add that I haven't said that she's actually my biological daughter or that we'd had sex."

"No, I wouldn't report you."

"You're sure?"

"I've checked. We agreed it wouldn't be the right thing to do."

"Excellent," I said, "because I would very much like to discuss the details of my dilemma, and you're the most trustworthy person I know. Of course, I don't know who this 'we' is that you just mentioned, but I'll assume you didn't point him to my Wikipedia page."

"Uh huh. So how has it gone?"

"I think I should start with a diary. A diary of yet another 18-year-old girl. I'm afraid this summer's sessions are crammed with 18 year olds, though only two are currently 18, while two have been adults for decades, though one of those adults has passed away."

"Who's dead?"

"I'd have to tell you about the diary."

"You're getting sidetracked."

"Or I can talk about my interest in mentorship. That's also crucial to the situation, though that's probably secondary."

"Maybe stick with the visit, and then we can get into diaries and your unique expertise at mentorship."

"Ha," I said, "that reminds me of when you assumed I had a big erection, when all I'd said was that I had an erection. In this case, I didn't say I was an expert mentor, just a mentor, but of course you added 'unique,' which is sarcastic, so I assume you're angry that I may have had congress with my own daughter, or maybe because I'm not being as direct as you'd like. I'm sorry, what did you ask?"

"The visit."

"What about it?"

"As in, what were you doing earlier today."

"Well, many things, but I know what you're getting at. My personal highlight was having tied down a young women--totally at her request--and made her cum until she cried. Literally cried. Oral sex only, for a change, and it was all about her. Very satisfying. That was about an hour ago. Aside from the tears, she had a very distinctive crescendo of reactions that would peak with a kind of high-pitched squeak."

Knitted brow.

"Good point. Squeak is unfair. It was breathy and intense and high pitched, but I don't know the right word. Almost a whistle that originates in the diaphragm and blows out the back of the throat. It may have been related to her positioning. She was flat on my massage bed. Did I mention I have a nice massage bed that can get wheeled out onto the patio, which is very private and pleasant? And so while I'm seated comfortably between her legs, doing my thing, this--well--squeak is blasting from what seems like her throat or abdomen or somewhere. Not terribly loud, but sweet and sincere and intense. I may have heard that sound one other time, but it's unusual at least in my experience. Anyway, I would have satisfied myself, but I didn't want to be late for my session, and--out of respect for you--I also wanted to take a good shower and really clean everything out."

"Hmmm."

"Y'know. I can still taste her, and a few parts of my body are sore, but I don't know how much information you want. You've asked me to do body scans in the past, but this information might be more than you're asking for."

No response.

"I feel like I'm taking missteps, that you don't want me to give background info about, say, the diary or my mentorship, and you also don't want to hear how she whimpers when she veers towards a sexual intensity that she hasn't previously experienced. She'll obviously have better and younger lovers in her not-too-distant future, but it's fun to get into her pantheon without the competition of 20-year-old guys who can offer things that I can't."

"I'm a little confused. Maybe a bit of background?"

"Okay, I'll start with their arrival, and I apologize in advance for anything that you don't want to hear. If it feels coercive or you feel involved in a sexual exposure that feels abusive or intrusive, just raise a hand. We'll call that our safe gesture. I'm completely in the zeitgeist of modernity, and I welcome the clarity of rules and the need to prevent an abuse of the power differential."

She looked at me skeptically.

"Okay the two girls showed up at 1:00 on a Saturday. I'm an academic, so everyday in the summer is a holiday, especially in southern California. Within 15 minutes, the two girls were in their swimsuits."

"And how did it go?"

"Well, I had lunch plans, so I handed over keys and the combination to the alarm, and I gave them the rules."

"What were they?"

"No drinking, no drugs, no boys, no guests, no skinny dipping, and, if they went out, they needed to be home by 11."

"You actually told them that?"

"Right up front. They're not 21, so they're too young to be drinking, and the rest is self-explanatory."

"I'm a little surprised. Those don't sound like your usual house rules."

"I told them that, like my therapist, I'm not a cop, but I'd need to send them home if they broke the rules. Remember, we're talking 18-year-old girls. And even though my backyard is entirely private, and the nearest house is 100 yards away, I have a reputation and a responsibility to their parents."

"And when you got back from lunch?"

"We chatted. I heard about their lives, etc. It was sweet. They were both lively, even frisky, and obviously curious about me."

"That doesn't sound very visual."

"I still think you're very funny--no matter everybody else probably thinks about you. Okay, so we're chatting. I'm wearing shorts, a t-shirt, a hat. More than I'd usually wear, though I did eventually go swimming for a bit. And I sat in the shade while they lolled in the sun. I was proud of myself. They wouldn't have seen my big erection, as you'd say, and they wouldn't have caught me staring."

"Oh?"

I wore baggy shorts and reflective sunglasses."

"Do they have names?"

"No, I don't name my sunglasses. Was that a trick question?"

"I meant the girls."

"Yes, they both do."

"David, you're being difficult about this."

"I'm a little nervous about the details. As I mentioned, I like sex, but consequences... Anyway, I was debating my approach. I still hadn't decided exactly what to do. They were obviously flirting, but they get to do that since they're the adolescents, and I'm seen as the stable one."

Head tilt.

"You pack a lot into your head tilt. Yes, I'm seen by them as stable and old. While I can be appealing to a certain depraved subset of the population, and I stay in good shape, etc, I'm fully aware that an old guy hitting on teens is such a stereotype, and the last thing I wanted was to be met by rejection, even mockery. Plus, there's the incest issue. So, we talked."

"You've been talking for two weeks now but haven't wanted to mention it, except you've also been tying down one or more of them, so I assume things progressed."

"Ha! I knew you were pervy, doc."

She got stony. Not a head tilt or even a uh huh.

"Sarah is Caroline's daughter. Like her mom, she has this tall skinny body with boobs that are probably too big and perfect for her frame, as in, they could potentially make her look too much like Barbie. But you know, those are the features that got mom all the way to Miss Teen San Diego. A killer body and sweet, innocent demeanor. Those were her ticket. It certainly wasn't her talent, which peaked--in my experience--with a ferocious sexual appetite that persists to this day."

Clearing of throat.

"Kidding, though not kidding. Anyway, so I'm sitting behind my reflective sunglasses, making chit chat, and I'm watching Sarah. She was wearing a white one piece, with a strong side boob feature and a narrow strip of cloth at her crotch that outlined her pussy lips in a way that kept me hard..."

The doctor's hand was raised.

"Right. Safe word. Sorry. So I'm prattling on about majors and good professors at the colleges they'd be attending. Did I mention that one of them would be attending my university?"

"Nope."

"So I was riffing on admin and extracurriculars and good professors... did I mention I was department chair, so this is the sort of thing that I know an embarrassing amount about?"

"Yes."

"And they were diligently typing into their phones. At the same time, my parallel reptilian brain was watching Sarah's pudenda swell against the elastic cloth, forming the camel toe that I think I discussed when I first mentioned her. And it goes without saying that Sarah's pudenda was now visible in two very different bathing suits, which just got me to thinking about sex, even though she is Caroline's child."

"And yours."

"No, not mine. She's not mine unless she knows she's mine, and she already has two legitimate parents. And I don't think I've related the kind of sex that led to her conception. But I did bring up her cameltoe last time, didn't I?"

"Does it matter, David? Where is this going?"

"It's getting to the diary, but you want the visuals, right? I do want to do the right thing, as always."

"Uh huh."

"So, it was difficult not to just stare at her legs, which were sprawled at perhaps a 30-degree angle. It wasn't 45, which I'd consider not so much slutty as just too obvious or too intoxicated. Or 65 degrees, which would mean she was mentally ill. And not 180 degrees, since she's not a gymnast. Anyway, 30 degrees, in a white one piece, lying on my chaise, with labia that are just about to spill out of the suit. Well, it was hard for me to concentrate. I debated getting parental and telling her to close her legs, and I also debated getting pervy and dispensing with all of my house rules."

She tilted her head.

"But I was equally mesmerized by Sarah's boobs. Remarkable, like her mothers. The suit was cut so that perhaps a quarter of her side boob was visible, on each side, of course, and they would jiggle. Hmmm. Jiggle isn't quite the right word. Jiggle is the usual word, especially for someone with big breasts. Did I ever mention that her mother had, and still has, remarkably dense breast tissue? It's actually a little freaky, and probably makes it difficult to do a good mammogram, which brings us to the diary, but I know you don't want to go there, which is funny, because I always thought psychiatrists were a bookish group. Maybe the most bookish of the medical specialties."

She seemed to be squinting.

"But I wasn't so much aroused as curious. Sarah's boobs seemed just like her mother's when she was 18. I mean, Caroline's breasts are still amazing as a 40-year-old mother of 4. I wouldn't tell Sarah this, since kids can be so sensitive and she has years to catch up to her mother, but Caroline's breasts have only gotten more erotic with age. More to twist and pull and rub. When she was a teen, her breasts were almost too firm--as I said, she was--and is--something of a physical freak, but just a few days earlier, when I'd made a quick trip down to San Diego to discuss this whole tenant situation with Sarah's mom..."

"You talked to Caroline about your plans to have sex with your shared child?"

"Okay, doc. Last time. I'm not going through this again. We didn't share a child. Caroline shared the child with her husband. And, of course, we talked about it. You think we live in a vacuum?"

"What did she think?"

"Uhm, let's see. What would Caroline think about her teeny-bopper daughter, an 18-year-old who'd been sequestered from the real world in much the same way as she'd had been, and who happens to have inherited her mom's freakish body, spending a month sitting by the pool alone with a guy with whom she'd obviously been flirting a couple weeks earlier? Oh, and the flirting was specifically performed right in front of her mother, whose long-time lover and cousin was not only enjoying the show but has a well-documented personal history of incest with the mom, herself? Hmmm.... I'm going to really have to think about whether she thought it a good idea."

That got a small smile out the good doctor. Small smiles are hard to come by.

"So, what did she say."

"Well, I'd gone down, because Caroline insisted that we have a face to face, or heart to heart or whatever."

"At her house?"

"No--the other kids were there, and so she went to our hotel."

"You have a hotel?"

"I don't personally have a hotel, no, but we do have a hotel where we meet, or actually, we have three fairly large hotels where we can check in and check out without anyone seeing us--and where she is unlikely to know anyone. This has been going on for 20 years, so yes, we have a pattern."

"Okay."

"So, anyway, she was blowing me."

"I'm sorry, I missed that. What?"

"I said, 'she was blowing me,' and I'll try to enunciate better in the future. Interestingly, blowjobs have become one of her favorite things to do, which is fine by me. I've always encouraged her to follow her interests, and over the years, she's flowed through all the erogenous zones. One of the many things I respect about her is her sexuality. Anyway, so she's blowing me, and she pulled me out, and with a gossamer thin web of spittle that stretched momentarily between her lips, her hand and my dick, she made a small statement."

"I'm not sure whether I should raise my hand or ask you to continue."

"Perfect, that's my goal."

She leered at me. Okay, she didn't leer at me. She looked irritated.

"Anyway, while holding my dick right next to her lips, she said that if I screwed our daughter, that she promised that during my next blowjob, she'd bite me in half."

"What did you say?"

"Well, I laughed, of course. She said it with this semi-sexy, semi-malevolent tone that totally cracked me up."

"You thought she was kidding?"

"Kidding, no. Did I think she could really go through it? I'm not sure. I think there's some sort of programming that keeps women, and men--I don't want to be sexual orientationist--from biting off a dick that they don't want to be sucking or whose owner they hate. I mean, how often does it happen? How often have you heard of someone biting off a dick? Like hardly ever. And I'm sure there are plenty of times that someone is giving a blow job or is being forced to give a blow job, and they just can't bite down with the necessary enthusiasm. You know what I'm saying."

No response.

"So, would she bite off my dick if I transgressed? I don't know, but she might. I believe she's tougher than most people, though I am biased since I love her."

"How did you answer?"

"Well, before I could answer, she gagged herself on me for a few minutes. That's kinda become her signature move. It wasn't her thing for years, but she really got into deep throating me as we got into our mid to late 30's. It's not like she's somebody without a gag reflex. I mean, she experiences the whole eye-watering thing."

"Is this coming back to her daughter?"

"Thanks for saying Sarah is her daughter, not our daughter. Yes, it's coming back to Sarah. But I have to say that I liked watching Mrs. Purity--did I mention she used to be Ms. Purity and now she's Mrs? It's our little joke, one of them."

Head tilt.

"Anyway, Mrs. Purity is still a fundamentalist Christian, and she drove all those kids to school for all those years, and she and her husband play golf in this little enclave they've got going, but my sweetie has--at least during this multi-year chapter--decided she loves to gag herself on my cock. It's awesome. I like to lay my hand on her head just to keep my bearings, but she does all the work with blow jobs. I don't cheat or try to force her down further. That's not our thing. I want her to want to force herself. Did I ever mention that she doesn't like to call them 'blow jobs' with me?"