Blurred Lines

After many discussions and arguments, her mother let her go to New York. I can summarize that six years later, she was on top of the world. A SUNY degree in economics was her personal achievement, but the modelling really took off. And not in a "nice career" way. More like a "changed the families financial dynamic forever" sort of way. Her total haul over the six years was in excess of four million dollars. I didn't know if a few well-timed blowjobs helped get her to the top of the heap. Needless to say, our mortgage was her Christmas present one year. I couldn't be more proud or expected any less, even if she went the sideways route to get there. She was one in a billion, maybe she never had to take it to the basement with a horny talent director after all.

The internet pages started cropping up. Whole forums dedicated to horny men posting pictures of her and talking about all the horrible things they'd do to her body. Yes, there were nudes. And I took a peak, despite swearing to her mother they were blasphemy and immoral. Seeing her shine that light on the world, the one that turned me into a perverted monster...I don't know how other men coped.

The worst was when that damn song would come on the radio or when I heard it inside a department store. Sometimes, when my psyche failed me and I had to cleanse myself of suppressed guilt, I'd listen to it over and over. The beat would drop, and I'd fish into my memory to find the exact second I made a baby inside my daughter. It was locked in time, forever, in that one song. The hurt would fill me, I would lust for her, I would hate myself, I would hate her for not letting me inside her again. I'd hit the rewind button. Rinse repeat, like self-imposed torture. Once, fetching some paper towels from a gas station, it came on. I stood there, staring into space. The cashier came from behind the counter to ask me if I was alright. I could never shake it from my subconscious.

--

I had visited her alone before, but the time I flew out to her Manhattan apartment in the spring was different. I wanted to have her see some family before Easter, even if it meant we could only spend a day together.

As we walked to a restaurant the evening I arrived, we passed by a mom holding the hand of a little boy, who was perhaps five or six years old. I noticed Sarah turn her head for a second look, and I followed. When I looked to her face, I knew what she was thinking. She wasn't the tough vixen she tried to be. Even the most dominant people are human.

At her mother's request, I brought up her love life over dinner. I'd completely avoided any such talk for fear of veering the discussion back to our past. Her opinions on relationships and men were the same as they were six years before.

"I don't want a husband, boyfriend, anything," she said, her golden locks flailing as she shook her head, "Never. Kids, yes, dealing with a man, no. I guess I'm too selfish."

And so it was. She truly was independent in that regard. But then again, time can change anything.

Back at her apartment, she washed dishes, and we talked as I sipped some coffee. I teased her about how ridiculous it was that someone of her means washed her own dishes. She was wearing a short skirt with nylons, and when she leaned over to reach something, I was a little taken aback at how revealing the outfit was.

"I only wear designer clothes now," she said, almost reading my mind. She faced away from me as I leaned against her countertop. "This whole outfit, including the underwear, costs about $3,000."

I found it to be a random comment...but I complimented her on how "nice" the ensemble looked.

"Oh, and this new contract I signed with an agency...it's got a pregnancy clause. They have to pay me even if I decide to have a baby. I mean, I'll have to get back to a certain weight within a certain time, but it's something not a lot of models get. Not like I'll ever find a guy who can get the job done."

Two random comments in a row...somethings amiss. I put my coffee down. My eyes dropped and ran up and down her legs.

"And I read this crazy thing on the internet...apparently the body stops growing once you hit twenty-four. Like, it doesn't generate new cells. So...I'll never look this good again. I don't know what it means about my earnings, but I know this is the last time I'll ever look this way. It's almost like it's the last time I have the chance to, you know, I dunno...be at my peak, my absolute physical peak."

I was as quiet as a church mouse as I walked towards her. I unzipped my fly like a secret agent, and my cock was free.

"Oh darnit, the damn drain...this thing..." she said, leaning over to expose her thong-covered ass to me.

It didn't matter how much the material cost. I ripped them off in a half second and plunged myself in.

Everybody get up!

Hey hey hey

It was feral, like two wolves clawing each other in the woods. I tore her blouse into shreds. I came in less than a minute, but the demons kept me moving.

I twirled her around and tore off the rest of her clothes. Six years of development had turned her breasts into pure art while her proportions were almost the exact same. Her face was even more adult, even more radiant, the peak of human beauty. I sucked, we kissed, I fingered, she moaned, I was hard again and ready to make another deposit. Another two minutes, breathless, I came.

We sat in each others arms, her outfit totally destroyed.

"I've wanted to make up for what you lost...what I did to you...."

She sighed in my ear and kissed my head, "You don't need to say it."

I removed my face from her neck and brushed the hair back from her eyes.

"We got one night to get the job done," I said, "Then really, truly, never again."

She smiled, "Never. But I want this."

"You know what I want."

"Both the songs are still on my iPod. An my new stereo is a bad motherfucker."

Visions of her bouncing, mature, fully adult breasts...one last show.

Her moral compass was wayward, she was a nymphomaniac, nine out of ten psychiatrists would call her nuts, and she would never know what love with another man was like out of her own stubborn nihilistic self-absorption...but she was my daughter. And I loved her, as a daughter. And I knew her to be the ultimate lay, the best lover I had ever taken in my life.

She looked down at our soiled crotches. Two loads of my cum were seeping around the edges of my cock. Her pussy felt like velvet.

"Quite the little family we have here..."