How They May Be: After the Fall

Reluctantly, I stopped. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she laughed warmly, shaking her head as she sat up. "I mean, nothing bad, I just want to get more comfortable. I was kind of on some rocks there." A quick glance around us, and she touched her hand to my chest, faintly commanding. "Could you, um, sit against that tree, so I could sit in your lap?"

The request was as good as the deed, and in a moment she was perched upon my knee, her right side against my chest and her legs sideways between mine. I kept one arm wrapped behind her back, my hand grasping comfortably at her left breast, while the other snaked down into her shorts, resting upon her mound, stoking the heat which poured from her as it would from a furnace. Her head nestled in my neck, and she kissed there languidly as I began to stroke her once more. "Is that better, sweetie?" I asked huskily.

"It's perfect." A kiss at the base of my jaw, her lips like the touch of fairy wings. Just the feeling of her breathing on my skin was a tremendous rush. "Just perfect." And needing no more go-ahead than that, I slipped my fingers beneath the hem of her panties, breathlessly ecstatic to once again run their tips along buttery-smooth, velvet skin...but no, there was actually a little prickle now, of young hairs beginning to regrow. I smiled lustfully. No matter. It just meant she could be shaven clean again.

My fingers stroked and pressed upon her secret flesh, and I could hear and feel her breath grow thick again as I spread in slow circles the honey which trickled from her flower. Someone could have walked into the grove at any moment and seen us, but I was blind to the possibility; all that mattered was giving her pleasure. For a time I just slid my middle finger along her slit, almost teasingly slowly, listening to her breathe, feeling her lips shift upon my neck as the faintest moans fell from her mouth and vibrated on my skin. And then I pushed inside, feeling her walls close and squeeze upon me, hot and slick. I could not tire of this thrill, her body accepting me. The little heaven inside her.

She shifted slightly on my leg, and hugged my arm tight upon her chest as I rubbed my fingertip upon her inner wall, pressing hard and deep, listening for a response that would tell me I had found what I was looking for. Something special, amidst her softly pleasured sighs. Nothing yet; another quarter-inch, probing into wet and yielding inner flesh. And another. And-

She gasped suddenly, clutched impulsively at my arm as her whole body seemed to twitch around my finger. "What - my god, what was that?" The words came out weakly, after a moment to settle herself.

I smiled, knowing I had hit my target. "Just a very sensitive part of your body, sweetie," I whispered back, and began caressing it in earnest, rubbing at that nodule which I could not feel but which could be known by its effect on her. With firm and energetic strokes inside her, she began to squirm much as she had when I was tickling her, her hips twisting spasmodically. I could hear tiny squeaks escaping her tightened throat, sometimes in the shape of words. "Oh my god..." Her face rubbing gently at my neck as though trying to burrow inside, as I pushed her closer to the edge. "oh my god..."

My heart beat like a hummingbird's at the sound of her exclamations; I needed to hear her release, to feel her rapture. Clutching her tightly, I felt her quiver against my chest as my finger pumped forcefully within her, pulsing pleasure up into her mind. This time all language fell away, and she moaned ecstatically into my neck while I carried her to the plateau. And yet it was not quite enough; she strained there long seconds, inches from climax, her earnest cries echoing in my ears. I did not normally have such trouble; perhaps it was the public setting, making her self-conscious.

In any case, a notion came as inspiration. My lips touched upon the top of her scalp as I continued to stroke within her, and I whispered to her in tones powerfully heartfelt. "I love you..." No more than that, and with a long, gasping exhalation she arrived, her womanhood clenching tight around my finger as the moment of ecstasy passed over her, shuddering squeals falling from her divine lips. I held her close against me, exulting in her soft, rapturous shivers, in every last trace of her pleasure. Joy from her joy.

It was some ten seconds before her body was again quiescent, and then she snuggled up still closer against me, her chest pressed warmly upon mine, her legs straddling my hips. "I love you, too." An answer, belated and subtly amused, but still wonderful to hear. "God." Passion in her voice, soft and evocative. Her hand moved at my back, a single, gentle stroke. "I love you so much, daddy, the word isn't even strong enough. I never want to be apart from you. I just want to be your little girl forever, and your woman, and your...um." She hesitated, and her head shook ever so slightly against my chest. "This is everything I've ever wanted, right here with you."

I kissed again the top of her head, ran my hand down the gentle curve of her spine, sampling the delight which radiated from every inch of her body. "You're right, Emily." I spoke softly. "There's nothing wrong with this. It's the most wonderful thing in the world."

"Mmm." She hummed pleasantly, but when she spoke her voice was faintly teasing. "Is that you being crazy again?" I'd expressed similar acceptance before, of course, when my mind was warm and sluggish from afterglow.

"No, not this time." I shook my head, a warm smile in my tone. "This is real, princess. This is true."

---

Events began to settle after that, the shape of our lives strangely parallel to what it had been before. We still watched movies together on Thursday nights, went out to eat on Fridays, teased and laughed and bantered with one another just as we always had. But our evenings now were heavy with passion. Each weekday, we parted in the morning with a tender kiss, and rejoined in the afternoon with one rather more energetic, the brief hours of separation feeling as days. Emily moved her belongings more permanently into my room, and every night slept wrapped up in my arms. In short, we lived as a couple in the brightest bloom of love - as, I suppose, we were.

I did not speak to her much of the future - a persistent failing of mine, it seems. Indeed, I did not too often even think of it. Despite my acceptance of what had come to be between us, time still stood as an enemy; it would not be more than a handful of months before she went away to college, and when that happened . . . my heart trembled with uncertainty at the thought. I wanted so badly to believe that we would maintain this, that she would return with her degree and that we would have a life together. For years I had quietly worried at the long emptiness which would fill my life once she was grown; the prospect that this might not come to pass was a joyous one.

And yet. For all Emily's words and manner of devotion true and abiding, she was so young, inexperienced in love. She had not tasted the breadth of what was open to her. At college I was sure there would be no end to her admirers, men young and intelligent and charming. When the novelty I offered her was faded, when she was far from home and her steady life suddenly upended, her eye and heart might well be caught by some new suitor, her own age and not her kin. A horrid thought. But it could well happen - how many relationships formed at age eighteen endure much beyond it? And if it did...

Resolution, melancholy and bittersweet. If it did, I would have to let her go. No more to it, and no less than that. I could feel the hurt of it now, a distant keening - but I loved her too much for anything else. She had her own future, her own destiny, and though I prayed that it would be beside me, I would not try to force the matter. I had already memories warm enough to carry me through the long darkness without her. They would be with me the rest of my life, even if she might not.

I found soon, though, that her understanding of the future was rather different from mine. Perhaps two weeks after our hike, I was emptying out our rubbish bins when I was fortunate enough to notice a large, unopened envelope bearing the crest of Brown University, one of the two top picks into which she had been accepted. This was a surprise, and it was with confusion and a bit of foreboding that I returned inside to ask her about it.

She was in her room - what she now called her 'old room' - casually dressed in a slightly tattered t-shirt and jeans, working on the half-finished painting which had been sitting there untouched for something like three months. As I walked into the room, she lowered the palette and turned to me with a tiny, adoring smile. "Hey, daddy. How are you doing?"

"Just fine, sweetie." A nod towards the painting. "What do you have there?"

Her smile widened, flush with pride at her work. "I felt inspired today, thought I'd try to finish this. Or at least make some progress. What do you think?"

I gave the canvas a quick study. She was filling in the garden area below a marble balcony, thickly growing trees and flowers blooming bright in fanciful colors. It had a glowing, vibrant ambience which was really quite beautiful, though her technique was still a bit sloppy in some places. "Looks nice, sweetheart." I was glad to see her practicing. Usually I was more effusive with my praise, but the matter I had come in with still concerned me, and I raised up the envelope demonstratively. "Could you tell me why this was in the trash?"

Her smile faded, and she turned away from me, back to her painting. When she answered, there was a slight defensiveness in her voice. "I don't need it."

"It says," I flipped the envelope over in my hand, "that this is registration information."

"Exactly." A touch of emphasis. "I don't need it."

I paused a moment, suspecting what was going on, but not wanting to assume too much. "You mean you've decided you're definitely going to Berkeley?"

A frustrated sigh, as she put down her paintbrush. "No." Still looking away. "I mean I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here with you."

"Emily..." I spoke with a clear tone of rebuke.

"And I knew that you'd make a big deal out of this." I could hear the frown in her voice.

"That's because it is a big deal." I ran fingers through my hair, vaguely nettled. "You can't just brush off college. It's an important part of building your life."

"I have a life," she returned forcefully, spinning round to face me again. Her eyes fierce, her jaw set. "I have...this is the life I want, right here, right now. There's nothing better."

I shook my head softly. "You don't really know that, sweetie. You haven't seen what's out there, or what your options are."

"I don't need to." A frown tugged at the corners of her lips, tense and unhappy. "I know what it offers. I mean, what, am I going be an accountant?" Her voice scornful at the thought of this absurdity. "A psychiatrist? A lawyer, like Mary?" She shook her head dismissively. After a moment, her expression slid deliberately into flirtation, and she smiled slightly as she stepped up just in front of me, touched her hands to my chest. "Come on, daddy," cooing gently, "do you really want me to go?"

Pleasant as her touch was, I wasn't about to drop this so easily, and wasn't fond besides of the clear attempt at manipulation. It did not seem her style. "Pumpkin, I love every moment with you. But I'm still your father, and what I want most is for you to have the best possible life. I don't think you can have that without this experience." And I laid my hands lightly atop her shoulders. Trying to be comforting, guiding.

"Rrrr," she growled adorably in frustration as she broke away again. "No. Just..." A fiercely passionate shake of her head. "I finally have you, and I'm not going to just give you up. I won't."

"Emily, it's not really about giving anything up," I explained gently. "It's about-"

"Are you going to force me to go?" she interrupted, hot and demanding.

"I..." A moment's hesitation. "No, of course not. I can't make you."

"Is it my decision?" Equally blustery.

I sighed. "Ultimately, yes. But you should consider-"

"Then I'm staying." And she crossed her arms defiantly before me, captivating in rebellion.

Her tone and manner did not brook further argument, and reluctantly, I dropped the matter, at least for the moment. But I was not happy. Emily was an intelligent girl, and would profit quite a bit from an advanced education; the prospect of her contenting herself with merely a high school diploma seemed downright shameful. It was vaguely upsetting that she even considered it an option.

Of course, it wasn't entirely surprising, either. Despite her cleverness, she had never developed too great an interest in scholastics; her good grades were a symptom more of natural talent and dutiful performance than of any real concern. Athletics and aesthetics had been a greater draw, with her past extracurricular activities reading like a laundry list of sports and arts. Track, gymnastics, skating, softball for a time; ballet, choir, drama, and even the violin. I could understand how college might seem to her a less-than-critical progression. But I knew, all the same, that it would represent an immeasurably valuable broadening of her horizons, and I hoped that she would find there a field which genuinely interested her. If I could get her to go.

She was worried, of course. Uneasy at the separation. Leaving home is hard enough under normal circumstances, and ours were no longer anything like normal. I had myself left behind a high school sweetheart when I moved out to study on the West Coast, and had hurt at the loss. Now, with Emily and I . . . oh, it was a mess of a situation, emotionally, to be lover and father both. Her going to college would not be an end to either relationship, or at least would not have to be. But perhaps she did not feel as certain of that. It is a painful thing, after all, to love from a distance; I had had nearly a decade of practice at it with Irene, and the thought of Emily's departure still made me quaver. For her - inexperienced, and in these first wild and passionate and uncertain stages of our new relationship - it was easy to see why there would be a terror at the prospect.

No, if I wanted her to go, I would have to soothe that worry. Convince her that what we had was more than strong enough to endure a bit of distance. Convince her emotionally - this was hardly a situation which called for reasoned debate. The question was how. For a few days I thought on this silently, the registration papers stashed somewhere safe so she could not throw them out again in the meanwhile. When inspiration struck, I was sitting on the couch with Emily in my lap, our fingers enmeshed as we watched the news together; the idea hit me with such force and rightness that I almost gasped, and had to beg off her curiosity as to why.

I knew just what to do. It was not just a solution to this problem - it was something I wanted anyway, something I had dreamed of. My heart fluttered in my chest to contemplate it, nervousness mixing with desire. It would be a big step, undeniably, but now that that the idea was in my head I could not imagine anything but to follow through. The only uncertainty was when. I needed some kind of special occasion, a celebration to serve as pretext for what I had in mind. And here, too, the answer came, clear and perfect as poetry. Emily's track meet, hardly a week away now. If the past was any indication, she would win something, enough to justify a little party. Enough to suit my needs.

I found it difficult to contain my excitement that week, preparing everything - a few surreptitious visits to the bakery and the jeweler's. Then the day rolled around, and I made my way to Emily's school in the early afternoon, sat down in the front and center of the admittedly rather underfilled bleachers. It was, I understood, a meet for the entire school district, the last of the semester; this was for keeps, and in the preparatory period a small horde of well-toned adolescents in shorts and school shirts milled about the field. Trying to find Emily without leaving my seat was an almost futile effort. I caught sight of her only in the last moments - we had time for barely a word of greeting and a quick embrace before a high tone from the loudspeakers signaled the official start of the competition, and she was forced to return to her school group.

There was a lot to get through; some four hours of assorted races and hurdles, sorted by length and by the gender of the runners. Those in which Emily participated were scattered throughout; a relay race towards the beginning, a three-kilometer run in the middle, and the second-to-last event, the girls' hundred-meter dash. She acquitted herself agreeably enough in the first two, helping her team to a third-place finish and ending up near the middle of the pack respectively. The last was where I expected her to shine; she had focused on the hundred-meter, specialized in the quick sprint. And she demonstrated in competitions past that she was fastest among the girls at her own school by a comfortable margin. But she now faced the best in the district, and I could only cross my fingers and hope that she would still carry through.

The runners began close by the bleachers, and I could practically feel the tension in the air as they performed their last-minute stretches, each girl itching for victory. I managed to catch Emily's eye while the moment of truth grew near, and gave her a smile and a few mouthed words of encouragement. "You can do this." Then she was lined up with the others, shoulder to shoulder with her rivals, knees bent and ready to bolt. A hush fell over the field, broken by only a handful of careless murmurs. They were ready.

The starter pistol spoke, and eight young women darted off down the track, wiry legs pumping furiously as they each worked to reach their full speed as quickly as they could. In the rush and crowd I lost track of Emily momentarily; it was another second or two before I located her again, and by that time the competitors were already stratified out a bit. To my relief, she was in the leading three, a little cluster already far enough ahead of the rest that the victory of one of them seemed assured. It was between Emily, a fair-haired girl in a ponytail, and a shorter, black girl whose legs practically seemed to blur together as she ran. I found myself holding my breath as they jockeyed for position, moving down the track - in a race like this, there was so little time, so few chances to push into first. She was nearly there, I could see that; straining for just a little more speed, to gain just a foot of ground. I strained with her, as though to lend her my strength and my energy from across the space between us.

For a moment, she had it - I'm almost certain of that. Then the girl in the ponytail pulled ahead again, and an instant later they all crossed the finish line in the space of less than a second, followed thereafter by the rest of the pack, and then by a single, lone straggler. Even from where I sat I could see the disappointment, the frustration on Emily's face. When she set out to win, she was not content with second place. And it was just a few minutes later that an official confirmed that as her position; West with 12.44, after Monigold with 12.35. It was a hairsbreadth, a nothing of time. But it is by such spaces that races are won and lost.

She returned to her school's encampment then; I did not see her again until the event was over and she wandered back over to the bleachers, morosely silent with her features low and unhappy. Hardly ideal. I'd have to be cheery for her. "Congratulations, sweetie," I spoke brightly as I swept her up in a hug that lifted her a foot off the ground.