Porn Star's Daughter Ch. 12

[Author's Note: This chapter is part of an ongoing saga of a young woman uncovering the mystery of her family's past. This chapter contains spoilers for those who have not read earlier chapters. If continuity is important to you, it's highly recommended that you read the earlier chapters before this one. Otherwise, please enjoy.]

Chapter 12 - London Bridge is Falling Down

"Hello?" I heard Tracy's voice.

"Hi Tracy," I said. "It's Shannon."

"Hi Shannon," her voice was flat and unemotional. I must have really pissed her off somehow.

"I, um," I hesitated. I didn't know exactly what to say, since I didn't know what I'd done wrong. "I just wanted to apologize..."

"You do? For what?" Now Tracy's voice sounded surprised.

"Well, I got the feeling that I upset you earlier, somehow," I said. Then, in a quiet, meek voice, "Or, maybe, um, I wasn't that good of a lover."

"Oh Shannon, of course you didn't upset me," Tracy said. "In fact, I think I should apologize to you. I guess I let my frustration get the better of me."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God, I thought. At least she doesn't think that I'm a lousy lay-

"And don't worry about the sex," she said, breaking into my thoughts. "Everyone's first time is a disappointment, right?"

I felt my heart leap into my throat. I tried swallowing, but it was difficult. "Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so," I sputtered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," she said. "You'll get better in time."

I drove in stunned silence, unable to respond to her. This was a complete shock to me. I had thought that the sex had been incredible. We both had had mind-blowing orgasms. I had taken all but a couple of inches of the dildo on my first try! She had come all over my mouth.

Not only did it not make sense, but it didn't seem fair.

"At least you were able to make a couple mistakes before you tried it with a real boy, right?" she asked. "Can you imagine what that would be like, before you had a chance to practice more?"

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. "Well, actually," I said slowly.

"Wait, Shannon, did you just do the nasty with some boy?" Tracy asked. I could hear the surprise in her voice. There was a sing-song quality to it.

"Yeah," I admitted. All of a sudden I wasn't sure that I really wanted to tell her anything. Obviously, she thought I hadn't been ready yet, and she was concerned I was going to be a terrible fuck.

"He seemed to enjoy it," I said, somewhat defensively.

I heard a chuckle come through the line. "Well, of course he did," Tracy laughed. "It's like pushing a button, it's so easy."

My pride in my accomplishment vanished. Still, I felt a need to justify myself somehow. "He came hard," I said. "And a lot."

"Ah, yes," Tracy said, and it sounded like she was remembering past times. "The energy of a young man. Wait, it was a young man, right? I mean, you didn't go out and have sex with some strange old guy, did you?"

Shocked, I reacted with a stronger response than I probably intended. "Of course not!"

She laughed even harder. "Hey, don't knock it!" she said. "When I was your age, I had lots of experience with older men. There are some bar bathrooms that could tell you pretty racy stories about me!"

With that, she started giggling. I wasn't laughing, however. "He's just a guy in my grade from my school," I said, annoyed.

"At least you got a little more experience, then," Tracy said. "Good for you. What was it, a blow job? Hand job? Did you fuck him?" She drew the last sentence out in a slow, lascivious drawl.

"Yes, yes, and yes," I said, defiantly. "He came all over my chest, and then he went down on me until I came."

There. I said it. Even after I did, though, I felt petulant and bratty. This wasn't the conversation I had wanted to have, and she didn't sound impressed at all.

"He ate you out?" she asked. Now she sounded impressed. "Well, he's definitely a keeper. Well, he is if he's not just looking to brag to his friends."

That got my attention. I hadn't really thought about the social consequences of what we had done. "I don't think that he will," I said, trying to pass it off as a non-issue. "He's not like that."

At least, I thought he wasn't like that.

I thought about Andrew and his home life, about how he never hung around after school or buddied around with friends that I could see. He seemed like a boy who carried a burden with each step, and I simply couldn't imagine that he would do something like that.

"Oh, honey," Tracy said sympathetically. "Of course he isn't. Until he is."

"He's a new kid at school," I argued. "He just moved here about a month ago. He's a military brat, and doesn't have any friends yet."

"Oh, so he couldn't use this to start making friends?" Tracy suggested. "This wouldn't improve his status in school?"

I hadn't thought of that. My heart sank.

"Look, sweetie," Tracy said, trying to soothe me. "I'm not saying he will do that. All I'm saying is that someone like you, with certain... challenges... really needs to make sure that you've got a reason for someone to stick around."

Challenges? What the fuck did she mean? Did she mean my tits? I thought she loved my tits! I couldn't think of what else she could mean.

"So that's okay," she said, sounding like she was trying to reassure me. "If he really did have a good time - and you could be right, he may have - then he'll probably want to do it again, right? So, if you play your cards right, you may get another chance, maybe."

Doubt flooded over me. Now I had no idea what could be going through Andrew's head. Could he have been asking me to leave right afterwards because he wanted me gone? Could he have been lying about his parents coming home?

"Yeah, I- I guess so," I agreed.

"Okay, so he came on your chest," Tracy said, returning to the subject I originally wanted to talk about. "Tell me more."

A flicker of the flame of pride came back to life at that. "It was incredible," I said. "I had him in my pussy but we didn't have a condom so he came on my tits."

I felt a warm feeling growing in my stomach as I remembered pulling him out of my cunt and feeling the rush of his ejaculation through the skin of his penis with my hand. I wanted to feel that again, along with the splash of liquid on my chest. My nipples wanted to feel the hot fluid as well, and I wondered if I could get him to shoot on one, and then the other. Could he shoot as many times again?

"Oh, that's hot," Tracy said, and I loved her approval. "Was it his idea to come on your tits?"

"No, it was mine," I said. "I wanted to watch him come. I've never seen that before - not in real life, anyway - and I really wanted to watch him shoot."

"Oh," Tracy said, and instantly I knew something was wrong.

"What?" I asked, worried.

"Nothing, sweetie," she said. "Don't worry about it."

Like that was going to happen. "No, what?" I insisted.

"It's just," she said, and then stopped. I waited with horrified tension until she spoke. "It's just most men want to finish inside you, not on you."

Oh shit. Had I been so wrapped up in what I wanted that I completely ignored what he wanted?

"But I'm not on the pill yet," I said, defensively.

"Oh, honey, come on," she chastised me. "Don't you have a mouth? An ass?"

"I-" I started, and then stopped. I hadn't thought about that at all. I had Andrew in my mouth, and then my pussy. Couldn't I had found the trifecta?

Yeah, baby! Team SUAFM rooted in my head. That would have been an awesome first-time story!

"But like I said," she continued dismissively. "He's probably just happy that he got to bust a nut. He probably didn't even notice that you weren't really thinking about what he wanted."

She made it sound mechanical, almost as if it didn't really matter if I was there or not. No, wait. She made it sound as if it didn't really matter if he was there or not. Wasn't that the point? That I had been selfish?

My mind amped up to a panic mode. I seriously contemplated turning the car around and going back to Andrew's house and sucking him off until he came and I swallowed every drop. I would have done it, too, if it hadn't been for the fact that I never wanted to see his parents again.

Tracy's words stabbed into me like a knife. Was I a selfish lover? I thought back to how I was feeling when she was making love to me, and how I had been so wrapped up in what she was doing that I didn't really pay as much attention to her. It was so overwhelming.

Excuses, excuses, Team Morality scolded me. Then another thought hit me like a ton of bricks. She's telling you that you were selfish with her too, you idiot.

"But he went down on me," I muttered, mostly to myself.

Tracy picked up on it, though. "And that's great!" she said enthusiastically. "Was he good?"

"He was fantastic," I said, but the thought that he was so good, and I was so bad, made me feel even more guilty. "He wanted me to talk to him and tell him what I liked, and he did what I told him to do."

The words came out in a rush, as if I was trying to will acceptance from Tracy. I didn't even know what I wanted from her, but I felt as if I needed to continue to try to find a way to get it.

"Oh, Shannon, that's the best kind," Tracy said. "A boy who loves hearing you show him how to please you. Did he tell you what he liked?"

I frowned. "No," I admitted.

"Oh," she said, and then paused. "Did you ask him what he liked?"

My heart sank. "No," I confessed.

Again, she merely said, "Oh."

I drove on in silence for a few moments, unsure of what to say. Tracy was right. I was a selfish, crappy lover. Everything was about me, me, me!

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it too much," Tracy said, sounding chipper. "At least you got laid! And you came during your first sex with a boy! Congrats!"

"Thanks," I said, but there was no true gratitude in my voice. I had wanted Tracy to be impressed, and despite her tone it was obvious that I had failed in that mission, too.

"Trust me," she said. "Boys are incredibly resilient. Now that he knows that you like sex, he's probably not going to go anywhere yet. You'll likely have plenty of time to get better with him, too."

There was that phrase again. Get better. I felt a determination rise in me to do just that. I needed to get better.

It didn't change how I felt now, though. At the time, the sex with Tracy had been the absolute best thing I'd ever felt in my entire life. It never dawned on me that it wouldn't even register on her scale. Sex with Andrew had been fun, even though he didn't have the equipment that I had sitting in a drawer in my bedroom and had started getting used to.

Was that why I had - I gulped as the realization dawned on me - been such a selfish bitch? Because Andrew was so much smaller than I had already stuffed inside my mouth and pussy? Was I becoming a snobbish size queen?

"Look, Shannon," Tracy said. "I have to go. Your father gave me a key to his condo and I want to get over there and surprise him when he gets home."

My mind shifted gears. He wasn't home yet? He had left my house hours ago.

"He's not there?" I asked.

"No, he had to go do that work thing, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," I said. "I forgot."

"Well, when he gets home, I intend to help him forget all about that," Tracy said, lewdly. "You've given me some great ideas, and I can't wait to suck all of that sweet release down my throat. He loves that. Thanks, Shannon! Bye-e-e!"

Again with the sing-song voice, leaving me with a false upbeat conclusion to our conversation.

He loves that. I knew that she added that in on purpose, just to turn the screws. It was just enough of a reminder that she knew how to please men, and I knew nothing. I was put off by her turn of phrase, too. Sweet release. That just seemed wrong too, somehow.

Oh, like you're in a position to judge, Team Morality spoke up.

TM was right, of course. Tracy had the talent, the experience, and the relationship with my father to earn the right to use whatever phrase she wished. I, on the other hand, felt lost and uncertain. I thought I had been making progress, breaking down my barriers.

I thought about what she said about Andrew, and felt the rise of paranoia in my chest. Had I simply been a piece of meat to him? After all, he had been locked away under his parents' thumb and just needed to get that "sweet release" himself. I was there, I was willing, so what else was there?

Could Andrew be looking for a way to "get in" with other people at school? Somehow I doubted that. I got the feeling that he was, like me, marking time until graduation and simply didn't want to get involved in cliques. Or, could it be that I was projecting my own desires onto him?

I banged my hand against the steering wheel, frustrated. How could I have been so clueless? The feeling was vague and nebulous, but I couldn't get it out of my head that I had, somehow, made a huge mistake - not in having sex with Andrew, but rather not understanding that maybe I wasn't good enough to have sex with Andrew. I should have practiced more.

Tracy is just jealous, Team SUAFM piped up.

Yeah, right. As if.

I needed to talk with Andrew, so I told my phone to send him a text. "Send a text to Andrew," I recited.

"What do you want to say?" my phone asked me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. What could I say that didn't sound like a complete crazy person? "Had a great time tonight, period," I quoted. "Are you available for a chat?"

The phone repeated back to me what I wrote, and asked if I was ready to send. Hearing it out loud, it all felt wrong. The words hung in the air and sounded incredibly desperate. Clingy. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. After a few moments, the phone beeped and the text went away.

A few moments later, a notification popped up on my car's screen. "Andrew sent you a new text message," my car reported. "Would you like to hear it now?"

I got shivers down my spine. Did my text actually send? Surely the phone didn't send it without me saying so, right?

"Yes," I told my car.

"Andrew says," the car intoned, "'Talk tomorrow.' Would you like to reply?"

Wait, what did that mean? Did I actually send him a message, or was he just texting me out of the blue to tell me that he wanted to talk? Was this a "talk," or just a talk? Was this good or bad, dammit!?

"Yes," I said, before the phone timed out.

"What would you like to say?"

I swallowed. "'Okay'," I said.

I didn't feel okay at all. After my talk with Tracy, I felt very, very un-okay. Only a few minutes before I had been high as a kite, relishing in my newfound de-virginification. I had felt powerful in my newfound sexuality, only to have it all come crashing down with a superdose of harsh reality from Tracy.

Not only that, but I didn't have anyone to talk to about how I was feeling. Tracy was going to be giving my father a huge, wet, sloppy blowjob and then cuddle up next to him, and I found myself wanting to be the cuddlee instead. I could go home, take out the dildo and pretend to suck it off, but it wouldn't provide me with the comfort of being close to him that I truly wanted.

I began to understand Tracy's point of view even more now. For years she must have felt like I was feeling - alone, desperately wanting to have both the sexual gratification that my father's cock could provide, and have the man to hold afterwards. I thought about Andrew, and realized that I couldn't have either. I felt like there was something magical just beyond my reach, something that I had been allowed to sample but wasn't permitted to own, and there was nothing I could do about it.

That must have been what Tracy had felt like. I couldn't imagine going so unfulfilled for twenty years. That was longer than I'd been alive! If I had to feel like I did for that long, I... I might just go crazy!

I fucked a lot of cocks, she had said. She had been on a quest to find out how to get rid of this feeling, this agony of having a hole that needs to be filled - both literally and figuratively. It's not just the cock, it's the man. It's not just the man, it's the cock.

Once more I thought about Andrew. I wasn't in love with him, and I didn't know enough about him to know if I even liked him. Hell, I didn't even know him enough to trust him, but I had fucked him anyway.

And I had loved it.

As I thought about his text, though, I worried. What if he didn't love it? What if he wanted to tell me that he never wanted to even speak to me again? What if he was angry that I had been so selfish? What would I do?

I pulled into my driveway and pulled my backpack with Andrew's stained t-shirt onto my lap when I parked. The house was dark, with only a front light to guide my way. My last conversation with my mother came back to haunt me, and I knew that I was going to have to apologize to her, but I really didn't want to do that right now.

The feelings that went through me sent me spinning. I felt paranoid, worried, and not just a little bit horny - all from remembering what Andrew and I had done. Somehow, though, I needed to put that aside and brace myself to face my mother.

Upon entering the house, however, it was dark. All the lights were out, save for a small, solitary light above the stove in the kitchen. I checked the time, and realized that it was indeed late, but not so late as to have my mother check herself out for the evening.

"Mom?" I called quietly, trying to strike that balance between getting her attention and not waking her up if she was asleep. No answer.

I crept over to the stove and hit the button to turn off the light, the confirming beep sounding like an alarm in the otherwise stillness of the kitchen. I decided that now was as good a time as any to take care of Andrew's t-shirt, and I tried to be as quiet as I could as I went into my room and gathered up clothes to take to the laundry room.

My mother's room was dark, the door closed and no light appearing underneath. In and of itself, that was odd, but I felt a slight relief. Normally she slept with the door open. I hurried past as quietly as I could, and then returned with an armful of clothes.

I pulled open my backpack and fished out his t-shirt and just as I was about to throw it into the washing machine, I raised it to my face. I could smell him and the dried, stickiness and recoiled a little. It had grown more pungent while in my bag, and not in a good way. I supposed there was a part of me that had wanted to luxuriate in the memory of spending time with him while holding his shirt, but that romantic notion was dispelled quickly.

Turning the washing machine on for only a quick wash, I returned back to my room and once more contemplated my mother's closed door. I moved back over to it, and listened carefully. I was surprised to hear a sniff, and then another.

I raised my hand and lightly rapped on the door. "Mom?" I asked in a near whisper. The sniffing stopped, and no other sound came from inside the room.

I was about to try again, when something told me that it wasn't a really good idea. I thought about how, when I was a kid, I would crawl into bed with her and she would wrap her arms around me when I had had a nightmare, and the comfort she had given me. I wanted that comfort now, wanted her to tell me it was all right. That it was going to be all right.