Short Story 01: Gina

Also, she has the slightest bit of a sway back, which causes her nicely rounded butt to protrude... okay, to protrude provocatively. And it gives her the loveliest round little tummy.

Okay, I admit it -- I was a bit smitten.

* * * * *

Having Gina around wasn't the least bit awkward or uncomfortable. In fact, she was a delightful addition to the household, and instead of having no one around to talk to at night, I now had two bright, cheerful -- and attractive -- young women to occupy my attention.

And Terri was right -- Gina is smart. She's working on a double major in economics and in finance (I think I already said that), and I found myself in discussions with her on Federal Reserve policy, interest rate trends, whether tariffs on Chinese goods really worked, and if the stock market is currently overvalued at 22 times TTM (which I learned means "trailing twelve months'") earnings.

I also discovered that despite our age difference, we both love Motown and the doo-wop groups of the late '50s and early '60s, and I gave her free rein with my record collection -- a rarity, I assure you! (She already knew how to handle an LP record by the edge and the label with one hand -- she got lots of points for that!)

By next afternoon, Terri and I were out by the pool again. Gina had gone into the house to make a phone call she'd scheduled with her family, who were still vacationing in Switzerland. Terri had gone in to make some drinks, and when she came back with a gin-and-tonic for me and what looked like a Tom Collins for her she plunked herself down on the deck lounge next to me. I reached out, and she reached over and took my hand, and we just sat there like that, soaking up the sun and the breeze, both of us enjoying her being home.

"You know, Dad -- she's interested."

At first I had no idea what my daughter was talking about. But then I realized -- the only other "she" we could be talking about was Gina. But "interested?" Interested in what?

"How's that, Sweetheart -- interested in what?"

"C'mon, Dad -- interested in you."

"That's silly, Sweetheart. Why would I possibly interest Gina?"

"Duhhh! Dad, don't be naive. 'Fact is, she thinks you're kinda cute."

"But, why? I mean... why? Why me?"

"Da-a-a-d! Stop being obtuse!" Obtuse? I guess those hefty tuition checks really are paying off, aren't they? "It's the way you are with her. I mean, like, after the initial adjustment, when you first met her, you've been reacting to her exactly like you treat me, except that she's short and dark and I'm taller and blond. And I don't know if you can understand it or not, but that's kind of a rare thing in her life.

"Besides," she added, maybe a little slyly, "I might have been talking you up a bit."

That one took me totally off guard. "What? Why??"

"C'mon, Dad. Mom died four years ago, and it's time you started thinking about your future. After all, I'm not going to be around all the time any more, and you don't have much else in your life except your work."

My daughter was right, of course. Since Katie died, I've been like I imagine most widowed fathers are. You put all your focus onto your children and you bury yourself in your job the rest of the time, and I guess I've been no exception. Sure, friends have encouraged me to go out with women they know, and I've gone to things like parties or work outings with some of them, but they never developed into anything, mainly because I had no interest in them going anywhere. My friends recognize this and have come to respect it.

As for sex? Just not feelin' it.

But then there was what my daughter said.

"Okay, Sweetheart, but Ter, honey, I mean...Gina? And I don't mean physically. I mean, she's half my age, and only a year older than you...," and I ran out of steam.

My daughter smiled at me, a mixture of bemusement and love. "Dad -- she's nice, she's funny, she's wicked smart, and I don't think it's escaped you, but she's a knockout.

"Plus, she thinks you're kinda cute."

Well, I wasn't prepared to argue those points, except for the last one, maybe -- I was pretty sure that last one was exclusively a matter of taste, and I'm not sure how many women would have me as a distinct taste.

"Terri, Sweetheart, thank you for thinking about me. And as for Gina -- I'd be honored if a woman like Gina found me 'interesting.' But I don't think now is the right time for me to start thinking about things like that" -- whatever that is -- "and probably not the right time for a girl like Gina, either."

"I think you're mistaken about yourself, Dad. And Gina's a woman, not a girl, and she's probably able to decide for herself when it's the right time to think about something." Period.

After that time, I didn't think much more about Terri's and my talk. At least, I didn't think I thought about it. But from that moment, I found myself looking at Gina... "differently."

And speaking of Gina... she finished her phone call with her family ("Everyone's having a great time in Switzerland." "Yes, I'm having a great time here with Terri and her dad,") and joined us by the pool, still wearing her violet cheetah-print bikini that had yet to see the water.

Before she stretched out to work on her tan, she announced, "It got warm in the house while I was on the phone --I think I'm gonna take a dip in the pool to cool off first." Then, with that rolling heel-and-toe walk that divers use, Gina strode to the end of our small diving board and with absolutely no fuss and no wasted motion executed a flawless jackknife into the deep end of the pool...

... and shrieked "COLD!" and stroked her way to the ladder and hoisted herself out of the chilly water just as quickly as she could.

We laughed, and Terri tossed her a big striped beach towel, and she laughed along with Terri and meal as she toweled herself off. "Guess I'm cool enough now, huh?" Terri handed her another towel, this time a regular bath-sized towel so she could wrap her hair in it to dry. And I found myself watching Gina as she went through the routine of wrapping her generous dark hair in the towel...

"Dad.

"Dad!"

I realized that my mind had been "elsewhere" and that my daughter was trying to get my attention.

"Oh -- uhh -- what, Hon?"

"She's hot, isn't she?"

I was still a little lost, "elsewhere," and wasn't immediately sure what Terri was asking / telling me. Then it finally dawned.

"No -- uhhh -- I mean, what do you mean...?"

"C'mon, Dad, I saw you watching Gina. You kinda like what you see, don't you?"

Realizing what my daughter was getting at, I hastily glanced down to see if the thickening I was feeling in my groin was causing any noticeable response "down there." I was relieved to see that there was no apparent bulge in my boxer trunks. But then I looked up and saw Terri's eyes, and it was obvious that she'd caught me looking down at my crotch. She looked at me and gave me a knowing smile.

"Oh, uhh, I was just admiring what a good diver Gina is and..." and ran out of lame excuses.

Terri just said, "Umm-hmm" and went and sat down next to Gina, and the two started talking. I couldn't hear anything of what they were saying, but occasionally they would look over toward me, then smile, then go back to whatever it was they were discussing.

* * * * *

But after our "conversation," it got me thinking. About what it would actually feel like to hold a small -- smaller -- body like Gina's, and what that olive skin would feel like naked against mine, and what it would feel like between those smooth, sturdy thighs.

And whether "other parts" of her body would be smaller... you know...

* * * * *

"Dad, remember -- I'm going out with Sue and Jackie tonight, and maybe Kris and Jazz if Sue can round them up? So that's gonna leave you and Gina here alone tonight. Do you think you two can handle that?"

That's what my daughter Terri said to me, the next day.

"Yes, Sweetheart, I think we can make it through one whole evening without the two of us starving to death or killing each other." I chuckled at my own lame attempt at humor.

Then she added, "If it gets too late, Jackie says I can crash at her place."

And all of a sudden I felt a flicker of apprehension -- at the prospect of Gina and I being alone for the evening -- and, possibly, for the entire night.

* * * * *

About two hours before she was planning to go out for the evening with her friends Terri pulled me into the kitchen so we could talk, alone.

"Dad, if you and Gina do end up making love..." (yes, she said "making love") "there's some things I think you should know." I started to interrupt her and say that any discussion of that was w-a-y-y-y premature, but my daughter shushed me and went on.

"Gina hasn't had a lot of... sexual experience...," and that immediately started me thinking -- about just how much sexual experience my own daughter has had. "There was this one thing she had her senior year of high school -- but that's for her to tell you about -- if she wants. And this year there was this one guy she went out with once, maybe twice, but I got the impression that the guy was maybe 10% interested in Gina and 90% interested in her for her size, and I got the feeling that she liked the sex but she definitely didn't like the experience."

I wanted to say something -- some kind of expression of sympathy here, because what Terri just told me really did make me feel bad for Gina, but before I could say anything and maybe say something that would sound foolish, Terri finished what she wanted to tell me.

"So Dad, I guess what I'm saying is, if you and Gina do find yourselves in bed, make sure you're with Gina, and not with some novelty." She kissed me on the forehead. "I know you, Dad, I know you'll do things the right way."

* * * * *

We heard the horn honk in the driveway, and in seconds Terri rushed by us on her way out to join her friend Jackie, instructing us over her shoulder to have a good time -- "And don't wait up for me!" -- leaving Gina and me to make our own evening.

It was time for dinner, and we both agreed that a salad would be just the thing. On the other hand, we also agreed that a bowl of greens wouldn't cut it for us -- we needed real food.

The answer: an Asian beef salad!

We already had the beef -- an extra steak I'd grilled Sunday evening. I made a quick lime juice-ginger-soy mixture and Gina sliced up the steak and got that started marinating.

Gina shredded carrots and daikon radish while I chopped up the cabbage, diced a serrano chile, and thin-sliced some onion. Then the all-important dressing: light soy sauce, of course, plus sesame oil (our luck! -- we already had some from when Terri did a stir-fry over Christmas vacation), lime juice, a little sugar to give it that tangy-sweet taste. At the last minute, Gina remembered the key ingredient -- a few teaspoonfuls of fish sauce to give the whole thing that funky taste that says "Asian."

As soon as we decided on the salad, I found a bottle of Alsatian gewurtztraminer and plopped it into an ice bucket to get it chilled quickly.

It was great! Totally satisfying without being filling -- perfect! The salad, the wine,...

... the company...

... because about half-way through, Gina said, "Mr. D, I think I'd like to call you Ellis from now on -- if that's OK with you, that is..."

I responded instantly, "Of course -- I'm delighted if you call me 'Ellis.'"

And I was. It was funny. I somehow got this feeling of pride, like I passed some kind of test or something.

Maybe I had.

Because after that, Gina kind of opened up. Not that she'd been reserved before -- things have been very open and comfortable with the three of us since we first met back at the dorm. But now things were different.

Before I could ask her "why now?" Gina said, "Because the way you've been with me, you've been -- it's been just right. Back at the dorm, when we met -- you looked at me. What I mean is, you didn't try to pretend that you weren't looking at me, like a lot of people might do. I look different, and I know it, and people are, I guess, curious.

"But the way you did it -- you looked at me, and then once you had the chance to see... see how I look... to become accustomed to my 'distinctive' appearance... that was it -- after that, you never once looked at me differently. Since then you've treated me exactly the same way you do Terri."

I knew it was time for me to respond. I wanted to let Gina know that I understood what she was telling me. Just how to do it in a way that I didn't... didn't screw up the sensitive moment?

"Gina, I... I'm glad you feel that way. More than anything else, I want you to be comfortable here, which I guess means I want you to be comfortable with me. So, anyway, I'm glad you feel that way." I didn't know if I should say more. Fortunately, before I say anything more and mess things up, Gina went on to tell me about something else that was on her mind.

"There's something more, Ellis," the first time she actually called me by my name, "I know you've looked at me since that first time at the dorm."

I was puzzled -- I wasn't sure what she was getting at.

She smiled and took another sip of her gewurtztraminer. "I've seen you looking at me out by the pool."

Just as soon as she said these words I felt so guilty -- like a dirty little boy who'd been caught spying.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Gina -- I didn't mean... I mean... I'd never want to..."

Gina smiled at my discomfort, but she quickly saved me.

"What -- you think a girl doesn't like it when a good-looking guy watches her in her new bikini? Think how she'd feel if you didn't look?"

I understood what she was saying, about me looking at her, and I was relieved that she was letting me off the hook, but I still felt guilty. And "good-looking guy?" But that was nothing compared to what she told me next.

"We've seen you look at Terri, too."

We've? Like, you and Terri have seen...? Oh jeez... And talked about it -- me?

She smiled again at my obvious feelings of guilt. She put her hand on mine and said, "Relax, Ellis" Ellis again. "Relax -- it would be downright abnormal if a guy didn't check out a couple of college girls in bikinis -- even if one of them is his own daughter."

Confusion.

She smiled again... and squeezed my hand. "Even if you're her dad, she still wants you to think she looks ho... she's attractive."

Even more confusion.

"What I'm getting at is, you treat me like a woman, and I like it, and it makes me comfortable with you..." She paused and took another drink of her wine, almost like she was bracing herself for something.

"Maybe more than comfortable..."

I don't know if I actually analyzed Gina's words, or the implications contained in her last words, or if there even were any implications...

... but all this time, she kept her hand on mine. I realized that the moment called for me to do... something. However, I was at a total loss as to what that thing should be. Finally, I took what I thought was the least presumptuous, most cautious tack. I raised my hand -- our hands -- to my lips and kissed her hand -- not gingerly, and not with sloppy passion, but with just the right amount of... appreciation, is what I was going for.

I must have done it right, because she looked down at her hand -- at our hands -- then raised her gaze to me, and she smiled -- a beautiful smile, one that both melted my heart and at the same time curled my toes.

She pulled our hands to her lips, and she kissed my hand. And she said, "That was perfect, Ellis."

We looked at each other, and we knew: The Understanding. The knowledge that whatever else happens this evening, the two of us are going to end up together, in bed, making love, or fucking -- but probably, both.

* * * * *

We washed the utensils and the chopsticks and put the salad plates in the dishwasher and pushed Start. Then we grabbed our wine glasses and the unfinished bottle and went into the living room and sat on the couch.

And we talked. First, about how good dinner was, of course, and how much fun it was making it together. About college and what it was like sharing a suite with Terri (along with some other things I didn't know about my daughter!). A little about my work -- not much, because, well, my work's not very interesting, but I do get to meet some unusual clients now and then.

And about music. Gina suggested, "Ellis, pick out something for us to listen to -- anything you like." Since I know that Gina likes Motown, I dug out an old LP record by maybe the very best of the Motown groups, The Temptations. This particular album was special because all the numbers were written by Bill "Smokey" Robinson. I carefully set the tone arm down on the record.

While I was doing that, Gina was filling our glasses with the last of the wine,. As soon as Eddie Kendricks' voice came out of the speakers singing "The Way You Do the Things You Do," she nestled in against me. I put my arm around her and we sat quietly, enjoying the wine and the music.

Sitting there like that, her head tucked into my arm, I rested my cheek against her hair and made myself familiar with the smell of her. Like Gina herself, the scent was unique -- not floral, or herbal, and not citrus. Or maybe it was all three. In any case, it is Gina's smell, and it's not one I'm going to forget.

When The Temptations finally finished singing Smokey, I thought of another record she'd like, a collection called "Rock, Rhythm, and Doo-Wop" or something like that.

The last number on the album was The Five Satins' In the Still of the Night, perhaps the ultimate doo-wop love ballad of all time. We both sang softly:

In the still

(Shoo-doop-n-shooby-doo)

of the night

(Shoo-doop-n-shooby-doo)

I held you

(Shoo-doop-n-shooby-doo)

Held you tight

(Shoo-doop-n-shooby-doo)

'Cause I love

(Shoo-doop-n-shooby-doo)

Love you so

(Shoo-doop-n-shooby-doo)

Promise I'll never

(Shoo-doop-n-shooby-doo)

Let you go

In the still of the night...

In the still of the night...

When the song ended, we just sat there, quietly,...

... until I felt Gina's hand as she began unbuttoning my top shirt button. I remained still as she systematically undid the buttons, one by one, 'til she reached my waist. She looked up and smiled at me, then gently tugged my shirt out of my slacks and undid the final two buttons, then straightened up, smiled at me again, and eased my shirt back off my shoulders and arms.

She kissed my nose, then stood up and extended her hand to me. I took it, and hand-in-hand she led me into my bedroom. Which, I guess, is about to become our bedroom.

Still in charge, she turned on one bedside lamp and dimmed it, then knelt down in front of me and began working on my belt. Then my zipper, easing my slacks down to the carpet.

"Step."

I smiled at her peremptory command and stepped out of my fallen trousers, leaving me there in my briefs (new ones, fortunately!).

Gina stood up and smiled at me. Now it was my turn.

With not-too-certain fingers I grasped her pink sleeveless pullover and inched it out from her short blue denim skirt and then lifted it up her body. She took a step back and bent forward, her arms extended, for me to pull it off over her head, leaving her standing there in just her denim skirt and deep pink bra. Go ahead -- picture it. She was just so cute!