Spitting Image

Carly felt her breasts bouncing rhythmically with each impact, her body covered in sweat, face red, her breath heavy. Her father called her name, but it seemed so distant. Her thighs burned. The chemicals flowing through her blood and brain were exhilarating, increasing as she rapidly approached the finish, exploding in bliss and release. She threw her head back and shouted as the joy overtook her, unable to control herself. Immediately a great sense of calm and relief flooded her, allowing her to drop her head forward with a smile. Trying to catch her breath, she peered over her shoulder at her father, his face expressive as he burst into his own joyful release. His smile betrayed a joy he could not contain and he wiped his hand across his forehead to wipe the sweat away before he reached for her face as she turned into his embrace.

Her raven hair was matted to her darkly tanned forehead, but her father brushed it back with his fingertips before kissing the top of her head and giving her a bottle of Gatorade.

"Hell of a race, champ!" he beamed. He couldn't believe his little girl was now the state cross-country champion.

"Thanks, daddy," she said with a smile. She heard screaming behind her and turned to see two of her team mates running toward her, and a few of the boys from the guys' team walking behind them. The girls all hugged and chattered as Mark Ricks looked on with pride.

He felt a hand on his shoulder as a deep voice behind him said, "What do you think, dad?"

He turned to see coach Stephens by his side and shook his hand with the proud smile of a grateful father. "What can I say? She's amazing."

"I'm gonna miss her next year, that's for sure," Stephens said. "She's the first girl I've ever coached to be a state champion."

"Well, she owes you a lot, coach. We both do."

Coach Stephens shook his head. "No, sir. She's the champion, not me. All that talent and speed was there before she got to me; I just helped her cut away some of the waste. She's given me at least as much as I've given her, I assure you."

Mark nodded with appreciation as Carly trotted over and hugged her coach around the waist. "We did it, coach!"

He returned the hug with one arm around her shoulder. "YOU did it, Carly. I was just telling your dad here that you've got that raw talent few have."

"Well, you're the one who helped me unleash it, then," she beamed. "How can I thank you?"

"Just think of me when you're on that center podium at the Olympics and we'll call it even. Fair enough?" he smiled.

"Deal," she laughed.

"Carly!" All three turned to see a young man in khaki pants and a Duke University polo shirt. Carly looked at her father, who raised his eyebrows at her and winked. He pushed on her back a little with a smile, prompting her to meet him halfway. Carly's father and coach watched as Carly was courted by representatives from several schools. They saw shirts and hats from Clemson, Ohio State, Louisiana State, Georgia, Michigan, James Madison, Texas A&M, and a few they didn't recognize; probably smaller schools, they figured.

The three of them were almost the last three at the stadium as it got dark and began to cool. Carly riffled through the cards in her hand and handed them to her father to discuss later as she put on her tracksuit. As she untucked her ponytail from her collar, Mark asked her about dinner. "Anywhere you want, champ," he said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She wrapped her arm around his waist as they walked, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"Can we go to Daye's? I want the steak and shrimp."

"Daye's it is," he smiled back, pulling her tighter and kissing the top of her head.

The drive home was lively with her looking through the cards again and asking her dad's opinion on the schools. He laughed as they talked, enjoying her enthusiasm, and reminded her that they still had some time, and that she needed to remember to go to a school with a career path she wanted because she probably wouldn't be able to be a champion runner forever. She nodded with a smile while throwing out some names of Olympians, marathon champions and pro triathletes before shrugging that she knew the odds were stacked against her, but she would enjoy the ride for as long as she could. Her father patted her knee and winked at her before returning his hand to the wheel, turning into the driveway.

"I'll call Daye's to get on the list while you clean up, and then I'll take a shower and change," he called out as she made her way to the front door while he grabbed her bag out of the back of his truck.

"Okay," she called back, catching the keys he had tossed her, and unlocking the door. As soon as Mark walked in, he picked up his keys off the table in the foyer, set Carly's bag by the steps and walked over to the answering machine to check the messages, with "6" blinking on the base. Two of the messages were credit card offers and the other four were from university athletic directors, having heard from their scouts who had called from the race. They all pretty much said the same thing: that they heard about the race and were really excited about the potential of having Carly on their team next year. They each left their names and numbers.

Mark was suddenly tired as reality hit him like a ton of bricks. He was about to be alone for the first time in his life. He lived with his parents until college, where he met Amy, Carly's mother, and they had married their senior year. Right after Mark finished his Master's degree they had moved for his new job, and soon after, she was pregnant with Carly. Amy had died unexpectedly from an aneurism in her lung when Carly was only eight. As he grieved his wife's loss, he also began to focus almost entirely on Carly.

Mark had always been a runner, and that was how he and Amy met, at a charity 5k at their college. They met in the stew tent after the race and hit it off. They had done several races together, from 5k's to a couple of triathlons, but what they really loved were the mud runs and low-pressure short races. Neither of them had been particularly fast, never gaining any more recognition than getting their finisher medals and shirts. He found himself looking at a picture on the mantle of he and Amy holding their finisher medals after a 10k with little Carly sitting in the jogging stroller, her smile bigger than either Mark's or Amy's.

He heard Carly moving around upstairs, closing the door to her bedroom, having already taken her shower. He snapped out of his pity party. "Pull yourself together," he muttered, pushing himself up off the couch. He called Daye's and had his name put on their list for about an hour from now and knocked on Carly's door to let her know.

She opened the door and was wearing just her bra and panties. Mark had noticed her growing up, but for some reason this time, something stirred. Maybe it was his flood of emotions, maybe his thoughts of his late wife, maybe all of it combined with his excitement at his daughter's performance this afternoon. Either way, here she was, not even hiding behind her door, her black hair wet and straight as she stood with a makeup brush in one hand and the door knob in the other.

Her skin was dark like her mother's, her eyes a deep brown, almost black, and she had faint tan lines from her tank tops after spending endless hours running and exercising in the sun. Her lips were dark red from her lipstick and he couldn't help but notice her tone body, with the trim abdomen, set off by a center line down her stomach and two lines on the sides from her ribs to the front of her hips.

"Daddy?" she muttered.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, snapping him out of his visual.

"Oh. What?"

"I said, did you need something?" she smirked and cocked her head a little bit sideways.

"Oh...uh...yeah. Daye's has our name and we need to be there by 7."

Carly turned her head away to look at her clock and noticed it was 6:20. While she was looking, her father quickly glanced down to take in her form again, her moderate breasts and shapely legs, her ass popping out, firm and round. He quickly looked back up as she turned. "Okay, then, so I'll be ready in about 15 minutes," she smiled.

"Great. I'll go get ready."



Carly closed the door and leaned back against it, her stomach filled with butterflies. Did he feel about her the way she had felt about him for several years? When she was 13 she accompanied him on a business trip over her spring break, inviting Breanna to go with her. Her blonde friend, who had since moved away, made comments about how cute Carly's father was. It was then that she noticed for the first time how handsome and fit he was. Granted, she was young, but she had been noticing cute boys for a couple of years, even if never having had a real "crush" on one, and certainly having never been kissed.

That week, however, as Bre and Carly sat by the pool at the hotel while her father was in a conference, they spent a lot of time checking out boys and making suggestive comments back and forth, obviously neither of them really knowing what they were talking about. Carly remembered taking a sip of her virgin colada (which made her feel grown-up) when Bre blurted, "Your dad is hotter than any of these guys" before popping another potato chip into her mouth. Carly coughed out a little colada, causing Breanna to burst into fits of laughter. As Carly wiped the freezing drink off her chest and stomach, Bre asked, "Oh, come on, you've never noticed how hot he is?"

"That's my dad, Bre," she said, not even looking up. And no, she hadn't noticed.

"Carly, you need to wake up, girl."

Carly just shot her a look as Bre smiled, shaking her head before biting into her chicken salad sandwich.

That evening over dinner her father told them that his part of the conference the next morning was only going to be a couple of hours, so he would be back at the room by 10 so he could take them down to the beach for jet skiing, paddle boarding, and parasailing. The girls squealed and hugged him tightly around his neck, and he hugged them both tightly, laughing at their responses. He told Breanna that he would call her father after dinner to make sure it was all right so he could sign the waivers.

After the conference the next morning, they all went down to the beach and started with the jet skis and then the parasailing since they both had limited time on the rentals, unlike the paddle boards. Carly caught herself noticing her father's form for the first time. His light brown hair was short and stylish and he was fit and tan from years of consistent exercise and fairly conscious nutrition. The hair on his chest made him look masculine and rugged, but it was not excessively hairy, and it narrowed into a thin strip that ran down his stomach and into his board shorts.

As he paddled, fell off and laughed trying to climb back on and regain his stance several times over the day, she watched his muscles twitch and writhe beneath his skin. This was the first time she had ever noticed her father from a standpoint of being attractive. She hated to admit it, but Bre was right. He was hot.

Over the next several years she had noticed him aging, his hair turning a little gray at the temples and spreading out over and behind his ears, the rest of his scalp sprouting more and more white hairs, but his form didn't seem to age with him. He was gaining crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, but otherwise was not showing his age like he could be. He was still in great shape, even if not as toned and defined as his pictures showed him when he was younger.

Carly hated to admit it, but she was becoming smitten with her father. Her hope was that it would pass in time. Unfortunately for her, it hadn't.

Now here she was at eighteen and about to go to college... somewhere, and she was going to be leaving him for months at a time. As she stepped away from her bedroom door and began applying her makeup again before blow drying her hair and sliding on a short black skirt and bright green top, she thought of all the ways her father had cared for her, ignoring his own needs to make sure she had all she could ever want or need. He worked hard, she knew that, but he took all his vacation and would go in early on her meet days so that he could leave early to be at every meet and watch her race. They ran together countless times, running races together and as she became faster than he was, he encouraged her to run ahead and not to wait for him. Every vacation he took, it was for him and her and she would often be encouraged to invite a friend so she wouldn't get bored with her old dad.

The knock at the door shook her out of her thinking and she realized that her eyes were red and swollen with tears. She sniffled once. "Just a minute," she called, grabbing a tissue and blotting at her eyes as she opened the door.

"It's six for... honey, are you okay?" he asked, concern dripping from his voice.

"Huh? Oh, this," she laughed, pointing at her eye. "I stabbed myself with my mascara brush. It happens sometimes." She smiled and blotted at her eyes, checking herself in the mirror and sniffling once more before turning to her father and placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Let's go," she smiled.

He smiled and patted her hand as they walked down the stairs together.

As the server turned to submit their order, Mark said, "Carly, I really want you to know how proud I am of you. And not just the state championship today, but everything about you. You're kind, smart, a gifted athlete, and a wonderful daughter. You've never given me a hint of trouble and I don't think I've ever thanked you for that. I love you very much, baby girl."

She teared up and wiped her eyes with the green cloth napkin as she said, "I love you, too, Daddy."

He smiled and placed his hand on hers as he took a sip of his tea, and she squeezed his hand.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"What do you think Momma would want me to do?"

Mark was caught off-guard. "With school, you mean?"

She nodded. "Do you think she would want me to stay home and go somewhere close or to choose a scholarship at one with a good running program?"

Mark leaned in close, noticing that his daughter was looking down at the table, obviously bearing a burden that was his to carry. "Carly, look at me." She looked up, her brow furrowed and her eyes sad. "Your mother and I both have always wanted you to do what is best for you. You have an amazing opportunity to go to whatever school you want and to be trained by the best schools in the nation, maybe even the world. I hate the thought of you moving away because I love you deeply. You're everything to me and I can't imagine my life without you in it every day." He started to choke up, but then cleared his throat and sternly said, "But I hate even more the thought of you throwing away an incredible future just to stay home with me. And your mother would feel the same way. If you choose to stay close by, that would mean I could see you every day, which would make me very happy," he smiled. "But I would be even happier to know that you are chasing your own future and going to the best school to help move you along that path. You just need to know that you're going to be seeing this ugly old mug on your campus several times a year if you move away." He smiled and winked to let her know that he really was okay with her moving away if she needed to.

She smiled back at him, nodding and took his hand again. Right about then the server brought their bread on a cutting block and Mark sliced and buttered a piece for his daughter, setting her bread plate in front of her. As he repeated it for himself, Carly broached a different subject.

"Daddy, tell me again about Momma."

"What do you want to know, sweetie?"

"I don't know. Everything? Tell me stuff I'm old enough to know now, that I wasn't when she was alive."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Tell me more about how you met, what dating her was like, how you proposed, all that stuff. I want to know her like you knew her."

Mark sat still for a moment, and then smiled at his daughter, who smiled in return.

The rest of the evening was filled with laughter as he told her story after story of her mother. She was a character, charming, flirty, fun. On more than one occasion, Carly covered her mouth as she burst out laughing, muttering, "No way!" or "Oh, my god!"



This was the first time Carly had heard so many things about her mother. On the one hand she felt guilty for taking up so much of her dad's energy and focus that he could not take the time to tell her more about the love of his life. She could see the burden lifting off of him as he shared and by the time dinner had ended, they had been at the restaurant for nearly two hours, laughing.

The server, who seemed mildly annoyed at the slow turnover, returned to clear their dinner plates and offered half-heartedly, "Will there be anything else?"

"Yes, please," Carly chimed in before her father could decline. "A strawberry tower with two spoons." She smiled at her father and the server looked at him to verify.

"You heard the lady," Mark smiled. He was in too good a mood to let the server's attitude ruin his night with his daughter. They chatted some more while waiting for their dessert. Soon enough a deep bowl arrived, encasing a slice of shortcake with a scoop of ice cream, topped by another slice of cake, another scoop of ice cream and drizzled with strawberry glaze, fresh sliced strawberries and whipped cream on top. Nothing was said for a couple of minutes as the two enjoyed the treat.

Carly slowly pulled her spoon from her mouth upside down, dragging it through her lips as she cleared her throat.

"Daddy?"

"Mmm?" He didn't even look at her as he concentrated on reaching for some more ice cream and cake.

"After momma died, how did you handle... umm... your... um... your urges?" she whispered that last part, leaning in close.

He stopped dead and looked at her, eyes wide in surprise. He sat up suddenly and said, "Carly, that's too personal. I'm not discussing that with you."

"I'm only asking because I've never seen you date since she died, which in some ways makes sense, but in others, I would think it would be really difficult, especially for a man."

"Well, no it hasn't been easy, but I can't..."

"Is everything all right over here, sir?" The server interrupted.

"Yes, everything was wonderful, thank you. We're ready for the check now, please."

As soon as the server left, Mark picked up where he had left off. "I can't talk to you about these things, Carly."

"Dad, I'm eighteen, I've never had a boyfriend, it's been ten years since you went on a date, and I'm heading to college soon. I need some guidance here, Daddy. Please talk to me about this. I know it's not easy for you, but do you think it's easy for me to..." she looked around the restaurant before leaning in and whispering, "Do you think it's easy for me to ask my father about his sex life?"

Mark sighed in exasperation, running his fingers through his hair, looked at Carly and didn't say another word. The check came and he signed for it before standing up, leading Carly out to the car and opening the door for her to get in. Yes, he did notice her shapely legs and yes he did notice the slight jiggle of her breasts in her green top and yes he did notice the tingle in his groin that signaled excitement, that tickle that precedes an erection.

Neither said anything in the car for a few minutes. Carly was staring out the passenger side window at the restaurants and shops, her face intermittently illuminated by the overhead street lamps.

"Your mother was a very vivacious woman, Carly." She turned, surprised at her father's voice. He didn't look at her, but instead appeared to be actively avoiding it. "In every aspect of her life. It was no different in the bedroom." He sighed and looked at her. "Are you sure you want to hear this?" he asked. She nodded and he nodded in return.