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"Better late than never, Dad," I said, reaching between his legs where, already, Dad was recovering. We made love twice more before going into deep, dreamless sleep. Needless to say, I stayed the entire weekend. We made love in every room, in every way we could think of; if I put everything we did into this diary, I'd fill it in a day.
Now, I spend every weekend with my father. We do his housework together, go hiking or play tennis or go to the movies, and at night I make us a nice meal, after which we go to bed and indulge our love for each other all night long. And he tells me I'm much better in bed than Mom ever was.
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