Chapter 9: The Truth About Dreams

SASHA CHECKED THE CALENDAR on her iPhone and the itinerary in her hand. Getting up from the couch, she went to find Dad. She found him busy writing on his laptop. It looked like he was deep into his novel. Knowing how fleeting creativity could be, she hesitated, debating whether to bother him.

"What's up?" he asked, typing away.

She smiled. He hadn't even looked up. For sure he was hardwired to her. "You remember we're going to San Fran tomorrow, don't you?" she asked.

"No we're not. That's next week. The seventh," he answered, still typing.

"Tomorrow is the seventh," she informed him.

He stopped. Chocolate eyes looked up at her full of surprise. "It is?"

"Yup."

"Well, Jiminy Cricket!" he exclaimed.

Sasha laughed. What the heck was Jiminy Cricket? "Has Marcy sent you the airplane tickets and reservation details?"

"Uh, no. At least I don't think so."

Sasha waved the envelope and itinerary at him. "They came yesterday."

"They did? Where was it?"

"On the floor at the front door." She studied the paper. "We leave tomorrow at five thirty-two. American Airlines."

"Huh. How come I missed it?"

"You've been writing all day for the last two days. You've been so absorbed you wouldn't have noticed if I was here or not," Sasha said with a smile.

Dad eyes became intense. "I'll always notice you, Honey. Always."

A shiver of pleasure ran through her. She actually felt her nipples stiffen. Damn. How does he do it? "I'm going to pack. You should too."

"I will," he said returning to the laptop, fingers moving.

Sasha sighed and left. He wouldn't. He'd forget and they'd have to rush around in a last minute panic. Maybe she'd pack for him.

Climbing the stairs, Sasha's mind went back over the past few days. She'd discovered so much, some good, some not so good. The good stuff was wonderful, like sleeping with Dad.

For a week and a half she'd been sleeping with him and now she couldn't imagine sleeping on her own. How had she managed being alone in bed? Sleeping with Dad was amazing. It was like one part of her brain registered how they touched and cuddled and moved through the night. Her body was always touching his, or his touching hers, be it a hand on her back, or their legs intertwined, or her arm across his chest.

She liked how Dad would get erections during the night and she wondered if he was dreaming about her when they happened. She loved cuddling with him, being naked in bed with him, and smelling him when he slept. She'd never felt so rested after a night's sleep, every morning waking up with energy to burn and ants in her pants.

Then there was the sex. Why would anyone suggest that sex before turning eighteen was bad, or even worse, those religious holier-than-thou people spouting abstinence until marriage. Why? Sex was fantastic. Like really, really fantastic. Maybe if you're deeply religious you can't enjoy sex. Or maybe if you don't enjoy sex you end up being deeply religious. Either way, they were all wrong. Full stop. Sex was great.

Sasha opened her closet and pulled down her small carry-on suitcase, putting it on the unused bed and opening it. She started selecting outfits for the trip. Where would they eat? Would she need formal clothes? What about undies. She had some sexy lingerie she'd bought to wear for Dad. She'd need to take them. She had plans, naughty plans.

After deciding on the outfits her mind wandered again, this time to the unexpected information she'd learned. The morning after their romp on the floor of the living room, her knees still red and raw, she'd gotten her period. It had brought home how distracted she'd been with Dad and sex. She'd never thought about contraception. Nor had Dad. When she mentioned it somewhat embarrassed, he'd grinned at her and informed her he'd had a vasectomy a few years ago. It seemed a bursting condom when having sex with a girlfriend had brought home to him how he didn't want another child, Sasha being all he ever needed. Sasha had glowed with pleasure at his comment, but later she'd been less than happy.

Secretly she harbored a dream. In the deepest part of her she dreamed about having a baby with Dad, a family, of being his partner not just his lover. It was her deepest secret, one she was afraid to tell him lest it scare him or, even worse, made him regret their relationship. With his revelation about the vasectomy one part of her dream was gone. She'd never have Dad's baby. It saddened her even though being with Dad was enough. That revelation brought other insidious thoughts. They invaded her without her permission. Where would their relationship go? She'd assumed they'd be together forever. But did Dad feel the same way? And how could they? He was well known, a public figure. Could they even live together like husband and wife or would she always be in the shadows? Would that be enough for him? It would for her. Just to be with Dad was enough but how would he feel? Maybe he didn't plan for them to be together forever.

Shaking herself out of the morose thoughts, Sasha laid out her outfits, selected shoes, and dug through her dresser for panties and bras, and the sexy lingerie she'd bought. She smiled as she studied it. Would Dad like it?

That brought another decision to mind. From what she'd read, most girls shaved their pubic hair. Apparently it felt better and men liked it more. If she wanted to really surprise Dad she'd need to shave tonight, her period having ended this morning. But what if he didn't like her pussy shaved? Would it ruin his pleasure? Still, she could always let it grow back. No. Wait. She'd have to shave it tomorrow. If she shaved it tonight he'd notice when they went to bed.

Sasha started folding and packing, her mind listing the bathroom items she'd need; hairbrush, comb, the toothpaste and toothbrush she'd left in Dad's bathroom, hair dryer, shampoo and conditioner, makeup, nail polish. Did she need a bigger suitcase? Maybe she better pack for Dad tonight. She could put some of her stuff in his suitcase.

She would order in food for dinner, too. Dad was into one of his writing marathons. He'd have no time to cook. San Francisco. How exciting. One three-hour book-signing session and the rest of the time to have fun, explore, tease Dad.

The drone of the airplane engines made her feel slightly deaf. She yawned to equalize the pressure in her ears, her eyes glued to the portal studying San Francisco as it passed below, the airplane circling as it descended towards the airport.

Dad finally put his laptop away. He'd been writing all day. He'd forgotten to pack, as she knew he would. He'd apologized to her and continued writing while they waited at JFK airport, and he'd resumed writing when the plane took off. He was deep into a streak of creativity and, despite wanting to share the excitement of traveling, Sasha knew and accepted Dad's focused concentration. His dedication was nothing new.

With the laptop finally in his carrying case he leaned over her and peered out the oval portal. "Look at that, Sasha. You can see Alcatraz there," he said excitedly, pointing. "And there's the Golden Gate Bridge, and over there, that's the Transamerica Pyramid! Did you know that back in..."

She smelled his scent, leather and Scotch and a manly aroma, all Dad. She smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. He was going to make everything so exciting to her whether she liked it or not. An urge to kiss him washed over her; kiss Dad right here in the plane. She almost did but settled for grabbing his hand and holding it. Sometimes love really did hurt, like an ache deep inside or a breath in her chest that couldn't get out.

She leaned in and whispered, "I really love you, Dad," giving his hand a squeeze.

He stopped talking. Dark chocolate eyes full of adoration studied her before he smiled broadly. "Good. So you should."

Sasha laughed lightly.

Just over an hour later Dad was on the phone to the front desk. Sasha sat on one of the twin beds and waited. He'd been disappointed with the small room and was now bargaining with Fairmont's front desk for a bigger room.

"Good. Thank you," he said hanging up. "Cheap publishers. Typical Marcy," he muttered, "No limo and now this." Turning, he spotted her and grinned like a boy with a new toy. "We're moving to a bigger room."

"Honestly, Dad. I don't mind this one," Sasha repeated. "We're gonna be out most of the time anyway."

Dad's eyes twinkled. "We're gonna be in bed lots, too."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Ten minutes later Sasha's jaw dropped as she followed the bellhop and Dad into the new room. It was huge! The large, bright, elegant living room was filled with formal furniture. To the right through wide double doors was the bedroom. As Dad tipped the bellhop and saw him out, Sasha stood rooted to the spot.

"Pretty neat, huh?" Dad asked, taking her suitcase out of her hand and carrying it to a small stand in the bedroom.

Neat? It was beautiful. A huge king-sized bed with a dark wood headboard and creamy white bed linens sat in the center. Small bedside tables held black, decorative cast iron lamps. To the right was the bathroom and from her position she saw white marble everywhere in it.

"Jeez, Dad. This must cost a fortune," she finally said.

"It's only two nights. Time to live a little."

Sasha blushed. "There's only one bed. Won't they suspect something?"

"Nope. You're my daughter. If you weren't then they'd be concerned. Look at that bed. Lots of room to do things," he said with a cheeky grin.

"We'll get lost in it. It's too big," Sasha observed.

I STUDIED MY DAUGHTER carefully. She'd changed in some subtle way after getting her period. I wasn't sure why and had been a bit too preoccupied with writing over the last few days to figure it out. But it was there, a shadow in her eyes that concerned me. If you didn't know her as well as I did you'd never notice.

I yawned and glanced at my watch. One forty-four in the morning, East Coast time. "I'm tired and I have the book-signing tomorrow. Let's go to bed."

Sasha insisted I use the bathroom first while she unpacked. She slipped by me when I emerged in boxers and closed the bathroom door behind her. Turning out lights, I got in bed. Hotel beds are different from real people's beds. It's the linens they use. Hotel sheets are crisp and clean and fresh and have a texture normal sheets don't. The sheets fit like the maid had completed several years of military service; tightly folded, perfect, wrinkle-free. I really enjoyed them.

When Sasha emerged in a baby blue nightshirt I was a bit surprised. We cuddled together in the expansive bed, behaving much like the last few days when she had her period, small kisses, comfortable hugs, legs intertwining. But something was definitely off.

I was too tired to think clearly, something I'd need to be able to do if I was to pry hidden thoughts out of my daughter's mind. She was a master at guile and misdirection.

Signing another book, I smiled and handed it to a lovely prim, grey-haired lady. She smiled back at me and left. I glanced around.

The new bookstore had clearly been designed by an architect who loved books. It was large but felt cozy. Bookshelves had been designed to encourage browsing and discovery, arranged in an amusing maze of aisles. The floors were distressed wood, the storefront a tribute to shops of Victorian England; black framed mullioned windows.

I caught sight of Sasha. She sat quietly in one of the green leather armchairs located here and there in the store. She'd worn a pleated tan and cream tartan Burberry skirt and a simple white button-down shirt, white tights and brown leather penny loafers. She looked very Emma Watson, very British in a schoolgirl way, her hair pulled back in a thick ponytail.

I noticed it again, that shadow in her eyes. It worried me now. This morning she'd been bright and full of energy, dragging me out to breakfast, talking up a storm about her plans for us while we were in San Fran. I'd tried to lure her back to bed but it seemed morning sex wasn't my daughter's thing. Sitting on the armchair in the bookstore, Sasha not aware of my inspection, the shadow was as clear as day.

"Mr. Hawk, I just love your latest book. Annabelle was such a determined woman, a great role model."

I glanced at the young lady smiling at me. One of the True Fan group. Smiling back at her, I reached for the book, opened the cover and signed it, asking her what name to include in the dedication.

Over the years I'd found myself categorizing the people who came to book signings into three groups. The Opportunists were those that happened to be in the store at the time, a coincidence. They usually were unfamiliar with my books and regarded a signed copy as a gift-giving solution. I could see it in their eyes, the mental assessment, which friend would appreciate this type of fiction.

Then there were The Collectors. They collected not books but events. They liked to have an interesting and novel story to impress their friends with. The Collectors wanted to chat with me and often dropped controversial comments designed to elicit a response from me that they could later relate at their next social gathering; "I was talking to Jason Hawk the other day and we discussed..."

The last group were the True Fans group. They smiled and commented on favorite characters, or plot lines that captured their imagination, or expressed joy at getting lost in one of my tales. I liked this group and they got more from me. I could always tell if a book had been signed for a True Fan. It would have "Thank you for reading my book" above my signature. The other two groups only got a signature.

Time passed slowly but I enjoyed it. Harold, the pot-bellied, middle-aged, and bearded bookstore owner exuded positive vibes. Just get near him and you ended up smiling. Customers loved him because he loved them. I was busy and wasn't shy about admitting I liked the attention, too. But part of my pleasure was dampened by Sasha. Had I made a mistake encouraging her into our relationship? I worried I had. Was she having regrets now? If so, how could I help her find a face-saving way out? That thought almost physically hurt me. End the relationship? So soon? Damn!

Harold pumped my hand vigorously when the event ended. The bookstore's official opening day had been a success. I wished him good fortune and meant it. I loved books. They were my livelihood and a pure digital future saddened me. Not to hold a book in your hand, feel the texture of the pages, and hear the rustle of each page turn would be such a tragedy.

"Come on," I said to Sasha extending my hand to her. She smiled. "That wasn't too bad, was it?" I asked.

"Nope. It was fun watching you with other people. They like you."

"I don't care about them liking me. I only care about you liking me," I told her leading her out onto a sunny but cool street.

"Then you don't have anything to worry about, right?" she said brightly.

I stopped walking. We were anonymous on the sidewalk, people passing without giving us a second glance. I looked into my daughter's eyes and said, "I do have something to worry about. You. What's wrong, Honey? And don't tell me nothing. I know you too well."

She gave me a weak smile, an attempt at deflection. "It's nothing. Really, Dad."

I didn't respond. Holding her hand I kept looking at her, no emotions, no judgment, just waiting. It belied the worry that was gnawing inside me with each passing minute.

Sasha sighed. "It's really nothing, Dad. Honest. It's just I thought one day we might ... It's not important."

I squeezed her hand gently. "Clearly it isn't nothing, Sweetheart, and clearly it is important. One day we might what?"

Sasha looked away from me. I knew that gesture all too well. She did it whenever she was contemplating how to deliver bad news. It typically preceded her telling me about a failed test or poor grades. This time I suspected it bode worse news.

With a sigh of resignation, Sasha, not looking at me, said, "I just thought ... I sorta dreamed that one day we might have a baby together." Her eyes met mine. "I know we can't because of your, you know, and it's okay, Dad. It really is."

Somewhat relieved that her mood was only the result of an adolescent fantasy, I unthinkingly told her, "Sasha, you shouldn't be worrying about it. We've just started a relationship. Relax and enjoy yourself. You'll probably find someone else long before it's time to have a child."

Clouds gathered in her eyes. I noticed, in the sunshine her dark, almost black eyebrows had a tint of red - a hint of the rich burgundy in her hair. Her amber eyes had an almost yellow cast, a lioness looking back at me. A frown creased her brow. I'd seen this gathering storm before. It happened every time I dismissed her feelings. Usually I regretted whatever I'd said and I was beginning to fear I might again.

"How could you think that?!" she exploded angrily and then burst into tears, shocking the Hell out of me.

The bench at the bus stop was empty. I led my daughter to it and sat, forcing her to sit next to me. Her quiet sobs stopped but silent tears welled and tumbled down her cheeks, the most agonizing tears known to a father. Her hand angrily brushed them away.

Sounds of a daughter crying could distract from the cause of the pain. Silent crying like this couldn't. My daughter was truly in emotional turmoil. I'd never been a stupid man. I could be accused of doing idiotic things, and often did, but I was never stupid. I'd made a huge mistake. I'd assumed Sasha was enjoying a crush on me, a youthful, sweet feeling of first love, the type teenage girls think are forever but pass with a change of the wind or an unacceptable slight from the object of their attention. I'd assumed one day she'd move on with her affection gracing someone else. I'd been wrong. She confirmed it before I could open my mouth.

"I can't believe you don't understand," she accused quietly.

"I'm sorry, Honey. I shouldn't have dismissed your feelings."

"It's been almost three years," she whispered. "Three years! Why do you think it will just go away?"

Perhaps the tears distracted me. Perhaps I was just dense, a condition caused by worry for her. But I didn't understand. "Three years for what?"

She shook her head angrily, thick burgundy ponytail dancing.

"Please," I begged.

She finally looked at me, eyes still glistening with dampness. "I knew I loved you three years ago, Dad."

I smiled and brushed a loose tendril of hair from her face. "I knew I loved you fourteen years ago," I said.

She shied back from my hand. "How can you be so ... so thick? I've been IN love with you since I was twelve."

"Ah," I replied. Smiling gently, I added, "So have I."

Watching the transformation was spectacular. Her mystical eyes grew wide with understanding. Pleasure stole into them, the faintest hint of a smile flitting through and passing, questions emerging. It was beautiful to watch.

"Then why did you assume I'd find someone else?" she asked.

I wiped a drying damp streak on her cheek away. "Insecurity," I answered. "You may find this hard to believe, but there are moments when I look at you and I just can't believe my good fortune. I'm scared it will end and I don't think I could take it."

Sasha smiled. It was like a ray of sun breaking through dark grey clouds on a chilly day basking me in radiant warmth. "You don't need to be scared, Dad. You're stuck with me, like it or not."

"Come on," I said, standing and reaching for her hand. "We're going back the hotel."

"Why?"

"I need something."

"Need what?" she asked, letting me lead her as I tried to flag a cab down.

"You'll see."

I took Sasha back to our room. A bit of loving was in order to reestablish intimacy, dispel bad memories, and reconfirm my adoration of her, something my daughter deserved and needed. A bit of worshiping wouldn't hurt, either.

As soon as the door closed behind us I grabbed her hand. "This way," I said, leading her to the bed. "That outfit makes you look like a cute schoolgirl attending an exclusive British private school."

Sasha giggled. "It does, sort of. It's a Burberry skirt."

"I noticed. I've been plagued by a desire to know what's underneath."

Sasha laughed. "Plagued? Really?"

"Yup. I gotta know." Reaching the bed I pointed my finger at it. "Bend over the bed. I'm going to look up your skirt, Sasha. I'm going to fondle and admire my property, maybe kiss it, too."

She burst into laughter, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm not your property."

"You might not be, but I'd like to remind you your ass is mine," I said with a big grin.

Sasha started giggling. Mischief entered her eyes making me short of breath. My God she was spectacular. Her giggles stopped. She smiled coyly.

"Kay," she said softly. My heart skipped a beat.

Looking into my eyes, that coy smile distracting me, my daughter moved to the side of the bed and slowly, very slowly bent over to lie on top, her feet on the floor.

"I'm ready, Dad," she announced in a quiet voice.

She actually made me ache with love. She was so damn cute and seductive and sexy, and such a tease. She was mine, too. I loved it!

For just a moment I paused to take in my little schoolgirl waiting for her daddy to explore her hidden charms. It was an exciting, illicit fantasy.

I moved closer. She watched me, a smug smile on her face. "I'm gonna lift your skirt up," I threatened.

"Kay."

"I'm gonna see your panties."

"Kay."

"I'm gonna touch your panties, too," I said.

"Kay."

"I might pull them down and kiss your ass," I added with a grin.

Sasha laughed. "You're such a dingbat, Dad. I still love you, though."

Staring into her eyes, still grinning at her, I pinched the hem of her short pleated skirt and lifted slightly. Her eyes twinkled at me. Breaking eye contact, I bent and looked up her skirt.

Time stopped. So did my heart. Sounds became muffled. Blood rushed. Fuck me! My naughty daughter wasn't wearing tights. She was wearing stockings! A lacy white garter belt held them up. But making breathing difficult was the gauzy see-through white panties she wore!

I closed my eyes and opened them again, wondering if I was imagining it. Nope. Hot damn! Sasha's sexy bum crack was clearly visible through the filmy nothingness that was posing as panties. A thicker double gusset formed to her sensual teenage pubis, a ripe little peach squeezed between her thighs.

My reaction was immediate, a erection springing into existence. Where had she found this lingerie? It was such a dichotomy; sexy stockings and garter under a chaste schoolgirl outfit! I adored that she'd even thought to wear it for me!

"So?" she asked with an unacceptable wiggle of her posterior. "What 'cha think?"

I very rarely swear, only in moments of extreme stress. It's not my style. But it escaped without control. "Fuck me!"

"Kay!"

I looked at her sharply. She burst into giggles and blushed slightly. I smiled and knelt behind her and, with both hands, unveiled my sexy girl's derrière by folding her short skirt up onto her back.

Studying young loveliness, excitement building, I gently caressed two delicious dance-toned buttocks before leaning in and burying my face in her butt crack, sweet buttocks pressed to my cheeks. I caught her intimate scent, just a trace, just enough to set my pulse racing. With a loving kiss I backed off.

Sasha was peering back at me. I smiled. "Delicious, delightful, delectable."

She giggled lightly and wiggled her bum at me; a successful distraction.

Groping her buns, I enjoyed how her ass crack opened and closed, and how her peach of a pussy was squeezed and bulged. With mounting anticipation, I took the waist and slowly drew those panties down over her rounded tush. I tugged them to the top of her thighs, her plump little pussy peeking out at me.

It took a moment to register. Something was different. What? It looked just as small and succulent, the cleft just as tightly closed, just as achingly desirable. Soft bare labia formed a ... Holy cow! She'd shaved her pussy. Not a pubic hair in sight.

I leaned to the side to look at her face. Sasha grinned at me. "Surprise!"

"Did you shave it all?" I asked.

She nodded. "Bare as a baby's bottom."

Fuck! "Hold on," I instructed and moved back to contemplate her hairless pussy from behind. It looked so young, now intensely illicit. I pried her firm buttocks apart. Her cleft peeled open revealing a sexy moist interior. My moan of desire was silent. I kissed her sweet pussy, nose pressed between her buttocks, the amazing clean taste of her wet against my tongue when I probed deep into her slit, silly smoothness, just delicious.

Sasha sighed rather loudly. My desire for her was intensifying at an alarming rate, my cock rigid and crying out for attention. Rising, I asked her to turn over. She refused and ordered me to get on the bed, "But strip first, Dad. I want to try something with you."

Curious and aroused, I did, in record time. Lying back with my head propped up on a pillow and my erection bobbing up and down, Sasha smiled her approval and stood away from the bed.

"Kay, so I had this idea you might like. But promise you won't touch me."

"Why? What are you planning?" I asked.

"Just promise, Dad," she insisted.

"Okay. I promise." What was she up to?

Sasha smiled coyly and reached under her short skirt. With a sexy wiggle she eased her gauzy white panties down and stepped out of them. That's it. No unbuttoning her cotton shirt or opening her skirt or removing stockings. She smiled sweetly and tossed the panties at me before crawling up on the bed.

"Remember, no touching," she said, her eyes full of mischief. "You can hold onto those panties."

"Can I talk?" I asked, gripping soft, warm panties.

"Uh-huh," she answered, slowly swinging one knee over to straddle my legs, sitting up straight and looking down at me.

"Then let me just say you're looking particularly sexy today," I mentioned.

"Thank you."

"And," I continued, "I am eagerly anticipating seeing you undressed, naked, exposed."

"Then you're destined for disappointment," my little girl informed me, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"But I wanted to see your..."

"My what? My this?" she asked, lifting her skirt and flashing a lovely hairless pussy at me, her skirt falling to cover her.

My erection strained up off my stomach and I groaned quietly. Sasha looked so damn young. I reached for her knees.

"Nuh-uh," she said, brushing my hands away. "No touchy."

"You're a bad girl," I informed her. "You shouldn't tease your father so much."

She grinned. "Just wait." With that, Sasha shuffled up until she was kneeling over my groin, holding her body off mine. She rearranged her skirt hiding my erection underneath. "Ready?"

For what? I nodded.

Unable to see, the sensation of touch was intensified a thousand-fold. Warm, soft skin brushed the underside of my shaft when Sasha lowered herself and ended when she rose. She smiled and repeated the move, settling gently on my shaft, soft moistness stroking me slightly, and lifted again. Her hands rested on her thighs, her back straight.

"So? Wanna see?" she asked with a cheeky grin.

I didn't trust my voice. I nodded.

She lowered herself. Warm, moist skin pressed to my erection. She wiggled and settled, her eyes narrowing slightly as she experienced pleasure, too. "Look, Dad," she whispered, her fingers slowly lifting the hem of her skirt for an illicit peek.

I had time to register a perfectly hairless pussy plumped out as it pressed down onto a huge erection, the crown flushed and red, her labia bulging sensually, and then she dropped her skirt covering the incredibly sexy sight. My groan was heartfelt and deep. How the Hell did she know these things? The desire to reach up and grab her and fuck my daughter senseless was almost too strong to resist.

"Are you okay, Dad? You look a bit ... stressed," she observed, rising again, contact lost.

"I'm okay," I assured her even though I wasn't.

"Kay. Ready?" she asked with a grin.

Ready for what? What could she possibly do now?

Without waiting for an answer, Sasha lowered herself, her silky pussy once again settling on my shaft. I swelled at the sensation of moist, almost wet warmth hugging me. This time she gently stroked my erection with her pussy, a teasingly slow up and down motion that went high enough to cover my crown and low enough to press against my balls before returning to the middle.

She paused, sighed, and smiled at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. She repeated the move, sliding her pussy up to cover my crown and this time she paused.

"Look, Dad," she whispered, lifting the front of her skirt again, giving me a peek of her hairless pussy bulging where it pressed against the helmet, my cock almost hidden from view, her clit red. She dropped her skirt as my cock swelled. "Still okay?" she asked with a grin.