Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Oral Sex, Petting, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Sometimes you're not even looking. Sometimes you're just bumping along in life and something different drops into your life and you find out that things unexpected can be quite wonderful. Barry's daughter thinks Barry might benefit from a little companionship. He doesn't buy into HER idea, but what happens in spite of him takes off in a whole different direction.
"Dad, that's SICK!"
My daughter had a truly horrified look on her face.
"Mom said you were strange, but that's SICK!"
My daughter is in her early twenties. I've been divorced from her mom for fifteen years. I live by myself, mostly. Today my daughter was over to share a bit of time with me, letting me see my most recent grandbaby. I'm a double grand-dad. Same daughter, two babies, two different fathers. Welcome to the Twenty-first Century.
"YOU'RE the one that started this conversation, baby, and you're like your mom. You hear what you WANT to hear. I didn't propose sex with YOU. You're right. Sick."
The conversation had run around from the subject of her on again, off again mate, the father of THIS baby, and then, "You have to be tired of living by yourself, right?"
"It's not bad," I said. "I have plenty of contact with humanity at work."
"You know what I mean," she retorted. "Companionship ... The reason I'm here with little Brucie."
"No, the reason you're here with little Brucie is that the idea of taking a birth control pill every day is beyond your level of responsibility."
"Doesn't mean I don't love you, baby. Just that I know you. I'm father to a flake."
She probably thought she was being forward and sassy, one of the endearing traits that enticed me into a disastrous marriage to her mom.
"So seriously, are you seeing somebody?"
"I see lots of people..."
She fixed a gimlet eye on me. "You know what I mean."
"You mean you're asking your dad if he's getting some regularly."
"See! I knew you knew what I was asking."
"You were being obtuse."
"You're the only one I know who uses the word 'obtuse'."
"You need to travel in better circles, daughter o'mine."
"So back to the question. Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Doesn't it get lonely?"
"I don't mind being alone. The cats're good company."
"How about a female friend?"
"Don't want the baggage."
"What about a quickie?"
I dropped my jaw and stared at my daughter. That's when... "Dad, that's SICK!"
"I didn't mean YOU. What do YOU mean?"
"Well, I know that Mom said you were over-sexed. I just wondered..."
"I sort of grew up, baby," I said. "I learned that letting myself get influenced by my baser urges leads to bad things."
"That's because you automatically attach strings to it."
"I guess I do. And the idea of making it a financial transaction? Today that's pretty risky."
"Maybe you're doing it wrong," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, say there's this girl who is nice and friendly and sort of needs a little money, and you take 'er to dinner and a movie and then ... And she leaves with a hundred bucks after the evening's over."
"You've done this?"
"No, but I know a girl who might..."
"Baby, don't get me wrong, but your friends ... they're like you. And if I was YOUR age, I wouldn't date ANY of them."
"I love you, baby, but that's because I'm your dad."
I rocked the new grandkid in my lap for the requisite amount of time, and then they left.
Two days later I came in from work. It's Friday evening and I'm thinking that maybe I can watch something on NetFlix. I plopped down to catch up on email, TV on in the background, the cats maintaining security overwatch from the back of the sofa in the late afternoon light. Life was pretty good. And my phone rang.
I glanced at the display and didn't recognize the number. "This is Barry. Can I help you?"
"Mister Barry, this is Jessica Spineti. Your daughter told me to call you."
"Hi, Jessica. My daughter is off track. I'm sorry to waste your time."
"Uh ... Mister Barry..."
"Just call me Barry. She proposed something I'm not comfortable with. I'm sorry you got involved."
"Your daughter's nuts, Barry. I know that. But I thought I'd call you anyway. She said we might have dinner, at least."
"Just dinner. I know what she said..."
"What kind of dinner place do you have in mind?"
"That Mexican restaurant on the main drag."
"I haven't eaten there in a month or two. Uh, am I supposed to pick you up or meet you there?"
"My car's dead. Could you give me a ride? Sixish?"
"Sure. Text me your address."
"OK. Soon as I hang up. And Barry?"
"I'll call you when I get close."
"That'll work. I'd rather meet you out front."
Okay. Quick shower. Change into something neat and presentable, all the while harboring the idea that my 'date' may be dressed in 'distressed' jeans and an X-rated T-shirt, but I have to be me. I even splashed on a bit of favorite cologne.
Next step was to hop in the 'babe magnet'. I laugh. Plain vanilla, mid-range SUV. In grey. 'Silver' according to the brochure, but I like 'grey'. Like some of my hair. And off I go on tonight's adventure.
Twenty minutes later I'm winding through an older neighborhood. I hit redial on my cellphone. It rings twice.
"Hi, Jessica. I'm about three minutes out."
"I'll be standing out front."
The evil part of me says 'and if you look like a refugee from an 'Occupy Wall Street' protest, I can just keep on driving.' I don't listen to the evil side. No matter what, she's expecting me, so I will be there.
I round the corner. There she was, tiny little thing, five feet tall, maybe. Black hair, cut short in one of those 'alternative' looks. Jeans, sans distress. Blouse, plaid, shirttail out, not a bad look at all in a 'ragamuffin chic' sort of way. As I got closer, she saw me and smiled slightly. When I stopped, she jumped in the door and sat.
I guess she caught me scoping her out.
"Well? Did I pass?"
"Yes. I was worried."
"I know who your daughter hangs out with. I'd worry, too."
"You hang out with my daughter."
"Not since her last pregnancy. Sorry. One time's an accident. Twice is just stupid. And I know your daughter. I think that this is one of her ways of getting back at me."
"And you did it?"
"Contrarian. I thought that if she and her mom had so much bad to say, there had to be some good. Nobody's completely evil."
"They talk about me that bad?"
"When she's with her mom. Sometimes she talks good about you. She says you're the smartest man she knows." She paused. Looked at me with a little smile. "Said you were reasonably good-looking, too."
"Not really. So, nervous?"
"Kinda," I said. "You're the youngest lady I've ever taken out."
"You were a teen once. I'm sure you dated then, and those were much younger."
"Differential," I said.
"Yeah, there is that." She folded her arms across her chest. "Relax. Most people will think we're dad and daughter or something innocuous."
"Innocuous," she repeated firmly. "Vocabulary. I have one and I'm not afraid to use it."
"Good," I said. "That will make conversation possible."
"And interesting." Her lively green eyes sparkled. "Thank you for getting me out of the house."
"You live by yourself?"
"No, there are three of us there. I'm sort of the dropout, now. I quit running the roads and staying out and the big parties and the little parties and ... No more drugs. No more drinking. No more..." and she stopped.
"I've never had that sort of lifestyle," I said.
"I have. Can't recommend it. Not any more. Thought it was the way to be. One of the oh so cool kids, flouting the tired old authority of parents."
"You've been thinking."
"And right now I'm thinking of a big basket of chips and some chili con queso."
"You said no more drinking."
"I am not in a program, Barry. I just am not going to binge until I'm unconscious and wake up with some naked guy laying across me. A margarita ... would be nice."
"You're over twenty-one?"
"Two years older than your daughter. Twenty-four."
"Then yes, I think a margarita may be in order."
We thumped our way off the street and into the parking lot. Popular restaurant. When I found a parking spot, it entailed a good little walk. I was a bit surprised that she stayed as close to me as she did.
The hostess informed us of a twenty-minute wait.
"Bar?" I asked Jessica.
One of those ridiculous tables with two barstools. And two margaritas.
"So, conversation," I said. "What do you do now?"
"Manager at a fast food joint."
"Yep. Apparently I was soooo good at saying 'You want fries with that?' that somebody saw leadership potential. Great use of my ever so practical degree in literature."
"3.9 GPA. Just what I need for supervising burger-flippers." She gazed at me, smiled. "Although they don't actually flip the burgers manually any more. Fry-dipping, though, it's still a thing. "Megan says you're sort of like an engineer?"
"Sort of ... Don't have an engineering degree. Just really good at what I do. Pays the bills."
"Is it interesting to you?"
"Yes, I like the challenges. I hate the drudgery. Administrative bullshit. Beancounter crap. But get me out in the field with a problem, that's heaven. A blank page and a need for a system, that's good."
She smiled. "How much of that do you get?"
"Enough to keep me in town. I could get out of this cushy job and get a lot more money but I like living here."
"I do, too. Some friends tried to get me to move to New Orleans. I like it here. A couple of 'em took off for Vegas. I like it here."
"I dunno. It's home, I guess. It's certainly not the wonderful lifestyle I'm experiencing. I'm trying to change my scenery, but my money doesn't quite match my dreams."
"It seldom does, Jess," I said. "So we have to suffer or learn to dream something else."
She sort of stared, then propped and elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. "Keep talking. I'm listening."
So banter happened. I was surprised, actually. Seldom did contact with my daughter's contemporaries result in anything pleasant. I was usually happy enough when the result didn't make me want to swallow that bottle of painkillers in my medicine cabinet.
We were disturbed from conversation when a young man (younger than my 'date'!) tapped me and told us our table was ready. We picked up our drinks, including her un-slammed margarita. Surprise. I've seen a lot of young folk drink, and it's usually a sprint to oblivion. Jessica just sipped and talked and listened.
We followed the guy to our table. Here's another hurdle. Table manners. I might not be ready for formal dining at Buckingham Place, but I am onto uncouth. All you have to do is visit as many 'family' restaurants as I have to know that I'm at the upper end of etiquette.
I assumed that Jessica would be among the other end of the spectrum. I was wrong.
We ordered. "You want another margarita?"
Her eyes flashed. "Am I safe?"
"You're safe. And two margaritas over a couple of hours isn't going to put you out of your mind..."
"You treat a date quite nicely. It's nice. Treated like a lady..."
"So far, you haven't indicated otherwise."
"I try not to be a pig. Some people revel in it."
Chips and chili con queso. Good for conversation.
"I gotta ask," I said. "Please don't take me wrong, but your eyes..."
"I'm a mutt. Mom's mom was Japanese. Grandpa brought 'er back with him from the Navy."
"Oh. And the green?"
"Mishmash of Europeans. Green is really a variation of brown, you know ... You passed a pretty shade of blue on to your daughter, you know..."
"Thank YOU! You notice things."
"Great big beautiful world. It pays to notice it."
She smiled. A real smile.
Entrees arrived. The girl handles herself well, even if the place is just a knife and fork joint. Better yet, she wasn't shoveling her food down. Our conversations continued through the meal.
Alas, good things come to an end. The check arrived. I paid it. I noted that she was watching when I scribbled in the amount of the tip. 25%.
"Healthy tip there, bud," she said.
"Good server. Attentive, but not intrusive. Probably curious as to what an old goat like me is doing laughing with a young cutie like you, though."
"Well, as I suspected, your ex has a distorted impression of you. So does your daughter."
"And I have to revise my impression of my daughter's friends as a bunch of flakes and losers." This was while we were walking to the car. This time I opened the door for her.
"Gallant. I can't remember the last time a guy opened the door for me."
"I'm an anachronism." I walked around to my side of the car and slid inside. "So what now? Bring you home?"
"If you want to. I really ... Barry, I thought this was going to be one of those restrained disasters. I've actually been enjoying myself."
"I have, too. I figured yet another drug-addled airhead."
"You caught me after that stage."
"This one's better. Trust me."
"I think so. So, do you have any ideas? Other than us going our separate ways?"
"You already paid for dinner..."
"Movie for the two of us won't kill me..."
"What would you be doing if you weren't with me?"
"Home, watching something on NetFlix."
"Something wrong with that? Besides having to bring me home, I mean..."
"Not a thing. But Jess..."
"This ain't that thing my daughter talked about."
"You're right. It's not."
"Okay. Just wanted to make that clear. I'm enjoying the evening. It's nice to have good company."
When I let her in the front door of my home, she looked around. "Niiiice. You have this whole thing to yourself?"
"Not exactly," I said as the first of the two cats sauntered around the corner to investigate the intrusion into his world. "I'm servant to Harv there. Bobby will be along in a second. I hope you're not allergic."
"Nope. Actually like cats."
"Make yourself comfortable. I need to visit the bathroom."
"'Kay." When I left, she was squatting to pet Harv and like I predicted, Bobby was positioning himself for his share.
When I got back, she was looking at the shelf full of DVDs. "Uh, Barry, do you have your heart set on something in particular?"
"I wanna watch this one." She handed me the DVD case. Amadeus.
"Seriously. Like the music. I've watched it several times and I keep hoping that the ending changes."
"But the music..."
She looked at me like I had a horn growing out of my head. "The music's sort of the point, isn't it? I mean, you OWN the movie, so you must like the music. Although I am jealous of the cutie he chases through the courts of Emperor Joseph."
"You LIKE the music..." I said dully.
"I like the music. Mozart, seriously." She looked sternly at me.
"Gee, lady ... Let's watch the movie."
She giggled. "I didn't mean to come off like that. I just ... Well, I get to say what I like and I don't need to be judged about it."
"Well, lady," I said, "if I judge you because you like Mozart, then it's in a positive direction. That's judging, too, you know..." I put the DVD in the player and turned.
"I guess the sofa's mine, huh?"
"You can have the recliner if you want. You're the guest."
"Sit in your recliner. I'm good here!"
She arranged a couple of pillows, kicked her shoes off and propped up on the sofa. I kicked back my recliner and started the movie.
Opening scenes. "Jealousy," she said. "Wanting something somebody else has, so bad that it wrecks your own life."
"It happens," I returned.
We watched a little more. She seemed to keep commenting about the presence of Antonio Salieri in the movie.
"I don't think there was as much of a rivalry between the two as the movie shows," I commented.
"Oh, I think you're right, but it makes for good drama." She paused. "My life. Drama. Do you have something to drink?"
"You have something in mind?"
"Yes, if you have it."
"How adventurous do I need to be over soda?"
"I brew my own ginger ale."
"Really? You can do that?"
"Big deal. Water. Sugar. Ginger. A little lemon. Yeast."
"Sure! I'd love to try it."
"If you hate it, I have Coke, too."
I paused the movie and fixed us each a glass of ginger ale. She followed me to the kitchen and watched me.
"You made this?" she said.
"Yep. Recycled bottle. Handles the pressure. Self-carbonates."
"Yeast fermentation makes alcohol."
"Tiny bit. I refrigerate it as soon as it carbonates. Stops the fermentation. The alcohol is insignificant. You could drink the whole two liters and not get a buzz."
"Okay. It doesn't TASTE alcoholic. But man! The ginger!"
"That's why it's called ginger ale. Popcorn?"
I tossed a bag into the microwave, dumped it into a bowl and sat on the sofa with the bowl between us, then I restarted the movie. We watched, talked.
Well, SHE talked. I mostly listened. Interspersed with the wry commentary were indications that Jessica had been battling her way through some things in her life.
Despite those little hurdles, though, I enjoyed talking with her. Her intelligence was obvious, as was her energy level. Still, the movie had to end.
"Home?" I asked her.
"I guess. Sorry, that crap that Megan said..."
"Jessica, dear, I have had an evening far more delightful than I dreamed. Let Megan live with her own delusions. I enjoyed hanging out with you."
"Me too," she said as we walked out to the car.
Driving back to her apartment, she said, "You know, Barry, I wouldn't mind doing something like this again."
"I think I'd like that. Maybe a little planning..."
"I dunno," she told me, "we did pretty good for spontaneity. The best Friday night I've had in quite a while."
I walked her to her door. She turned. "You're still gallant," she smiled. "And for your gallantry..." she stood on her tiptoes and pulled my face toward hers and gave me a kiss, slightly lingering, those almond-shaped eyes twinkling. "Tomorrow, if you want..."
"Let's say six again?"
"That works," I said. "Be thinking of where you want to eat."
"I will. G'nite, Barry." She tossed me a smile and went inside.
I went back to the car to drive home. Alone. Felt like I was alone, too. Really did enjoy the banter with Jess. She didn't act like she was posing or trying to meet some expectation, real or imagined. Now I started hoping that she had the same impression of me.
But there was also the matter of two-plus decades of age difference. I shook my head. Like the saying goes, "No fool like an old fool." I surmised that I still could safely take her to dinner and whatever without being the fool I despised.