Based on the short story:
Happy Birthday Daddy
by Frank McCoy

Elizabeth was 14 years old. She was a cute little thing, with braces, burnished mahogany hair, equally dark eyes, and a nearly flawless complexion. She wore her hair straight, almost to her waist, and stood 5’1” and weighed 96 pounds. A miniature version of her mother in all things, save one.

“No, no, try this,” Mom said, handing Elizabeth a darling black, skater dress. Of course, Elizabeth loved it.

“You have such good taste for a mom,” she said teasingly. “Is it expensive?” Her eyes opened wide, reading the price tag. She eyed mom skeptically. “Really?”

Mom checked the tag in surprise and laughed. “It’s not your dad’s birthday every day, I guess. Even though he’ll hardly appreciate how good you’ll look in it. Try it on.”

“What about shoes?” Elizabeth asked hopefully.

“Don’t push your luck, young lady.”

Elizabeth grinned. “Black leggings?”

Mom pursed her lips. “I can’t decide. What do you think?”

“Leggings,” Elizabeth decided. “Definitely.”

While mom headed in search of the requisite leggings, Elizabeth browsed juniors underwear. It wasn’t anything she’d need for Dad’s birthday party, of course, but it was on the list Mom had agreed upon. She’d been after Mom for weeks to shop for underwear. Finally, Mom had agreed, killing two birds with one stone. She’d already picked out her selection when Mom came back.

“You better try those on,” Mom said of the three bras.

“I will,” Elizabeth answered, coloring a bit at the suggestion. What she had, sprung up only a few months ago, and having them after three years of blight, really embarrassed her. What she needed was training bras, she joked with her friends, all of whom resembled normal 14 year old’s. Mom looked at the tags, and then eyed Elizabeth critically.

“I hate that you’re growing up, peapod.”

“Had to happen sometime,” Elizabeth quipped. “I am in 9th grade.”

“Don’t remind me,” Mom grumbled. “My high-schooler. Go try this stuff on.”

Elizabeth bounced away, but stopped and turned after a few steps. “Sure I can’t invite a friend?”

Distracted by her pinging cell phone, Mom shook her head and dug in her bag. “Family only tonight. This is your Dad’s birthday. Now shoo.”

Grinning, Elizabeth continued on to the dressing rooms, while Mom read her text. It was worth a try, she thought.

Two rooms were empty and she picked the door on the left. It had a stubborn lock, but finally she got it engaged and hung up the dress. She really liked the bras, especially the navy blue one, and couldn’t wait to try it on.

Her top came off, exposing the plain vanilla number snugging her bantam breasts. It was finally getting outgrown, and her new bras were a more hopeful size 30A. In just a moment, her miniature boobies were bare, reflected in the mirror in all their glory. Too bad she and the other girls at school were the only ones to have seen them. No boys allowed; Mom kept her cooped up like a hen.

Just because, she kicked off her shoes, undid her skinny jeans, wiggled them down and kicked them off. Two seconds later, she stood before the mirror nude for her jewelry and anklets. A powerful shiver made her wiggle all over; she had to suppress a giggle. She liked getting naked in dressing rooms, she didn’t know why.

She turned back and forth for the mirror, letting it inspect her. She was so darned skinny. Turning completely around, she eyed her tight little backside. Tommy Cramer had smacked it this week in the hallway between classes. God, how she’d blushed. It was the second time he’d done it in the last month. She guessed he must like her butt. She wished he could see it now, bare, and that made her blush again.

The new bras fit perfectly. The purple was her favorite, surprisingly; she’d assumed it would be the navy blue. She twisted all about, checking the bra from every possible angle, deciding it looked good. She checked her bare bottom again, too; maybe Tommy would smack it again, someday maybe bare like this. She giggled, imagining him in the cubicle with her.

“I didn’t say take all day,” Mom prodded.

Startled and embarrassed, Elizabeth hurriedly removed the purple bra in exchange for her white one, put on her panties, and tried on the dress. It fit like a dream.

“Want to see it?” she asked

Mom made a disgusted sound. “Of course I want to see it, silly! Come out here.”

Elizabeth obeyed, fighting the lock for a moment to set herself free. She pirouetted for her mom, standing in the archway.

“That looks really good on you. Do you like it?”

“It’s not too short?”

“Of course it’s too short. It doesn’t touch the floor, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

“Did you try on the bras?”

Elizabeth blushed. “Mom!”

Mom sighed patiently. “It’s what dressing rooms are for. To ensure things fit. You aren’t the first barely 14-year-old to try on new bras.”

Hideously embarrassed now, Elizabeth shot glances all around and hissed, “Mom!” a second time. Mom laughed.

“OK, OK. Go change, so we can get out of here. We have other things to do.”

6 o’clock arrived, and exactly on schedule, Dad arrived home from work. “Well, look at you two!” he exclaimed in genuine surprise. “Oh, my God, babe...” He took in his wife, sheathed in a tight black dress, her stunningly big breasts practically spilling out over the bodice. Elizabeth had worked on her hair for an hour, and it looked elegant as the dress.

“Rebecca, wow...” Dad switched his gaze to his miniature Rebecca. “Elizabeth ... oh, my God, you’re all grown up! Look at you!” He grabbed up his beaming daughter and gave her a whirl. She giggled as he placed her onto her toes.

“Happy Birthday, Daddy!” she gushed, giving him a buzz on the cheek. Rebecca did likewise, and he clutched them both tight and kissed their foreheads.

“My birthday girls! Thank you, so much. Who needs presents with a wife and daughter like these?” He shocked Elizabeth by smacking her bottom the same way Tommy Cramer had done this week; of course, he also smacked his wife’s tightly-sheathed can. Elizabeth blushed bright red.

“So what does the birthday boy get tonight?” Dad asked. “Besides the obvious?”

This made Rebecca laugh, and Elizabeth blush even harder. She wished her dad would let her go. On the other hand, it felt good, being included in Dad’s lecherous enthusiasm. At once it made her feel all grown up, and decidedly a budding young girl.

“Dinner first,” Mom said, “and then a nice family evening with mom and daughter fulfilling all your wishes.”

Elizabeth blushed again, startled by Mom’s choice of words, thinking her face might self-ignite. In a flash of something like precognition, she imagined herself in Mom and Dad’s bedroom tonight, naked and smashed, being shared by the birthday boy and his voluptuous wife. The vision shattered as Dad smacked her rear end again, this time clutching his wife’s possessively.

Dinner was Dad’s favorite, of course: Peking duck. Though Elizabeth had assisted with dinner’s preparation, she was unaware of the liberal addition of ground marijuana leaves that Mom added to the stuffing. Garlic and the other seasonings masked its presence. Elizabeth wouldn’t know what she was consuming anyway, having never tasted ground marijuana. The stuffing tasted like stuffing to her. She did, however, catch the strange glances between Mom and Dad during the main course, and the ones Mom directed at her with practically every mouthful of stuffing. What was up, she wondered.

Another ingredient was added that Elizabeth knew nothing of, and of which even her dad knew little. An ancient formulation, passed from mother to daughter over numerous generations, added, in this case to the delicious stuffing, to secure a desired result. Not to get Elizabeth stoned. That was left to the potent marijuana leaves. The purpose of this 2nd ingredient was to prevent an assimilation, not foster one. Last used in 2001, it had successfully fulfilled its purpose 7 times in some 100 years. Further back ... who knows?

“Would you like some, sweetie?”

A little befuddled from the THC coursing through her bloodstream, it took a moment to realize her mom was asking if she’d like red wine.

“Really?” she asked, startled.

“I wouldn’t be asking, if it wasn’t okay,” Mom said, smiling mischievously.

She shot a glance at her dad, who looked on expectantly, fork halfway to his mouth. She also noted that neither Mom nor Dad had touched their small portions of stuffing. Her generous helping had gone rather quickly, and she’d gone back for more. “I’d love some,” she said, trying to act adult.

The wine was surprisingly bitter. She swallowed a discreet mouthful and then tried a second sip. This sat on her tongue a little better.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s a merlot. It goes well with all poultry, supposedly. Do you like it?”

“It’s bitter,” she confessed. “I liked it, though. Can I have some more?”

Mom laughed. “Drink up. You have a special dispensation tonight. Your Dad’s 40th birthday only happens once.”

Smiling uncertainty, Elizabeth took another large sip, thinking if this birthday was so special, why were they celebrating at home, all alone, without even a cake.

She finished the wine under the tutelage of Mom and Dad’s watchful eye, placed the empty glass down hopefully, and was shocked when Mom filled it again. By now, having drank a goblet full of wine, and eaten the bulk of the so delicious stuffing, the combined effects of the THC and alcohol had her quite tipsy. She giggled for no reason as Mom sat the nearly empty bottle down. Mom and Dad were exchanging looks again.

“Elizabeth, why don’t you get another bottle of wine from the fridge?”

If this was a test of her stability, she failed miserably, Elizabeth thought. Half-staggering to the kitchen, she thought Mom gave a soft laugh, exchanged words with her dad that sounded like, “Is she ready?” and opened the refrigerator door.

Ready for what, she wondered. A good fucking? Giggling like a 14-year-old, she retrieved the bottle of merlot, wondering why Mom thought three additional bottles were necessary tonight. Surely, they weren’t intent on getting their little girl drunk. This was Dad’s birthday, not hers.

She laughed, imaging any parents getting their 14-year-old by a week daughter drunk for any reason.

Dessert was also Dad’s favorite, cheesecake with strawberry topping, whipped cream, and vanilla ice cream. Elizabeth dialed back on the wine, taking but a few small sips. The potent dose of THC was making her incredibly horny, which she didn’t understand at all. Alcohol had the opposite effect, she thought, which was wrong in any case; she was totally ignorant of the THC in her bloodstream. Weed made you want to shag everyone in sight.

“Leave the dishes,” Mom said. “We’ll clean up in the morning.”

Elizabeth couldn’t believe her ears. Leave dirty dishes on the table? She’d get paddled for even suggesting such a thing, and made to go stand in the corner with her pants down.

“Elizabeth?”

“Uh ... what?” she responded, startled.

“I asked if you’d like more cheese cake, dear.”

“No, thank you,” she said, wiping her mouth. “I’m stuffed.”

“Full,” Mom corrected. “Stuffing is what you just ate.” Again, that odd look at her dad. What was going on?

Carefully holding her goblet, Elizabeth followed Mom and Dad into the family room, where Mom pointed at the coffee table. Elizabeth dutifully placed the glass on its wide bottom and sat on the couch, Dad sitting beside her on the right, and Mom on her left. She glanced between them uncomfortably. Was she in trouble? Had Mom found the topless selfies she’d taken last week? No one had seen them, of course, carefully hidden away in her calculator vault (she’d just die if anyone saw her beginner boobies); she only liked having them on her cell phone for curiosity sake. Mom would blister her bare bottom for that with a hairbrush. She might even do it in front of her dad. She began to panic.

“Mom--?”

Mom laughed. Dad laughed, though he seemed to wonder what about. Mom patted her knee, gently, and leaned forward. “Your daughter has something she wants to confess, don’t you, dear?”

Elizabeth was starting to tremble. “Mom, please--!”

“She feels a little inebriated, don’t you, sweetie?”

Elizabeth blinked, confused. This wasn’t about the selfies? Or was it, and Mom was just stretching out her torture?

“Elizabeth, you have my permission to get drunk as you want tonight. Your dad and I agree; it’s better you experience your first falling down drunk episode at home, and the resulting hangover in the morning. We’d rather you do it here, than at some party where a boy’ll take advantage of you. Here, you’re safe with your mom and dad.”

That’s what those looks back and forth were all about, she thought, wrongly. OMG, what a relief! For sure, she’d thought there’d be no sitting down tomorrow, or for maybe a week, if her mom used a paddle. Mom reached out and picked up her glass of wine, and handed Elizabeth hers.

“Drink up, young lady. This is your one night to really party. Take advantage of it.”

“But it’s Dad’s night,” she objected.

“Dad wants this as much as I do, don’t you dear?”

Dad nodded slowly, sipping from his full glass of wine. He’d brought the 2nd bottle along, and to her discomfort, filled her glass to the brim with one hand, and placed the other on her right thigh, not above the knee, but halfway to her crotch. He squeezed, and then patted her thigh gently.

“Making you happy, is about me happy,” he said, rather cryptically. He removed his hand.

Rattled, Elizabeth blurted: “What are we watching, anyway?”

“Something special,” Mom said, smiling at Dad. She retrieved the remote and turned on the HDTV. Pointing the tip at the BluRay player, she started up whatever disc she’d preloaded earlier. Stoned and becoming drunk though she was, Elizabeth found it odd that Mom had made a selection without consulting her first. Well, odd a night as it was, this was still Dad’s birthday, she thought; Mom could pick whatever she wanted for him. Pray it wasn’t science fiction.

Mom sat back with a pleased expression and crossed her arms.

She was only 28 years old, 12 years junior to Dad, and barely twice the age of her daughter. Elizabeth was conceived in 2001 and born in 2002. Her conception took place in her mom’s family room, though Mom had never told her that. The conception occurred the same 7 days past her 14th birthday that Elizabeth currently was now, though only through coincidence. It wasn’t the date that mattered, but the day.

The movie began with no intro of any kind. It was well made, Elizabeth thought, shot on video rather than film. Did anyone still shoot on film in 2016, she wondered. The man was good-looking for a fatherly type, about 40 years old, slim, and broad-shouldered, like her dad. He wore an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a gray T-shirt. He was impressively muscled, though not gross like a body-builder.

“What is this movie?” Elizabeth asked uncertainty. Suddenly she wanted more wine.

Mom picked up her glass and took a sip. “Do you recognize the man?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “He looks sorta familiar. Do I know him?”

Mom shrugged, that secret smile on her lips again. “Just watch, sweetie.”

The man entered the kitchen and took a bottle of Heineken from the fridge, spun off the lid and took a long swig. The kitchen seemed something from the late 80’s, early 90’s, with a white phone on the wall and white and yellow curtains on the windows, rather than blinds like everyone had now. She’d seen curtains in the living room, too. The man looked kinda 80’s.

“Is this an old movie, Mom?”

Mom said, “It chronicles a night in 1986, sweetie. Back before I was born. Mom was just 14 years old, then, as a matter of fact.”

“Rebecca,” Dad cautioned.

That maddeningly smile again. She looked at Elizabeth. “Are you uncomfortable, peapod?” Elizabeth nodded. “So was I, my first time seeing one of these. Relax, it’ll be fine.”

On-screen, the man headed upstairs to the second level. A large framed photo of he and a women Elizabeth assumed was his wife--she looked familiar also--hung at the top of the stairs. Standing before the couple, Mom’s hands on her shoulders, was a dark-haired girl with big hair. Elizabeth had seen pics of her mom with hair like that, and it always made her laugh. She was not laughing now.

“Is that you in the picture?” she asked. Being stoned and nearly drunk, it took a moment to suss the stupidity of the question. How could her Mom, looking 14 years old, be in a recently made film? Unless the picture was actually 14 years old, and not a prop, shot just for the movie. However, the hideously dressed girl only looked like her mom at 14, like the man and woman behind her resembled Grandma and Grandpa Flynn, but weren’t really them. Right?

The man took little notice of the family portrait climbing the stairs, but reaching it and turning the corner, he slapped the girl’s chest, right across her generous breasts. This made Elizabeth squirm uncomfortably. She took another big sip of wine, thinking how easily she could get addicted to this stuff.

The man proceeded halfway down the 2nd floor hallway and stopped before a door. As the camera holder approached, Elizabeth spotted pink and white letters, like she had on her own door. The man moved to his left, however, making it impossible to read the name. Still, Elizabeth thought the last two letters were C & A. She looked uneasily at her mom.

“What?” Mom said.

“Did that spell your name, Mom?”

“I don’t think so,” Mom said, laughing. “Lots of names end in the letters CA. Your grandmother’s, for one: Jessica?”

Elizabeth blinked, startled. The lettering was visible for only an instant, but thinking back, she’d swear seeing a pair of S’s in the middle, exactly the spelling of her gram’s name. Then again, Jessica was a popular name, even now. However, as Mom again pressed the Play button, she felt, rather than saw the reproving glance directed at Mom from her father. That was twice now at the mention of Granny Jessica, who was, incredibly, a grandmother at 28, and now only 43 years old.

It was a young girl’s room, though not decorated in pink and white as the name on the door might suggest. Instead, purples, blues, and greens dominated. In contrast, the bed was littered with various stuffed animals, the walls covered with posters of 80’s era boy bands (none of whom she recognized), and the curtains were green and white. The room spoke of a girl in transition.

Approaching the dresser, the man withdrew what Elizabeth at first thought was a large leather wallet from his back pocket. A moment later, spotting the photos it contained, she identified it correctly as a photo wallet. The angle and distance from the photos made it impossible to determine their content, although Elizabeth thought she knew.

“This is a porno movie, isn’t it?” she exclaimed.

Mom furrowed her brow and cocked her head. Fighting a grin, she said, “What makes you think that, sweetie?”

Elizabeth laughed hoarsely. “He’s unzipping his jeans!” she cried, jabbing a finger at the TV. “We’re watching a porno flick?”

Grinning smugly, Mom nodded at the screen. “Just watch, sweetheart.”

Normally, Elizabeth would be aghast at the thought of watching a porno film with her folks. But the night was so bizarre, and she so stoned, and so inebriated, that sitting here in her black skater’s dress and black leggings between her ravishingly beautiful mom and athletic dad, the idea was intriguing. In addition, the THC had her incredibly aroused; her thigh tingled, where her father had gripped it a moment ago.

The man removed himself, though angle issues prevented Elizabeth from seeing. Her reeling mind filled in the blanks, endowing her grandfather look-alike with a gargantuan erection, and horse-sized balls. His movements left no doubt what he was doing out of sight.

She noticed the girl’s top drawer was open, almost certainly her underwear drawer. The man removed a pair of purple panties and pressed them against his mouth and nose, breathing deeply of the scent. The camera approached, and gazed down over his left shoulder. Arrayed across the top of the dresser were a dozen or more Polaroid photos of a mostly naked teenage girl. It took only a moment to confirm it was the girl in the family portrait. Her actions were obscene. And almost certainly illegal, as the girl looked no older than Elizabeth.

“Oh, my God!” Elizabeth gasped. She erupted in giggles, and then jammed her hands over her mouth, mortified. Mom looked down on her with a self-satisfied grin. She said nothing as Elizabeth unconsciously propped her shoes on the edge of the coffee table.

In none of the pictures was the girl completely nude. In none of the pictures were her breasts completely covered, or her genitals concealed. Her legs, widespread more often than not, were long and shapely. Her middle finger was buried between them in three of the photos, and helping spread herself wide open in three others. In one photo, her left finger disappeared up her cleft, while she sucked the right. Two pictures had her posed on her knees, chest to the mattress and her rear end facing the camera. In both those pictures, she had her butt cheeks pulled apart, exhibiting her bare asshole. Her grins were huge, not at all forced, or fake looking. She had Mom’s big boobs. More rightly, the boobs her mom probably had at 14.

“Why are you letting me watch this?” she squeaked breathlessly. Had she ever felt so giddy? My God, what was going on between her legs? Her nipples were pruned up like fat raisins and her underarms itched. She felt her toes curl under inside her shoes. Trembling violently, she quaffed down the remainder of her wine in three big gulps. Mom refilled the glass.

“You’ve reached the proper age, Elizabeth, just as I did at your age. Keep watching, and will all be explained.”

Eyes glued to the huge screen, Elizabeth compulsively raised the glass to her lips and took another big swallow. She was now officially drunk, her blood alcohol level at 1.4 and climbing. No official measure for marijuana intoxication existed, but Elizabeth was effectively stoned, her pupils dilated and her thought processes impaired. She had never been drunk or stoned before. She was in so much trouble.

“Oh, my God!” she squealed, sloshing her dress with wine. The camera had just relocated, allowing her to see the man’s phallus. It was enormous, impossibly long and fat, the surface thickly veined, the color a bruised purple. She’d seen nothing like it online, certainly never in real life. She’d never seen a bare penis, at all.

“Baby, I’m so gonna fuck you tonight,” the man rasped. “Spread those legs for me, baby. Show me that delicious pussy of yours. Daddy’s gonna eat that tonight, ya know. Daddy’s gonna make you suck my dick till I come.”

“Noooo!” Elizabeth trilled, shivering violently. Her addled brain had finally made the connection. The man beating off was the young girl’s father, and he planned to fuck her tonight. She had posed for him nude. She had splayed herself and inserted her fingers between her spread thighs. What else had she done for her daddy?

“Elizabeth, you’ve soaked your dress,” Mom admonished. Putting the movie on hold, she relieved Elizabeth of the glass.

Elizabeth protested, “But he’s her dad, Mom! She’s his daughter! Oh, wow,” she choked, looking down at her dress. The top was soaked, right over her boobs. She felt the cold the same time she looked down. Sitting up with a start, she pinched the material and pulled it away from her chest. “I have to change,” she said, head reeling badly.

“Just take it off,” Mom said.

“What?” Elizabeth gawped at her, blinking. “In front of Dad?”

“Your Dad won’t mind. He’s seen you undressed before.”

Not lately, Elizabeth thought disjointedly. She turned her blurry gaze on Dad. Then returned it to her mom. “He’s not really gonna fuck her, is he?”

“Elizabeth!” Dad reprimanded. “Your language.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Daddy! We’re watching a porno video! You got me drunk! I mean you let me get drunk. I think I’m high too, but I don’t really know how. I know I like it,” she admitted uneasily. “Anyway, you can’t really be serious about me cussing! Besides,” she objected, “Mom just told me to take my dress off in front of you watching a porno movie. What am I supposed to think about that?”

“In the scheme of things, not much,” Mom said. “And, John, she has a point. About her language, anyway.”

Dad sighed and rolled his eyes. “Women.”

Disoriented and confused, Elizabeth struggled up and kicked off her flats. She looked down at her mom for confirmation, then unzipped, and slipped the dress off her shoulders and let it drop, one-handed. She clumsily stepped free, and tossed the dress over the couch arm beyond her mom.

“Is that okay? Should I hang it up?” It would need to be dry-cleaned.

“It’s fine where it is. You’re bra is wet too, isn’t it?”

She wasn’t taking off her bra. Not in front of her dad, at whom she cut her eyes nervously. To her relief, he was not ogling her; rather, eyeing Mom with a put out expression.

“Is this really a wise idea?” he asked. “She’s only 14, Rebecca.”

“Same age as me,” Mom said blithely. “Can we go on with the movie now?”

Accountably wobbly, Elizabeth sat down, relieved to be wearing her bra. Would Mom have really made her take it off, sit here bare-chested in front of her dad? Despite evidence to the contrary, she chose not to believe so.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she remembered. “He’s not gonna, really, have sex with his daughter, is he?”

“He most certainly is,” Mom said, thumbing the remote.

“That’s so sick...” Elizabeth laughed, gutturally, caused by the weed. “Isn’t it, Daddy?”

Dad scowled at his wife. “I should take you over my knee,” he grumbled. “Paddle that little behind of yours, Rebecca.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but giggle. She covered her mouth apologetically, at the same time understanding that wasn’t an empty threat. The smile on her mom’s face gave confirmation; Dad had spanked her before, and not always for disciplinary measures.

Mom laughed. “Let’s watch the movie, okay? Behavioral measures can always come later.”

Whatever that means, Elizabeth thought sourly. “Wait...” Mom paused the film again. “You’re okay with father-daughter sex? Me watching father-daughter sex, I mean.” She glanced apologetically at her dad.

Mom crossed her knees and sighed dramatically. “Elizabeth, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Your dad is the man of the family, your father figure. All little girls are infatuated with their fathers.”

While true, that didn’t mean Elizabeth planned taking off her clothes and posing for him nude, spread-eagled. Did it?

“What if he was like the man on the screen?” Mom asked. “Hung like a horse? Would you be interested then?”

Elizabeth exploded in horrified laughter. “Mother! No! That’s disgusting!” She laughed hysterically at Mom, as Dad sat glowering. “I can’t believe you said that, Mom!”

“I most certainly did. And Dad, don’t you sit there and pretend you wouldn’t like to deflower your little posey.”

This triggered another explosive, “Mom! Stop!” and another bout of horrified laughing. Dad looked ready to boil.

“I will blister the behinds off both of you,” he growled. “Don’t think that I won’t.”

“Oh, he will,” Mom agreed good-naturedly. “Dad blisters behinds better than anyone I know. Better even, than my own father.”

“Rebecca...”

“Mom!”

Mom leaned toward her conspiratorially. “He used to spank me all the time. Your father, I mean. He would embarrass me so bad, doing it in front of our friends. My bottom used to stay blistered for weeks at a time. He only stopped, when you began to age.” She laughed. “It embarrassed him, thinking you might hear. Now he can spank me any time he wants, since you already know.”

Dad laughed grumpily, beaten. “Fine. Let’s watch the movie, girls.”

“You never answered the question, Dad: would you, or would you not like to claim your daughter’s innocence?”

Elizabeth turned beet red. Hands clasped in her lap, shoulders bunched and knees clamped firmly together, she stared straight ahead.