Chapter 1

Friday December 18

Done with exams, and I am home for the Christmas break. I love college, and I love my independence there, but dear god, it’ll be nice to sleep in a big bed for a change.

This year is going to be a bit different: My mom will be out of town for Christmas, so it will be just me and Dad. Grandma had an incident that convinced the family that she shouldn’t be driving any more. One thing led to another, and now Mom and my aunt and uncle are in Colorado helping Grandma sell her house and move into a retirement home.

The lights were out when I got in just now, so I stayed quiet, figuring my dad had already gone to bed. Maybe I was too quiet, because when I walked past his bedroom door, I heard the rhythmic sound of skin slapping. I think my dad was fapping! After a few seconds the slapping sound stopped and I heard a small groan. Then a light came on - I saw it under the door jam - and then there was a flush, and then the light went off.

In my whole life, I never caught - never even suspected - my parents of having sex. Sure, I knew they probably did sometimes. And obviously I’m here. But it’s just not a part of who my parents are, to me. Well this takes that to another level. I mean: his wife is out of town and my dad is masturbating? Oh well. Good for you, Dad.

Saturday December 19

“Lexi, hon? Do you want to wake up and join me for breakfast?” That’s how I woke up this morning; my dad was calling to me from outside my bedroom door. I put on a robe and went straight to the coffee pot.

“When did you start drinking coffee?” My dad asked with a little amusement.

“We met through a mutual friend,” I said as I poured myself a cup. “An Irish fellow named Bailey.” I wouldn’t have said that if Mom were around. I knew that Dad, however, wouldn’t be bothered to hear about my experiences with alcohol. He’s realistic about what college life entails.

Dad was looking at me with beaming proud-parent eyes. I’m sure I looked a mess. My normally tame shoulder-length brown hair had been horribly mistreated the night before by two hours of highway driving with the windows down through uncharacteristically humid air. My eyes - normally bright brown and wide even through my glasses - wouldn’t seem to open more than a sliver, thanks to waking up earlier than I ever had over the last semester. I guess that’s not what a parent sees, though.

We talked about school and plans for the day and the latest news from Mom. We didn’t talk about Miles, the boy who broke my heart in October, although I could tell Dad wanted to ask. I’m sure we’ll get to it, but I appreciate him giving me a little space for now.

I spent most of the day at the mall. I had finished most of my Christmas shopping back at college, but I just can’t figure out what to get for Mom. It was among the mall crowds that I heard an acid-tongued “Bitch!”. Looking for the source of the sound, I discovered Becca Rivers and another fourteen year old girl looking at me defiantly.

“This is the girl who turned my brother into a deviant,” Becca told her friend.

Becca and I used to be friends. I used to babysit for her, back in high school. Her family started hating me after I fooled around with Becca’s brother Ethan. There was a video of me fucking Ethan’s ass with a flashlight while giving him a hand job. Becca saw it, and then her parents, and then everyone went crazy. They’re a very religious family.

“Becca! Hi! How are you?” I said. “How’s Ethan?”

“He’s doing better, no thanks to you!” Becca hissed.

“I’m glad,” I said. I was keeping my tone friendly and open. I guess I hoped that her anger would burn itself out. “Is he in town for Christmas? I never heard what happened to him,” I said.

“Why? So you can corrupt him again?” Becca accused.

When I didn’t reply right away, Becca went on. “See this?” She said, showing me the bracelet she was wearing. “My boyfriend gave it to me. He’s in college.”

I started to speak - to tell her it was lovely - but she went on again. “You know, I bet I’ve had sex with way more boys than you have!”

I knew that was true. Over the summer I had discovered a club of middle-aged couples who secretly taped their kids’ sexual activities. The adults would take their videos to their “bridge club”, where they would all watch them together and then fuck each other in a giant orgy. One of the videos had shown fourteen-year-old Becca getting gang-banged by four high school boys in exchange for beer.

“That may well be,” I said. “But ... is that something that’s important to you? Sleeping with the most boys?” I said it with complete, honest compassion. Maybe that’s why it bothered her so much. Becca’s face got red and she stammered, unable to think of a scathing reply.

Becca’s friend came to her rescue: “A girl who dresses like that? I bet she can’t even get one guy to sleep with her.” I was wearing skinny jeans, a long sleeve tee, and a cardigan; there was nothing wrong with the way I was dressed.

The two teens stomped off, proud of their apparent victory. My god that girl can hold a grudge.

I cooked dinner for Dad and me - fajitas. After a video chat with Mom and Grandma, Dad and I watched Die Hard on TV. Dad calls it his favorite Christmas movie. Then he went to bed. I was in my bedroom reading about Windows network stack vulnerabilities when, ever so faintly, I heard that sound again. My dad was fapping, again!

Okay, I’ve invaded a lot of people’s privacy over the years. It’s kinda a thrill. But I’ve never spied on my parents ... until tonight. I reached through the household WiFi into my dad’s computer and reviewed his browser history.

Apparently there’s a whole section of Reddit - r/gonewild - where women post naked selfies. I’m not talking about just boob shots, here: these pictures run the whole spectrum. There are asses in mirrors, beaver shots, girl-on-girl, and sometimes video clips of dildo insertions. As far as I can tell, the women do it for nothing other than the adoration of horny guys.

So that’s what my dad was looking at while he got himself off. He has about two dozen of them bookmarked. That’s enough for me to get a feel for his type. Most of them had medium length brown or black hair. Most of them were average height, with B-cups, thin waists, and flat bellies. In other words, most of them looked a lot like me.

Does my dad want to sleep with me? Is that what I’m seeing here? If he does, is that a problem? I mean, obviously neither of us would ever let that happen, but is this normal?

I suppose, to be fair, my mom used to have hair like mine when she was young. She might have had a body like mine. I’m not sure - I’ve never seen pictures of her from before I was born. Maybe Dad isn’t attracted to his daughter, but rather his wife, back when she was young and hot.

And I guess, when you take clothes out of the equation, there aren’t really that many types to choose from. Nearly all of the posters seem to be white girls. There are plenty of blonds to choose from, and plenty of girls with big boobs, but there aren’t any who are super tall or super short, or flat-chested, or fat. I guess nobody who deviates too far from Hollywood standard white-girl beauty bothers to post their pics.

It is kinda fun to read how many witty ways the guys can think up to say they’d like to come on a girl’s chest. And some of these girls deserve credit for being very creative with their cameras.

I’m kinda turned on right now. Maybe it’s time to unpack my little pink vibrator. Wouldn’t it be funny if its buzzing woke my dad up?

Sunday December 20

“You know what every girl really wants for Christmas?” I prodded my dad over an English muffin this morning. “A four day defensive handgun training class.”

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Every girl?”

“Well, maybe just the smart ones,” I said.

“C’mon, Lexi. You know I can barely keep your mother from freaking out about your gun hobby as is,” my dad said. “Besides - with all the hours you’ve spent on firing range over the last two years, how much more could they possibly have to teach you?”

“Oh my god! So much!” I exclaimed. “I have zero experience drawing from a holster and firing, or reloading under pressure, or making fire/don’t-fire decisions. I’ve seen videos of women drawing concealed guns and firing while wearing dresses, and I promise you, that’s not something you can do without practice.”

Dad smiled at me with what I think was pride, again. “You know, if you do go to work for the FBI, they’ll teach you those things.” His tone of voice said that the conversation was over.

A couple years ago, my friend Marcie had joked that I should work for the FBI, and the idea kind of stuck. Before then I had no idea what I wanted to do for a living when I grew up. Since then I’ve been regularly practicing at the shooting range near college. And I chose my course of studies - a double major in Computer Science and Accounting - in part because I knew that it would make me valuable to the Bureau. I’ve also engaged in some amateur sleuthing, although I can only really talk about one of those cases publicly. I’ve got a newspaper editor who owes me a recommendation, at least.

Dad’s right, of course. Taking a class like this isn’t likely to affect the FBI’s decision about me much. I just want every advantage I can get. They’re very selective.

We had another video chat with Mom tonight. She asked me to look in the boxes she had shipped here for a framed photo of my grandfather. It turns out that Grandma wants my uncle to have it.

The box also contained some stuff from my mom’s childhood: yearbooks, track ribbons. It contained a bunch of 3.5 inch “floppy” disks. I don’t know why they call them that. I asked Dad about the disks. He said mom used to love to make art on her computer, and that she was actually a pretty good. I still haven’t come up with a good gift idea for Mom. Maybe I can get some framed prints of her artwork? That is, if I can figure out how to even read them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a 3.5 inch floppy drive, outside of old movies.