Two years. That's how long it had been since I had last seen Dad. Two long, long years. It would have been okay if Dad had been a drunk, a recovering addict or a reformed convict, but it wasn't any one of those reasons. The last time I had seen Dad was at his wedding - to a twenty-one year old girl called Susan. I was nineteen at that time.
I had walked away from that wedding with just a perfunctory 'Best Wishes', and as much as I knew that Dad was hurt, my selfishness made my feelings paramount, and I had resolved at that moment not to have anything to do with my Dad or his bride - God forbid that I have to call her Mom or Stepmom - and had managed to keep up my part of the bargain. Dad tried to chat me up a few times, but as soon as he mentioned Susan, I would either hang up or excuse myself icily.
I wanted to convey my message in no uncertain terms. His bimbo was not welcome into my life.
So why was I here, in front of the huge, palatial house that I had grown up in?
While Dad was enjoying his married life with his young 'maiden', Mom had finally managed to ensnare an old pervert, and he was as rich as he was dirty. Obviously, for if he had been a pauper, Mom would have hardly given him the time of the day. And when the old geezer suffered his third heart-attack for the summer, Mom agreed to marry the poor bastard.
And then they left on a semi-permanent vacation to Hawaii.
Academic prospects in the Keys are not such a hot thing, especially when you are brought up in the hustle and bustle of Queen's, and reluctantly, I made the call to my father. Could I stay with them for a couple of weeks? He was ten times more thrilled than I was about the visit.
Don't get me wrong, though. I love my father. I have loved him since the day I was born, and I must admit I felt kind of cheated when he married a girl old enough to be my sister. My limited worldly knowledge at the time of his marriage did not have a very high opinion of girls like those, who were, in my opinion, bounty-hunters. I met her once before the wedding, and even though she was as nice and cheerful as possible, I managed to be as rude a stepdaughter as possible.
Unfortunately, I thought at the time, it hadn't been enough to break up their engagement.
Now, with two years of the real living behind me, that childish prejudice stood proved by the flash of the society. My mother was the best example I could come up with, and Mrs.Susan Alexander was a close second.
"Hello, Lisa. Come on in," greeted my 'stepmother' at the door.
I shot her a cold stare, but smiled sarcastically nonetheless. "Sure thing," I said, "Thanks for the invitation."
"Now that was uncalled for," a cheerful voice came from behind the door, followed by the person himself. "Why do you always have to be so sarcastic to Susan?"
I flushed at the chide - he sees me for the first time in two years, and all he does is defend his wife. I was getting pissed off.
"Come on now, Alex," Susan broke in with a smile. "The girl just arrived... Give her a break. All of us have to adjust, you know. And it's not easy with you pulling her up for every little thing like this."
Dad smiled back at her, and I seethed with - I admit it - jealousy. However, the momentary loss of face in front of Susie was quickly forgotten as I squealed in delight and jumped into his inviting arms. "Daddy! It's so good to see you. It's been two years..."
"Wasn't my fault," he pointed out.
"Alex," Susan began with a warning note, and Dad immediately apologized. I replied that it was quite all right, that he was forgiven. Not once did I apologize for my indifference to Susan, though, but she did not rake up the issue.
I must say I was surprised with her cool attitude. Two years in the high circuits can be pretty intoxicating for young brides, and I had really expected something totally different from what I had found. She was dressed in a simple shirt and jeans - not the leather-washed, shiny version of what the seven mill dollar a year families wear, but the type that you would expect to find on your neighbor.
Also missing were her sunglasses, which for some reason, I had thought she would be wearing inside the house. Lipstick, lipgloss, eyeliner, mascara... surprisingly, they were missing too. The air about her was not the artificial intimacy demanded by society, but the warm, happy environment of a friend.
I hated her!
Granted, so she was not the high society witch that I had thought she was... or would turn into. In fact, I hadn't even thought that she would be carrying their baby for the full term - I knew a couple of women who aborted theirs because it would ruin their figures! - but she seemed to be proud of the fact that she was three months and looked like it.
You could sense she wanted to be a mother. And she certainly looked like on her way to become one.
If the thought of her being rich and sophisticated had villianised her in my eyes, her simple and homely approach was even more infuriating. Just because I had predicted that she would change and show her true spots, and my prophecy had not come true, I had to make the conclusion - she was setting my father up for an even bigger fall.
My friends have often told me that my biggest asset has been my ability to read a character truly even when I was angry. They also mentioned that my greatest fault was in my stubbornness about the people I didn't particularly care about, and how I would look for ways to discredit their good intentions.
"Why don't you go into your room and freshen up, dear?" Susan asked me.
It had been my house at first - the house where I had been born, where I said my first word, walked my first step, the place where I had spent seventeen years of my life until Mom moved out, taking me along with her. And now this usurper was inviting me to my own room. The nerve!
I guess I snapped.
"I know the way around this house, Susan, so thank you. Let me remind you that before you whored your way into my father's house, my Mom and I were living here. And if you think you can invite me into my own house, sister, you've got another think coming."
And for two seconds, there was nothing else.
The slap stunned me - my own Dad had actually slapped me right across my face! Over some lousy bitch! I didn't know what actually hurt me more - the ringing in my ears, or the fact that I was humiliated in front of Susan. If looks could kill, Dad would have been a widower right then. I made no disguise of my animosity towards my Dad's second wife.
Dad, on the other hand, was solely concentrating on me. He was angry, so angry that I didn't want to risk facing him. He would have none of that crap, though, and caught my arm gruffly. It was the roughest I had seen of him in over a decade. He turned me around to face him, and then drew his face near, its handsome features distorted by the menace in them.
"Now listen, here, young lady," he shook my arm as he spoke, "I have put up with your attitude so far, but the ride ends here. Either you apologize and make up with Susan this instant, or you take your bags and go out the way you came. I am not going to sit by and listen to you insult my wife in such a way, got that?"
I quivered under his outrage, and shrunk in his arms. Dad raised his arms for another slap, but a sharp cry from Susan stopped him.
"Alex! What the hell do you think you are doing? That's your daughter, not some street punk."
Dad started to say something, but she indignantly cut him off. "Take your hands off her, and let her go to her room. Now!"
She turned to me, pointedly ignoring Dad. "Go to your room, Lena. I am sorry it happened, and I think your father and I need to have a little talk." Her voice made it clear that it would be my head she bit off if I didn't do as I said, so I just made my way up the stairs. I was conscious of her sympathetic eyes on me as I started to sob.
"For God's sakes, Alex! Why did you have to do that for?" I heard her say as I made my way up the stairs.
"You heard her - she insulted you, and no matter how much she doesn't appreciate the fact that I married you out of love, no daughter of mine is going to talk to someone that way. I am sorry, Sue..."
"To me? It's Lena you should apologize to - I know she insulted me, but hell, if my father married a girl just two years my senior, I would be angry too. I can understand her feelings, and she needs to have some time to get back into our family... even though I was the one who came in last.
"She needs to do it alone, you understand, and that does not require that you whip her ass every time she talks back to me. Hell, I am more a sister to her than a stepmother. If she doesn't like me, fine - that's my loss. Remember this Alex - she was your daughter for nineteen years before I even featured in your dreams, and I am sorry that I caused all this."
"You didn't, baby. She did -"
"Stop it! She doesn't take the blame any more than you do, and it's as open and shut as that. She is twenty-one, Al. She is her own woman, and she has her own likes and dislikes, and she has the freedom to express herself. Besides, every time you beat her, she wouldn't think of it as a punishment from you; she would think I manipulated you into hating your own daughter."
"I guess you are right - but to have her talk to you this way, especially since you were once willing to delay the engagement until she agreed..."
The rest of the words were cut off when I closed the door and fell on my bed. Strangely, the room was just as I had left it. There was still my old teddy, but I guess I did not really notice how clean and fresh the room was until my tears had dried after ten minutes of crying.
The cheek still hurt, and I rubbed it gingerly as I went over the last parts of the conversation that I had absently heard. What had Dad said - had Susan actually offered to delay her marriage to Dad until I had given my approval? And the rest of what she had said had also sounded too sincere, too spontaneous, to have been a farce.
I buried my head in the pillow. It was the only new entity in the room, but it had the scent of a shampoo that I had stopped using a couple of years ago. Obviously, Dad - and Susan - must have spruced the room up a bit before I came, wanting to make me feel at home.
I was starting to feel ashamed of my actions. Susan was a far better person than I had thought; far better than what I was. I didn't know if I would have the guts to stand in front of her long enough to apologize to her; I felt small.
"Hon," her soft voice broke into my reverie. "Are you all right?"
I sat up and looked at her, peering in at me, concerned and caring. "I am sorry," I offered.
Taking that as an invitation, she came into my room. She sat down beside me, and slowly, as if apprehensive that I would brush off her friendship at any moment, she placed an arm on my shoulder and drew me closer. It was a protective gesture, and to tell you the truth, exactly what I wanted to feel at the time.
"It's all right, Lena. You don't have to apologize for anything."
I managed to raise my eyes to hers. "No, Dad was right. I was being a bitch... I never took an effort to know you better."
"That's water under the bridge. Besides, your dad is just angry you weren't with us the last two years. He thought you liked your mom better than him."
"Hogwash," I replied, and she smiled. "Dad is a million times better than Mom, and I love him even ten times more."
"Like I told your father, I can understand that. Back in the days when he was wooing me, when we just used to lie together (this brought an embarrassed blush to her face, but she continued, anyway), he would talk about what a wonderful girl he had... to hear him talk, you would think he was the only guy to have patered a girl - and how he was sorry that you had moved away, how he had felt lost.
"In fact, I guess that's what brought us together in the beginning - a girl your age was like a daughter to him. Then later, at some point, we realized that we had fallen for each other, and the rest, as they say, is history."
I took in this piece of information. I had always thought it was some kind of lust that started off their relationship, but I realized, and thankfully so, that I was wrong. They had been there for each other, the pleasures of the bed relegated to a secondary need. Susan was so much more mature than I had given her credit for.
"Did you really want to wait until I had agreed to your marriage?"
Susan looked surprised, as if I had caught her off-guard. "Where did you hear that?"
"Just now, when I came up."
"You weren't supposed to hear that," she said simply.
She grinned at me. "I guess you think we made up that story, huh, to make me look like a good character?"
If I had had any such doubts, they flew out right then. I told her so.
"Actually, I did - your father was so proud of you, and I was marrying not just a man, but the rest of his family as well. It was very important to me that you accept me, because I knew that it was important to your father, and so I told him that we had better wait until you give the green signal as well."
"But he didn't want to wait."
Susan looked sheepishly at me. "He talked me into it, I am afraid. In fact, I had been hoping that you would have been my bridesmaid, but that didn't pan out, though."
"Sorry 'bout that."
"Girl, you have to drop that habit. It's very irritating, you know, to hear my 'daughter' say sorry for every insignificant thing. Besides, this is your home, as you reminded me (she giggled when I winced at the memory), and you have as much right to be here as anybody else. After all, home is where you can let your hair down, right?"
"Right," I agreed, "Mother."
The two of us laughed together - we damn well did - and I knew at that instant that I had found a good friend in my stepmom. Even 'friend' doesn't quite spell it right - as Sue had mentioned earlier, she was like a sister to me.
She gave me a quick hug and stood up. "Well," she said, stretching, "Now that we are family again, what say we take a long, relaxing swim in the pool?"
I nodded. A swim sounded like an excellent idea. Hot and weary from the ride home, and the twists and turns thereafter, I jumped at her suggestion. Then I remembered a small irritant.
"I don't have a suit."
Susan looked at me with an amused expression on her face. "We are going swimming in our own backyard, silly. You don't need a suit for that. Skinny-dipping in the summer is so much fun." With that, she just whipped off her T-shirt. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, and her firm tits juggled as she walked.
"Hope you don't mind, Lena, but modesty is not such a big priority here... after all, if you can't be free at home, where else?"
"Where else, indeed?" I agreed. "But what about Dad?"
"Alex? I am sure he wouldn't mind... plus, since he still thinks of you as a little girl, perhaps it is time you showed him how grown-up you are. Now come on, get up. Get that shirt and the skirt off, and we can be on our way.
It felt a little strange to strip in front of Susan - after all, she was my stepmom - but since she was able to do it so nonchalantly in front of me, I could reciprocate. Before long, the two of us stood naked in our own pile of clothes.
"Gosh," Susan exclaimed when she saw my ample bosom, "Those are big!"
She was exaggerating, but they were definitely bigger than hers. On the other hand, my areola was about half the size of the ones on her, so I guess that made my tits seem a whole lot heavier. I had shaved just before I had left, and it was evident that she had mowed her black-haired lawn more than a couple of days ago. Mine was totally devoid of any blond hairs and as smooth as a skin could get.
We went down together, expecting to find Dad already by the pool. I was still apprehensive about being nude in front of my own father, shaved cunt et al, and offered to wait for her while she dumped the clothes in the basement laundry, but she wouldn't hear of it. She told me Dad owed me an apology for the slap, and it wouldn't make any difference if she was there at the time or not.
I slid open the patio door and kept a cautious foot outside. Dad was around ten feet to my left, and I peered around the corner to see him, clad in only his suit, engrossed in the day's financial quotes. I stepped out.
"Hi Dad." And to this day, I swear I have no idea where I suddenly got the guts to draw Dad's attention to my nude self.
Dad turned around, and even at the distance, I could see the jaw drop. I was walking towards him even before I had realized it, and stood within two feet of his well-maintained body by the time he had regained his composure.
"Didn't you forget something, hon?"
I grinned at him. Jerking a thumb back towards the rear of the house, I explained my attire - or rather, the lack of it. "Mom said that no swimsuits were allowed in the house pool."
He shot his eyebrows up. "Mom?"
He was relieved. I guess for a moment, he really thought my Mom had showed up as well. "Glad you two made up."
"I was wrong about her from the beginning, but at least I got around to it."
"Yes," he agreed, suddenly uncomfortable with his posture. "At last, you got around to it." He paused for a second, then offered his apology. "Listen, Lena, honey, about what happened earlier... sorry I slapped you. I snapped, and I am truly sorry I did."
"It' all right, Daddy," I said, and without thinking, threw my arms around him. "I deserved to have some sense slapped into me." And as soon as I had finished speaking, I was aware of his sharp intake of breath. A naked woman, young and in the prime of her life, is a temptation for many men, including those who should have been above it, and I must admit it was a strangely exciting sensation to realize that my body was not as platonic as a daughter's should be.
Abruptly, as if on cue, both of us pulled away, awkward and blustering. Our breathing had picked up, and my nipples were harder. And although I won't swear to it, Dad's cock seemed to be awake too.
Not wanting any more disturbing thoughts - I was already starting to have some - I turned around and dived into the blue water. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad shifting his posture again, and I saw him look at me out of the corner of his eye from time to time as well. His bulge was unmistakable.
After around five minutes, Susan walked through the door. She had shaved herself clean, and all you could see on her was the bare expanse of her skin over her lips. She was sexy - you couldn't deny her that - and I was sure that the slight protrusion of the belly was making her all the more desirable.
"Hi Alex," she reached over and gave Dad a huge wet kiss on his cheeks. His eyes widened as he stared at her freshly shaved pussy, and his attention did not miss her attention. "Like it?" she asked playfully, running his finger over the smooth skin. "Shaved it, just like Lena's."
Dad quickly glanced in my direction before complimenting his wife. "Silk. Very fine." With a wry smile, he added, "I am not sure about the second part, though - I make it a point not to run around feeling my daughter's crotch."
If that reply shocked me, her rejoinder that she threw over her shoulder as she jumped into the water really stunned the life out of me. "Maybe you should."
Dad and I stared at each other for a second before Susan pulled me underwater.
It was around four in the afternoon before I finally climbed back on to firm land. Thankfully, Dad was inside with Susan, who was having another bout of sickness. Her morning sickness was not confined to the mornings alone, and in the heat of the summer, I could only assume that it must have been pure torture.
I picked up a towel and wrapped it around myself, the length being enough to cover my breasts and my pussy. I toyed with the idea of sneaking upstairs hurriedly, but Susan caught me just as I reached the stairs.
"Be ready by seven, Lena. We are having dinner outside tonight."
"Very. It took three weeks to get a reservation, and that's why the two of you are not missing out on it just because I am a little under the weather."
"You are not coming?"
"Just a little sickness, that's all. Be sure to wear something formal - the club is a stickler for such things."
A date with Dad... I would have been ready in a flash under other circumstances, but with the incident at the pool evoking hitherto unimaginable thoughts in me, I wasn't sure a tete-a-tete with Dad would be such a good idea. And as usual, I claimed I didn't have a gown to wear.
"I've got one," Susan countered. Her stubbornness was starting to make her sound like a real parent. "It's new. You can have it."
"No, I probably couldn't..." I feigned politely.
"Nonsense! I'll bring it to you."
Resignedly, I climbed up the stairs, painfully aware that Dad could see my exposed pussy from his position below. I was also aware that Susan was aware of that fact. And most importantly, I was also aware of the fact that all these facts were making my pussy wet.
The electric-blue velvet gown, with its plunging neckline, absent back and a leg-length slit at the side, was an exquisite piece of fashion, and it showed off a lot of skin. Especially the wrong skin. It wasn't the sort of dress you could wear a bra with, and sure as hell wasn't one you could bend over in, in front of people. Thankfully, my breasts have quite some space between them, and that was the only reason why the neckline wasn't a lot more daring than it was meant to be.
In spite of our misgivings and reluctance at having left a sick Susan back home, we found ourselves having a very good time. Dinner was an excellent combination of soup, appetizers and a nice, roasted piece of steak, topped out with white wine and candle-lights. At the end of the dinner, the band announced one of Daddy's favorite songs, a slow, romantic piece by Beethoven (or Mozart, I really don't remember), and he offered his hand.
Surprised, I accepted his offer, and the way we waltzed around the dance floor was so magical that the rest of the couples stood back and gave us a standing ovation at the end of the piece. Someone suggested an encore, and we ended up in each other's arms for around five dances that night.
Then Murphy struck. On our way back, via a dirt road that promised to save time, one of the wheels got stuck in the mud. By the time the two of us managed to drag it out, our bodies - and even more, our clothes - looked like they had a ton of soil and clay on them.
It was a very drowsy Susan who opened the door; the analgesics were relieving the upset at the cost of her consciousness, but the intelligent woman did not make any fuss about our being late, or worse, our dirty clothes. One glance, and she realized what had happened; she was too sleepy to listen to the full-length explanations we started to state.