Chapter 8

Michelle tried to hide the shock on her face from her father’s words, but when she looked at him, she did not see anything out of the ordinary. No wink, or raise of the eyebrows, just normal, everyday breakfast conversation, albeit seemingly littered with double entendres.

“I really enjoyed myself too daddy,” Michelle squeaked out after clearing her throat, studying her father’s face for any knowing glances, but finding none. She then added, “I can’t wait until we can do it again,” and once again found her face burning with heat at her own accidental mixed message.

The Lynches finished their usual Sunday morning breakfast without incident, and by the end of the meal, Michelle found herself comfortably communicating with her parents, devoid of any pangs of guilt. She was really proud of her father for being able to act naturally, even though they both knew what they had done the night before. He could be a master thief or counter-intelligence expert, she thought to herself, impressed with her father’s cool-as-the-other-side-of-the-pillow demeanor.

Things seemed back to normal over the next few days. Michelle felt no difference in the way her father interacted with her, and she started to question whether it may have just been a vivid dream after all. This also helped her with her feelings of guilt, and she found herself being able to talk to her mother again without blushing.

Wednesday night was the first sign that things had changed for the small family, or at least for Michelle. That’s the first night that the telltale sounds of fucking could be heard through the thin wall between her’s and her parent’s room. This activity usually made Michelle wet with feelings for her father, prompting her to masturbate along with the sounds of her mother’s moans. But that night, all Michelle felt was jealousy. She could remember the taste of her father’s cock, and the way it forced its way into her tight pussy, and she felt it should be her moaning beneath her father and not her mom. Out of spite, Michelle stubbornly refused to bring herself off while listening to them and wound up tossing and turning all night.

Thursday was a quiet day in the Lynch household, as Michelle was in a bitchy mood, and both mom and dad knew to avoid her. She stayed at work late, barely said three words during dinner, and went up to her room immediately after she and her mom cleaned the kitchen. Thankfully, there were no middle-of-the-night amorous interludes coming from the room next door, so Michelle was able to get a full night’s sleep.

She was still stewing a little bit on Friday morning but managed to be cordial during breakfast. “I’m going to happy hour after work tonight,” she announced to her parents while loading her dish in the dishwasher, “so don’t plan on me for dinner.”

The Uber dropped Michelle at her house just before midnight, and her Prius was safely parked in her office garage. She noticed that only the ‘burglar lights’ were on inside the house, meaning that her parents were already in bed. She had managed to dance off and drink off a lot of her frustrations at happy hour and was really looking forward to not having to get up with the alarm in the morning. Michelle locked the front door behind her and quietly made her way up to her room.

She stripped off her work clothes and put on her pajamas before going across the hall to wash up before bed. She cleaned off what little makeup she wore and brushed her teeth, then filled a tall glass with water and retrieved two Tylenol from the medicine cabinet. The best cure for a hangover, she said to herself as she downed the two white tablets along with about half of the contents of the glass. She slipped into her flannel sheets and double-checked that the alarm was off before closing her eyes and falling into a deep sleep.

Since she was in middle school, Michelle had the same recurring dream, which seemed to be more vivid if she was horny or, for the past few years, had been drinking, so both factors were fully in force when the opening credits of the recurring dream started to roll. The dream always started with the sensation that there was someone in her room watching her sleep, and this night would be no different. Her age in the dream always varied, but she would always pretend to still be sleeping, too afraid to confront whoever might be in her room.

A long period would pass, and the sleeping Michelle would convince herself that there was nobody there. Just about time, she would feel her covers being lowered. The gentle touch of the stranger’s massage would start on her back, and Michelle sometimes would hear herself moaning in her sleep at the sensation. The smell of his cologne in the air and the comfortable feeling of safety told her it wasn’t really a stranger but the man she had always wanted to be touching her in this manner.