Chapter 1

At first, she scoffed when her daughter asked for her credit card. What the fuck did a 14-year-old girl need with a credit card, she thought to herself, then answered to herself: shopping.

Fuck it, she thought. Let her dad pay for it. He might as well pay for something. So, she applied and waited for the bills to arrive.

A few months later, she realized the bills had not been rolling in. She had not seen one bill.

Curious, she opened her daughter’s laptop, then realized that her daughter had a computer – and she had not bought it for her. She rolled her eyes. Well, there was going to be one major charge. It was a nice machine, too, and as she fired it up, she realized it was one of the better ones on the market.

Milly had never been good at hiding her passwords, and June figured it out almost immediately. Quickly, she found the credit card account and let out a surprised gasp.

Not only did Milly not owe anything, she had MORE in the account than the original balance.

Curious, she looked through the account, finding a few charges here and there, but numerous deposits. Some of them were pretty impressive.

Where in the fuck was she getting that money, she asked herself.

The deposits were not from companies she recognized, and searches for the abbreviated companies gave her absolutely nothing.

It’s time for some detective work.

June closed Millie’s laptop and went into her study, where she fired up her desktop. Millie was young and sometimes prone to making simple mistakes, June thought to herself. She could easily find anything her daughter was hiding.

She entered some of her daughter’s frequently used usernames and found numerous pages with them.

Many were writing pages.

She read through several posts her daughter had participated in. They seemed innocent enough. But, wow, did she seem passionate about writing!

June was surprised at this. She knew Millie liked to message like every other teen on the planet. But a writer? June found this fascinating.

She found a couple of sites, then a few more, and then many more that Millie had submitted and had her work published on.

June was mesmerized.

She bought a few of the books, quickly perusing them—most dealt with horror, some with strong science fiction themes. Time travel was another favorite subject, as was the fall of humanity. The destruction of nature. The colonization of other worlds.

She ran into dozens of books, hundreds of short stories. Most had stellar reviews, and many had very devoted followings.

Yet, June noticed Millie’s last work had been published two years ago. While she found it quite impressive that a 12-year-old had such a library under her name, June was curious about why her daughter had suddenly stopped writing two years ago.

For a couple of weeks, she searched the web from one side to the other but could not find anything newer than two years ago.

One morning, after Millie went off to school, June cracked open Millie’s laptop again.

It took only a brief search to locate the folders containing the stories. There they were, with a few dozen more half-finished stories. Once again, she found most had been updated about two years ago.

Why had she stopped?

Surely, she had not stopped. She was too good. She had too much of a following.

Hundreds of folders were contained within that single folder, holding short stories and complete novels. How the girl had time to accomplish all of this, June did not know.

Sitting cross-legged on her daughter’s bed, June let out a small snort of frustration. The deposits in Millie’s credit card made it very obvious that money was still rolling in. Not all of that money came from science fiction or horror sites.

She stared at the screen, eyes squinting, barely looking at the screen, barely reading the file names.

“Podpop.”

That was one of the folder names.

“Poppop.”

She was not sure why the name caught her eye. Maybe it was because of the folly of the name, as if a strange name given to something to throw someone off the scent of ... whatever.

She opened the file.

There it was.

Hundreds of files. Maybe thousands of them. The dates showed many had been updated in more recent years.

The file names made no sense, most being the first few words of the story or an autosave name.

She clicked on one of the first files and let out a gasp.

Her daughter was writing stroke stories!

Her daughter was writing LESBIAN stroke stories!

Well, most of them were lesbian. Some were not, but most were lesbian.

And she found they were rather good.

June read one of the stories to completion, then another, then another.

Again, a horror, science fiction, time travel, end of the world, evil of humanity theme was present, but this time with a lot of sex.

The stories were beautifully written, June thought to herself, done very professionally. She could say her daughter was a fucking good writer!

And her daughter was a good writer about fucking.

The descriptions of the players’ actions, feelings, and thoughts seemed spot on.

She closed the laptop and returned it to its original location.

June saw her daughter in a different light that evening, amazed that such thoughts went through the mind of her little girl. Well, she certainly got THAT perversion from her mother, she thought to herself.

They engaged in the usual small amount of talk during dinner, June asking Millie about school and classes.

“Do you have any creative writing classes?” June asked at one point, wondering if she had worked the question naturally into the conversation.

Taking a bite and nodding, Millie smiled. “Yeah, I do. I like writing,” she said with the casualness of any other teen in the world.

As always, Millie disappeared into her room after dinner, not to be seen again for the rest of the night.

June fired up her desktop again, surfing to one of the adult bookstores that had published her teenage daughter. June let those words tumble through her brain with confusion as she bought several of the books and settled down for the night.

Once again, she thought to herself, her daughter was an excellent writer, a superb storyteller, and a stimulating writer of erotica.

She scrunched her face a bit at that last part. Kind of gross, June, she thought to herself. Despite herself, she began reading one of the stories and lost herself in it.

It was about a pair of lovers mining an asteroid, two women who had fallen deeply in love with each other, but tried to hide it in a place that not only would not accept their love, but was also a place with such close quarters that it was difficult to conceal their affection.

Millie had a knack for creating brand-new worlds that seemed incredibly real. She also had a great tendency to build characters and make them feel real, drawing the reader into their stories and emotions.

The nasty parts were pure art.

The words flowed. So did June.

Eventually, she turned off her desktop, turned into bed, and stroked herself to sleep with a shuddering orgasm.

With this newfound talent, June discovered that Millie had a whole different pen name, which went along with a completely different persona. Gone was the shy little girl June knew; born had been a brazen woman ready to wake and shake the world with orgasms.

She knows she should have been angry about this. She knew that, as a mother, she should be looking after her daughter, ensuring she was safe, happy, and preparing her for the real world.

But she reasoned to herself that she was doing this. Sort of. Millie was pleased to write.

Meanwhile, June noticed that while Millie had an exceptionally large and devoted following, she interacted incredibly rarely with any of her fans. She found nothing to indicate that she showed any interest in meeting any of her fan base in person or even on video chats. Millie seemed to be taking great care of herself.

And Millie seemed to be doing very well for herself in preparing for the real world, that world outside of high school life. Hell, she was raking in more than June was in her retail job, having pulled in more in a couple of months than June would in three years.

June thought to herself that she certainly could not get angry at Millie for the pornographic aspect, especially considering that June herself was known to visit her sites to help her get herself off.

She decided she would do nothing. She was not going to punish her daughter for something which might be technically wrong for a girl of her age, but was she to punish her daughter for being a talented writer?

No.

Even though she did not do anything exactly.

She became a passionate member of her daughter’s fan base.

She bought and downloaded every story. Yes, she knew that she might be able to ask Millie for free copies, but she knew that tons of embarrassment would follow. Instead, she became happy enough to become one of Millie’s largest fans.

June became me.

I will not lie – a lot of her stories turned me on. Naturally, this led to some inner turmoil, as I found myself getting caught up in stories written by my daughter. My TEENAGE daughter!

But damn it, those stories did turn me on.

I made encouraging comments on as many as I could, especially my favorites.

Once I had come to terms with the stories, I made a vow to myself to stay away from her laptop. Quite a few times, a story I remember seeing half-written would eventually pop up in full on one of her pages.

After a couple of months, though, I noticed a pretty significant decrease in submissions on her two main sites. I knew she was still writing; I could hear her typing away every night. I overlooked that, and it bothered me somewhat.

I searched for her username and found nothing new; then, I searched for a couple of her titles.

That is when I found the site which put a shock into me: Lovely Lesbian Lolita Literature. OK, I thought it was a terrible title, too – but the shock of the title also hit me pretty hard. I had to look.

There, she had several new submissions during the last few months. She had also hidden all of her stories behind a paywall. Curious and nervous, I put in my credit card number, finding, to my relief, that the billing did not say “Lovely Lesbian Lolita Literature.” I did not need to see that on my bill!

As the title of the page suggests, it dealt with lesbian literature. Some of the stories featured 18-year-old girls, but most contained stories about girls who were younger than that.

A quick search enabled me to find Millie’s account easily.

Once again, she had hundreds of stories to tell.

Her most recent was one called “Mommy and Me.”

Full stop.

I have a confession to make, and it probably won’t shock you. I have a bit of a crush on my daughter.

I have told myself many times it is a mother’s crush; one every mother has on their kids. I mean, every mother thinks their kid is the cutest around, right?

And I do too. I have naturally watched her grow from a baby to a sweet child, to a somewhat dark and moody teenager who still shows many signs of sweetness. She might dress herself up in a lot of “boys’” clothes and cover herself with loose-fitting hoodies and sweatpants, but for a few years, I have still watched her grow into a wonderful young woman.