Polinka Goes on Holiday
Copyright© 2026 by Clee Hill
Chapter 7
Polinka took a gentle breath, opened her eyes, and smiled. Yes, they had moved in the night, and yes, she was now facing towards the van’s side doors, and yes, her father had snuggled up right behind her so that, yes, that was definitely his knob she could feel nuzzling her bum.
But he wasn’t holding her tiddie!
Instead, at some point her cami had ridden up a little, and when he had snuggled up to her with his arm around her waist, it meant he now had his hand resting on her tummy, moving in time with her breathing, and if anything making her feel even closer to him, as if he was holding her safe. Better still, his hand wasn’t at all warm, so it was comfortable to feel him holding her. Thank God she didn’t have to try to find another ‘abrupt waking’ excuse this morning, as three in a row was absolutely going to get his attention; she was amazed two out of two hadn’t, but they had been different enough that she had somehow gotten away with it.
The question now, though, was how to wake him? Did she try to play it cool, try to do it funny, try—
—Not to jump ten feet in the air as she felt her father kiss her shoulder. “Morning, Biscuit,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.
“Hey, Dad,” she said, sounding more nervous than she had planned as she gently patted his hand, still on her tummy. For, reasons, she guessed. A distraction, she hoped, as she turned around so that, hopefully, he didn’t realise where else he had been touching her. “Sleep well?”
“I did,” Stephen said, his eyes clearing as sleep faded. “You?”
“Oh, you know, snuggling with my Dad so, haha, best way to sleep,” she grinned, meaning it, too.
“You’re sure you’re comfortable? There really is not a lot of room in here.”
“I’m small,” she winked.
“No sudden overnight growth spurts?”
“Nah. I think yesterday was it. My extra half an inch,” she said, her father still talking about heights in feet even though she had had to look up a conversion online. One-sixty centimetres, roughly.
“It looks good on you.”
“Yeah? Thanks,” she said, a little confused by the meaning behind his praise. “Kiss?”
“Kiss,” he smiled as she snuggled up to him and they did, her top doing what it wanted but mostly only exposing her belly button, now, as she soaked up the love of his kiss, that strange nonsexual intimacy they shared. How did he feel about it? She had no idea, but she did have the idea not to ask in case thinking about it made him awkward. Or made him stop. She didn’t want either of those things to happen.
“‘Trowel’ time?” she snickered.
“You go first.”
“You know it’s not that true, about women not being able to, haha, ‘hold their own’?”
“I know, but it is true enough that you can go first.”
“Or we go together. I don’t need the ‘trowel’.”
“Again?”
Polinka shook her head. “I just ... can’t. I know we’ll have breakfast and be passing through somewhere or another soon enough, and my bum’s fine with that, thank you very much, but perching over a hole in the ground? Nope. Can’t do it.”
Stephen smiled as he kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Which makes two of us. I take it you are okay to go out in your sleeping things?”
“Yep. Still feels, haha, feels naughty but in a silly and harmless way.”
Stephen winked. “Well then, shall we go and be naughty?”
“Separately, Dad. Separately,” she said, her words seeking to soothe any possible worries he might have from how he might misinterpret his own words. She knew what he meant. So did he. She just didn’t want him worrying how she would misinterpret them. So she didn’t. And she told him so. “Can’t see anyone,” she said, peering through the cracked curtain on the passenger side.
“I’ll go check first.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she said, smiling at his protectiveness, even in the middle of almost nowhere as the doors were unlocked and he stepped out, the air chilling the inside of the van a little as he looked around.
“Seems like we’re on our own, Biscuit. No cars during the night, just a couple of clouds and some birds for company.”
“Birds, huh? Can you tell them to look the other way, I don’t want a crow or something watching me,” she giggled as they got their things, headed off down the path, separated, and returned a couple of minutes later, Polinka first as she hadn’t drunk so much tea last night.
“All done,” he said, taking her bag from her and dropping it in the municipal bin with his own.
“Scrambled eggs with sliced ham?” Polinka suggested as they stepped back inside, closing the doors against the fresh air, Polinka having done what she could to flouff out her top a little, the chill having a predictable effect she didn’t want her father getting anxious about.
“You’re going to make someone an incredible wife,” he said, nodding as she got to work and he got the tea things out.
“Maybe. Not sure I’m the marrying kind. I might choose ‘wild spirit’, you know, erm...” she began, falling over her own words as she began to blush at what her next words were to have been. Something to do with multiple lovers. “In, haha, a quiet and respectable manner, of course.”
“Of course,” Stephen said, pausing a moment to put his arm around her shoulders.
“I mean it, Dad. I know I said I wanted to focus on my studies, but ... Can we talk a minute?”
“Always,” he said, setting the tea things aside for a moment.
“It’s just ... I know there’s the whole thing of you can’t miss what you don’t know, but I don’t feel that curious to try, it ... Okay, so, some of the girls at school, it’s like it’s all they know, all they want, chasing after boyfriends and, uhm, ‘experiences’. That’s fine for them, but I ... It just wasn’t what I wanted to do. Who I am. Is that weird?”
“No, Biscuit, you’re not weird at all, aside from the whole flying sauce thing, of course,” he smiled, Polinka rolling her eyes, knowing he was going to explain himself. “It’s much better, for you, to be who you want to be, and it takes a lot of character and bravery not to follow where the rest lead. Back in my day - God that made me feel old; don’t say it! - but back when I was your age it was a little different, it was the nineties, there was still a lot of panic over HIV and AIDS, and people were less ‘adventurous’ than they are now, or they were back in your grandfather’s day. Now, with everything and everyone so ‘free’, or so it seems, it can be hard if that isn’t who you are or who you want to be. So no, Biscuit, you’re not ‘weird’, take your time, and when you are ready and you meet someone, corny as it sounds, you will know.”
“So like radar?” she sniggered, popping the seriousness of their mood.
“Or gaydar, if you wish.”
“I know. Maybe. Maybe not. Don’t think so, but hey, if we’re both hot and horny, why not,” she winked, letting her father know she was laying it on a little thick.
“There is one important question I need to ask.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure. What is it?”
“How are the eggs?”
“The ... oooh!” she grumbled, having already turned the gas low as they began their ‘talk’, but panicking for a moment none the less. “That was mean.”
“Sorry,” Stephen smiled.
“For that, you do the washing up.”
“That’s fair.”
“Haha, you made that sound like you had a choice. Now, how stewed is the tea?”
“Not at all,” he said, lifting the pot and showing her he had yet to add the water.
“Sneaky with it, huh? I’ll be watching...” she chuckled, Stephen giving her another hug as they got on with their breakfast and the washing up.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Where are we going today?”
“St. Clears, for lunch anyway.”
“And after?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Another surprise?”
“I hope so.”
“You really put a lot of thought into this, didn’t you?” Polinka said, realising that Stephen had everything planned, organised, and sorted, all to give her the best holiday he could.
Stephen nodded. “I knew how much you loved the idea of a camper trip, and once I decided on that, everything else fell into place. With Google’s help, of course.”
“At least it wasn’t... Bing,” she giggled, never getting over how silly a name that sounded.
Stephen shrugged. “They are all rather unreliable at the moment,” he sighed.
“So, St. Clears? This like a church place or a can wear a scarf place?”
“Whichever you want.”
“What about you?”
“Shorts—”
“—With creases,” she giggled as she interrupted.
“—With smart creases, in blue, I think, and maybe just a pale blue shirt. The radio earlier promised it would be even hotter.”
“I’m still not going to wear those bikini panties,” she smiled.
“It’s up to you, Biscuit. If you know what you are going to wear I can step out for a couple of minutes?”
“I could wear my wonky shorts,” she grinned, that being the name she gave to her linen shorts which were cherry red, smart, and, oddly, had box pleats at the side as if the designer got their patterns mixed up. “And my brown paisley scarf tied how Jeremy taught me.”
“Well then, I shall leave you to it,” Stephen said as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Not wanting to take too long and leave her father waiting outside in his sleeping things where it was still a smidge chilly, Polinka was quickly out of her cami shorts set, giving them a sniff to confirm they would be okay tonight but she really wanted to get them into a washing machine as soon as she could. From her case she quickly pulled on a pair of black low rise boy shorts, almost all of Polinka’s everyday panties being boy shorts because they were just more comfortable and there was no need to worry about her ‘spilling over’ because she steadfastly refused to shave her muff, unruly as it was. Over this she pulled on her shorts, smiling at how, even though she had not been thinking about copying her father in any way, they kind of looked like the women’s version of his smart shorts. She just liked them and liked their wonkiness. Lastly came her scarf, which she folded as Jeremy had shown her ... and came across a problem. His chest was bigger than hers, even with her tiddies, and the scarf was just too big to tie that way.
“Dad? Need to Google something!” she called. “Won’t be long. Promise.”
“Take your time.”
“Thanks,” she said as she quickly searched out something, saw something else, watched thirty seconds of how to do it, bit her lip, tried it anyway, looked at herself in the mirror, and watched her own expression as she saw how she looked. “Er, Dad? Can you come in a minute?”
“Of course,” he said, cracking the door, waiting for her to scream, she guessed, and when she didn’t he opened the door, saw her, and saw her giggle as his expression matched hers, more than a little bit stunned.
“Too much?” she asked, the tutorial having been how to make a kind of a figure of eight halter the knotted end around the back of her neck but which didn’t really seem too worried about securing things at the front, you know, where it kind of mattered. In fact Polinka could already tell that it was plenty tight enough to keep everything ‘in place’, but it looked, well, maybe it looked too sexy for her. Or her Dad.
Stephen blinked with a comic double take. “That’s certainly eye-catching.”
“Yeah. I know. But is it too eye-catching though?”
“You’re expecting me to say ‘yes’?”
Polinka nodded.
Stephen smiled. “My only concern is are you sure everything is, hah, ‘safe’?”
“Pretty much. Close your eyes while I jump out of the van and test?”
“Of course,” he said, doing just that as she did just that. “Well?”
“It’s fine. Watch?”
“I’m not sure I should,” he said, offering her a gentle way out.
“No. You should. You’ll see; it’s fine. Promise, Dad. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna flash you, haha,” she said, making as much of a joke of it as she could.
“If you say so,” Stephen said, sounding not very certain, unconsciously squinting a little as he watched Polinka stand, arms akimbo, flexing her knees a little before she jumped up a foot or so and came back down, seemingly as heavily as she could. Yes, there was ‘movement’, she had felt that the first time she had tried and knew her father would see, but she wanted him to see because, no, nothing moved where it shouldn’t.
“See, nothing ‘popped’,” she grinned.
“I think we shall need to find a sporting good shop,” he said, Polinka grinning as she realised he said ‘yes’ but confused why he wanted to take her there.
“Don’t think it would look good with a sports bra underneath, Dad.”
Stephen smiled. “Which is not what I meant, Biscuit. I was simply thinking I could buy myself a cricket bat to keep the, hah, lustier members of the public at bay.”
“Really? If it’s going to be that much—”
—But Stephen was already shaking his head. “No, it will not be any kind of ‘trouble’. You are free to dress as you choose, I know I can trust you to be sensible with that freedom, and we’ve both seen a lot worse - or less - in the town during August when the holidaymakers are in full season. More than that, though, you dressing like that is a good reminder for me that while in my mind I was thinking this holiday would be something of a ‘moment’ for you, not holidaying as a child any more but not yet quite holidaying as a grown woman, I may have got that wrong. You are, very clearly and, to indulge my fatherly bias, without doubt a very attractive young woman, and dressing like this simply reflects that. Biscuit, you look amazing, and that you would trust you wearing this shows to me how little we either of us need to worry. Most of all, I am very proud you are my daughter,” he said, expressing what they both knew in case either of them needed to hear it.
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