Chapter 17

SIA SEEMED SUBDUED TO me on Saturday morning. Her good morning hug bordered on fierce. Even Jasmin acted strangely, hugging me in the morning and again before she rushed out to her mom waiting in their car.

I knew not to press Sia, so I didn’t. Through morning shopping and lunch, she remained slightly distracted. By mid-afternoon as we watched TV together, she finally spoke; just not what I was expecting - typical of her.

Sitting at the opposite end of the couch, her legs curled to the side and not touching me, her attention on her iPhone, finger scrolling and tapping, she asked, “Were you ever unfaithful to Mom?”

“No.”

“We’re you ever tempted?”

“No.”

“According to Buss & Shackelford, thirty to sixty percent of married people are unfaithful,” Sia informed me.

“I’m not surprised, given the rate of divorce is close to fifty percent,” I commented.

“Why are people unfaithful?” Sia asked, still not looking at me.

“There are a lot of reasons, honey. It might be they never should have been married in the first place. Many get bored with their partners. They don’t find the excitement they used to have. It boils down to them not getting something out of the relationship, sexual or otherwise, that they want.”

“Like what?”

“It could be one partner’s not adventurous enough for the other. Or, perhaps, one partner loses interest in sex. Maybe one partner suffered a trauma that affected their love life. Maybe one partner has sexual needs that the other won’t cater to. As I said, it’s often the result of not finding fulfillment at home.”

Sia was quiet for a few moments. “So you and Mom must have had a good sex life.”

“We did.” Where was she going with this?

“What if you met someone now? Would you want to?”

“Nope. You’re more than enough for me.”

“Kay.” After a short pause she added, “I don’t think I’d like you to be with anyone else.” Another pause. “Unless I liked them. If I liked them, then it would be okay.”

Studying her, I clarified something. “You know I’d never stop you if you found someone, honey. It’s your body. No one else’s. You can’t go through life having only experienced sex with one person and I don’t expect you to. It won’t change how we are together or how much I love you.”

Sia pondered it. “Okay. The same for you.” She thought about it and added, “But I still have to like them first.”

It seemed whatever was bothering her was gone. A sly grin emerged on her pretty face. “Did you and Mom ever do anything kinky?”

I smiled. “Define kinky.”

“Hold on.” Her finger was a blur on the iPhone. “Like BDSM, or necrophilia, Oh yuk! That’s, like, sex with dead bodies! How about exhibitionism? Or troilism? And look at this! Jeez, Dad, do people really like sex with statues?”

“What are you reading?”

“A list of philias. Check this out. Autoerotic asphyxiation. People actually strangle themselves during sex!”

Some more finger flicks ensued. “Huh. So, because we had sex, yours is pedophilia, according to Wikipedia.”

“No. Pedophilia is the love of prepubescent children. You’re not prepubescent.”

“Wait. Here it is. Hebephilia. Pubescent and adolescent children.”

“Not that either,” I said with a smile.

Sia finally looked at me. “But it says it here; attraction to young post-pubescent children.”

“Sia, I’m not attracted to pre or post-pubescent children at all. I’ve never looked at them and desired them. I’m attracted to you. Just you.”

“Okay,” she said with a satisfied smile. “That makes sense.” In a brighter voice she continued, “So tell me your and Mom’s kinks. No. Wait. I know yours. It’s panty-philia, isn’t it?” Her mismatched eyes twinkled as she grinned.

“You’ve got me.”

“What type of panties?”

“All types.”

“But what are your favorites? Which ones did Mom have that really got ya going?”

I laughed. “Your mother had all sorts. But the ones she knew would get to me every time were her vintage fifties-style panties. They were like gossamer, see-through, and she always wore them with a garter and stockings.”

A vivid memory of Soraya at the kitchen sink in a mid calf length skirt came to mind. The eroticism of sliding her dress up to reveal white stockings held up by a white lacy garter, and full-cut gossamer panties, her ass crack visible through them, still aroused me.

Sia’s feet kicked at me. “Dad! Did you hear me?”

“Hear what?”

“I said I have a doing something-philia.”

“What the heck is that?”

She grinned. “Lemme show you.”

When she left the living room, I expected her to come back with show and tell; her iPhone clutched in her hand. Nope. Sia returned, now dressed in a nightshirt, white with a yellow and blue daisy print.

She smiled at me, her strange but beautiful eyes twinkling. Standing in front of me, she reached under her nightshirt and peeled her panties down and off.

“Here,” she offered, soft plain white panties dangling from her fingers.

I took them, suddenly turned on. They were thin cotton; but, glancing at them, I noticed a clear damp spot in the gusset. Jeezus.

“I’m horny,” Sia announced, moving to straddle my lap.

Jesus Christ! Did she know how sexy it was to hear her say that? My heart thumped. An erection formed in my jeans. I reached for her. She brushed my hands away.

“Nuh-uh.” Grinning, her hand dropped between us to press against the bulge of my constrained erection. “You’re horny, Dad. How come?” she asked sweetly, fondling me.

Jesus, I was. My cock throbbed as it tried to straighten.

Sia glanced down. Her fingers fiddled with the button on my jeans. It popped open. The zip was lowered. “I like this part,” she said, her hand worming inside. My jeans were tight. She concentrated, biting the corner of her lower lip, her hand searching.

A wave of horniness hit me when her hand successfully wrapped around my shaft.

“Got it,” she muttered, so damned cute. When I tried to grope her lovely boobs, she pushed my hands away. “Nuh-uh. Not yet.”

Her face frowned in concentration, hand tugging my cock trying to straighten it. A stab of pain made me inhale sharply.

Mismatched eyes glanced at me. “Sorry,” she said, grinning. “You’re too big inside the jeans. That or the jeans are too tight. Hold on.”

Dismounting, she grabbed the waist. “Lift,” she instructed, then wrestled the jeans and boxers to my knees, my cock slapping up against my stomach. “Much better,” she murmured, grabbing my shaft and giving it a disorienting squeeze.

I waited for her to climb aboard. Typically, Sia didn’t do the expected. She reached for my ankles and yanked the jeans off, tugged my boxers off, grinned at me and, staring into my eyes, settled to the floor on her knees between my legs. Eyes still locked to mine, she took my erection and kissed the moist tip. The ghost of a smile played across her lips before she opened her mouth and took my cock in, warmth and moisture enveloped my crown. A soft tongue caressed. My cock surged. Fuck, it was erotic!

Sia slowly took more into her mouth, filling her. She sucked and slowly pulled off with a soft pop, her hand holding the shaft. She studied my erection. “Now you’re reeeaaaally horny,” she announced with satisfaction.

“No kidding!”

She grinned, pure impishness in her eyes. Rising, she grabbed the TV remote, surfed the channels, found Notting Hill, and said, “Don’t move now.”