Chapter 6

I'd just stepped from the shower and was toweling my body dry when Dad hollered through the door, "It's Barbie on your cell phone. You left your phone in your purse on the entry console table again."

I yelled back, "Did you answer the call?"

He laughed.

"Oh, of course you did, or you wouldn't know it was Barbie." I cracked the door to the bathroom to reach for the phone, and my father's eyes met mine but only briefly before they wandered down my naked body.

She's gorgeous, he thought, just like her mother, only taller, not quite as curvy, but she's still young. Her hips will widen, change from girlish into the broader hips of a woman. And her legs! So long and trim and shapely! Better than Hazel's.

While I read his thoughts, I pulled the door open all the way. He was so intent on taking in my naked body he didn't notice. Curiously, I felt his love, felt his pride, his sense of accomplishment, but I didn't feel lust, which almost disappointed me.

When he suddenly realized what he was doing, he blushed deeply. His embarrassment slammed into me as I reached and took the phone from his hand.

"Barbie, I just stepped from the shower. May I call you back in five?" She agreed. I hung up and stopped Dad as he was turning to leave. "Why are you embarrassed?" I asked him.

"You're naked."

He looked away from me, refusing to look at my nakedness again.

"Dad, I read your thoughts and experienced your emotions. You have no reason to be embarrassed. You compared my body favorably with Mother's, which was high praise indeed and thrilled me. And, you felt only pride; you were proud you had a hand in creating me, so to speak, but during the entire time you studied my body I sensed no lust. Lust would have embarrassed me as much as you. I say again. You have no reason to feel embarrassed. Look at me."

His eyes met mine, ignoring my body.

"All of me."

His eyes skittered over my face and form, nervously at first, and then with confidence. He might not be feeling any lust, but I was. He was my father, but he was also a man. His eyes roaming my naked body aroused me. Curiously, the lust I felt didn't shame me. Suddenly, I understood. I wasn't feeling lust for my father, but his eyes on me were turning me on. I was becoming sexually aroused, but I wasn't lusting for Dad. That's why I felt no shame. I deduced lust must be an emotion, while arousal was a sensation.

"I know you've been wondering how my body has developed over the last few years. Take your time. Take a good look. I don't mind."

I performed a pirouette, gracefully I hoped. "Waddaya think?"

"Beautiful! You're as beautiful as the supermodels I see in fashion magazines."

I read his thoughts. "Hah! You mean the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated, not fashion magazines."

He laughed. "Busted."

"Well, check me out. Do I lack anywhere? Is there a bit too much of me in places?" I enjoyed his non-sexual, parental interest in my body, and frankly I enjoyed his eyes on me, so I wanted to stretch out the incident.

"Hmm." His eyes met mine. "You asked. If I answer, I'll be brutally honest."

"I expect nothing less. Your critique, please."

"All right." His eyes returned to my body, flitting over its various surfaces. "Your breasts are a little small, but they're still growing. They'll never be large, but when fully mature, they'll be perfectly shaped and harmonious with the rest of your body. Your hips are too narrow, but that's my bias showing. They're girlish, and I prefer womanly hips. Again, as your body matures, they'll achieve perfection, at least to my way of thinking. Your skin is utterly flawless, better than your mother's, but only a little. You look sleek with well-defined musculature, but you're still very feminine. You have superior legs, as you well know. You usually dress to show them off. My next observation might upset you. Your feet are too large, but with your astonishing body, no one will notice except another woman, you and me. Turn around again."

I didn't do a pirouette, merely turned and looked over my shoulder at him. His eyes were focused on my ass.

"Yep," he said. "A world-class ass, your best bodily feature."

"I thought my legs were my best feature."

"Not for me, but they're a close second to your bottom."

Lust raised its pretty head. No, not lust. Arousal. Sexual arousal. How about that? My ass excited him. Because he recognized the sight of my ass was turning him on, he became embarrassed again.

Ignoring both his sexual arousal and embarrassment, he hurried on, "Your back comes in third. You should feature it sometimes, but you don't, except when you wear your tiny bikinis, of course. You should emphasize your back when wearing an evening gown or cocktail dress. Your bare back, outstanding legs and perfect ass will... never mind. I retract my suggestion, which you probably listened to when it formed in my mind."

Drooling men with their tongues hanging out, indeed. I snickered, which did nice things to my bottom I guess, because his arousal intensified.

"Yes, I'm proud of you, cupcake. You're my greatest achievement. You have a comely body. It's slim and sleek and graceful. Arousing, too, dammit. Get dressed."

His sudden flash of anger because my body turned him on removed the unwanted sensation. As his arousal dissipated, adoration and love took center stage, which thrilled me. The entire event thrilled me. Without thinking, I turned and hugged him, pressing my bare breasts against his chest when I kissed his cheek.

"Now that's embarrassing!" he said when he stepped back from the hug. He wasn't embarrassed, though. He was delighted.

"Sorry. You made me so happy, I just had to hug you."

His eyes twinkled with mischief, but his boyish grin warmed my heart.

"I know," he said. "Get dressed." He took one last, long look at my naked body, and said. "Thanks, Katy."

My smile grew wide. "Anytime." I meant it, too. If I ever sensed he was curious about my body again, I'd strip in a nano-second and let him look me over to his heart's content.

That was interesting, he thought as he walked away. I felt his emotions, too. Pride, love, and a tiny bit of sexual arousal, emotions and sensations I could live with. Good thing, too, because I'd be living with him for at least one more year.

I was putting on my makeup before I remembered I'd promised Barbie I'd call her back.

"What are you doing tonight?" she asked me after we greeted each other.

"I'm having dinner with Jason and my father."

"Jason? Did the two of you kiss and makeup?"

"Uh-huh." I quickly explained what happened, omitting our bedroom antics and the fact that my father caught us. "What about you? What did you have planned tonight?" I asked after I finished my explanation.

She groaned. "Nothing. I'd hoped we could do nothing together."

Why not? I asked myself. With my father tagging along, it was already a group get-together, not a date. "Would you like to join us for dinner?"

"Yes!"

I laughed. "Hang on. I should check with Dad. He'll be paying the check."

He didn't mind at all, so I told Barbie we'd pick her up at six-thirty.

"What are you wearing?"

"Let's see. A thong. No bra. And half my makeup."

She laughed.

"Quite frankly, I haven't decided yet, Barbie, but whatever I wear, I'll look casually elegant, and I'll show off my legs and my bottom." I didn't have any clothes that featured my back. I anticipated another shopping trip in the near future.

"Your bottom? You never show off your bottom."

"Dad tells me I have a world-class ass."

She emitted a small gasp of shock and then laughed gaily. "He's right. Do it. If you've got it, flaunt it. Okay, I'll dress casually elegant, too, but I'll display a good deal of cleavage."

"Good choice." I could only imagine her thoughts.

Jason showed up at the restaurant fifteen minutes late.

"Sorry I'm late," he said as he took the vacant seat next to me after greeting everyone. "My ride isn't reliable."

We should have picked him up, I thought, and then voiced my thought, adding, "We'll give you a ride home." A glance at my father told me he agreed. Earlier, when I told him we needed to pick up Barbie, he left the pickup in the garage and drove our Honda sedan so there would be room for the four of us.

Jason wasn't happy. He was thoroughly disgusted with Terry and Jane, Terry's sister. From what I could gather from his angry stream of consciousness, Terry's parents planned be out of the house most of the evening, and Terry had encouraged Jason to blow off his dinner engagement with my father and me to join Terry and his sister in another threesome. Evidently, Terry couldn't understand why Jason would pass up a sure thing - Terry's sister - to have dinner with me, when it was obvious I wouldn't give it up with my father hanging around. Then Jane joined in and put on a full-court press to change Jason's mind (Personal Mental Note: Scratch out Jane's eyes the next time you see her). Believing Jason would stay with them and join in the threesome if he didn't have a ride, Terry refused to drive Jason to the restaurant, so Jason called a cab. He was still pissed.

I placed my hand on Jason's and gave it an affectionate squeeze. I also gave him a broad welcoming smile. My touch and smile did their job, and Jason's anger melted away.

Believe it or not, everyone had a good time, at least during the first half of the meal. After some initial awkwardness, Jason relaxed. Dad, too, after I glared at him. I enjoyed Barbie's stream of nasty thoughts. Before the evening ended her graphic fantasies included everyone at the table both individually and in various groupings of her choosing. She explored nearly all the possibilities, but thankfully didn't pair me with my father. I shared her arousal and added some of my own.

The emotions careening around the room bothered me at first, but before Jason arrived, I discovered if I concentrated on Dad and Barbie, I could feel the emotions of the other diners and restaurant staff, but keep them somewhat muted like background music. I'd turned off all thoughts except Barbie and my dad's. Of course, when Jason joined us, I made certain I could hear his thoughts, too.

Like I said, everyone was having a good time, but shortly after the waiter set our main courses in front of us, all at once, intense hatred and fury struck me with massive force. I'd never experienced such intense emotions. Turning my head left and right, I tried to determine the source of the emotions and noticed a man with an angry expression looking around the room as if searching for someone. I guessed he'd just entered the restaurant. As mentioned, to lessen the confusion in my mind, I'd turned off all thoughts except for those in our dinner party, but with the intensity of the angry man's emotions, I decided to check out his thoughts.

"No!" I gasped with fright a few seconds later.

"What?" Jason asked.

"That man. He has a gun! He's going to kill..." Who? Who did he plan to kill. I frantically searched the room for the object of his fury, but the other diners gave me no clue, not at first, but suddenly a woman across the room gasped. Her emotions were almost as intense as the angry man's. Fear! She was frightened for her life! "... her!" I pointed. Then the angry man's thoughts corrected my assumption. "No, not just her. The man she's with, too!"

Jason looked at me like I was crazy. Barbie looked dumbfounded. Dad acted. He pushed his chair back, rose calmly to his feet and nonchalantly walked toward the angry man.

The man kept coming, moving toward...

My wife, my cheating, lying slut of a wife, the man thought.

I watched in horror as Dad stepped in front of the deranged man. He has a gun, Dad! He wants to kill! My silent warning went unnoticed.

Dad's mouth moved. I couldn't hear his words, but I could read his thoughts. He wanted to talk the man out of killing, somehow dampen his anger enough for the man to change his mind about committing the crime of passion. From my viewpoint, including not only the visual reference but also hearing the man's thoughts and feeling his emotions, whatever Dad was saying wasn't working.

When the man tried to push my father out of the way, what I witnessed next astonished me. Dad grabbed the man's hand, twisted it, and with a fluid motion I could barely follow, flipped the angry man head over heels onto his back. When the man's body struck the floor with a loud thud, I guess it knocked the wind out of him because that's what happened to me. He sure didn't jump back to his feet. Dad bent down and patted his clothing, and then pulled the gun out of the man's jacket pocket.

A few nearby diners screamed (ladies). Some men cursed and pushed back their chairs. Dad straightened his back, and with the weapon pointed harmlessly toward the floor, said loudly, "Everything's fine now, folks. He's disarmed. Everything's fine. Stay calm."

Another man rushed to my father, calling Dad by his name. My father said something in his quiet voice and handed the weapon to the new man. I found out later he was the restaurant manager. Two other men arrived and, at the manager's instructions, pulled the still prone man from the floor and moved him from the dining room with his feet stumbling, and sometimes dragging behind him.

Dad turned and calmly returned to his seat at our table. While he sipped from his glass of scotch, he glanced at me. He wanted to know if I was all right. I hugged his arm with mine, kissed his cheek, and said, "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome, cupcake. Let's eat before our dinner gets cold."

I'd never seen Dad manhandle anyone before. Normally, he was a quiet self-effacing man, not prone to bluster or violence of any kind. Oh, since I'd learned to read thoughts, I knew he had a temper and occasionally became angry. Earlier today when he caught Jason and me flagrante delicto was an example, but even as provoked and angry as he was, he walked away, went to his room to avoid a confrontation.

What provoked Dad to... ? Suddenly, I understood. What did he say earlier? It was a question. He asked me what would happen to me if I were close enough to experience the pain of someone on the verge of dying. I glanced at my hero and tears stung my eyes. My father, with his bare hands, had taken on an armed man to protect me. He'd disarmed a man who was ready to kill. If the crazed man had killed his wife or her lover, would I have experienced the pain of death, too?

Thank you, Dad. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Of course, all hell broke out at our table. Barbie and Jason wanted to know how I knew the irrational man planned to kill, and how I knew he had the gun concealed in his pocket. No one had seen the weapon until Dad disarmed him.

I had no choice. I had to tell them about my gift.

I pasted a shy, modest look on my face and said, "Sometimes, I'm psychic."

My statement only acerbated the situation, and Barbie in particular fired question after question at me, but Jason jumped into the fray, too. I answered none of them. Taking my cue from Dad's serene demeanor earlier, I sat calmly and waited until Barbie and Jason chilled out.

"Similar episodes have happened a couple of times in the past," I said finally. "Although," I added, "those times can't compare to the severity of what happened tonight." I turned to Dad. Would he back me up? Yeah, he would. "Tonight, my psychic connection was... I don't know, more intense, Dad. I not only felt that poor man's emotions, I sort of understood what he was thinking, what he planned."

Dad nodded, picking up on what I was trying to accomplish. "I'm sure the intensity of his emotions had something to do with the clarity of your connection, Katy."

With a sigh, I said, "You're probably right." I turned back to Jason and Barbie. "The sender - that's what Dad calls the person I connect with - has to be experiencing extreme distress for me to make a psychic connection."

Barbie was nodding her head. "Psychic," she said. "Makes sense. I've noticed a few times that you seemed to be reading my mind."

"Hardly," I said. I didn't want the discussion to turn toward day-to-day mind reading. "My so-called psychic experiences happen only in extreme circumstances, like tonight, and frankly they happen more in terms of shared emotions than mind reading."