Chapter 3

I went back to work the following Wednesday, not knowing what to expect. I got there first and was looking at the incoming shipping documents when Linda walked in.

“Hi” she said brightly. She had on bright red lipstick ... the same color as the tattoo she’d left on me. She never wore lipstick at work. “Good days off?”

“The best,” I said. She seemed pretty upbeat.

“Good” she said. And she went to look and see what the day shift had left for us, just like always.

Julie walked in. She grinned at me. “Good days off?”

“Uh ... yeah, fine,” I said. I looked for Linda, but she wasn’t in the room.

I knew something was up when Jill came in a minute later.

“Hey boss, good days off?”

“Why is everybody so interested in how good my days off were?” I growled.

Jill looked hurt, but there was a gleam in her eye. “Gosh, boss, don’t get all excited, we just want you to have nice, relaxing days off. Don’t you want that for us when we have days off?”

She had said “we just want” in that sentence, and she was the last one to come in, so how could she know that the others had asked the exact same question?

Now I was sure they had talked to each other, and that there was something going on. I had an idea, but didn’t know for sure. I figured I’d find out later, when we read another of B.O.B.’s stories.

It was midnight before they gathered around the computer. I was sitting at my desk and when I heard them and glanced up, Linda was looking at me. She smiled, and my dick started hardening. They didn’t say a word to me. They just arranged four chairs in front of the screen.

I thought back to the last time we’d done this. They’d made room for me between Julie, who had seduced me first, and Linda, who had me next.

Tonight the empty one was between Linda ... and Jill.

So Julie had passed me to Linda. Was Linda going to pass me to Jill? What was I, some kind of fuck toy? I reflected on that for about fifteen seconds. I remembered one time how I had pleurisy, and every time I took a breath there was this agonizing pain. But it was honest pain, and people felt sorry for me. Being a fuck toy was degrading ... wasn’t it? Would people feel sorry for me if they found out?

I looked at Jill, plain, young, intense Jill, who was young enough to be my ... daughter, almost. The part of my brain that was enjoying this immensely added “or niece.”

I decided I didn’t care if people felt sorry for me or not. If I was a fuck toy ... so be it.

But this was crazy! They couldn’t just decide to divvy me up and share and share alike! And what made them think I’d go along with this crazy plan in the first place?

Remember that part of my brain that was enjoying this whole thing? It shouted the answer to the rest of me. “Because you’re a man, you idiot!”

That chair beckoned me, because I was a man. And men were made to broadcast their seed.

Even if you have to be a fuck toy to do it.

I went over and sat down. I was so sure I knew their plan that I leaned over to Jill and said, “So you’re next?” I smiled what I was sure was a suave smile.

She looked at me like I was a turd or something. An old, ripe turd.

“EEEWWWWW,” she whined, slapping at my shoulder like she was afraid she might get some of me on her. “These two may be stupid, but not me! I wouldn’t let you touch me with a twenty foot pole, you pervert!”

Pervert! She called me a pervert! I’m not the one writing all this smut and putting it on the internet so people can read it. I’m not the one going to people’s houses to play act and pretend to engage in incest. I’m not the one who gets together with my co-workers and sets up some nefarious scheme to steal the virtue of some poor guy and turn him into a miserable fuck toy with low self esteem.

I was injured, and I was about to let them all know just how injured I was when Linda leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“You’re not supposed to know, you idiot. It’s a game, and you can’t just come out and say things like that. You’re ruining it for her. Don’t be an asshole!”

This, gentlemen, is the difference between our standard operating procedure (“Ug! Me man. You woman. We fuck now?”) and the way women like to do things. Which I can’t put in parenthesis for you, because I have no idea how women think.

Linda wasn’t finished. “She went to a lot of effort to choose just the right story. Be nice!”

Well, what do you do? I’d already screwed the pooch, so to speak, and it was just possible that the pooch was all I was going to get to screw ... so to speak.

Men! When in doubt ... throw yourself on her mercy. It’s a good rule. I tried it.

“I’m sorry Jill,” I said in my most sincere voice. “That was crude and rude and I shouldn’t have said that. Please forgive me.”

She looked at me out of the sides of her eyes and thawed just a teensy bit. Maybe now that pole was only ten feet long. Then, just to prove I could play the game, I said, “Well, what are we reading tonight? Is it good?”

That lost me most of what I’d just gained, because the story was already up on the screen, where anyone could see what it was. If he was paying attention. I decided to shut up, and mentally licked my wounds.

It was called “Glamour Shots For Daughter.” I’d already read it, but by now I wasn’t going to say a word. I’d liked this story. It was really nasty too, but in a different way than the one about the tattoos. This guy didn’t really want to fuck his daughter, but a combination of the situation and her seducing him got him to cross the line.

I knew that didn’t really happen often in real life, but a man can’t look at a teenage girl, whether she’s his daughter or a complete stranger and not think about what she’s ripe for, even if it’s only for a second or two. And the idea of being seduced by a teenager is what’s exciting.

That’s why we guys look at Playboy. When you’re younger than, or the same age as the models, you fantasize about them being your girlfriend. When you’re ten years older you fantasize about her wanting an experienced man, rather than all those “boys”, and you are the man she wants. Then five or ten years later, the models are about the age of your nieces, and that’s a nice fantasy. They’re also the age of your daughter(s), but you shove that way back in the mental closet where you can’t really look at it, cause that’s nasty and perverted, right?

But ... there comes a time when you are old enough to recognize that every girl in that magazine is some guy’s daughter, and she’s flaunting it and saying “Come and get it” to every man who looks at those pictures.

You think her father has never seen them? And if he did, you think he didn’t go back and look at them again?

I was behind the power curve, thinking about Jill being the age of the daughter I never had. They were scrolling and starting to make noises again, and move around in their chairs. I’d read this story several times, so that was okay. I just glanced at the screen and my memory supplied most of the details of what they were reading.

And you know what? For once I didn’t get a hardon. Instead I watched Jill reading, out of the corner of my eye. It was fascinating, watching her pupils dilate, and her breathing speed up. She leaned forward no less than three times, getting closer and closer to the screen. She pushed her glasses up onto her nose after the last time she leaned forward, and licked her lips. Once Linda reached for the mouse to scroll and Jill said “Wait.” I saw her eyes go back up and start reading something again. I looked, and on the screen at that point was the part where Daddy was shaving his daughter’s pussy. She licked her lips again.

I use an electric razor. I started thinking about whether or not I had a safety razor in the house. I knew I would as soon as this shift was over. I might not ever get to use it, but I was going to be ready.

Well, we finished that story and the girls drifted off to do whatever they were doing in the bathroom after we read one of B.O.B.’s stories. I mean I knew what they were doing, but it was easier on me not to think too hard about it. I still had three hours to work.

I walked by the door to the ladies room and heard arguing going on inside. I couldn’t understand them, but all three of them were going at it. I couldn’t tell if it was mad sounds, or passion sounds. I mean it was hard for me to think they were all three in there screaming as they came on their fingers, or whatever else they might be using. But they were being awfully loud.

I’m a man. Men are pigs. I pushed the door open just the tiniest bit and listened.

But pigs are not rewarded. All I heard was Jill say “It has to be tonight!” and then Julie said “Okay, okay, calm down. We’ll see what we can do.” I barely made it back to my desk and they all three trooped out.

Linda went immediately to the part of the storage shelves that have cosmetics for the gift shop on them. Julie was raiding the shelves where they have shampoo and sponge bath supplies. I got up and went over to Linda.

“You can’t just take supplies,” I said in my best supervisor voice.

“We have shortages all the time. It’s for a good cause,” she said and then ignored me as she sifted through tubes of lipstick.

I tried with Julie too. “That stuff is for patients,” I said firmly.

“Shut up,” she said curtly. “This is all your fault.”

I reared back. Now what was that all about. She finally turned to look at me, sort of disgustedly.

“Isn’t there somewhere you could go? Something you could go do? Why don’t you go home early. You look tired. We wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

Yup, good old Julie, bossing me around. I was about to let her have it when she said, “Hey, do you have any silk boxers?”

Well, I lost my train of thought at that. “No” I said.

She carried an armful of stuff over to her desk and put it down. Then she got her purse and got in it for her billfold. She pulled out a twenty dollar bill and shoved it at me. “Go over to the corner of Fifth and Market, you know, where the fountain is in the middle of that traffic circle?” I nodded, not having any idea what she was getting at. “Look for a gold Lincoln Town Car. There will be a guy in it named Marcus. Tell him you need a pair of silk boxers your size. Tell him I sent you. Then go home, take a shower and put those boxers on. Got that?”

I looked at her slack jawed. “You’re insane,” I said.

Something changed in her face. “Probably,” she agreed. Then she frowned. “Look, I don’t have time to explain it. Jill’s scared to death. She wants to play, but she’s very young and she doesn’t have the self confidence that experience brings. She’s insisting on moving too fast. Just be yourself. You’re a good guy, Dirk, and we trust you. Just be your nice good guy self. And go do the things I just told you. We’ll cover for you here if anybody comes looking. Nobody will. They never do. It’ll be okay. Just take a nap or something, but be wearing those boxers in...” she consulted her watch, “four hours. Please?”

There comes a time in every man’s life when he puts his foot down to a woman. But I decided this was not it. I mean she actually said “please.”

So I took her twenty and left. When I got to Fifth and Market I saw the traffic circle was full of people. It was four in the morning and the place was packed! There were lots of women who looked like hookers to me. I was right. I had to turn down twelve “dates” before I found the Town Car. There was a guy dressed in feathers leaning against it. He was wearing silver framed sunglasses and had a gold tooth.

“Marcus?” I asked.

“Who’s asking?” he said in a decidedly effeminate voice.

“Julie Crane sent me,” I said. I was about to say where she worked and what she looked like when his face lit up in a huge smile. Turned out he had two gold teeth.

“Patches sent you, huh? She checking up on me?”

“Patches?” I was clueless.

“That’s what we call her in our chapter. She’s my sponsor in our AA chapter.”

Wow! You learn something every day. I had no idea Julie was involved in Alcoholics Anonymous. It must have showed on my face.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” said Marcus. “Her ex did a number on her. If she’d have wanted you to know she’d have said something. So not a word, okay?”

The way he said it suggested that I should eat, breathe and bathe in discretion or I might never eat or breathe again. And his gay boy accent was nowhere to be heard.

“What do you want?” He wasn’t so friendly any more.

“I need a pair of silk boxers,” I said. There were weird people all around me and I just wanted to get out of there.

“Who they for?” he asked.

“Me!” I said. Who did he think they were for?

He looked me up and down. “There’s no accounting for taste,” he said, shaking his head. The fact that I was not attractive to him didn’t bother me in the least. He pulled out a cell phone and made a call. “Be here in ten minutes,” he said. “That’s thirty bucks.”

I was astonished. “Thirty dollars for a pair of boxer shorts?” I said incredulously.

He looked at his watch pointedly. “It’s four thirty in the fucking Ay Em” he said. “This ain’t Wal-Mart.”

I wasn’t feeling too good. “But she only gave me a twenty,” I complained.

“Patches gave you money to buy yourself a pair of silk boxers?” Now he was the incredulous one. He looked wary. “Has she fallen off the wagon?”

“No!” I said hotly. “I’ve never seen her take a drink in my life. I work with her.”

“Oh,” he said, leaning back against the car again. “Well, in that case they’re twenty bucks.”

I had to decline five more dates before a kid on a motorcycle drove up and stopped next to us. He was sitting on a plastic wrapped package, which he extracted from under his ass and handed to Marcus. Marcus handed it to me. In it was a pair of tiger striped, silk boxers.

“Tiger stripes?” I was incredulous again. I figured it was my turn.

He snatched the twenty out of my hand. “Have a good time ... tiger,” he said, and he blew me a kiss.

I got the hell out of there.

If you’re ever out at Zero-Dark-Thirty in the morning and happen to need a hooker ... just walk along with a pair of tiger striped silk boxers in your hand.

Draws em like bees to honey.

I went home and was on autopilot. I took a shower, got a bite, put on the tiger striped silk boxers and sat down in the recliner. When the doorbell woke me up it was light outside.

I got up, popped an Altoid and went to the door. I figured it was Jill. This was going to be interesting.

But it wasn’t Jill. This girl was a platinum blond. Her hair was about the same length, but it was swept back, like the wind was blowing it, even though there wasn’t any wind. And she didn’t wear glasses. Her eyes were bright blue, the color of the water when you see commercials about cruise ships and people are playing in tropical surf. She looked to be about 25 or so, and was a good looking woman. She had on a crop top tie-dyed T shirt that covered what were obviously a nice set of knockers, and a black leather miniskirt that showed some mighty fine long legs. She had on four inch spikes, but stood on them like she wasn’t used to them. I figured Marcus had found out where I lived and sent one of his ... associates ... over for one reason or another. There was a camera dangling from a strap gripped in her left hand. That must be what Marcus had sent over.

“Can I come in?” said Jill’s voice. I actually looked past her before I realized this was Jill. My jaw dropped. She had blue eye shadow on, over the longest eyelashes I had ever seen in my life, and a purple lip gloss that was exactly the same shade as the purple in the swirling colors of her shirt. Her cheeks looked like she was blushing.

“Dirk?” she said, her voice trembling.

I moved. “Ahh ... guh ... mpfh.” I cleared my throat, trying to say something. I backed up and she took that as an invitation. She walked past me and those spikes made her hips do the most amazing things. I was still standing there, in awe of what they’d done to her, when she turned around.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” she said, her voice quivery now. “I look stupid, don’t I?”

I felt the sun on my back and realized I was standing in my open door, visible to John Q. Public and his wife Jane Doe, in tiger striped silk boxer shorts. I slammed it and cleared my voice.

“No,” I croaked. “You don’t look stupid.” I took a step toward her.

“Really?” She wanted to hear me say it again.

“I can’t believe it,” I found my voice. “You’re ... gorgeous.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said in a flat voice. No quiver there now. “It’s nice to know you can’t believe I could look nice.”

My heart actually hurt that this girl was upset with me. “No, Baby,” I said soothingly. “That’s not it. You’ve always been cute. But this ... this is so different, and it’s really you, but you look so different. It’s hard for me to take in. You sound like Jill, but you look like a super model.”

She stood there, young, vulnerable. “I shouldn’t have come,” she said.

Suddenly I didn’t want her to leave for a long time. My mind cleared. “Look,” I said, soothingly again. “You’re just Jill and I’m just Dirk. It’s morning on a regular day. I don’t know why you think you’re here, but you don’t have to be here for any particular reason in the world. You want a cup of coffee?”

She looked startled. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“You want to help me make it?” I asked.

“Do you need help making it?” she popped back. She was sounding a little more confident.

“No, but I don’t want to be in a room you aren’t in right now,” I said.

She blushed. “You’re terrible,” she said. Her eyes went up and down my body and widened a little. “You’re wearing boxers, just like they said!”

I glanced down at my new shorts. My dick was rock hard and poking the front of the shorts out. I’d gotten a major boner from looking at her and hadn’t even known it.

“Uh, yeah. I like to be comfortable around the house.”

“You don’t look comfortable” she said, eyeing my erection.

“Pay no attention to my unruly friend,” I said. “He only does that in the presence of drop dead gorgeous women. He’ll settle down later ... probably only four or five hours after you’re gone.” I figured one of those gratuitous compliments couldn’t hurt right now. “So, you’ll help me with the coffee?”

She giggled and said, “Okay. I wouldn’t want you to be all lonely or anything.”

We started for the kitchen and the camera swung from her hand. She looked at it like she’d never seen it before and thrust it out at me. “Here, I’m supposed to give you this and ask you to take pictures of me.”

“You’re supposed to?” I queried.

“Well, you know ... like in the story.”

I took the camera and put it on a side table. Then I turned to her and took her hands in mine. “Look, Jill, you don’t have to play any games if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You can drink a cup of coffee and go home if that’s what you feel like doing. Or, you can help me paint the kitchen, or we can do calisthenics. But you don’t have to do anything those stupid women talked you into doing.”

She didn’t say anything. She just pulled her hands free, turned me around, and pushed me into my own kitchen. “Thank you,” she said quietly behind me.

“No problem,” I said. I went to the counter and fiddled with the coffee stuff. When I got two cups and turned around she was sitting at the table, chin propped on her hand, which was supported by her arm, elbow on the table, staring at me. I felt this odd feeling, like there was a little tear in the fabric of the universe, seeing someone doing something so utterly common, but who was decidedly uncommon looking.

“It was my idea,” she said.

“Your idea?” She could be talking about anything.

“About acting out the stories,” she said.

I sat down and handed her an empty cup. The water was still dripping through the machine. I hoped I looked interested, because I was interested.

“After we read the first ones, we were talking ... you know, women’s chit chat ... and Julie said she wished she had a nephew she could be ... intimate with, because she’s lonely. And she doesn’t trust men. She said she’d teach a young boy how to be loving and stuff. But you can’t do that in our society.” She moved around in her chair, uncomfortable. “So we got to talking about men, and how the good ones are all taken, and Julie said all of them except you.” She had been talking to her empty cup, but now she looked up at me. “And I said she should get together with you and role play being your aunt.”

“Wow,” I said.

“Yeah, and then Linda said that wasn’t fair, because if you were the only nice guy left then it wasn’t fair for Julie to get you, and Julie said she didn’t want you ... I mean like to marry or keep or whatever, and she said that they ought to share you.”

“Amazing,” I said.

“And then it actually worked and they were so excited and pleased and happy and I thought that if it worked for them it might work for me too, but it was a stupid idea. I’m too scared, and you probably don’t want anything to do with me anyway.”

Why do women troll for compliments with such enthusiasm?

I stood up and showed her my boner again. Then I took both cups and filled them and set them on the table. I pointed at my boner with one hand, like the models do on TV when they’re showing the product? I went to the fridge and got the cream, and wagged my boner at her. Then I got a spoon and the sugar bowl and whacked my rod with the spoon, saying, “Down boy! Heel!”

She was grinning by the time I was done. But her face went serious again. “I’m a virgin Dirk,” she said.

Greeaaat! Just what I needed.

“And you can still be a virgin when you leave here. If that’s what you want, then that’s what will happen,” I said, spooning sugar in my coffee.

“But that’s the problem” she whined. “I don’t want to be a virgin. But I’m scared to do it with anybody. I can’t keep a boyfriend because they all want to do it, and I can’t.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me,” I said. “I’m not boyfriend material. Not for somebody like you.”

“And why not?” I had pricked her feminine pride.

“Well, for one thing, I’m almost old enough to be your father. I mean if I knocked some poor woman up when I was twelve or thirteen. I mean there’s a pretty big age gap between us for me to be your boyfriend. And I’ve already gotten involved with two other women, thanks to you.” I thought those were good reasons she could feel safe with me.

“That was the whole idea” she said. “None of us want the hassles of a steady boyfriend, and we figured if all three of us shared you, then we could have our fun and frolic when we wanted to, and since it was three of us you probably wouldn’t play around, so there wouldn’t be any disease problem. It would be sort of like a plural marriage, without the marriage.”

“And they went for it,” I said.

“You are a nice guy,” she said.

“Nice guys finish last,” I joked.

“I know. They both said so. That’s why women like nice guys.” She wasn’t joking.

I looked at her. They really had done a wonderful job with her makeover.

“Have you ever had any pictures taken of you? Sexy pictures?” I asked.

She blushed. “No.”

“You want me to take a few?” I asked. “You can have the film. But they did such a beautiful job on you, you really need to think about documenting this. I mean you may never look like this again.”

“I can’t see much,” she said. I mean I can see you, but not much past you. These contacts are just colored ones that they use up in Optometry to show people what colored contact lenses would look like.”

“You don’t have to be able to see. All you have to do is pose.”

“How sexy?” she asked.

“As sexy as you want them,” I said.

“I didn’t bring any outfits. I wasn’t supposed to do this tonight ... today. But I knew if I didn’t come over here today I’d chicken out. All I have on under this is a thong.”

“That would be pretty sexy,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “But you don’t have to do anything nude. Just pictures of how you look right now would be something I think you’d like. Just to show people what you looked like one time.”

She thought and sipped.

“That would be OK, I guess,” she said.

I didn’t give her any time to think about it. I had a small deck out back, and my back yard was fenced with a tall board fence, so it was private. I took her out there and started posing her. I had her lean against the deck railing, with her hands out to her sides, resting on it. Her stomach showed. I had her draw one knee up, like she was rubbing her thighs together.

“Think about one of Bob’s stories that you like,” I said.

Her eyes went unfocused.

“Think about how you feel when you read his stories,” I said.

She got a look on her face that was just what I wanted and I took the shot. There were only 36 frames on the roll of film that was in the camera, so I didn’t waste any. I had her put one hand flat on her stomach and rub it, and took one that way. Then I had her bend over, facing away from me, and look past her left leg at me. When she spread her legs a little I could almost see that thong. It made a good shot.

I kept talking to her, reminding her to think of sexy things. Then I took her into my bedroom, where I had once again made the bed, and posed her there, lying in various positions.

“You have no idea just how sexy you look,” I said as I snapped one shot of her lying on her side, with her hand on her thigh. I noticed I could see her nipples poking through the shirt now. “You’re making me ... horny,” I said.

“I am not,” she breathed.

“You shouldn’t be” I said. “You’re much too young for an old geezer like me to be lusting after. It really is possible for me to think of you as my daughter.”

“My dad would never ever take pictures like these,” she said.

I had her stand up, legs spread as much as the mini would allow, and then bend forward. I told her to cup her breasts, like she was offering them to the camera, and make her lips into a kiss.

“You look fabulous,” I said as I took the shot. “The only thing better would be if I could see them.”

“You mean my breasts?” she cooed at the camera, bouncing them a little.

“Yeah” I sighed. “I shouldn’t want to see them, but I do.”

“I guess I could show them to you,” she said. “I mean I’m supposed to.”

“I wouldn’t want to see them unless you wanted me to,” I said. “But I’d really like to see them.”

She turned her back to me and gripped the bottom of her shirt. I got two shots of that shirt coming off and her naked back becoming visible. She looked over her shoulder at me and I made her hold that pose as I took another shot.

“I shouldn’t show you,” she said.

“You’re too young,” I agreed.

She turned rapidly, like she wanted to do it before she lost her nerve. I got a glimpse of nipples that were colored with the same purple lipstick that was on her lips. Then she covered her breasts with her hands. She looked vulnerable and I took a picture. It would have been priceless.

“You shouldn’t look,” she said. Then she dropped her hands.

“Beautiful,” I sighed. “I knew they’d be beautiful.”

“Really?” her voice rose. “Aren’t they too small?”

“Gorgeous,” I affirmed. I told her to put her hands on her hips, like she was cross with me for looking. When she did she blurted out, “Daddy! Quit looking at me like that! Daddies are not supposed to look at their daughters like that.” I took a picture.

She was getting more comfortable. “Daddy, I’m undressing! You shouldn’t even be in here!” she complained.

“I know honey,” I said. “But you’re just so beautiful I can’t help myself.”

“I’m going to take off my skirt now Daddy, and you have to leave!” she said. Her hands went to the zipper on the side of the skirt.

“OK Baby,” I said. “I’ll leave.”

She pulled the zipper down and worked the skirt down over hips that were a lot curvier than I thought they’d be. The thong was purple too. I took a picture.

“Daddy!” she barked. “I thought you were leaving!” She turned around and bent over to unbuckle one of her high heels. Her ass was wonderful, tight, round, soft looking. I took a picture of it.

She took off both shoes and turned around again. She didn’t look nervous any more. “I’m going to take my thong off Daddy,” she warned. “You’d better not look.”

“I promise,” I said.

She left that wisp of purple cloth lying on the floor and stood back up, still facing away from me and still looking over her naked shoulder. She still didn’t look like Jill, but she was a beautiful woman. I took another photograph.