My name is Samantha. My friends call me Sam. I have long brown hair and brown eyes. I’ve been told I’m very pretty. My dad says beautiful, but that’s my dad; he’s supposed to say that. I’m 22 now and pretty short; only 5’1”. I barely weigh over 100 lbs. My tits are pretty small, but they look big on my small frame.

My story really starts a while back:

Well, you see ... One Sunday morning when I was 16, I was coming home from my girlfriend’s house; I’d slept over the night before. They were going to an early Mass, and I didn’t feel like going to church, so I had them drop me off at my house. I got home a lot earlier than I’d planned.

Well, when I went into the house and walked into the living room, my dad was sitting on the couch with his pants around his ankles, and he was watching some porn on the TV and playing with himself.

My dad was about 34, I think. He’s 5’8’ or 5’9”; I guess he was about 170 pounds or so. A couple of my girlfriends think he’s cute; including my best friend, Angel.

Anyway ... I guess he was too preoccupied to hear me come in. I remember standing there at the bottom of the steps, watching. I couldn’t believe it ... I mean ... There it was,

“My Dad’s dick!”

I’d never seen one before. I’d seen pictures on the internet and stuff. Some of my girlfriends had done stuff and shared the experience with me whenever we hung out, but that was the first time I’d ever SEEN one ... and it was my dad’s. I remember my stomach dropped like a stone, then filled with butterflies. “Wow!” I thought. I thought it was the coolest thing ever.

I must have made some kind of noise or something, (A gasp, a moan, an Oops, I might’ve even said, Holy shit, I don’t remember.) but my dad swung his head around and saw me standing there.

“Sam!”

He sprang up off the couch, grabbing for his pants. He pulled them up quick as he could. When he stood up, I got a pretty good look at his dick sticking out in front of him. I stood there like a dope, staring at him with my hand over my mouth. It was pretty darn big.

While he was buttoning up, I glanced at the TV and saw some woman giving a guy a blowjob. My Dad fumbled, red-faced, for the remote and turned the TV off.

“Umm, Sam ... you’re home kinda early ... I ... um ... I was...”

I just looked at him. There was no doubt about what he was doing; it was pretty obvious, but he was struggling with an explanation anyway.

“Uh ... Well ... There was ... That is ... I mean...”

Flustered, he just gave up trying. “Shit,” he mumbled as he grabbed the porn movie from the VCR, hung his head, and headed for the stairs.

“Sorry.” He whispered just above his breath as he slipped past me, assumingly on his way to his room. He had to practically squeeze past me to get up the steps. I just stood there processing everything.

“It’s ... It’s OK, Dad.” I told him. I didn’t know what else to say. I mean, what do you say in a situation like that? What?---”Better luck next time.”... “You’ll get ‘em next time, Tiger.”... “Good try, Buddy, good try.” and slapped him on the ass as he goes by, “Ya gave it a good run for the money.”

I was wide-eyed and dumbfounded after he’d brushed past me. He’d looked like a Freshman that had just been told, in the last class of the day, that his fly was open.

“Wow... “ I whispered after my Dad was safely out of ear shot. It made me feel like the time Billy Martin felt me up when we were in his basement. Billy turned out to be such an asshole. He went and told everybody that I let him do it.

I remembered thinking that I was a little sorry Dad had noticed me so quickly.

[Looking back on it, I can only shake my head. I was 16, and I was disappointed I didn’t get to watch my Dad jerk off.]

Now would be a good time to explain something:

It’s been just me and Dad since my mother left us when I was 7. I’ve asked my Dad why she left a number of times. He always gives me the same answer: “To be honest, honey, I’m not totally sure myself.”

All I know is, except for a few birthday cards when I was younger, I haven’t heard shit from her. I just figured she didn’t love us. Cut and dry.

I’d seen my Dad go out on a handful of dates over the years, but nothing serious. He did have a ‘girlfriend’ that he saw for four or five months when I was 11. But that ended kind of abruptly.

Sometimes at night, I could hear them in my Dad’s room. She would make all these stupid noises. I hated thinking Dad was in there with her. I just hated it.

Dad never knew, but I used to spy on them. I would sneak up to his bedroom door and peek through the small crack where the hinges were. I couldn’t see much, but I saw and heard enough to know what they were doing.

When they were downstairs in the living room, I spied from the top of the steps. I used to watch them kiss and stuff. A couple of nights, when they were on the couch and they thought I was sleeping, I actually saw Dad feeling her up and even putting his mouth on her titties.

I remember rubbing my own titties and wondering if they would get as big as hers. [They never did.]

I’d even seen her put her hand down the front of dad’s pants and play with him.

I remember Dad leaning his head back and telling her how great it felt. One night I actually saw her kneeling down on the floor between his legs. Her head was moving up and down, but her back was to me, so I couldn’t see any more than that.

I was 11, but I wasn’t stupid. I was pretty sure I knew ... Even at 11 ... what she was doing to my Dad. I may not have known the word for it, but I knew what she was doing. I thought it was kinda gross. That picture stuck in my head for a really long time.

I remember, I snuck back to my room, opened and then shut my door real loud and walked heavy-footed down the hall and to the top of the steps. By the time I’d walked down the first few steps, I saw Dad and “Barbara” sitting on opposite sides of the couch.

I remember clearly thinking that I didn’t like her kissing and touching and doing stuff to my Dad. She wasn’t part of OUR family. Daddy didn’t need her.

That was the first time I got it in my head that if Daddy really wanted someone to do stuff for him, then I should be the one doing it ... not her.

I really didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. I remember it making me feel kinda ‘Funny’ [Good funny. As a matter-of-fact, I liked the way it made me feel], but I didn’t think it was something bad. I still don’t. I didn’t know anything about incest or molesting back then. I just thought that if I were to do it, then he wouldn’t need to spend so much time with her. It seemed pretty simple.

“I’m thirsty.”I told my Dad. Dad smiled an uneasy smile while his girlfriend just gave me a snotty look. I didn’t like her one bit. I stared right back at her.

One night I heard her bitching at Dad about the fact that I was always around, interrupting them and giving her dirty looks. “We can never do anything when she’s here.” she’d said to him in a tone that neither me OR my Dad cared for. That was the last time I saw her.

Sometimes I used to feel bad because I thought that if it wasn’t for me, Dad probably would have found someone to be with.

From then on, when my Dad and I would lie on the couch together watching TV, I became very conscious of our bodies touching. Sometimes I’d think about the times I’d seen Barbara rubbing my Dad’s dick or her kneeling on the floor in front of him and I’d think about maybe asking him if he might like me to do stuff like that for him, but I was never quite sure how to bring something like that up.

At 11, I knew very little about sex; almost nothing as a matter of fact. I knew I shouldn’t let boys touch me “Like that”. Dad had told me that a hundred times, but for some reason it just didn’t seem wrong to wanna touch him.

It’s kinda funny, I had never thought about my Dad touching me. It was always the other way around.

I became very ‘Aware’ around that time. I would sneak glances at the front of his pants a lot or accidentally brush up against him when I was getting up or moving around to get comfortable on the couch.

I wasn’t a dope. I knew what was in his pants. That is to say, I knew

what guys had and what girls had. Or maybe a little more accurately would be, what guys had and girls didn’t. But that’s all I really knew. I mean ... I’d never seen one or anything. I really didn’t think of it as bad or gross or anything like that. I just wanted to make my Dad happy, that’s all. I love him. And it looked like my Dad was pretty happy when his girlfriend had her hand in his pants.

Anyway ... My Dad and I have made it just fine on our own. Back then, he worked six days a week and every other Sunday and had a part-time job three nights a week as well. I kept the house straightened up and chipped in with the laundry and the cooking. We were a team and all and all ... It worked pretty well for us.

Anyway, back to my story:

It was kinda quiet through dinner; very little eye contact. A few times, he looked like he wanted to say something but never quite got it out. I figured he was still embarrassed. It took a lot of years before I could appreciate his predicament.

I cleared the table, did the dishes, then asked Dad if maybe he wanted to cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie with me.

(I have to admit, when I mentioned cuddling on the couch, I pictured my Dad leaping up off that very couch, pulling his pants up.)

“Fist ‘Full of Dollars’ is on channel 20,” I told him.

My intention was to try and show him that the episode that morning was forgotten, no big deal, it didn’t bother me, but that wasn’t really true. Well, it DIDN’T bother me, but it was by no means forgotten.

“If you want to, come get me. It stars at 7:00.” I told him before he had the chance to say no.

It was a few minutes before 7:00 when my Dad came up to my room. I was glad that he’d decided to take me up on my offer.

“Sam?”

“Ready to watch Clint Eastwood shoot some bad guys?”

“Well...”

He had a humbled but serious look on his face. Even at 16, it was easy enough to see that he was struggling.

“ ... I was hoping to have a word with you first. If you still want to after, well, sure. You can never see Eastwood kill enough bad guys.” He forced an uneasy smile.

“Sure.”

I sat on my bed with my hands in my lap. Dad stood in the middle of the room. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was wondering if he was going to try and give me “The Sex Talk”; it was unlikely.

It was really strange. A couple of times while he was standing there in front of me, I got a mental picture of him standing in the living room with his pants down. I just couldn’t seem to help it. I glanced at the front of his pants each time the picture popped into my head. I just did it without thinking. Each time I looked at the front of his pants, I felt kinda funny; a little embarrassed, but almost giddy at the same time. I wonder if I blushed.

My Dad tried as best he could to apologize for that morning.

“Dad, it’s OK.” I tried as best I could to assure him.

“It’s no big deal, I mean it. I mean, I heard ... Don’t all guys do that?” I told him, hoping that would somehow make him feel better.

Not this time ... He looked pretty shocked.

“I don’t know about ‘all guys’ and where do you hear stuff like that?” He asked, pushing his humility a side for a few seconds and getting back to being a father.

“You’re kidding, right? I’m 16, Dad; almost 17!”

“Last time I looked, 16 wasn’t that old.”

“Dad, it’s old enough to watch TV and get on the internet.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Dad, There’s a whole world of information out there...”

“Out where?”

“Out there... “ I waved my arms sporadically over my head. “Everywhere! If anyone wants to know something, the answer’s just floating around in the air. You can’t keep me sheltered forever.”

“I know, Sam. I wasn’t shooting for forever, I was just hoping for just a few more years.”

I rolled my big brown eyes.

“Look, I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry you had to ... well ... you know.” He fumbled around some more.

I’d never seen him like that; at a loss for words, I mean. He usually said what he meant and meant what he said ... without hesitation.

“You mean saw you?”

He confirmed with a nod.

“Dad ... It’s OK...”

I stopped for a second and thought about what I was going to say next. I figured that I’d just say what I meant. I took a deep breath.

“Dad ... you’re a guy. You’re always at work or home here with me. As far as I know, you don’t meet women in motels and you never date. I don’t have a problem with it, I understand if you wanna do ... that. “ I nodded towards the front of his pants. “For God’s sake, I’m almost 17.”

His face got beet red. He shuffled his feet around nervously. I think I might have stared at the front of his pants a little longer when I nodded than I’d meant to, and he might have noticed.

Now, masturbation was relatively new to me at that point in my life. I mean, REAL masturbation. Now, I’d been rubbing and touching myself for some time [since sometime shortly after I’d seen my dad and that bitch] but Angel had turned me on to “real masturbating” as she called it ... with “Stuff”.

Angel ... On one of our sleepovers some months back ... had told me that she’d been doing it, really doing it, since she was 12. She’d gone from her fingers to the handle of her hairbrush and then moved onto things like bananas and small squash; very small squash. She’d told me she’d even used one of the candles off the fireplace mantel. She said she was going to get a vibrator as soon as she could figure out how to get it and where she could hide it.

Angel was resourceful if nothing else.

She told me it was great and made it sound pretty awesome.

I kind of experimented the very next night before I went to sleep. I rubbed myself a little until I was pretty moist, then I began to work my middle finger in my little pee hole. I realized almost immediately that she was right. It was pretty great.

I was a virgin, so I didn’t get my finger in there very far before I was pushing up against my hymen. I wasn’t sure what to do.

I furrowed my brow and cocked my head a little to one side like I was staring down that fat bitch, Brenda ... Brenda something, the beast of a girl in third grade that used to block the bathroom door when I really needed to get in there. To this day, I think she was 18 or 19 but got left back a lot.

Anyway, Angel had explained to me what I needed to do, but I was afraid to push hard enough to go through it. I pushed a little and rubbed the tip of my finger over it lightly, testing and probing, but in the end, it was just feeling way too good to go and ruin it by breaking my cherry. (That didn’t come until a few weeks later) Angel was right, it WAS awesome. I did it more and more until I got pretty good at it. I’d even done it a few times with a small banana. I did it almost every night before I went to sleep. I loved it. I’m surprised my Dad never walked in and caught me. I’m also kinda surprised he didn’t ask me why I ate so many bananas.

“Jesus, Sam... “ He was totally embarrassed again. “We shouldn’t even be talking about something like that.”

“Well, why is that?”

“It’s just not something you’re supposed to talk about, and it’s certainly not something you’re supposed to see your father doing.”

“Why?”

“Why!?! Why what?”

“Well, why can’t we talk about it? I don’t see anything wrong with it. I don’t see what the big deal is. Is it bad or something?”

“Well ... No ... It’s not. It’s just...”

“Well then, I don’t see anything wrong with talking about it. As a matter of fact, I don’t see what’s so wrong about walking in on you and ‘watching’ either.”

I hadn’t meant to say “Watching “.

“You were... ‘watching’? “ Dad asked in a low, flat tone.

I didn’t know what to say.

“Well ... Yeah ... Kinda. For a few seconds. “ I admitted. “What’s wrong with that? “ I asked, biting on my bottom lip.

We stared at each other for what seemed like a long time; him in shock and me just waiting nervously for an answer.

(I have to admit, I got kinda bold there.)

“You’re my daughter, Sam... “ He finally said.

“So...”

“You’re my ‘16-year-old’ daughter.”

“I know. But I don’t see why that matters or what the big deal is. What should I have done, run away screaming, ‘Oh- ma- god! Oh- ma- god! Take me to therapy?”

He didn’t find my dramatics very amusing. He had no answer. He was visibly uncomfortable.

“Sam... “ He took a deep breath. “ ... I just don’t feel comfortable talking about ... That ... With you.”

“Well, who should I talk to about stuff like that, Angel? Who’s gonna know what we talk about anyway, Dad, or what we see or what we do for that matter? It’s just us, Dad. “ I reminded him with a little bit of attitude as I remember.

Dad looked dazed. He looked almost sad. I don’t think he liked being reminded my mother left us. My intention wasn’t to make him feel bad. I was trying to show him that it was OK. I didn’t care that I’d walked in on him. As a matter of fact, it was just the opposite really. After all this time of thinking about him and his girlfriend and thinking about doing it for him and then actually seeing it, Well ... I just couldn’t seem to get it out of my mind.

“Dad? Can I tell you something without you getting all mad at me?”

“Well, yeah. I’d like to think you can tell me anything.”

“Good...” I took a deep breath. “ ... What would you say if I told you that I do that sometimes too?”

I wasn’t sure if my Dad could take too much more of this.

“You do ... What ... sometimes?”

I could tell by his face that he wasn’t looking forward to the answer.

“Touch myself... “ I told him sheepishly.

His mouth dropped open again.

“Sam!”

He just stood there in front of me with this weird look on his face.

“Dad! “ I mocked him trying to lighten the moment.

“Aren’t you kinda young for that? “ he eventually asked.

“Angel started doing it when she was 12. “ I blurted out.

He asked me, “Why?” The question almost made me laugh.

“Why? ... I guess for the same reason anybody does it.” I told him honestly. “It feels good.”

There was a long silence. I was afraid I’d said too much, but it was nice to be able to finally talk about this stuff, so I kept going.

“There’s something else. “ I told him after a few long seconds.

“Something else! You’re not having sex, are you, Sam?”

“No Dad.” This time I did laugh.

He waited nervously.

“It’s just that I thought walking in on you and seeing you doing it ... was kinda cool.”

He walked over to my desk, sat down in the chair, and ran his fingers through his hair. I think it was probably a good thing the chair was so close by; he looked wobbly on his feet. I waited a few seconds before I continued.

“I mean, I felt a little funny at first, but then, I thought it was ... cool.”

“Sam!” Dad got a little louder.

“You said you wouldn’t get mad.”

“I’m ... I’m not mad ... I’m ... in shock. I don’t know why, but I never really anticipated having a talk like this with you, Honey.”

“I know, right?” I giggled.

Now Dad was pretty concerned about all this, but I was somewhat happy to get the chance to finally talk about it.

“It’s just that...”

He sat there rubbing his brow, waiting for me to finish while I figured out how to tell him.

“ ... Well, I’ve never really seen one before ... and this morning ... I got to!”

“You got to! What’s that mean, ‘You GOT to’?”

“I mean that I finally got to see one.”

Dad’s face went dark red. “You sound like you’ve wanted to... ‘See One’...”

“What? You don’t think I think about stuff like that, that I’m not curious about it?”

I could tell by the look on my Dad’s face that he was trying hard to process it all; trying to understand, not only what his 16-year-old daughter was saying to him, but why she was saying it.

“Does it bother you that I think about stuff like that, Daddy?”

He thought for a second, then dragged his fingers slowly over his face.

“Well, yeah, Sam, I mean, I don’t know, kinda. You’re 14. I have to admit, I’m more than a little concerned about your ... enthusiasm ... I guess. I suppose I’m kinda relieved you haven’t seen one ... Well ... Until today, that is.” He rolled his eyes. “Shit, Sam, I had no idea...”

“What? No idea what?”

“That you ... Thought about stuff like that ... That you were...”

“Growing up so fast?” I finished his sentence.

“Well ... Yeah.”

I told him I was glad I walked in on him and decided to tell him that ever since I’d seen his girlfriend with her hand in his pants, that I was pretty curious about what was in there and how all that stuff worked.

Dad looked so lost at that point. He was past stunned and embarrassed, I think. I think we were both a little surprised that the conversation had taken that kind of turn. I can’t tell you what possessed me to say what I said next.

“Dad...” I said, real softly. “ ... Don’t freak out, OK?”

“I think I might be past that already.”

“I guess we’ll see, huh?”

We both shared a shaky smile.

“I’ve been kinda thinking about this for a while now ... and then I saw you this morning ... I bet that if it wasn’t for me, you’d probably have a girlfriend by now, you know, someone to do that for you.”

“What would make you think something like that, Sam? And just for the record, I don’t NEED anybody to do that for me.” “ Obviously.” He added with a frown and a shake of his head.

I told him how I’d spied on him and his girlfriend and how I thought he’d stopped seeing her because of me.

“All I’m saying is maybe ... I don’t know...” I was losing momentum. I remember that I was having a hard time getting it out.

“Maybe what Sam?” Dad coaxed me along. I guess he figured, he was in to the waist ... might as well jump the rest of the way in.

“Well, that if you wanted ... Maybe I could do it for you. I mean...”

He stared at me for so long, I thought he was going to blow up, send me away to Catholic school, drag me to counseling or therapy or something. I thought for a second that he’d stopped breathing. I sat there biting my fingernail, waiting for some kind of a response; hoping he wasn’t going to freak out on me ... Or just die.

“No one would know.” I added in a low voice as if that might make it OK.

“Sam...” He finally said, barely above a whisper, like he was afraid someone might overhear how sensitive the conversation had become.

“You can’t ... You shouldn’t even be thinking of doing something like that; not at your age and especially not with me, Sam.”

He really looked worried, but I’d gone that far.

“How come?” I asked bluntly, as if I’m asking why I can’t stay out a little past my curfew.

“How come?” Turmoil filled his eyes. “Jesus, Sam. You’re 16 and I’m your father...”

“So?” I whispered nervously. I was obviously just not understanding.

Looking back; I was a tenacious little bitch.

He looked like he might be on the verge of passing out. He took a second, took a deep breath, and as he shook his head side to side, he said,

“I just don’t understand.” His body language screamed and cried for a way out.

“Why would you even want to, Sam...”

Without hesitation, I told him. “Cuz I love you and you don’t have anyone to do it for you. I thought you might like it. Besides...” I added, “I kinda wanna try it.”

I remember vividly how awkward he looked sitting in that chair looking at me. I wasn’t sure which concerned him more; me wanting to do something like that at my age or wanting to do it to HIM. I sat on my bed waiting for some kind of response.

“Wow, Sam...” He said, “I’m ah ... I ... Jeezzz...” He shook his head trying to get a handle on the moment. “I think I need a beer.” He says and starts to get out of the chair.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” I said softly.

He stopped, “Sorry? For what, Honey?”

“I don’t know, bringing it up, I guess, saying what I said. It’s just that I’ve thought about it for such a long time, that’s all. I just wanted to talk to someone about it.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Sam. Matter-of-fact, I’m the one that should be sorry. I should have been more ... discreet.”

“That wouldn’t have changed how I feel.” I told him softly.

“Maybe not...”

He looked so pale and fragile.

“Sam...” He whispered. “You can always talk to me.”

With that said, he forced a smile and left my room. I felt an overwhelming love for him as I watched him walk away, shoulders drawn down, rubbing his temples with a heavy hand. I sat on my bed replaying everything in my head.

A little while later, I walked into the living room and found Dad sitting on the couch with three empty beer bottles on the coffee table in front of him and a fourth in his hand. There was a baseball game on the TV, but he didn’t look like he was really watching it.

“No Eastwood?”

“You can change it, Honey.” He says as he holds up the remote without looking at me.

“You OK?” I asked him as I sat down at the other end of the couch.

He looked up, “No, yeah, I’m fine. Yeah, I’m good. I’m just thinking’s all.” He told me as he tipped his beer and swallowed.

“Are you mad?

“Mad? No!No Honey. I’m just a little ... displaced ... I think.”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah-No, no, it’s OK.”

He sipped his beer, sat there staring past the TV, and then asked me if he could ask me a question.

“Considering everything ... Yeah, sure. I think that’d be OK.” I told him.

I remember thinking how sweet he was. Most other fathers would have been yelling and beating by now, and he was asking my permission to ask me a question.

I was relieved he was still willing to talk to me.

Dad stared at his beer bottle for a few seconds, “How long have you been thinking about stuff like that?”

“Just doing stuff, or doing stuff to you?”

“Well ... Both, I guess.” He shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know, for a pretty long time, I guess.”

“What brought all this on?” He asked bluntly.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just that a lot of my girlfriends have done stuff, and they make a pretty big deal out of it.”

I told him that they made it sound pretty awesome, actually, and that I just wanted to try it.

“They do stuff with their FATHERS?” He asked, shocked.

“Well, no...” I smiled. “ ... Not their Dads, at least not that I know of.” I giggled. “I mean, boys from school, except for Angel...” I told him. “ ... She told me she did that to some older guy for giving her a ride home from school once. She said it was pretty cool.”

“Did what?”

“You know...” I made an “O” with my hand and moved it up and down a few times. Dad dropped his head and shook it side to side.

“You’re kidding?”

“No.”

“Just for giving her a ride?”

“Yep.”

“Little Angel?”

“Dad, she’s 16.”

“Oh, right... 16. You guys talk about that kind of stuff a lot, do ya?” He asked softly.

“I listen mostly.” I told him.

“Wow...” He mumbled as he shook his head some more. It seemed that that’s all he’d been doing since this morning ... Shaking his head, I mean.

“So this is all about Peer Pressure?”

“No, not at all.”

I reminded him that I’d been thinking about stuff like that for quite some time.

I told Dad some of the things that Angel and I talked about and that Angel had admitted to me that she’d jerked off six or seven different guys; one being a friend of her father’s. He nearly fell off the couch when I told him that.

Then I mentioned that Angel had told me if I wanted to try it for myself, that she’d talk to her brother for me.

“She said that he’d probably love that.”

“Yeah, I bet he would.” Dad whispered under his breath.

He didn’t ask for details. He just sat and listened, mostly shaking his head, rubbing his forehead, and sipping his beer.

Looking back on it, I was really lucky I had a dad I could talk to, literally about anything.

I hesitated, wondering if I should tell him the rest of what she said, then figured, ‘What the hell, I’ve gone this far.

“Angel said that if I did it to her brother, she wanted to watch.”

“To watch?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, really.”

“Jesus!”

“I know. She’s crazy.” I told him. “Wanna know what else she said?” I asked, feeling much more comfortable with everything.

“Dear God!” Dad said sarcastically, “I’m not sure as I do.”

He held up one finger and finished off his beer. “Go ahead.”

I remember the gesture made me smile. I felt good, more at ease, knowing that he was taking it so much better now. I’m sure the four beers had a lot to do with that.