During my daughter Annie's high school years, she consumed friends like a starving man eats pizza. Every year there were new girls showing up at the house. In her junior year, she insisted I take her and three of her new cohorts out for a Valentine's Day dinner celebration. It was also her friend Breann's birthday. Since I had other commitments on Saturday the 14th, I agreed to take them out on Friday the thirteenth. The significance of the date didn't cross my mind. I got home from work, still in suit and tie and cleaned up. My daughter and I got into the car and drove through the neighborhood in my wife Harriett's sedan, gathering the young ladies.

"Hello, Mr. Marcus." Breann was the only girl who acknowledged my presence with a direct greeting. At least she had manners. She wore a long sleeve shiny red blouse and a knee-length pleated white skirt. Every time I glanced at her, she was looking at me. Since this was the first time we'd met, I wrote it off to natural curiosity about her friend's father.

I learned en route by listening to the conversation of my passengers that Breann was the oldest of the pack, turning eighteen the next day, Valentine's Day.

We were greeted at the restaurant, our reservation in their book, and we were led to our table. My daughter had selected a teppan style Japanese restaurant, the kind where you sit around a hot table in a semi-circle and watch the food being prepared. I was positioned in the middle of our group, my daughter on my left and Breann, the birthday girl, on my right. The other two young ladies acted as bookends. Two other couples filled the nine-seat table.

Everything was going along fine. I ordered a vodka and fruit juice drink. The girls all had Shirley Temples and groused about it. At their persistent urging, I let Bree take a sip of my drink, as a special benefit accorded the birthday girl. I hoped that the manager wouldn't notice and toss us out for underaged drinking.

As the chef performed his first feat of daring with his knife, the whole table "ooh"ed and "aah"ed. As he continued and the group was about to make its obligatory sound, Bree placed her left hand high on my knee. I thought it was an accident and decided to let her figure out the mistake by herself. As the chef started flipping food up in the air and cutting it with deft strokes, Bree began stroking my thigh, running her hand up and down, getting dangerously close to my crotch. It was a purely physiological reaction, but I was getting an erection. Bree wouldn't have had to move her hand any closer and soon she'd be rubbing my penis. This was no accident. I took her hand off my leg and placed it in her lap. Bree frowned. I noticed that she had consumed almost all of my drink. I ordered a refill, for myself. After all, I was getting thirsty from all of the salty soy sauce in the stir fried vegetables.

Bree didn't touch her food, getting cold on the curved plate.

"What's the matter, Bree?" my daughter asked.

"I don't like Japanese food," she replied casually, picking at the mushrooms and onions piled on her ceramic tray.

I wondered if my daughter had asked anyone else's opinion about the destination for this outing. Obviously she hadn't, cleaning her tray and swiping things from other with skillful chopstick movements. All of the other girls were lackadaisical about eating the food, What a waste of money! In the meantime, Bree and I had a friendly competition, who could get to my drink more often. Since I was still eating, she was winning. I got the bill, almost choked at the total, but paid with a smile. We all walked out to the car, Bree trying to cling to my side.

I dropped off the other two girls, who finally said something directly to me - "Thank you for dinner, Mr. Marcus. Happy Valentine's Day." I pulled into Bree's driveway about a block down the street from ours.

Instead of getting out, she balked. "We went out to celebrate my birthday and I didn't even get a meal or anything." Her arms were folded across her chest, which caused me to notice her blossoming breasts.

She was right, and it was mostly my daughter's fault. "Where would you like to go?" I asked, trying to make up for my daughter's faux pas.

"The Castle. Besides, they give you a free ice cream sundae on your birthday," Bree replied.

I backed out of the driveway and drove to The Castle. Even at ten thirty, they were pretty crowded with folks looking for an ice cream snack in the middle of winter. My daughter sat across from me in the booth. Bree decided to sit next to me instead of next to my daughter.

"I'll have a quarter pound burger, fries and a free sundae for my birthday."

When Bree showed an ID, the waitress balked. "Your birthday isn't until tomorrow." She chomped gum like a cow chewing grass.

I intervened. "We'd be happy to sit here for another hour and fifteen minutes."

The waitress chatted with her manager, who had the sense to grant Bree her sundae. Bree was the only one eating, devouring her burger like someone who was starving. My daughter and I just sat there keeping her company.

'Oh, my napkin slid off my lap. My hands are all yucky and I don't want to stain my new skirt. Could you please put it back, Mr. Marcus?"

I reached down and fetched the napkin off the floor. It was still clean. I placed it on Bree's lap, gently.

"Smooth it down, so it won't fall off again."

I ran my hand over the napkin in Bree's lap. I startled when her legs moved apart, and my hand was caressing the valley between her thighs. I pulled my hand back as if it had been burnt. Bree giggled. The waitress brought out Bree's complementary desert. It was piled high with whip cream and topped by a single red cherry.

"You can have my cherry for being so nice," Bree said.

The double meaning was not lost on me, especially the way she said it. She handed me the small fruit on a stem.

"I just love ice cream, don't you?" Bree asked. There was a dab of whipped cream on her face, at the corner of her lips. It was one of the sexiest things I'd ever seen. Even when she licked her lips, it hung there. Both my daughter and I tried to direct her to it, but were unsuccessful. Her tongue danced around but kept missing the target.

"Why don't you get it for me?" Bree asked.

I was closer. I swiped the dab from her face with my finger. I was about to wipe it off on my napkin.

"Oh, don't waste it," Bree said.

With that, she took my hand by the wrist and stuck my finger in her mouth. She sucked it for all she was worth. I had to wait until she was done; her grip and suction were so strong. My erection returned. I hoped it would go down before we had to stand up. I dawdled over my glass of water.

When we got to the car, Bree whispered in my daughter's ear and got in the front seat, in between us. I felt Bree's warm body against mine as I drove. Fortunately, her hands stayed in her lap.

"You can just go home. I'll walk to my house," Bree said.

"No, not this late at night. Dad, why don't you walk Bree home?"

It was a good idea. The fresh air was crisp but not too cold. I figured Bree's buzz from my drink had worn off by now, especially with the late meal she had.

"See you tomorrow, daddy," said my daughter as she walked up to our front door.

Bree took my hand as we walked down the street to her house. "It was really nice of you to take me to dinner, after that expensive meal. You're really sweet."

"It was the right thing to do. I don't starve young women, especially on their birthdays."

Bree raised my hand to her face and kissed it. "I was starved."

When we got to Bree's house, all of the lights were off. "Are you going to be okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure. But, before you go, want to see what I got for Valentine's Day?"

I agreed.

"It's back here." Bree took my hand and led me to the backyard. There was a freestanding shed with large glass windows at the back of the property.

"It's my mom's greenhouse."

Bree opened the door and led me into the darkness. She pulled a chain and a fluorescent grow light came on. There, on the potting table, was a miniature rose bush.

"Isn't it beautiful? When it gets warmer, I'm going to plant it in the garden."

"Yes, it's lovely."

I turned to leave but Bree didn't let go of my hand. "Mr. Marcus, can we talk about, you know, what I did?"