Chapter 1

"Good morning, Daddy!" I smiled brightly as he walked into the kitchen. I always made breakfast for him.

"Hey, Sammie." He always called me that, everyone did. My real name is Samantha.

"Hmmm ... Hold on..." I clucked my tongue and fixed my dad's necktie while he looked down at me. You'd think a 42 year old man could tie his own tie, but half the time I had to redo it for him. I think he liked the attention.

"Thanks." He made a little face as he watched my fingers.

"Uh-huh," I nodded, kinda rolling my eyes. When I had it just right, I smoothed it down his chest like I always did.

"I don't have time to eat, Sam. I'll pick up a donut or..." he started saying, but then Daddy saw the look on my face and decided to sit down.

"That's what I thought," I said, smiling as I sat down with him.

"There should be a law against morning people," he grumbled and not for the first time. Daddy didn't have to eat very much anyway, toast and grapefruit, some orange juice and a little coffee. I knew his stomach didn't wake up until noon.

"There should be a law against homework too, Daddy." I was eating Cheerios and doing my math homework. I always saved that for last because it was easiest.

"So what are you doing today?" he asked me, like he usually did, since this twenty minutes or so was our quality father-daughter time together, at least on the weekdays. Things were usually better on the weekends.

"The usual," I shrugged. "I'm gonna stay over at Jen's after school though, remember? Spend the night."

"Yeah," Daddy nodded and we'd already talked about that. "Here..." he reached into his wallet and pulled out thirty dollars. "In case you need it."

"Kay." I glanced at the money. "I'll leave you something in the fridge for dinner. What are you doing tonight?"

"The usual," he shrugged. "Watch the ballgame, fall asleep on the couch, you know." He smiled, but he wasn't kidding either.

"You need a girlfriend, Dad." I looked at him, kind of making a face.

"What do I need a girlfriend for?" He chuckled lightly. "I've got you."

"Yeah, for breakfast, but you need something to do at night," I told him. "You need some companionship. Fall asleep with someone for a change."

"Samantha!" My dad looked suitably shocked that his fifteen year old daughter might suggest, even in the most subtle way, that he should get laid.

"What?" I stared at him and then smiled so that he would too. "You need a girlfriend, that's all I'm saying."

"Yeah." Daddy shrugged, but he didn't say anything more about it and I let it go.

My mom had died when I was born. I'd almost died too, but I hadn't, and I was pretty glad about that. Someone had to take care of my dad. I didn't mind it either. Cooking and cleaning was pretty okay for me. I even took care of the bills. I'd gotten good at that stuff and I think my dad felt a little guilty about it, but he knew his limitations too. He was a good engineer and provided us with a good life, but he really needed a wife to be complete.

He was a good looking man too, for being in his forties like that. Tall with thinning brown hair, just a little receding hairline. A pleasant face, healthy body, not thin, but not fat either. He looked good naked, well half-naked anyway. I hadn't seen him completely naked since I was just a toddler. And neither of us had any interest in that. He was my dad and I was his wife for all practical purposes in every part of the house except one ... the bedroom. He respected mine and I respected his, and I'd gotten the story about the birds and the bees and that had been that.

I just wished he'd find a woman and get married, or at least live together. Or if they couldn't do that, just sleep together a few nights every week. I didn't think my father had gotten any sex since before I was born. Really, as I sat there eating breakfast with him, I'd have bet anything and everything that my dad hadn't made love to a woman since he'd last slept with my mom.

I'd been having sex though, for over a year already, and it was my big dark secret, for obvious reasons. Being thirteen and losing my virginity hadn't been so bad. I mean, it had hurt a little, but emotionally more than physically. It had turned out that the only thing my boyfriend had wanted from me was my cherry, but I'd gotten over that. I'd learned quickly that when a boy tells you he loves you ... Watch out! They're after something and it isn't hard to figure out what.

I didn't really trust boys a whole lot anymore ... Except my dad. I trusted him and I guess I was falling into that old stereotypical daughter thing of looking for a guy like Daddy to fall in love with. Not that I really wanted to fall in love anyway. I'd done that with my first boyfriend, the guy who'd broken up with me two days after breaking my cherry. Love could wait. I just wanted to have fun now, as much as I could, and still get good grades so I could go to a good college. I'd have fun there while I got a good degree, and then find a good job and then ... I'd find a good husband.

By that time I'd be old enough to find a man just like my dad. See? I had it all worked out!

The only thing I had to watch out for was the part about having fun.

"Hey, baby. Where you going?" a guy said, hitting on me with a grin. I rolled my eyes, slipping through the crowded living room.

We were at someone's house, but I had no idea whose. Jen knew a girl who knew a guy who knew a guy, and we'd found ourselves at a party in North Seattle, close to the University. Everyone was older than we were, but they didn't act like it. I didn't act my age either though. Most people didn't believe I was only fifteen years old, they thought I was more like seventeen or even eighteen maybe. That's what growing up without a mom does to a girl, I suppose. I didn't have a lot of time for being childish or stupid, so I tended towards serious and mature. That was a pretty cool turn on for the big kids who went to the University.

But so was my body, I suppose, if you happened to be into well developed teenaged girls. I wasn't tall or short, or too skinny or anything, and I had nice boobs, really nice. They weren't huge, but nice and full and they defied gravity the way a young woman's should, and I never wore a bra. I hated those things with a passion. All my height came from my legs too, which were long and smooth and toned from dance classes every Saturday morning since I was five. I could dance, believe me, I was just getting too big for it. I'd reached that point where I either needed three more inches of height, or I dropped about ten pounds of weight.

And I was never gonna be a ballerina anyway. Or a gymnast. And I'd played with that idea until I was thirteen and a half. That's about the time I'd grown up fast and gotten much too big and clumsy for the balance beam. That seemed kinda too bad because I'd really liked gymnastics a lot. I figured it would come in handy when I went out for cheerleading next year in high school.

I did my thing that night though, the having fun part, and I'd dressed for it. I had a secret stash of clothes at Jen's house because her parents were the sort who respected a girl's privacy. I mean, my dad did too, but not like Jen's parents who were old hippies from Haight-Ashbury or someplace like that. They even smoked pot and gave some to Jen, if you can believe that, telling her it was okay so long as she did it in the house. Jen hated them, but she was always sort of rebellious and wanted to be a Republican or something. She'd have hated them no matter what they did. I liked them and I always told Jen that she was lucky just to have two parents.

It isn't something to take for granted, trust me on that.

Anyway, I'd worn a really short blue skirt made out of silk, but totally wrinkled like crepe. It looked cool and it really let people see my legs, and more if I wasn't careful. It was so flimsy that if the slightest breeze came along, I'd be pulling a serious Marilyn Monroe. Not to mention sitting down. I wore matching blue panties though, I mean exactly the same color as my skirt, which had taken awhile to find at the mall, but it worked. If I forgot to cover up, well, people catching a glimpse would just see more skirt, or so I hoped. Showing off was one thing, but showing off ... Yikes!

My blouse was more homemade than anything else. A black sleeveless t-shirt that used to say 'I'm With Stupid' on the front, with big white letters stretched tightly across my boobs and an arrow pointing down ... But I'd cut it off so that it just said 'I'm With' and nothing else. I'd made a fairly straight hem around it, using some stretchy nylon stuff, and that had been my project for Home Economics class. I'd just gotten a B on it though, because it wasn't all that much of a project. I mean, it wasn't even much of a shirt after that, but I liked the way it hugged my tits.

It looked cool though and the material was thin enough, and tight enough, so that my nipples pushed out the cotton even on those rare occasions when they were soft. I think I was born with hard nipples. And the bottom of my tits were often visible because the hem would want to ride up a little. My little cut-off T-shirt showed a lot of skin and together with the skirt it was like wearing a neon sign that said 'Fuck me!' ... I thought it was cool. I wore some shoes with spiked heels, not too high, but they were comfortable and open toed, and they pushed my butt out nicely.

I have blonde hair, like whitish blond, almost platinum under the right lights. I liked to color it though because my hair always looked boring to me and I had some blue in it, just to match my skirt. I liked to wear it loose, just below my shoulders and I was thinking of getting a French curl or something, but those were expensive. My eyes are blue, but not like my skirt, unfortunately. They're darker than that, and big and round like I'm always surprised at life. I don't like my eyes. I like my mouth though, since it's sort of small and pouting. I have lips like Angelina Jolie. Seriously. Collagen bee stung lips, and they didn't cost me a dime either. A small cute nose and some high cheekbones. Yeah, I was pretty much irresistible when I wanted to be.

It got me out of a lot of trouble, believe me. But looking good can get a girl into trouble too; the hard part about growing up is learning to tell the difference.

"Hmmm, yum yum yum..."

I'd been drifting around the party, not knowing anyone really, and giving the guys their thirty seconds of fame trying to get my interest. Usually thirty seconds was too long though, as a lot of the guys were already drunk. I found that kind of disappointing, finding out that boys didn't really change a whole lot between 9th grade and college. They just got bigger, not smarter.

"Hey!" I smiled and sipped my drink, which was some sort of lemonade with five or six different kinds of liquor in it.

They called it 'Bullfrog' and whatever it was, one glass was going to do me in so I'd poured half of it into a rubber plant, or something. It was green and sitting a pot full of dirt anyway. I'd probably killed it. And I just walked around with my cup, avoiding the frequent offers of a refill. I wanted to have fun and meet a guy I could like for a few hours. I'd been drunk before and it hadn't been much fun at all.

"Sup, baby?" He was black, but not Africa black, more like chocolate black. Caribbean black. He had the Marley t-shirt to go with his skin anyway, but thankfully not the dreadlocks.

"Just me." I smiled and held up my drink a little.

"Yes you are, mmm-mmmm..." He looked me up and down. "I'm gonna call you super phreak wit' a P ... cause you're super phine..."

"With a P?" I giggled and rolled my eyes. He looked cute though, except the Snoop Dog act seemed a little over the top to me.

"You know it, baby!" He nodded and he had the biggest, whitest teeth I'd ever seen on anyone.

"And so what are you? Super phly?" I grinned up at him, since he was about six feet tall at least. "With another P?"

"Heh!" he grinned back at me. "You like that nigger talk?"

"I live in Bellevue," I giggled. "The only nigger talk I know is what I see on TV."

"Yeah, me too." He laughed. "I'm Deke."

"I'm Sammie." I tilted my head. "Samantha."

"Sammie's cool. I'm an economics major, how about you?" He sounded like a white guy now.

"I'm a fun major." I shrugged, looking around and wondering if it wasn't time to drift some more.

"That's cool. Fun is cool," Deke said, "How about we go have some fun in my car?" He was wearing jeans and the t-shirt and a loose denim jacket. He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a joint. "Better than that stuff, I guarantee it."

I looked down at my drink. It really wasn't very good and getting a little high did sound like fun.

"Sure," I nodded. "I just have to find my friend."

"Aw, he ain't gotta know bout us, baby!" he drawled Snoop style.

"He's a she and I don't wanna fall down on her, dog," I drawled back.

"We won't be that long, come on. We'll find her later," he insisted gently, taking my hand and I shrugged, figuring he was probably right.

He led me outside and the cool night air came as a relief. It had been hot and smoky in that house. I tossed my drink in the bushes and we walked half a block up the street before Deke pulled out his keys, turning off the alarm on a nice gold colored BMW with a little beep-beep and a flash of the lights.

"Nice car," I smiled, wondering how a university kid could afford wheels like that. We had a BMW at home and I knew exactly how much they cost because I wrote the check every month, forging Daddy's signature at the bottom because he'd forget otherwise.

"I told you, economics, baby." He smiled at me, opening the rear door on the passenger side for me.

"Driving Miss Daisy?" I giggled.

"Huh? Hell no! Dis niggah don't drive nobody like dat niggah!" Deke laughed as I got in. "Scoot over, there's more room back here."

There was a lot of room and he leaned between the seats, putting the keys in the ignition so he could turn on the radio and drop the windows a bit.

"There we go." He pulled out his joint and opened the ashtray, pushing in the cigarette lighter. "Welcome to my crib, baby."

"Thanks. Wow!" I made like I was looking around. "All you need is an Xbox."

"Nah, Xbox is for fools. That's George W. Bush pushing the New World Order into the next generation."

"Is it?" I laughed. "And I figured you for a GTA pimp my ride kinda guy."

"I'm pimpin, baby, no doubt," he said seriously. "But not my mind."

"You're gonna have to find a new line now though," I teased him. "Obama's in the Black House."

"Shit!" Deke grinned at me. "He's white as you are, girl."

"Yeah right!" I laughed, not really knowing what to say. Truth was, this was the longest conversation I'd ever had with a black guy. My previous best had been 'I'd like a number three with a coke, please.' at McDonald's.

"I'm serious..." The lighter popped and he pulled it, lighting the joint with a bunch of quick puffs, starting the paper on fire briefly. Then Deke sucked it deep, hissing a little as he handed it to me.

"About what?" I wondered, taking a small hit.

"How old are you, anyway?" he asked, his voice husky as exhaled slowly.

"Fifteen." I shrugged, figuring there was no sense in lying about it. Sometimes I did, but mostly I didn't. I'd never gotten kicked out of a guy's car for being too young.

"No shit? I thought you were older. That's cool though," he nodded, taking the joint back as I held the smoke for a few seconds. It was good weed, really smooth. "I didn't figure you went to school here."

"Why not?" I asked, feeling just a little insulted for some reason, like maybe I wasn't good enough for college or something.

"Cause." He took a puff and held the joint for a moment. "I'd have seen you before."

I giggled and took the joint from him. "Yeah right! There's a zillion girls around here." I took another hit, already feeling warm inside.

"Yeah, and I know all of 'em, believe me." He nodded and smiled. "It's my job, baby. My mission."

"Your job, huh?" I laughed. "Knowing a bunch of girls pays for your crib?"

"Hell, yeah." He took the joint back. "Pays for this fine ass pain killer too. How you feeling?"

"Like my toes are on fire." I giggled, thinking that was pretty funny for some reason.

"Let me see." He held the joint between his swollen lips and reach down, grabbing my ankles and pulling my feet into his lap so I had to turn my body.

"You the fire department now?" I took the joint back, pulling it from Deke's mouth. I took another hit as he took off my shoes.

"Gimme that!" He laughed, taking the joint back and then putting it out carefully in the ashtray. "Your toes start burning and you had enough, girl. We don't need no spontaneous female combustion in my car ... Not like that, anyways."

"Mmmm ... Okay." I nodded, just smiling away as Deke went to work on my feet. "I heard that about you guys ... Black guys..."

"What's that? We like fried chicken?" He had great hands, big hands, and soft and warm.

I giggled. "No, well ... Yeah..." I grinned. "That too ... No, I mean about the foot massage thing..."

"That ain't a black thing! That's a man thing." Deke chuckled. "A man can't be a real man if he don't know da toe!"

"Know da toe?" I laughed out loud.

"Dat's right. You gotta know da toe if you wanna show da ho..."

"Show da ho what?" I couldn't stop giggling to save my life.

"Shhh..." he teased me. "What else you little rich white girls hear about us poor black boys that is all fuckin' wrong?"

"Uhhh ... You guys don't, um ... Go down?" I offered, blushing a little, but not very much. I felt way too comfortable and Deke was working my calves sweetly now.

"We don't go ... What? We don't go down? Shit, who told you that lie? We go all the way! Downtown, baby! You get on with a brother and you on the number 69 bus. You know what I mean?"

"I heard it was just the number 9 bus." I showed him my tongue. "And I'd have to get a transfer if I wanted the full ride."

"Shit." He massaged my legs and I was getting butterflies as I watched his dark hands in the dim light. "Get a transfer ... You ever see that Speed movie? That's us, baby. The 69 bus goin' downtown with no brakes."

I laughed and shook my head. "Uh-huh, okay. How about you? What do you guys hear about catholic schoolgirls like me?"

"You're catholic?" He grinned at me. "I hear all kinds of things about you."

"Like what?" I spread my legs a little for him, knowing he couldn't really get a good look at my panties, but not minding too much if he did.

"Ummm..." Deke pushed his big lips out a little, cocking his head like he was trying to decide if he was going to buy me. "You swallow, huh?"

"What?" I gasped in shock, leaning forward and then clapping my hands and laughing. It was a good high.

"Catholic girls swallow, everybody knows that," he said, playing with my knees. "Tell me I'm lyin."

"No, uh ... You ain't lyin." I looked up like I was all guilty playing innocent.

"See? We don't bullshit in the hood, baby."

"Yeah. Okay. Uh ... What else?"

"Catholic girls like the dark meat."

"Like the dark meat?" I spread my legs just a little more. He'd started rubbing my thighs and it felt good. "You mean, we like that big, black..."

"Uh-huh..." Deke laughed. "Keep going ... that big, black...

" ... fat, hard..."

" ... Yeah, baby ... You know it..."

" ... long, hot..."

"Mmmm ... Say it..."

" ... cock?" I gave him a well practiced look, real coy like I'd never said that word before in my life.

"Oh yeah." He grinned, squeezing my pale thighs with his strong, black fingers.