Chapter 457: My Parental Responsibilities

I’m not a deadbeat dad, am I? I mean, Becky got pregnant with all the others without me knowing and has never asked me to help out, and I know I offered a few times already.

When I got home after fucking Becky raw, per her request, I checked on the girls. Both lay passed out on top of their beds. Ellen was in pajamas, with panties, but already soaked in sweat. I turned down the AC in her room, used the place in my head to make sure she had nothing in her pussy, changed her into dry clothes, and pulled a sheet over her. She never once stirred.

April had kicked her covers off, so I pulled them back over her.

I took a shower and headed to get some sleep. At six-forty-five, April was jumping on my bed to wake me up.

“Mommy and Daddy said you are home, so you have to take me to school so they can sleep a little longer. They are taking our brother and sister to the preschool on their way to work,” April told me excitedly.

I sent her to wake Ellen and get them to breakfast. Ellen needed to get on a school wake-up schedule. Aubry dragged Crimilda over with her.

“April’s mommy, not mommy, is coming to teach girls. You are taking me to my school too. My mommy said daddy would have to take me today because she was exhausted. Grandmother was very grumpy,” Aubry told me.

I called Becky to get the details of Aubry’s school. It turned out that it was a church preschool of all places. They weren’t members or actively practicing any religions, but that was the best place for Aubry to go. I fed both little girls, and we headed out to the garage as Paula came driving up. She gave me a hug, picked April up to give her a hug and kiss, then did the same for Aubry.

Paula told me, “Dad said that you had another girl around Ellen’s age who was just as smart but hadn’t gotten to go to school for very long. He told me I would be a good teacher for them since I still remember the different re-learning techniques that helped me get back up to speed on the elementary school skills I lost in the wreck.”

“Trust me on this one. You didn’t lose any of your elementary school skills in the wreck because you never learned them. You jumped over learning those skills entirely. You did a few days of basic multiplication and division back in third grade before going to algebra. You never did all those boring, repetitive years of basic math and pre-algebra. Same for science and reading, but you were always on grade level for social studies, oddly enough,” I told her.

She laughed and replied, “Social Studies I found fascinating. By the time I got into sixth grade, I had taken college-level courses that excluded the stuff we were learning in middle school. Other subjects we glossed over in our school books. I enjoyed getting the teacher to go into further detail or correcting them when they had no idea about the facts.”

April reminded me that her school opened at seven-thirty, and that was in fifteen minutes, according to her digital, GPS-enabled tracking watch.

We dropped Aubry off first, and then April wanted me to come in with her when I dropped her off.

As we walked in, the intercom system announced via a charming woman’s voice, “April Jones is in the building.”

“I know a teenager that is too smart for her good,” the woman who owned the daycare and preschool joked.

“Huh-uh,” April said. “Mommy, not my mommy, did it. She said I had to promise to show Day-id today.”

April hugged my leg and hurried off to her classroom.

“I guess that answers any possible questions about who her genetic mother is, doesn’t it? At least she updated the voice that isn’t blaring and obnoxious,” the owner said. “Though, do you have a few minutes? I need to ask you something of a personal nature.”

Oh shit. Now, not what you want to hear from the woman that owns the daycare where your daughter goes?

Once she got April’s teacher, the teenager near April’s IQ, to watch the front desk, we went into the lady’s office.

We took a few minutes to talk about nothing, and then she said, “As you can probably tell, I love children and had six of my own. Five of the six moved away from here to seek their fame and fortune, but my youngest remained. She and her husband had three smart, amazing children. Not April or Paula intelligence, but it’s enough to have all three given a scholarship to the private school opening next week in their new location. My daughter and son-in-law did dumb stuff when they were in high school and when they should have been going to college. Now they work two jobs each to pay off their debt and care for their children. While someone may have constructed that old school over a toxic waste dump or something terrible, it was close enough that the kids could walk if they left early enough in the morning. That is what I wanted to discuss. Someone is going to have to drop off April and pick her up. It is one of the live-in nannies when it isn’t you. I can pick the kids up on my way here in the mornings and take them home at night. Would it be possible to have them ride to and from your house on any days that will work out?”

“Before we get to that, I have some things to ask before I can make a decision,” I told her. “How old are they, are their parents even home when the kids are awake, and do their parents have any time off on the weekends?”

She pulled a picture over to show me two boys and a girl before saying, “Ronny, the oldest is fourteen. Chris and Val just turned twelve. Of the two, Chris looks more like a girl than his twin sister. Both love their children dearly. While their parents come home nightly, it is after the kids go to bed, and they are sleeping or off to their other job before the kids get up. They have at least Saturday or Sunday off each week, but not always the same day. I’ve offered to help them with their debt many times, but both are embarrassed about having screwed up their finances badly, and they are dead set on working their butts off to pay back what they owe. I’ve heard enough about you to know that you shouldn’t even bother thinking about helping them out financially or with better jobs. Someone tried that already, and it backfired.”

I think I can make this work better than she might have expected.

“Do you think they would have problems with April, or my eleven-year-old daughter’s, lack of any modesty around the house, especially in the pool?” I asked.

She laughed a good, happy, whole-hearted, deep, belly laugh.

When she did manage to calm down, she said, “They live in a one-bedroom house with a toilet in what was once a coat closet. The shower sits in the corner of the kitchen over a floor drain. My son-in-law did manage to cobble together some sort of loft for the kids. There is only room for a queen mattress. All three have lived in that house since they were babies. So, no, they respect each other’s privacy as much as possible, but the kids can each tell you how many zits and where they are on each of their siblings. As hot as it has been, they rarely wear anything when they get away with it. I doubt two more naked girls running around will make any of them notice.”

I told her the basics about Ellen and then Crimilda.

“Both girls are going to the private school. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I have no idea how many bedrooms and suites are in my home. My parents have a master bedroom on the main level, but there are two more suites on that level alone. Ellen and April have their rooms, and I have a suite with my bedroom, office, and game room. Trudy has a suite with rooms of her own and what is effectively a girl’s monster closet with clean clothes for girls who sleep over. From what I see in my head, all those rooms only take up maybe half of the second floor, and there is one more above that, plus an attic. If the kitchen staff can feed me enough to fill me up, three more kids won’t be a problem for them. We also have medical staff that lives there too. I probably should care about what it costs, but no one has ever told me. I know that it costs less per year than I spend each day on my four foster-care mini complexes,” I told her. “My suggestion is that whichever parent is off can bring the kids on Sunday night, have dinner, and go back home to get some rest before going to work Monday. When they get up on Saturday, they can come to get the kids, or someone can take them home for the weekend. If your daughter and son-in-law are working that hard, then they at least deserve one night a week to have sex without worrying about the kids having to listen to them screw.”

“All five of them will thank you for that,” she said and started to laugh again. “You said you have clothes for girls who stay over. Any chance you have something like that for boys? Chris and Ronny could use a slow exchange of their slowly wearing out underwear, which none of the three often wear at home.”

I shrugged. I said I would take the boys shopping if boys’ clothes didn’t magically appear. Vicky would have more than enough of the latest fashions to let her dress with any look she wanted.

“So, when do you think we should ask them if that would work for them?” I asked.

“They are back helping with the kids in exchange for air conditioning. Their parents have the weekend off, and I already said I would take the kids. If you don’t think it would be a problem, you can take them with you right now. I don’t even want to know what they would be willing to do to get a bedroom of their own, even if just for a few days a week,” she told me.

I did call my parents to ask if they saw any problems with what I suggested, even if it was my house, and they said that it would be great to help Ellen and now Crimilda to have some friends around their age.

One thing I hadn’t thought about is that mom said this would help me keep Ellen in clothes.

“To be clear, you don’t mind going home with a strange man, having your own rooms and bathrooms, indoor and outdoor heated pools, and food whenever you want to try to talk the cooks into making something outside of mealtimes?” I asked with a laugh.

Vicky said, “We don’t even need our own rooms. A king-sized bed and a bathroom that has a shower with a real curtain is a big step up.”

“I’m not saying you three can’t stay in the same room, but you each will have one of your own too. I know that my friends Tee and Dee, also twelve and twins, shared a bed. Now that they hit puberty, they like having their own rooms, at opposite ends of the hallway, from each other. They won’t be going to the same school as you three, but they live on the other side of my small neighborhood. I will warn you, though, that they will take some time to warm up to you and don’t like others touching them, for the most part. I suspect they might be a bit autistic, but people with Autism that are touch-averse seem to want me to hold them,” I told them. “Now, for the fun part, getting the two of you in the back seat of my Lotus. April and Aubry are five and three, so no problems with them squeezing into the back seat, in their child seats.”

Damn. I see what the kid’s grandmother means about Chris looking more like a girl than Vicky. He does have a bit more baby fat going than she does.

Both kids had no problem in the back seat, even sitting in the girl’s car seats.

Ronny asked why I changed the seat belt configuration from a five-point-harness to a three. He was starting high school, not some little kid.

Have it your way.

“You are cleaning up your seat when we get to my house,” I whispered in his ear as I strapped him into the five-point harness as he asked.

I laughed almost the entire way home after seeing the look of shock and then horror on Ronny’s face when I fired up the Lotus. In the twelve minutes it took to get home, he came in his pants three times and then again when I revved it up to get up the driveway.

“Gross, Ronny. Maybe you will listen to David the next time, though maybe you just wedge yourself in the back and let me have that seat. Girls don’t make as much of a mess,” she teased.

He retorted, “Most girls, maybe, but you squirt, squirt.”

“I told you not to call me a squirt!” she yelled back at him and tried to hit him.

Ronny grabbed her arms and held them over her head. He tickled her until she peed in her pants, which didn’t take much.

“Jerk,” she screamed at Ronny again.

I looked over at Chris and said, “Might as well come along and let us see what clean clothes we can find for you.”

I took the three into the study, some to embarrass Ronny and Vicky, and asked Ellen where the clothes were for the boys who stayed over. She joked and said they were in Tee’s room down the street. Who else has a boy sleeping over at our house? Ellen was grounded, so it wasn’t her.

“Looks like you get a pair of trunks, for now, Ronny, unless you are into girl’s clothes and underwear, then I have you covered,” I teased.

He thought for a minute before asking, “Can I get a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the girl’s stuff then? Bathing suits rub me the wrong way.”

Before I could respond, Ellen grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room.

“Well, come on then, Vicky, we might as well get you showered and in dry, clean clothes,” I told her.

I asked Chris if he wanted to come along, and he asked, “You said the pool was clothing optional?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Can I go for a swim in the nude then? I don’t have anything more to see than any other little boy. We took swim lessons at the Y and swam there when friends invited us,” he told me.

Crimilda asked Paula if she could join Chris in the pool.

She told Chris that she didn’t have anything Vicky didn’t have already.

Both kids were naked by the time they got to the indoor pool. They stopped before jumping into the water to check each other out quickly. Chris had some ball fuzz and a few hairs at the base of his dick. Crimilda put her foot way up on a table so that Chris could get a good look at the smattering of hair around her pussy and let him have a peek inside. She told him about being made to suck dick, being ass fucked and screwed by her cousins and siblings.