Chapter 2
(exhib, voy, Mg, fond, mast)
By the pool at Felicity's birthday party, Frank lets Sarge know that he knows...
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I awoke with a rock hard erection, went to the bathroom, and jacked off again. I sat on the toilet to urinate, so I wouldn't spray piss all over the room. I went downstairs to the kitchen, and brewed a mug of coffee before going up to Felicity's bedroom and looking out the window. Her friends, 11-year-old Pauline, 10-year-old Peggy Long, and Peggy's 7-year-old sister, Wendy, were waiting at the foot of Sarge's stairs. A minute later, Felicity came bounding down the stairs, giggling. She held out her right hand, and her friends took turns sniffing it. They were smelling Sarge's cum.
How many kids knew Sarge was fucking her? Was she the only girl he was molesting? He was living dangerously. It wouldn't be pretty if the wrong daddy found out that Sarge was diddling his daughter.
He was hired the week after we moved in. We admired each other's vehicle the day he arrived. We didn't actually become friends. I worked evenings, he slept in the daytime. We occasionally met in the parking lot in the wee hours, when I came home drunk. We exchanged pleasantries before I hit the sack. That was going to change. I was going to get to know him better. I decided to stay sober all weekend.
I was wondering how to broach the subject of Felicity's sex life. I would wait until we were alone, and would be alone for an hour or more, before playing the tape for her. Catching her alone on her birthday weekend would be a near impossibility. The party was scheduled to begin at 10a.m.
I was pouring another mug of coffee when the girls came in, giggling and whispering. "He's coming in two wee..." Felicity whispered before seeing me.
"Uh... you're up early, Daddy."
"I'm looking forward to your party. Happy birthday, Babe. I guess you're technically a teen. Since there's a thirteen, there should be a seconteen, firsteen, and teen."
"I'm firsteen," Pauline giggled.
I laughed, "Or maybe it should be teen, oneteen, twoteen, threteen, since the rest of the numbers are fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen."
"You're silly, Mr. Harris," Wendy said.
"Silly, but kind of cool," Peggy giggled.
Wendy interjected, "But, you said he was hot yesterday."
"Wendy!?!" Peggy admonished.
"Some men can be cool and hot at the same time. Like Burt Reynolds," Pauline said.
Felicity giggled, "Pauline's got that magazine with that naked foldout of him under her pillow."
Pauline blushed brightly.
I said, "I saw him on the Tonight Show. His ex-wife, Judy Carne, was the guest hostess. She said that his hand was covering his private part. Burt replied, 'Say arm. Say my arm was covering it.'"
Pauline didn't miss a beat. "From what Felicity tells me, you'd have to use your arm to cover yours."
It was Felicity's turn to blush.
My daughter had seen it fully erect at least once. I thought she was asleep. I had forgotten Nellie's birthday May 16, and didn't buy her a present. I found a bow, went to the bathroom, and stroked my cock until it was hard. Felicity walked in as I was putting the bow on it.
Nellie was not amused. She was never going to let me forget that I forgot, not that it mattered.
Wendy held her hands about a foot apart, and giggled, "Felicity said that it's this big."
"She exaggerates," I said, and was tempted to ask her how big Sergeant Preston's, Alex Crowley's, and Mr. Whipple's cocks were. I knew the girls knew about Sarge, and was almost certain they knew about the other men. They had been best friends for three years.
I went to the bathroom and jacked off again. When I came out, the girls were gone. They were in the pool when I got there. Mr. Whipple was setting up a portable soda fountain.
"Did my wife arrange this?" I asked Whipple.
"No, sir. It was Felicity's idea. She said that it would be good advertizing for my business, since there'll be a lot of kids other than her friends here, and my parlor's only a block away."
Felicity was in the pool, hugging the edge, and looking guilty. The girls were looking from her to me and back again. I walked to the edge, looked down, and said, "Out of the pool, kid."
She got out, wearing a skimpy candy apple red bikini. "Who bought that for you?" I asked snapping the sides of the skimpy bottoms. "I'm fairly certain your mother wouldn't buy it for you."
"I saved up my allowance and bought it myself," she lied.
I couldn't help grinning. "Is that so? Well, like it."
"You do!?!"
"Yeah. I like it a lot. Shows a lot of skin.
"You know your mother's going to shit," I added. "I'll handle her. Have fun, Baby. It's your birthday."
Nellie stepped out of our apartment at that moment, and saw Felicity. Her reaction was almost cartoonish. Her eyes saucer sized. Her face glowed cherry red. I visualized steam blowing out of her ears as she stormed toward us.
Before she could say anything, I quietly, but firmly said, "Calm down, Nellie. She wanted it for her birthday, and I bought it for her. You can rant at me later if you wish. But I will not allow you to ruin her party."
She was stunned. It was the first time in 12 years that I asserted myself, except for the time she wanted me to trade my Mustang in for a newer model, and the time she hounded me to find a better paying job. I loved my car and my job. She still bitched about my paltry income while writing checks to pay our monthly bills.
"But ..."
"No buts. Go to the apartment, and do whatever it takes to calm down, and come back with a better attitude."
She marched back to the apartment in a huff.
Fifteen minutes later, I went to the apartment to check on her. She wasn't there. I looked out the back door to see her 1973 Olds Cutlass was gone. I guessed she was going to her friend, Betty's, house to bitch. I returned to the pool.
"Why did you lie to Mom?" my daughter asked.
"Because she would begin an inquisition if you lied to her. And, you know that she always knows when you're fibbing," I laughed. "You get it on Saturday, and it's always all gone by Monday."
"You knew, and you didn't get mad?"
"I want you to start trusting me, Babe. I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything, and ask me anything. I will always be totally honest with you. And, I hope you can learn to trust me enough to be totally honest with me. Okay?"
"You're not going to ask where I got it?"
"No. You'll tell me when you're ready... when you learn that you can trust me as much as I trust you. You are my best friend in the world."
My birthday heart-to-heart was interrupted with Sarge shouting, "Happy Birthday, Filly," as he entered the pool area.
She ran to him, and they hugged. He whispered in her right ear.
"Mom's pissed. Dad likes it," I heard her say.
"What's not to like?" he laughed as I approached. "It's almost indecent."
"Almost?" I asked, shaking his hand. His expression gave nothing away.
"Say, you're not upset that I bought her that..."
"Birthday present? Not at all," I replied with a friendly smile to let him know that I was indeed cool with it. "It's her birthday, right?"
"Yeah, that's right," replied returning my smile.
"I told her mother that I bought it," I said.
"Is that right? Okay..."
Two of Felicity's friends from her elementary school arrived, and she ran to greet them.
He leaned in close to me and whispered, "I doubt that most parents would want their 10-year-old daughter wearing something that revealing... that sexy."
"I think that a lot of girls her age want to be sexy," I stated matter of factly.
"I was a kiddy cop in Chicago, and I can testify to the fact that the great majority of prepubescent girls want to be seen as sexy."
"Kiddy cop?"
"I had been a patrolman for nearly a year and a half when one of the PR cops in my district got sick. My sergeant told me to make a presentation to a group of sixth graders. They gave me the presentation material, and outlined what I was supposed to do. I wasn't comfortable with that, so I blew off the presentation, introduced myself, told them why I became a cop, and opened it up for questions. The 'presentation' ran way overtime. All of the kids hand delivered thank you notes to my precinct. And I became our precinct's kiddy cop. By the time I made sergeant, I was a regular on Saturday morning TV. I had a fan club... mostly preteen girls. They called themselves Sergeant Bob's Babes."
"Do you have any kids of your own?"
"No. I was married for a couple of years. She walked out on me. Said I was too immature," he laughed. "She was right, of course. I am immature. I never really grew up. I know how to act like a grownup. I'm really good at it. But down deep, I'm still 13-years-old."
"I was a horny little devil at 13," I chuckled. "With an almost perpetual erection."
"I'm still that way at 55 years old," he sighed.
I replied confidentially, "I guess we have more in common than our love for classic cars."
Sarge raised an eyebrow replying, "We should get together for drinks or something, and, uh, discuss the... er... 'things' we have in common. You know where I live. Drop in anytime."
"I assume you sleep during the day," I said.
"Usually between 7 a.m. and noonish. But that might be the best time for you to drop by. I won't have other company. Or at night, you can cruise with me."
I chuckled, "And we can talk about our 'things' while we cruise in your Spyder."
"Mister Crowley!" Felicity squealed.
I looked up and saw her hugging Crowley. She took his hand and led him to us.
"This is Sarge," she said. "This is Alex Crowley."
They shook hands. Sarge said, "Felicity talks about you all the time. I feel like I've known you for a long time."
"I feel the same way," Crowley said, eyeing me cautiously.
I extended my hand, "Good to see you again, Mr. Crowley."
"Alex. Please call me Alex. It makes me feel old when a grown man calls me Mister."
"Him and Sarge are the same age," Felicity said. "55. Dad's 33."
"The three of us have something in common," Alex said. "Classic vehicles. I drive a '63 Falcon Club Wagon. The only year it came with a four speed tranny. Felicity told me about the Mustang and the Spyder, she didn't tell me they were in such cherry condition."
"Cherry?" Felicity asked.
"Virgin," I explained. "They look unused."
Sarge chuckled, "Of course, they're not virgins. They've been used a lot."
"They do look virginal," I said smiling, and looking directly at Felicity. "But, as we all know, looks can be deceiving. Can't they?"
It suddenly dawned on them that I was somehow aware of their activities. Felicity looked worried for a moment, until I smiled, stroked her hair, and winked at her.
"Come meet Mister Whipple," she said, taking Sarge and Alex by the hands and leading them to the portable soda fountain. She introduced them. Mister Whipple was obviously as unaware of our awareness as we were aware of his unawareness.
Felicity's seven friends gathered around the soda fountain, and were served sundaes in disposable plastic cups with disposable plastic spoons.
"We have to wait 30 minutes after we eat before we can swim," one of the girls said.
I replied, "I practically lived in the municipal swimming pool every summer for nine consecutive years. I never saw or heard of anyone getting the cramps after eating. Besides, y'all have three grown men watching you. I had Red Cross life saving training."
"Me too," Sarge said.
"So did I," Alex said.
"That makes four lifeguards," Mister Whipple announced. "I think it's safe to go into the water."
"I'll have a black cow, Mister Whipple," I said.
"Please call me George."
"What's a black cow?" Sarge asked.
"Root beer and Dutch chocolate ice cream," George replied.
"Sounds good. I'll have one, too."
"Me three," Alex said. "I have an 'End of Summer' party for my Young Thespians every year. I would love to have you cater it, George. Call my business manager if you're interested."
"Felicity told me this would be good for business," Whipple said. "I think I'll hire her to be my business manager."
There were a few women, ranging in age from their mid-20s to mid-30s, sunning themselves on chaise lounges, and half a dozen girls in their early teens in the pool, vying for male attention. But Sarge, Alex, and George were obviously focused on the prepubescent nymphs frolicking in the water.
Sarge leaned in close and whispered, "Okay, I know that you know. Did Filly tell you about us?"
"No. I'll explain later, when we have time to discuss it."
"How much do you know?"
"A lot."
At noon, Sarge, Alex and I helped George load up the portable soda fountain on his pick-up. The girls went into the apartment for the candle-blowing, cake eating, and present opening part of the party. Nellie returned in time to participate, wearing a fake smile. Parents arrived between 1 and 2 to pick up their kids.
"I have to go get some sleep," Sarge said. "Let's get together soon. I think we have a lot to talk about."
"Yes, we do." I replied. "I'll go on patrol with you tonight."
"Great! I start my first round at 10."
"I'll be there."
"I have a rehearsal to direct," Alex said.
"You're invited to come along on patrol with us," Sarge said. "The more the merrier."
"Excellent," Alex chuckled. "I'll be here before 10."
Felicity approached as the men walked away. "Dad? Can Pauline, Peggy and Wendy sleep over?"
"Of course, Babe. Keep the party going."
She seemed surprised. "You're not going to tell me to ask Mom?"
"No."
She squealed in glee, as only prepubescent girls can. "Daddy says y'all can spend the night!"
Felicity and her friends departed hurriedly to get parental permission and nighties.
I turned to see my wife standing, arms akimbo, with fists resting on hips. "Why didn't you consult me before agreeing to have them sleep over?"
"According to governmental and legal documents, I am the head of our little household, and as head of said household, I unilaterally decided to grant permission."
"What governmental and legal documents?"
"Internal Revenue Service form 1040 or whatever. Palmetto Independent School District records. The 1970 census. The lease agreement for this apartment. All that paperwork for that house we're buying."
"Really? You want to be the head of household?"
"I've let you run the show for 12 years. Now, it's my turn. I get the next 12 years."
"You want my job?" she sneered. "You can't handle my job. You want to be in charge? Fine. You get to manage the budget. You get to do the grocery shopping. You get to pay the bills. You've never even balanced a checkbook in your whole life. And you're going to manage this household? You'll be begging me to take it back in a week."
Shit! She was right. I hated math. I hated dealing with money. I had never balanced a checkbook. I didn't even have a bank account before marrying her. But I couldn't back down. I never stood up to her before. I couldn't fail on my first rebellion. I had avoided confrontation with her for 12 years, even though I was good in confrontational situations. I had done it as a cop and as a journalist. I never backed down. I just wanted home to be a place where I didn't have to be confrontational. I wanted home to be my 'peace zone.' Whatever Nellie wanted was fine with me. And once that began...
She had a smug self-satisfied condescending smirk that pissed me off.
"Maybe I'm not too old to learn new tricks."
"By the way," she said. "I noticed you were out of beer yesterday, so I bought a couple of six-packs for you. They're in the fridge."
"I've decided to stay sober on weekends."
"Good luck with that," she smirked.
I had been without booze for almost 38 hours, and needed a drink. I vowed to stay sober until I got off work at 10 o'clock Monday night.
"Daddy, come swimming with us. We want you to launch us."
"Please! Please! Please!" the girls pleaded.
I called it my 'Submarine Missile Launch.' I got into chest deep water, and squatted down. Felicity put her feet on my shoulders, and squatted down, wrapping her hands around my forehead, and pressing her crotch against the back of my head. I would spring up, then, just before I reached my full height, she would spring up. Our combined momentum catapulted her high into the air... high enough for her to execute a jack knife or swan dive.
I launched them each three or four times before my legs gave out. "That's it, ladies. I can't do it anymore. My legs are on fire."
"Lie down on the lounger," Pauline said. "I'll massage them for you."
"You know how to massage?"
"Lula taught me how."
"Lula?"
"My grandmother. She doesn't want to be called granny, or grandma. She wants me to call her Lula."
"She wants all of us to call her Lula," Felicity explained. "She said that it makes her feel old if we call her Mrs. Robinson. She wants us to think of her like one of the girls, and treat her like one of the girls."
"Now lie on your stomach," Pauline directed. "I'll do the backs first."
She massaged my feet first, then my ankle and calves, before working on the back and inner thighs. It was relaxing until her hands began massaging high on the inner thigh, too near the crotch. My cock tumesced rapidly.
"Okay," she said. "Roll over, and I'll do the front."
"No. That's okay. I feel much better now. The ache is gone."
"It'll feel even better when I do the front," she said. "Roll over."
"That wouldn't be a good idea right now," I explained without explaining.
"Why not?"
"It would be embarrassing."
"Why?... Oh!"
"You've got a boner?" Wendy giggled.
"We'll stand around you," Felicity giggled. "No one else will be able to see."
Pauline and Wendy stood on one side. Felicity and Peggy on the other. Heaven help me. I wanted to show my obscene protrusion to my little girl and her friends. I rolled over, and my phallus grew even more.
There was a hushed unanimous, "Wow!"
7-year-old Wendy whispered reverently, "It's a fucking python."
We cracked up, and the python shriveled. Am I the only man who can't maintain an erection while laughing? At one of my afternoon assignations with Betty, we smoked marijuana that supercharged her libido, but gave me the giggles. She kicked me out of the motel room, and took care of herself. She refused to go with me for three weeks after that. And I don't think she ever really forgave me. Her nickname for me is Giggles. And she won't let me smoke pot with her.
Pauline resumed the massage of my front upper thigh, and the fucking python returned.
"Massage the python," Felicity giggled.
Before I could react, Pauline grasped it. I groaned, and the fucking python immediately regurgitated all of its contents. I do not lose an erection after ejaculation.
"Damn," Pauline giggled. "I thought men always lost their erections after they came."
"So did I," Felicity agreed.
"I would greatly appreciate it if y'all refrained from announcing this little incident all of your friends and acquaintances," I said. "I'm going to take a quick dip, then go shower."
I dove in, swam a lap, got out, wrapped my towel around me, and went back to our apartment. I jacked off in the shower. The erection subsided a bit, but wouldn't completely go away. Pauline Pierce was hot. She was incredibly mature for an 11-year-old girl. Her pronunciation and grammar was impeccable, and she was an excellent masseuse. There was something almost other-worldly about her. I decided that I'd have to get her to give me another massage... somewhere more private.
I got dressed and went out to the parking lot. I wanted to talk to Sarge.
Then I heard brakes squealing, a horn blast, and at least three impacts. It was close. I ran inside, grabbed my Pentax, and ran out to the street. I heard a woman screaming, and a child crying. The apartment gardener was standing at the curb.
"Go to the office," I told him. "Tell them to call 911. Four-car major. Multiple injuries."
The call to 911 was unnecessary. Fire Station #6 was two blocks away. The ambulance and pumper were already enroute. As soon as the paramedics and firefighters started treating victims, I started shooting. A teenage boy in a yellow 1975 Honda Civic, pulled out of the parking lot east bound. A southbound Dodge station wagon, driven by a fat middle aged blond woman, rammed the Civic's left rear quarter panel, spinning it around and knocking it into the north bound lane, where a Ford pickup t-boned the left side. A southbound white 1954 Caddy swerved to miss the station wagon and t-boned the right side of the Honda, trapping the teen inside. All of the injuries were minor. I got great photos of the medics treating the mother and child, and loading them up in the ambulance. The best photos were the firefighters using the Jaws of Life to extricate the teen from the Honda.
I identified the paramedics, firefighters and cops. Then called the office, and told them what I had.
The girls were standing around, watching the action. The gathered gawkers were gawking at the half dressed girls as much as at the mass of multicolored crumpled metal and shattered glass. Firefighters washed the spilled gasoline, antifreeze, and oil into the storm drain.
"Are you going to the paper, Dad?"
"Yep."
"Can... *May* we go with you?"
"Not in those bikinis." Peggy and Wendy had modest one piece suits. Their parents were fairly strict Southern Baptist fundamentalists, who approved of Felicity and Pauline because they attended Sunday School and church every week with Peggy and Wendy.
"I'll put a dress on over it."
"Hurry."
There was really no rush. It wasn't quite 5 o'clock... five hours before deadline.
Peggy and Wendy put shorts and tee shirts on over their bathing suits. Pauline wore an oversized tee shirt. My daughter had last year's pale yellow sun dress that fit snugly, and barely covered her crotch.
Brad Nessler, the weekend news editor, was alone in the newsroom when we arrived."Rich Fogle just left the building before you called. He doesn't have a pager."
Rich walked in. "The accident investigator told me you were on the scene before the cops got there, and probably got some great shots. Want me to process and print for you."
"That would be great," I said handing him the roll of film. I loathed the darkroom.
Brad was ogling the girls, who hadn't dried off before putting clothes on over the bathing suits. Pauline's tee shirt and Felicity's dress had been rendered translucent by the wetness and clung to their bodies. It was somehow sexier than the swim suits alone.
"How do you like my little harem, Brad."
"Some people have all the luck." His right hand went below his desk, and I felt certain he was making a crotch adjustment. I wondered how common pedophile tendencies were. I imagined there were many men like me who admired sexy little girls, but never seriously considered acting on their forbidden desires. And, I wondered how many men there were like Sarge, Alex and George who acted on those desires with willing girls, and got away with it all of their lives. The fact that these desires and activities were verboten and dangerous only adds to the intensity of the satisfaction gained.
Would Brad ever act on his tabooed desires? I seriously doubted it. But, then, 24 hours ago I wouldn't have remotely considered acting on mine. But I knew that, at the minimum, I was going to expose my hard cock to my daughter and her friends before morning, and feel Pauline's pussy through her bikini bottom. She felt my cock through my swim suit.
Rich came out of the lab and showed Brad several prints.
"We'll put one of the Jaws photos on the front page, above the fold, and put a photo essay inside," Brad said. "Great work, Harris."
"Come on, ladies. Let's go home."
"Shotgun!" Pauline shouted.
"What does 'shotgun' mean?" Wendy asked.
"It means that I get to ride next to Mr. Harris."
I explained, "Back in the old west, a guard with a shotgun rode next to the stagecoach driver. It was called 'riding shotgun,' Hence the term shotgun."
"Kool!" Wendy said.
We piled into my Mustang, and I drove out of the Chronicle's parking lot. Heading home I directly got to the point. "Pauline, you fondled my privates at the pool. Don't you think it would be fair to let me fondle yours?"
"I didn't ask for permission to fondle yours, I just did it," she replied, turning toward me, and spreading her legs. "You don't have to ask for permission. Just do it."
I placed my hand on her crotch and gave it a gentle squeeze, then started to move my hand away. She placed her right hand firmly on top of mine, and pressed down. "That feels nice, Mr. Harris. I love it. You never have to ask permission. You can feel my pussy whenever you want."
From the back seat I heard a whispered, "Your dad is molesting Pauline!"
Ignoring the back seat comments I gave her young cunt another squeeze and said, "If you change your mind at any time, just let me know. I would never want to make any unwanted advances."
"I don't think you would ever make unwanted advances. I know that you would never do anything to hurt me, or make me feel bad about myself. You're a nice man. Your advances will always be wanted."
"You are way too trusting, Pauline. You have to be careful. There are men in the world who would hurt you."
"You're not one of those men," she said. "I can tell. I can see into people. Lula says I have a sixth sense. I sense people's auras."
"Auras?"
"It's like an energy field that surrounds a person. I can see it, smell it, taste it, feel it. And that doesn't really describe it very well."
She paused for a moment, thinking. "That man at the desk? Brad?"
"What about him?"
"I felt fear, and jealousy, and anger, No, not really anger. Resentment. You're better than him. Smarter. A better writer," she said. Her eyebrows knitted. "Have you fucked a woman he has the hots for?"
"Oh, my God! You sensed that."
"You have!"
"Betty Westerlage, the Chronicle photographer. We get together about once a week."
"You cheater!" Felicity scolded. "You're cheating on Mom!"
"Oh, shit," I muttered.
"Just kidding, Dad. Y'all hardly ever fuck. And I know that's her fault. It's pretty obvious y'all don't love each other, and you're staying together for my sake."
I returned my attention to Pauline. "How long have you had this ability?"
"Since the accident."
"Accident?"
"I was injured in a wreck. My parents were killed. An 18-wheeler ran over our car."
"I'm sorry to hear about your parents."
She shrugged her shoulders. I don't remember anything about them. I don't remember anything about my life before I woke up in the hospital bed, in traction, with both legs and my left arm in casts. I didn't know where I was, who I was, or what I was. I didn't know anything. But I understood English. I could read and write, and do arithmetic. They said I had a concussion, and some brain damage."
"The brain damage caused your psychic abilities?"
"I guess so."
"And turned her into a nympho!" Wendy giggled.
"What?"
"The doctors said that brain injuries sometimes affect people's libidos... their sex drive," Pauline explained. "Sometimes it completely turns the sex drive off. It kicked mine into overdrive. I mean... think about it. I'm 6 years old. I'm in bed. The only thing I can move is my right arm. I had no memories. So I didn't know there were any rules about sex. My only enjoyment was masturbation. There was a TV with dumb kid shows. But I've never been interested in kid stuff. "
Lula adopted me. Her husband died the year before the accident, and she sold their house and moved to the Enchanted Garden right after he died. So I moved in with her here. Felicity and Peggy were the first kids I met here. My first friends.
"And she got expelled her first day in first grade," Peggy giggled. "For playing with three fourth graders' dicks while they took turns finger-fucking her."
"The child welfare people came here to investigate Lula. She had to get my doctor to explain the brain damage-libido thing. So, now Lula home-schools me."
"What's Filly's excuse?" Wendy asked, causing a collective gasp from the other girls. Pauline looked back, glaring daggers at the 7-year-old.
"Genes," I said. "Like her Daddy, she was born horny."
There was a moment of stunned silence before they burst into laughter.
"I saw a biker with a 'Born to Run' tattoo on his shoulder," Pauline chuckled. "You and Felicity could get 'Born Horny' Tattoos."
"Or, 'Born to Fuck'" Peggy said.
I asked, "Would it be a mistake to assume that there are no virgins in this vehicle?"
"Peggy and Wendy haven't actually fucked yet," Felicity explained. "They've fooled around with boys, and they've eaten each other's pussies."
"Felicity!?!" Peggy gasped.
"What? It's alright for you to tell my father that I'm a nympho, but I can't tell him that you eat your sister's pussy?"
Pauline sighed, "I mean, we've all eaten each other's pussy at one time or the other. I'm not ashamed of it."
My cock tried to rip through my jeans, visualizing these girls in a lesbian orgy.
"The fucking python's back," Wendy giggled.
Felicity looked over my left shoulder, Peggy over my right, and Wendy had gotten between the bucket seats. Wendy reached over, grasped the bulge, and squeezed.
"Don't do that while I'm driving," I begged. "You could kill us all."
"I can do it while you're not driving?"
"You squeezed his cock without asking permission," Peggy said. "Now, he can squeeze your pussy without asking."
"Yeah," Wendy giggled. "I know. I want him to."
We returned to the apartment, where I saw a note on the refrigerator, "Gone to yoga lesson."
"I want you girls to hear something," I said, going to my desk in the dining room and took the mini tape recorder from the top drawer. We never used the dining room as a dining room. We ate at the kitchen counter. The dining room became my library/office. It was furnished with a roll top desk, a wooden office chair, an antique library table, and a sofa bed. (the kind with the back that drops down, not the fold out kind.)
"Let's go to your room to listen to it. Nellie could come through that door at any minute."
They sat on Felicity's bed with their heads together, listening. I watched their expressions change from curiosity, to shock, to amusement.
I explained the circumstances around the taping of my daughter's activities.
"You're not mad at me?"
"Why should I be mad. It sounded like you were enjoying yourself. I enjoyed hearing you enjoy yourself. I enjoyed it so much that I masturbated on Sarge's porch."
Wendy gasped, "You jacked off while you listened to Sarge fuck your daughter?"
"Yes. I most certainly did. It was the hottest thing I've ever heard."
"You liked it!?!" Felicity asked.
"I loved it, Baby. Because you obviously loved it. If you love being a fucking slut, I love you being a fucking slut. If you want to suck and fuck a lot of men, I want you to suck and fuck a lot of men."
"Does Sarge know that you know?"
"I dropped pretty broad hints at the pool party. I'm going to let him and Alex listen to the tape tonight."
"You are the coolest father ever!" Pauline said.
"I wish our parents weren't so fucking religious!" Wendy said.
"Your back door just closed," Pauline whispered. "I think Mrs. Harris is home."
"I'll get supper started. Spaghetti and meat sauce."
I went downstairs as Nellie was coming up.
"How was yoga class?" I asked as if I gave a shit.
"Good. I'm going to soak in the tub for a while."
"Fine. I'm cooking spaghetti and meat sauce."
"Do you ever cook anything that's not fattening?" she snidely said.
"That's not in my current culinary repertoire. I'll work on it." I was proud of myself for maintaining control and not ending my retort with "bitch".
"I would appreciate it," she said climbing the stairs while I shot her the bird behind her back.
I wasn't in love with her any more, and hadn't been for years. But, I still enjoyed looking at her. She was classy. She had class out the ass. One of her female coworkers said she looked like French royalty. She did have a regal carriage. Aristocratic aloofness. I never thought of her as sexy.
Except for a few surreptitious fondlings, the rest of the evening was uneventful. The girls retired to Felicity's bedroom. Nellie read a romance novel, and I began reading John LeCarre's "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy."
In Chapter 3 - Along with Alex, Frank "confronts" Sarge during his rounds and later on has an encounter with Filly's friend...
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