Dear Diary (Love, Daddy)

“Are you from New York? Do you live alone or with family?”

She’s again taken aback by the edge in my voice but answers. “No. I’m just here for the summer before I start school in the fall.”

“Where will school be?”

“Just a little local college where my dad lives. Morgantown, West Virginia.”

“Wow. You are a long way from home.”

She shrugs. “I’m a long way from Morgantown. Wouldn’t really call it home.”

“Why is that?” I hate the sadness that tips her words.

“I don’t know. I went to live with my dad when I was twelve. Before that, I didn’t even really know him. My mom died, so…I went to Morgantown. Before that, I lived way up north in Michigan. Houghton. Where it’s winter ten months out of the year. That feels more like home.”

She’s crushing my heart with her forced smile. I want to know more, I want to fix it all, but right now isn’t the time so I change the subject.

“And what do you do for fun?” I don’t just ask, I demand, and I need to get myself under control before I scare her. I want to know everything, immediately, and I don’t know what patience is right now.

She stifles a laugh between closed lips.

The sound makes my dick twitch against the sticky cum spot inside my boxers. “What’s funny?”

“You are. You’re asking like, regular, normal questions. But your tone is…” She bobs her head from side to side.

“Harsh?” I guess.

“More like an interrogation. Just waiting for the white light and the water boarding to start.”

I fight a smile and peer out my window. I'm not used to laughing at pointed little jibes by girls half my age. But I’ve also never enjoyed myself more in a woman’s company.

Most women from my past make sure to agree with everything that comes out of my mouth. They bend over backwards to please me, overworking themselves to exhaustion in the hope that they’ll be unforgettable.

They become so intensely agreeable that it disgusts me. At every turn, they always show me their true end game. Getting their hooks into my wallet, not necessarily me. I don’t feel anything like that coming from Chastity.

“So…again I ask…” Trying harder to keep the hardness from my voice. “What do you do for fun?”

She fusses with her hands, squinting before answering. “Ummm, I bake. Among other things, but that’s my main hobby, I guess?”

Fuck. She bakes.

There’s two reasons that her answer only fuels my already-flaming obsession with her.

One, my mother bakes. And when I say my mother, I mean the one that raised me. The other is the one that birthed me and no more.

It is her passion, her joy. Cakes especially, but anything really. The memory of sneaking a slice of her red velvet, a specialty she perfected and still bakes for me when I get a chance to visit, makes my mouth water at the memory.

Second, it’s just so fucking normal. People in my world don’t bake. They have staff to do that for them, or they eat out every night, or don’t eat at all because their balance sheets and daily reports or keeping themselves model-thin are more important than food.

Chastity isn’t like anyone else in my orbit.

She has me by the balls and the heart and with every word, she squeezes them both.

Chapter 5

Chastity

Diary entry…Three Weeks Prior…

Dear Diary,

I just woke up in this dingy little apartment, alone with the sound of the neighbors fighting downstairs and the stale, mildew scent that seems to seep from everywhere.

But you know what I can’t stop thinking about? Yes, of course you do. I had another dream, one of those dreams you have just before you wake up so it’s so vivid it’s almost real.

And who was it about?

Rhetorical question, Diary, because I know you know. This time, in the dream he called me from the kitchen where I was petting this crazy rainbow-colored cat. I was wearing this white cotton nightgown that felt more like silk. I heard his voice tell me to come watch a movie. Anything I’d like. Even Disney. He said, ‘It’s Friday, you can stay up late with me”.

I picked a movie, in the dream I’m not even sure what it was, then went to sit on the sofa. It was the only furniture in the room besides this weird, tiny chair with a hole in the seat. He was sitting on the other end of the couch as we watched and I kept glancing his way, the room dark except for the colors from the TV.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “Do you mind if we lay down? I’m pretty tired. I’ll just lay behind you, so you don’t have to sit on the floor. You can keep watching the movie. I still want to be here with you, I’ve just had a long day.”