Her Dad's Friend

Like a puppet with wires, he positions my body whichever way he desires and I’m perfectly happy to let him do so. With one of my legs on the floor, he lifts the other, holding it in the crook of his arm and enters me at a side angle. It’s a direct hit to my g-spot. He nails it every time, tapping my button like it’s an O key stuck on a keyboard. Three more pumps and it’s game-over.

My screams rise to an almost deafening pitch as my orgasm takes hold, making me faint and light-headed.

The moisture in the air hurts my lungs as I try to catch my breath. He’s still inside of me when he turns off the water. He kisses me more, staying inside of me. When he finally pulls out, a torrent of our mixed fluids spill out of me and splash against the bottom of the porcelain tub.

I’ll definitely hit up the pharmacy after school. At least I think I will. I’m taking the bus home and I’m not sure it goes in that direction. If not, I can always get Emily to take me tomorrow.

My muscles and body are still wrecked when he takes my face in his hands and kisses me deeply. “You’re going to be late for school.”

“I know,” I say and kiss him again. I don’t want this to end. I’m tempted to just not go to school, but my GPA depends on the results of these exams. “It was so worth it.”

I clean myself up, dress, brush on a coat of mascara, and say goodbye to Paul before leaving the apartment. In the halls, several of my neighbors, all female, are outside talking to each other. I’m not all that close with any of them even though we go to the same school. I’ve never taken much time to say much other than “hi” and pet the one woman’s parrot. I’ve always wanted to live in a neighborhood where everyone knew each other and had the others’ backs, but I never got the vibe from these people that something like that would be an option, other than the neighbor whose cat I’m watching. From the day I moved in I had the feeling that they had a clique and I wasn’t invited in. It’s like high school all over again. Somethings never change, I guess.

When they see me they bend their heads, whispering and laughing. “That must’ve been some party last night,” one of them says to me.

Great, they heard me. I knew I was being loud, but I’d hoped I wasn’t being that loud. Gossip spreads around this complex like wildfire and before long, everyone will know. Oh, well. It wasn’t as if I’d dragged some one-night stand to my apartment (like I almost did) and had my way with him. I had an amazing night with the man I care about and I’m not going to pretend as if I hadn’t. And I’m definitely not going to apologize for it.

I know I’m blushing without having seen my face. Nosey broads.

Instead of staying embarrassed and letting these girls get under my skin, I say, “You have no idea,” and exaggerate bowed-legs as I walk down the stairs.

“Someone’s looking happy,” Emily says as we leave class. I’d arrived five minutes late and got nasty glares from Mr. Oliver, but nothing could kill my mood.

“That’s because someone got laid,” I say.

Emily slaps my arm, eyes wide. “Tell me everything. Spare no details.”

Normally I get annoyed by the bump and grind in the hallways as students scurry to their next classes, but nothing can bother me today.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“I know, so tell me everything.”

We head toward economics, the other class we share. In fact, it was how we met in the first place. We sit down in our seats next to each other and I tell her everything.

I meet my dad for lunch. He takes me out once a month. It was my mom’s idea. She thinks it will bring my dad and I closer together. She’s tirelessly optimistic. All my dad ever talks about is how hard he had to work to get the things he has, and how he’s doing me a favor by never lending me money—which I never ask for. If I did, he’d hold it over my head like a wrecking ball.

We sit down at a diner and look over the menu. He talks mostly about work. I pretend to listen to him for the most part and just try to enjoy the free meal.

I’m only half listening when I hear the tail end of what he just said. “And Paul stayed out all night. I wonder what he’s up to.”

My French fry gets caught in my throat and I have to pound my chest with my fist to swallow it down.

“He probably hung out with other friends.” I shrug, as if I couldn’t care less. “So what do you and mom have going on for your anniversary. That’s coming up soon, right?” I say, trying to get off the subject of Paul.

“We have the same friends. He would’ve told me. When I called around looking for him last night, no one had seen him.”

“Someone’s a little clingy,” I tease.

Please stop talking about Paul.

“He’s staying at my house. The least he can do is call me and tell me he’s not coming home so I can set the alarm. Besides, he’s only here for a day or two, and we have plans.”

That’s it? All the time I have left with him is a day or two? Of course, my dad will most likely hog every minute of it.

Dad waves a waitress over to refill his drink. When I was a kid I always hated it when he did that. The waitresses were busy and would get to us eventually, but my dad never has the patience to wait. I still hate it even as an adult, but I’m more concerned about what’s happening with Paul to care.

I don’t want Paul to leave and I can tell my dad—in his own, pig-headed way—doesn’t want him to leave either, but he would never come right out and say it. He’s too proud for that. But he’s also a different person when Paul’s around. Lively, younger, he smiles more, glares less. If it were up to my parents they’d have him move in.

“I don’t know why he has to leave at all,” my dad says.

“I’m sure he needs to get back to his job and his life.”

“I don’t see why. It’s not as if he has to work.”

“Why not?”

“He sold that construction company of his for several million and made a killing on investments. He wouldn’t have to work another day in his life if he didn’t want to, but the guy likes to get his hands dirty.”

I nearly choke on the hamburger I just took a bite of. Paul’s worth several million? How did I not know that?

Then it hits me. Dude, I just slept with a millionaire. Seems like I should be more excited about that part; it’s just one more thing to brag to my friends about at gatherings. While everyone else is telling their wild tales, I’m always the one who shrugs and says, “not much,” when they ask what I’ve been up to.

Also, what girl doesn’t want a guy with some ambition—as well as one who doesn’t live with his parents and “forgets” to bring his wallet on dates? Yet, I’m mostly just excited about the man I slept with. Not his money.

I shake my head and take a deep breath to clear my mind. Suddenly the food in my stomach feels like a ball of lead. “If you’re so upset about it, convince him to stay,” I tell my dad.

“Believe me, I’m trying, but I couldn’t convince him to stay the first time and I doubt I can this time. What he needs is to fall in love and settle down with someone. Plant some roots.”

I couldn’t agree more.