1. All characters engaging in sex are 18+
2. No characters resemble real people
3. Enjoy the fiction
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CHAPTER 1
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This story starts on the day I met Emily.
Well, it really starts a few years before. The day of the accident.
I had been on vacation with family. I guess I had been fortunate to be invited, really. I could have been excluded. It wasn't my family. We were driving from Pennsylvania to Florida. I was sitting in the back of a mini-van with my girlfriend, Laura. Her older brother Mike and his wife Kelly sat up front. The middle row held Mrs. Jansen, Laura and Mike's mother, and Mike and Kelly's daughter, Imogene. At eight years old, she hated that name, and preferred to be called Immy.
We teased Laura a little, as Immy had inherited a lot of Jansen DNA, so she looked a lot like Laura when she'd been little - both blondes with green eyes - and not very much like brunette Kelly. I'd been dating Laura almost two years, and since she was very close with her family, I became close with them too. I hung out with Immy, playing games with her, and she started calling me Uncle Wes when I was visiting with her Aunt Laura.
We were in Georgia when tragedy struck. A semi truck crossed the median, and smashed our van head-on. Mike and Kelly were instantly killed. Mrs. Jansen died in her seat before the ambulances could arrive. Somehow, when they pried open the rest of the van, I was able to crawl out with scratches. I rode in the ambulance with Laura and Immy. Laura died that day, too much internal bleeding. Before she died, I showed her the engagement ring I'd had in my pocket. I had planned on proposing on the beach during sunset, but that would never happen now. She was unable to speak, but she smiled, and then closed her eyes for the last time. I cried over her body.
It took a nurse to come get me to stop. "Mr. Carson? Wesley?" I looked up. "I need to take you next door." She helped me up, and brought me to the next room, where Immy lay in a bed asleep. She was bruised and scratched but otherwise okay. The nurse told me she'd be fine, and asked if she had other family to call and notify. I shook my head. Aside from distant cousins, Immy's whole family was now dead.
When I pulled myself together, I had the nurse contact children's services. I told them that I'd put in the paper work to adopt Immy. I stayed by her side in the hospital until she was healed enough to leave. We cried together over her family. I told her I wanted her to live with me, and she hugged me and said that's what she wanted too.
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Immy stayed with a foster family for a few weeks while the custody procedures took place, and I visited her as much as I was allowed. Her next-in-line blood relative was a great aunt Millie, the sister of Immy's grandmother, who lived across the country in California. I spoke to her on the phone and she agreed that I might be a better fit to be Immy's guardian. After that call, I got the official approval on the adoption.
When I pulled up at the foster family's house, Immy ran out the front door and grabbed me into her arms. The foster family had been kind, but I was her real family, and she loved me. I took her back to my apartment. It had been my bachelor pad, with two bedrooms and one bathroom. I had used the second bedroom as an office, but I cleared it out to set up as Immy's new bedroom.
Immy came up with a new word to describe me: Duncle. Dad-Uncle, she explained. Later on, Duncle Wes got shortened to Dunk. So I got used to being called Dunk when we were together. To me, she was my daughter-niece, but we couldn't think of a good abbreviation for that.
It would take some getting used to, having to take care of a kid with no real experience. I was an only child myself. My parents were able to help out where they could. They became very fond of Immy, especially my mom, who always wanted a grandchild; she just hadn't expected one quite so soon. I was only 23 at the time.
One blessing was my job. I worked with a construction crew, and my boss Jerry was sympathetic to my sudden situation. He'd been pushing me to get an electrician certification, as he needed one for the crew, but now with Immy, I decided to put that off. Jerry paid me enough, and helped make my hours flexible enough, that I was able to take suitable care of Immy.
We certainly weren't wealthy, but we weren't poor either. That was important, as children's services checked in on me a few times in that first year to make sure Immy was comfortable and happy. But since I wasn't making a bunch of money, we were still in the same small apartment. Immy helped out by doing a few household chores so I wouldn't have to worry about them. By the time she was eleven, she was doing the majority of the dishes, some vacuuming, and some of the laundry.
When Immy was 9, I caught her rooting around in my closet. I was irritated at the invasion of privacy until she held up the engagement ring. I had put it in a box and hidden it in the back of the closet, and I was not ready to look at it again. It had only been a year since the accident. I held Immy and told her about the ring, and we had a good cry together. Then, seeing as I had no one else to give it to, I put it on a necklace and gave it to Immy for her tenth birthday. My mom thought it was a little weird to give a diamond to a kid like that, but Immy assured me she'd only wear it on special occasions, and always keep it safe, as she knew how important it was.
So Immy and I worked things out. It was rough at first, especially when one or both of us broke into tears over our deceased loved ones. But somehow, through the tragedy, we had each other.
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But, as I said, the real story begins when I met Emily, a few years later.
Immy grew up into a brilliant and pretty twelve-year-old. I had been dreading two awkward days at this age, and one had already happened a few months back, when I took her shopping for bras. The other, the 'woman's curse' situation, hadn't happened yet, but I knew it was on the horizon.
Immy had her friend Emily over for her 12th birthday, along with a few other girls. It wasn't a big party, just 5 girls watching movies for the afternoon and eating pizza. I wasn't wealthy, so I couldn't afford big, extravagant parties. We'd had dinner and cake with my parents a few days prior.
Emily, I learned, was Immy's best friend. The other girls called them Immy and Emmy, or sometimes Imily as a combination, and they were thick as theives. I sat in the kitchen, keeping out of the living room, but I could still listen in on them. By eavesdropping, I heard a little bit of their shenanigans from school.
The five of them were barely watching their movie, while postulating adults who they thought could be or should be dating. I tuned it out, as it was typical pre-teen drivel to my ears. Most of the conversation revolved around their teachers from school. My ears only perked up when Emily mentioned, "What about my mom and Immy's dad?" This was followed by some laughter, some oohs, and Immy saying, "What? No way. That's weird."
"What's wrong with it?" asked Emily.
"For one, your mom is way older than him."
"She's only 31, that's not that much older." I did the math in my head. Emily's mother would have been 19 when she had Emily. I was 27 now, having adopted Immy at 23, so I was 15 when Immy was born.
"Also, he's not really my dad."
"You know what I mean."
"Plus, he doesn't date."
Emily didn't have a comeback for that. It was true. I had not gone on a single date since the accident. The only woman I concerned myself with was Immy. I had also spent less time with my friends. It was part of the sacrifice of being a parent. They told me they missed me, but they understood, especially when they saw how closely Immy resembled a young Laura.
