My wife and I divorced the year my daughter turned thirteen. It was an amicable parting. It wasn't a case that we hated each other rather we were both just sick of having the other always there. We both wanted out and we split.
It might not have been so amicable if I hadn't had a damn good job and the smarts to make some decent investments. We had ample money to let us split with no financial problems on either side. Still having a decent job and a good head for investments my own money grew substantially over the next few years and, being a nice type, I also made sure Marjory's investments earned her a good income.
Elizabeth, my daughter, stayed substantially with her mother. She was at an age when a girl needs a mother more than a father. I still saw her quite regularly and we went on a number of holidays together. There was a bonus for her on these holidays as I always permitted her to bring a friend or two, so she wasn't just stuck with the old man all the time.
Elizabeth was now nineteen, but she still had no objection to going on a holiday up to the Sunshine Coast, especially as dear old dad would be footing all the bills and she could also do some shopping. (At my expense, of course.)
Elizabeth, as was now her custom, invited a friend along. (Female. Just after she turned sixteen she wanted my opinion of her inviting a boyfriend along. I gave it.) Fiona was nineteen, the same as Elizabeth, and studying political science. Where I'm concerned, politically I'm middle of the road conservative. Fiona is more the big spending leftist. She apparently operated on the theory that the government had this big money tree which they could pluck to pay for every wild scheme that floated past.
The three of us had several discussions regarding politics. The girls were against any savings measures that the government was trying to bring in and all in favour of the crazy big-spending schemes the opposition announced. It always came down to them having to explain where the savings would come from to pay for these new schemes.
Have you ever noticed that when a man is having a logical debate and makes a point to which a woman has no answer, she hits him. The girls would double team me. I'd make what I considered a telling point and they'd look at each other, then they'd both swat me on the arms and go off in a huff.
Three or four days into the holiday I was out lying on the grass next to the pool. Nothing like a private rental with pool. It was hot with a soft breeze coming up off the ocean, tempering the heat just that little bit. As far as I knew the girls had gone shopping.
It turned out that only Elizabeth had gone shopping. Fiona had decided to stay behind and work on her sun tan. She came out to settle next to the pool, wearing what I suppose would be a bikini when it grew up. Right now I considered it to be a delightful scrap of nothing, but if my daughter tries to wear one, we will have words.
Now, despite what Elizabeth says, I am not a political agitator, deliberately stirring them up for my own amusement. It just seems to happen that way. I most certainly did not try to start an argument with Fiona. It wasn't my fault she wanted to continue the discussion (argument) we'd had at breakfast.
We debated. Casually on my part, getting heated where Fiona was concerned. She was squatting next to me, bouncing up and down in her eagerness to make her points, and very enticing I found it. Not enticing enough for me to allow her to win the argument. Letting her win an argument when she was so egregiously wrong would set a bad example.
The argument finished in an odd manner. Not having an answer to something I said she laughed and took a swat at me. I tried to duck but slipped and finished up falling flat on my back. Missing with her swipe put Fiona off balance and she pitched forward, falling on top of me.
She lay on top of me giggling, while I automatically put an arm around her to hold her lightly in position. All warm and soft and huggable, was my opinion. Then she started wriggling to get up and off me and what a mistake that was.
As soon as all that soft female flesh started wriggling about on top of me I snapped to attention. An old fella who'd been lying there taking it easy suddenly squirmed around and stood erect. Fiona couldn't help but notice and she froze, bright red of face.
I didn't say anything. I just looked at her, smiling. The hand that I'd place lightly on her back slipped down and my hands were at the waist band of my shorts, pushing downwards.
It was amazing how neatly they moved down, freeing me where I'd been feeling somewhat constricted. Fiona also noticed the difference.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, staring hard at me, not really expecting an answer. "You can't do that. Stop it."
My answer, seeing I'd already done that, was to slip my fingers under the waist of her bikini and repeating the pushing process. (Do you call it the waist of the bikini when it's more like a thin strap that doesn't reach anywhere near her waist?)
"What are you doing?" she asked again, in a much higher voice, sounding quite shocked. "You really can't do that."
Once again, too late, as I had already done that. She was now effectively lying on top of me with our naked groins pressed against each other. Her face was red and shocked and she became even more horrified at my next little effort.
My hands cupped her bottom and I pulled her slightly higher along my body. I could feel my erection rubbing against her and when I tugged her legs slightly apart so that she straddled me, my cock was pressing very lightly against her slit, and she looked enormously aware of it.
Her hands were pressing against my chest, whereas mine were just resting lightly on her bottom. I think she was going to roll off me, to one side or the other, and that would have been really disappointing.
"Sit up," I said softly, bringing my hands up to press lightly against her breasts, lifting gently.
"What?"
