Friday night and my phone rang, it was the custom ring-tone for my baby girl. My baby girl was nearly thirty but that's what I called her, what I had always called her. I picked up my phone and tapped the screen to answer.
"Hey, baby girl, to what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice? Usually, you just text."
I heard an exasperated sigh on the other end.
"I need help, well, not me but Chelsea."
My daughter lived a couple of hours away but I knew that Chelsea, one of her high school friends still lived here, just across town. She and my daughter were still close but I hadn't seen Chelsea in years.
"What does Chelsea need?" I asked, figuring there was some issue at her apartment, her car, or some other such minor emergency. Lord knows Chelsea's husband couldn't take care of anything of significance.
"She and Brady have split, she caught him in bed with that slut Phoebe."
Ah yes, Phoebe. She had gone off the rails after high school and had become known around town as "the porcupine" because everyone said that if she had as many things sticking out of her as she'd had stuck in her that she'd look like a porcupine. Yes, Phoebe got around. After high school, she never amounted to much, working as a receptionist at the local optometrist and living in a trailer on the wrong side of the tracks.
My daughter had gone off to college and never looked back. She had a great job and a great life in the city. She came home for visits whenever she could, which wasn't often enough to please her daddy. Chelsea had gone to school for accounting at the community college and worked for a CPA here in town. She'd married a local boy that bounced from one job to another. What she saw in him I was never sure of. And now, it seems, he'd dipped his wick in the local trash.
"Dad, I've been on the phone with her for hours and she's inconsolable. I can't get home for another two weeks and she needs someplace to stay until she can figure out a long-term solution. Can you put her up in my old room?"
A broken-hearted, crying, woman was not my idea of a good time but she was my daughter's friend and she needed help. Besides, I'd always liked Chelsea. She had been giggly and full of life back when they graduated high school. Now that she'd been given a dose of real life it was hard to say what she'd be like.
I hesitated.
"Dad? Please. Your baby girl needs this."
There it was, her magic words. She knew I wouldn't say no if she phrased it that way. She still had her daddy wrapped around her pinkie. Thankfully, she knew not to abuse the privilege.
"Ok, she can stay here, but only short-term. I'm not running a boarding house for scorned women."
"You're the best, daddio!" she squealed, "One more thing, can you go get her? She's at the Pie House, sitting in the corner crying and scarfing down pieces of pie. I'm sure it's not a pretty sight and once they close she won't have anywhere to go."
"Sure," I replied. And why not? In for a penny in for a pound, wasn't that the old saying?
"I love you, dad, you are the absolute best!" she giggled, "I'll let her know you're coming." She ended the call.
I was not looking forward to rescuing some damsel in distress, particularly if she was coming to live with me. I had a great life and didn't look forward to the disturbance this young woman was going to bring to my house. I had recently retired and was enjoying the freedom it granted me. But I slipped on my shoes anyway and headed across town to the Pie House.
My daughter had been right, it was not a pretty sight. When I entered I paused to look around and I spied Chelsea in the corner. Her blonde hair was a mess, and she ate pie with her fingers. Traces of what she'd already eaten were all around her on the table, and on her face. There were even bits of pie crust in her hair. I glanced at the waitress behind the counter and she rolled her eyes toward Chelsea. "Please take her away," she said.
I made my way to the booth where Chelsea sat and slid in opposite her.
"Hey Chelsea," I said.
She raised her head and looked at me through her tousled hair, "Mr. Brown?"
"Yeah, I hear you need a friend."
She broke down and her voice went up to a register that I think only dogs can hear. I'm not sure exactly what she said but the tears began flowing anew and she picked up more pie in her fingers.
I reached across the booth, took her pie-filled hand, and placed the pie back on the plate.
"No Chelsea, that doesn't solve anything. You're coming home with me, ok?"
She stopped crying and nodded. "Thank you," she said softly.
I moved around to sit next to her, dipped a corner of her cloth napkin into her water glass, and did my best to clean her pie-streaked face. I wasn't surprised that food was her refuge. Even when she was in community college she was one of the "big girls", a bit overweight but never obese. I always thought of her as plush, not a single sharp corner on her. She had always dressed to complement her figure and I had always admired her body. Sitting here next to her in the booth it was difficult to tell what her body looked like, but her full lips and round face led me to believe that she hadn't changed much. One thing that for sure hadn't changed was her eyes. Pools of blue punctuated with specks of gold, green and brown.
I suddenly had a flashback to a time when Chelsea was having dinner with us the summer after high school when she had just turned eighteen. I had gotten up from the table to get us all more chicken and as I placed more on Chelsea's plate she looked up at me with a big smile on her face and those eyes sparkling above her button nose and full lips. I had wanted to take her right then, kiss those full plump lips covered in chicken grease, bend her over the table and have my way with her. I froze at the memory and stared at her lips. I watched her lips move but I didn't hear any words. Finally, a disembodied voice broke through my reverie.
"Mr. B? Are you ok? Mr. B?"
It was her. I had been lost in her lips but thankfully she brought me back to my senses.
"Yes, I'm fine," I said, "just old memories coming back. Let's get you home."
I paid for the pie and got her settled into the passenger seat of my car. She was quiet the entire way home. Once there I suggested that she take a shower and I retrieved a robe from my closet.
"I don't have any clothes to fit you but this robe should work out for tonight. I'll wash your clothes and then take you shopping tomorrow for enough to get you through until we can gather your belongings while he's at work Monday. Leave your dirty clothes outside the bathroom door, ok?"
"Yes, Mr. B. Thank you so much."
After a bit, I heard the shower come on so I went to the bathroom door and retrieved her clothes, a sweatshirt, a t-shirt, grey athletic shorts, ankle socks with lace trim, and a pair of boyshorts panties. They all appeared a little worn, frayed here and there. I chuckled a bit at the lace-trimmed socks, they reminded me of how people dressed their young daughters, but Chelsea was far from the age where I thought lace-trimmed socks were appropriate. I held up the sweatshirt and saw several pie stains so I treated them before putting it in the washer. It seemed to be several sizes too large for Chelsea when I'd helped her out to the car. Next, I looked at the t-shirt, a white v-neck that said, "Medium" on the tag. Not what I was expecting, and I noted that it was not stretched out of shape. It went into the washer along with the sweatshirt, athletic shorts, and socks. Lastly were the panties, they were grey boyshorts. I examined them and read the tag, they were a medium just like the t-shirt. I couldn't help myself, before putting them into the washer I raised them to my face and inhaled deeply. Her scent was intoxicating and caused my cock to tingle. Maybe having her around wouldn't be so bad.
