Novella #1
Disclaimer: This is a story of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, anything or any other story is purely coincidence.
Warming: Includes nudity, sexual situations, teen drinking and foul language.
All characters are of an adult age.
Part 1: My Daughter's Friends
Even at a firm that was going under, no twelve hour work day ever drained me enough to ignore the sexual magnetism awaiting me at home. On some days, if I felt I had too much energy at lunch, I swung by the LA Fitness. But even a lift in the middle of a stressful work day wasn't enough. It was terrifying. I could come home exhausted, half asleep and pretty much in bed, but if my daughter's friends were over and I caught so much as a passing glance, an accidental touch, or a fleeting waft of their perfumes, I would snap awake.
Worst of all, I feared this year would break me.
I rolled my Impala into the driveway at about 7:46pm and through the open windows, caught the scent of my neighbor's fresh cut grass and the sounds of their kids playing nearby. As much as that would've relaxed most people, I only clutched the steering wheel until the leather squeaked.
Outside, the humid air was alive with birds perched in the newly budded elms trees. The sun, not yet hidden in the weeping willows behind my two story, ticky-tacky of a box house, casted the cul-de-sac in a yellow tint which made the grass, already green from the April rains, pop. This, on top of that for the first time this season the temperature was over eighty --hell, today it was ninety two-- made the one fact undeniable. Spring was hinting of summer.
This meant two things: My daughter's friends would be over much more and their clothing would be much less.
Taking another breath, I turned off the car and looked around in an attempt to gather myself.
Parked in front of me was Aubrey's pink Corolla. Along the curb behind me though, sat two other cars. A blue Cobalt and a white Jetta. The Cobalt was Sophia's but the Jetta I'd never seen before.
Maybe Alexis got a new car, I thought as I loosened my tie and put my briefcase on my lap. Or maybe it was Katee's. "Damn." I then said aloud. Sophia, Alexis, Katee. My daughter had quite the entourage.
There were five or six of them in their group and despite their range in traits and talents, they were all gorgeous, fit and far too shapely for high school girls. It made me grimace. At least I could take solace in not lying to my daughter when I called her my beautiful girl. With friends like she had, she must've been beautiful. After all, she wasn't the fat one in the group because there wasn't a fat one. So unless she was the ugly one, which I doubted since she got her mother's soft face, wavy chestnut hair and button nose, she must've been beautiful.
Aubrey was a bit of a Jill-of-all-trades too. Good at a lot of things. Great at nothing. I liked to think she got that from me. See, much like her father, she would always try things at least once. This adventurous nature of hers, which as far as I knew, hadn't shifted to boys yet, put her in several sports and it was through these school activities that she built her clique. A clique that seemed more like an elite club.
It was odd. By my guess, there were three rules to get into this club. One, you had to be in their class. They never considered girls from higher or lower grades. Two, you had to be the best at something athletic. And three, that something couldn't conflict with any other girl. Meaning, they never had two girls in the same sport.
That made sense. They likely didn't want their competiveness to tear them apart. Luckily, they didn't seem to compete with looks. Then again, being attractive might've been the fourth rule.
With my palms clammy, I got out of the car, swallowed the burn in my throat and began towards the front door. After a couple seconds, I found myself at the top of the three step stoop with my hand on the doorknob, but my body motionless, unable to start my Wednesday evening.
Ever since Aubrey hit high school, I've had this problem. To be honest, my lust for my daughter's friends disgusted me. But because I worked so often and the girls hardly came over in the winter months, it wasn't like I watched them grow up. All I got was blips of them maturing. And damn, they matured nicely.
Unfortunately, even though the girls were all seniors, barely legal still made me feel like a pedophile.
Part 2: White Jetta Girl
Once I got in and closed the door behind me, I turned around to start up the half-set of steps to the first floor, hoping whomever Aubrey had over was down in her room. However, when I looked up the staircase, my hopes crumbled.
"Oh, hey, Mr. Erickson," Sophia said, sitting on the top step with her dancer legs spread wide. Between them, inside her jean skirt, her green thong peeked at me. "Welcome home."
I almost shivered.
Sophia was my favorite. From her star-burst-blue eyes to her chipmunk cheeks, she always radiated such innocence. And such seduction. Beneath a mop of dirty blonde hair, the length of which draped her shoulders, her lightly freckled face boasted her age, recently eighteen. But neck down, her petite frame had the womanly features of a spunky college girl. She flaunted them too. Most of time that meant short skirts and a low-cut shirt. Now was no different.
Leaning back on her arms, she crossed her legs and arched her spine.
"Hello, Ms. Harrington," I said, forced to look to the tile floor as I slipped off my shoes. "How was your day today?"
"Good, we won our final game."
I smiled. "Congratulations."
Sophia was the star player on the school's Volleyball team. She may have been short but her small size made her quick and she was always willing to get on her knees... To stop a spike.
"Thanks," she said, uncrossing her legs, which flashed me her thong again, then standing up and brushing herself off. "And don't call me Ms. Harrington."
"But I like your last name."
"Whatever." She beamed her chipmunk smile at me again then spun around and with her knees locks, bent over to pick something up off the carpet. "Aubrey's in her room by the way," she said, still bent, fumbling with a pencil on the floor. "I guess she forgot her calculator today and we kind of need it to study."
From low and behind her, I couldn't help but stare, privy to the most scandalous view of her slender calves, her tight thighs and her jean skirt now pulled so taut it revealed the bottom contours of her ass.
I shuddered then cleared my throat. "Well, did you need any help?"
"That'd be great." She giggled as she rose from her bend. "It's really hard."
"I'll see what I can do."
While she skipped ahead into the kitchen, I scaled the steps, followed her and, in an attempt to ignore her strut, searched around the first floor for my daughter's fluffy, buff cat, Furric.
Initially, I checked the living room to my right. But although the loveseat's back cushion was indented by one of Furric's many naps, the couch, the big screen TV and the array of windows along the wall were all catless. Secondly, I eyed the kitchen and dining room area in front of me. But again, no sign of the fur ball.
"What are you looking for?" Sophia interrupted, now seated at my daughter's favorite study spot, the kitchen island.
"Furric," I answered, lastly glancing left down the hallway where all three doors were shut. Which was strange. The laundry room and the cat room were usually shut but the bathroom wasn't.
"I think he went downstairs," Sophia said. "Why?"
"No reason." I shrugged.
In the next moment, I tried to focus past the Blonde Fox and look outside through the sliding glass door. But before I could see the patio, Sophia crossed her legs then propped her elbow on the island. And really, that was all it took.
Poised on the barstool, she rested her head on her palm and twirled her mop of hair in her fingers. Behind her, the setting sun broke in through the screen door and enveloped her figure in gold.
"I'm sure he'll show up." She laughed. "Now are you going to help? Like I said it's really hard."
I winced. "I'll see what I can do."
Because I didn't want to be alone with her for long, I bought some time for myself and walked to the fridge first. As I made the couple step trip, I glanced to the girls' school work scattered about the granite-topped island. There, three notebooks, three blue Powerades and three math books opened to the same page sat in clusters, organized for three girls. Sophia was the farthest down. Telling by the handwriting, my daughter was in the middle and by the process of elimination, the right-most cluster belonged to white Jetta girl.
