I had my books, my coffee. I was set for a Sunday in the library, cramming for finals, when Daddy-4 texted: "Please call."
I didn't call. I needed to learn biochemistry. But my focus was off, my mind on my bank balance. I had just enough dollars to carry me through finals, if I ate the beans, rice, and canned veggies in my cupboard, only bought coffee, and rode the bus to the airport. I'd already paid for my plane ticket home.
Then, winter break, I'd have to sit around my parents', getting fed and sheltered, but begging for spending money. And I'd come bearing no gifts for my nieces. I'd already skimped on their birthdays. My reputation was in danger of turning Scroogey.
Business had been slow. Daddy-2, my most generous daddy, had been in the hospital. Daddy-1, I feared, was losing interest; we'd barely spoken in weeks. Daddy-3, my poorest but favorite daddy, had never been a regular. And I'd been slack in pursuing new daddies. Which left me reliant, mostly, on Daddy-4.
Daddy-4 was my sweater-clad, practical daddy. He didn't buy me jewelry or fancy clothes; he helped with tuition and rent. He didn't corrupt me with cocktails or cocaine; he guided me in choosing my curriculum, had promised to land me a summer internship, and generally encouraged me in my studenthood.
However, he also thwarted my studies by refusing to set a predictable schedule, by insisting on seeing me at wildly inconvenient times, and, if I declined, threatening to quit me.
He needed us to be spontaneous, he always said. He needed to see himself as a romantic. He needed so badly to please. He'd go down on me for hours. Sometimes, he wouldn't even undress. I think he was ashamed of his body. Also, sometimes, I think he couldn't get hard. His oral abilities, though, were legitimate—and, sometimes, so were my orgasms.
Hoping to avoid trysting without too much sulking or histrionics, I texted him, expounding my great need for study. After finals, I could spend a day and two nights with him.
He'd already booked our hotel. He wouldn't let the room go to waste, he implied. A study-break would refresh my brain. Daddy-4 wouldn't accept my no.
I returned to my dorm to make up, don my little green dress, and doff my panties.
Coming back downstairs, I encountered Neil Twomey coming up with a pizza.
"That's a mighty big pizza, Neil. All for you?"
"It is. But you can have some."
