The Mother Tracie Deserves Ch 04

TRACIE'S WISH

While my stepdaughter was getting perfect scores in her winter classes, all I could handle was checking in for my unemployment benefits every other week and remembering to occasionally wash my clothes. The rest of the time, my mind was occupied with vodka.

I had years before taught Tracie to handle her own laundry. For myself, one advantage of being a lazy bum is not having many clothes to wash besides the old underwear, t-shirts, and sweats I wore most of the time. I had no reason to wear anything nicer.

One freezing Sunday morning in February (well, mornings for me were more like midday), I was carrying a load of my dirty laundry down to the basement where the washer and dryer were.

As I started down the stairs, I heard the

pound-pound-pound

of Tracie running on the treadmill. The owner we rented from had left it there and said we could use it. Of course, I had never touched the thing, but now the machine was whirring at high speed. My stepdaughter was running hard, panting deeply. In her tight black leggings and sports bra, she was shining with sweat.

I was worried she was overdoing it. Just as I was about to say something, the treadmill beeped and slowed to a stop. Tracie slumped off the machine, her lungs heaving. She looked totally spent as she drank from her water bottle.

But as I loaded my clothes into the washer, Tracie went from the treadmill straight onto the floor to start doing push-ups!

"Honey," I said, a little alarmed. "Why are you going so hard?"

She kept doing push-ups until her arms wouldn't do another one. Then she knelt on the floor, trying to catch her breath. She wiped her face, neck and arms with a hand towel, chugging more water.

She looked at me like she wondered why I was talking to her. Since the day she had kissed my hand, her attitude toward me had grown darker, probably as she realized how much I was drinking.

Finally, looking away, still breathing hard, she said, "Not on a team. Don't want to get fat." She downed more water.

"But you look great, baby. Your body looks amazing. I don't want to see you kill yourself."

"I'm not going to kill myself, Mom." With effort, she stood up and walked over to me at the washing machine. She tugged at the strap of her sports bra. "Can I throw this stuff in with your load?"

"Sure." I searched her face. Something more was going on. Tracie had long been into keeping fit, but I'd never seen her work out so hard before.

She pulled her wet sports bra up over her head and threw it in the washing machine. It was a little shocking to see my daughter topless, up close. Her smooth torso was damp with perspiration. She toweled off her belly and boobs.

She braced herself against the dryer and pulled off each of her shoes with a grunt. As she bent over, the way her tight belly creased was the stuff of a fitness machine ad. How could she feel like she needed to look even better?

She tugged off her socks and dropped them in the washer. Without hesitation, she peeled off everything else from the waist down. She stood next to me completely naked, untangling her panties from her leggings, then tossing those too into the washer.

I watched her towel off her sweat-shiny body. From her graceful feet, up her strong legs, over her shapely hips, across her toned belly, around her lovely full boobs, my daughter had everything. She looked like a young goddess.

"Sweetheart," I said, "I don't know what you're talking about. You look incredible, head to toe. I can even see your abs."

"Just a little," she said, looking down at her belly. "I want to get rid of this." She pinched a tiny bit of flesh on her hip.

"Are you kidding me? Kitten, you're gorgeous. What's going on?"

"I told you, I just want to look my best."

"Uh huh," I said, squinting at her. "So who's the boy?"

My stepdaughter gave me the classic teenage girl's heavy sigh with a tongue-click and eye-roll. "Whatever, Mom. There's no boy."

I hummed, suspicious. "Anyway, Tracie, you look amazing." I had promised myself to compliment my daughter more, and this was an easy one. I didn't need to exaggerate in the least. Her nude body was a work of art, a picture of health and fitness. I said, "Any woman would kill for that body."

"Would you?" she said with a smirk.

"I just might. Depends who I'd have to kill."

"You wouldn't have to kill anyone. You'd just have to work out and eat better."

"Kill somebody, sure. All that? I don't know," I joked. "But honey, I hope you know you are the most gorgeous young woman I know. I'm serious. You're already the best. Don't be so hard on yourself."

That seemed to touch her. "Thanks, Mom." She surprised me by wrapping her arms around me. Her skin was steamy hot from exercise.

My hands naturally landed on her bare waist. Her young skin felt so alive.

My stepdaughter kissed the corner of my mouth. She said, "I wish you weren't so hard on yourself either."

Her eyes searched mine. I didn't know how to react. I could see there was much more she was thinking. I was scared she would start to tell me.

She blinked thoughtfully and looked away at the floor. "I'm going to go take a shower."

I cleared my throat. "Okay."

I watched her walk up the stairs, marveling at her perfect naked body. Only because I had once been a teenage girl myself did I understand how such a young beauty could have any concerns about her looks. There had to be a boy on her mind.

Ah, to be young again,

I thought, equally wishing I was, and glad I wasn't.

Halfway up the stairs, Tracie paused. "Mom?"

I dropped the last of my laundry in the washer. "Yes, sweetie?"

She stood nude on the stairs, in a pose that took my breath away: one foot stepped up, her shoulders turned to look back at me, her smooth, tight torso twisting like a sculpture. She bit her lip and said, "I just wish... I could kiss you and not smell alcohol."