One of the things I enjoy about my job as a marketing representative is that it allows me to get out of the office and travel. I've never liked being stuck behind a desk, though when my two kids were young, travel was a bit of a problem.
Their mother left us when they were four and seven, so I had to be both father and mother from that point on. That made out of town travel very difficult, but I needed my job to make a good living for us. Fortunately, I was able to find a grandmotherly widow who was more than happy to stay with them when I had to be away.
The kids both grew to love Mary, thinking of her in some ways as the mother they never really knew. And she returned that love in kind. I'll always be grateful to her for helping me hold my family together during some extremely difficult times.
I went on a few dates after my wife left. I was a pretty good looking guy, I guess, with dark brown hair and eyes, tall with a trim, athletic build. There was never a shortage of women who seemed to be interested. But I devoted most of my energy to my kids and my job.
But now that my son is two years out of college and my daughter is a senior at Midwestern State University, the travel is a real plus. Whenever possible, I plan my business trips to allow me to stay over a night or two with them when I am in their area. And so it was about a month ago when my travels took me to Springfield for two days, that I had the opportunity to see Jamie again. We are about as close as a father and daughter can be, and it is really hard not seeing her for weeks at a time while she is away at college.
As I drove the 15 miles from the interstate to Springfield, my mind wandered back on the struggles the two of us had shared. I knew it was harder on Jamie, than her brother or me, not having her mother around. It was clear that she deeply resented being abandoned like that, and she'd expressed that resentment in a number of self-destructive ways growing up.
I made frequent trips to school from the time she was 12 to deal with one issue or another. Most of the trouble boiled down to the anger that she could not seem to find an outlet for. Of course, we tried counseling, but Jamie was smarter than most of the well-meaning psychologists she saw. She told them what they wanted to hear, made them feel as if she was miraculously "cured," then went right back to doing what she'd been doing.
By the time she started high school, Jamie was growing into a beautiful young woman, with wonderful big brown eyes and dark brown hair with a natural curl (which she always tried to straighten). Her features were fine and delicate, and she had the long, lithe legs of a dancer, which she was. Jamie always complained about the size of her breasts, begging for implants as a high school graduation present, but this was one place I put my foot firmly down—partly because I didn't want her to risk surgery for something that superficial, and partly because I thought her breasts were just right for her trim body.
The drinking and parties started her sophomore year in high school, and I can't count the number of times I had to go pick her up and bring her home after some Good Samaritan called to alert me to her condition. Thankfully, she never got a DUI or minor in possession, but the only thing we can credit for that was sheer luck.
Of course, there were boys. And I tried to reason with her about respecting herself and all that fatherly advice—which I'm sure she ignored. I thought there might even be girls in her life, as she seemed quite close to a couple of her fellow members of the dance team. One time, at the peak of some of her problems, I searched her room and found her journal. I read about three pages before putting it back, telling myself that there were certain things a father should not know about his daughter.
With all this as background, it was an amazing transformation that took place her senior year. It was as if Jamie had finally come to her senses and decided to be the daughter I'd always prayed she'd be. She got serious about her studies and her grades climbed. Fortunately she is a bright girl, so even during the worst of times she was able to keep her grades at a decent level. But given all she'd been through, I took a special pride in seeing her walk across the stage and receive her high school diploma, and even more pride when she was admitted to my alma mater, Midwestern State.
Jamie's first couple of years at Midwestern were up and down. She started out like a ball of fire, studying hard and never missing a class. But once she felt she had the whole college thing whipped, she slipped into the freshman party scene that almost all first year students taste.
The whole situation was exacerbated, I thought, by Jamie's freshman roommate. Her name was Heather, and the two of them had been matched by computer. They'd never met each other in person before the day they moved into the dorm. They had traded emails and spoken by phone during the summer, and Jamie found that Heather was also a dancer and had many other interests that were the same as hers. They had several lengthy phone conversations, mostly in hushed tones, but I could tell that Jamie was really liking her new roomie.
So it was with anticipation that we lugged our first load of clothes, electronic gear and cosmetics down the hallway of the dorm that weekend before classes began. I couldn't tell whether Jamie was more excited about seeing her room for the first time or meeting Heather in person.
When we got to 1021, the door was standing open and the room was a beehive of activity. A man and a woman about my age were busy trying to build the structure necessary to convert a conventional bed into a loft. I learned later that Jamie and Heather had decided in advance that a loft would be the best way to maximize the space in the small room.
Hardly looking up from his task, the man stuck out his hand. "Bill Manly," he said curtly. "You must be Jamie's dad."
The woman smiled at me and introduced herself. "Hi, I'm Jane. Heather's so excited about meeting Jamie."
The excitement was certainly apparent, as the two girls giggled excitedly and hugged each other hello. It was as if they had been friends for years. They chattered animatedly as they began to stake out their territory in the room—desks, closets, beds. They had decided in advance who would bring the TV and who would furnish the microwave and the CD player. Of course, they each had their own computers.
I tried to do what I could to help Heather's dad with the loft bed, but he went quickly about his work, and there wasn't really much I could do except hold a board or two in place as needed. But we did talk enough for me to get to know them a little bit. Bill was a fire chief in a smaller city in Texas, about 250 miles south of Springfield. Heather's mom was a nurse. They seemed like really nice people, although I could tell they were a bit reluctant to have Heather attend college so far from home. But she had insisted that Midwestern was the place for her, so they were going along, hoping for the best.
But it was Heather who really captured my attention. Being a 45-year-old man and Jamie's father, it made me really uncomfortable to think it, but Heather was one of those females you look at and the first thing that comes to mind is what a good fuck they'd be. I don't know if it's genetic or if it's some sort of practiced image they work on, but any man knows exactly what I'm talking about.
For those old enough to remember Gilligan's Island, it's the difference between Ginger and Maryanne. Both attractive women, but Ginger was fuckable. Today's generation might think the same of Britney Spears and Carrie Underwood.
Like Ginger and Britney, Heather simply oozed sexuality. She was about the same height as Jamie—around 5-4—but with a much curvier figure. Her breasts were full and her bottom nicely rounded, yet still firm. God, 18 is a magnificent age! I figured Heather had about a 90 percent chance of being overweight by the time she was 35. But now, at this wonderful stage of her life, she was what my friends and I used to call "stacked." And she gave every impression that she knew how to use that amazing body.
To top things off, she had straight blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders and ended about the middle of her back. And her skin was beautifully tanned, thanks we found out later, to lots of time spent during the summer on her parents' house boat on Lake Texoma.
But the thing that stood out was the way Heather seemed to enjoy showing herself off, not necessarily to me, but just in general. To move her things into the dorm room, Heather had chosen a tiny pair of yellow cheer shorts that hugged her round, firm bottom, while still loose enough at the legs to provide a tempting view of extreme upper thigh as she bent and stretched this way and that as she helped put the room in order. She wore a tight white tank top that was barely long enough to cover her belly when she stood completely still. Of course, with the slightest movement, I was able to catch a glimpse of her belly button piercing as the shiny jewel reflected the light.
Of course, it would have been going too far in this setting to go braless with her ample bosom, so instead Heather elected to show off her bra, wearing a bright yellow one adorned with lace that was fully visible through the thin tank.
One or two times I was pretty sure Heather caught me looking at her just a bit too intently. But instead of looking uncomfortable, she just gave me this little smile, as if she knew exactly what was going on in my mind. I remember hoping she wouldn't say anything to Jamie later about her lecherous old man.
It took nearly three hours to get everything moved in and somewhat livable, but finally the time had come for the parents to say their goodbyes. It was clear that the girls were getting impatient and wanted us to get out of the way of whatever they might have planned for their first weekend at college.
