Sherri was the night charge nurse at the hospital in the town about 20 miles from where she lived. She met him driving deliveries a few years ago. She was petite, blond and serious, but would break into laughter when he made stupid jokes as he notified the front desk that a delivery had arrived. They flirted for a while and then he asked her out.
She was about 6 years older than he was, but he had been single for a few years and was ready to be with somebody more serious. They started dating the previous year, and moved in together early in the summer. They would hang out in the early morning hours before she slept during the day or on her days off, or go out with a few friends and drink a few beers at the bar.
He knew that Sherri had a daughter, but he was picturing a younger version of Sherri when he finally met her. She had stayed with her father the previous year, so he never saw her. In September, she returned to live with Sherri for her senior year. She didn't take after Sherri much, except in the blondness. She had a rack on her and a big round ass where Sherri was flat and firm. Like most of the younger girls around town, she dressed like a ho. Short shorts whenever she could get away with it, little tops that showed the tops of her tits off.
As soon as he saw her he knew that there was no way he would be able to resist trying to fuck her. She was just his type. Still, he swore to himself that he would stay away from her.
She was called Bastette, after the fucking Egyptian cat goddess. They called her "B". He was courteous, helpful, made silly "dad" jokes and got the fuck out of her presence as soon as he could, most times. But it was hard, because Sherri spent the whole afternoon and most of the evenings away. Plus, B had no close friends yet at the school. She turned 18 on September 14th.
It was a cold winter. Dark early. He would often get a beer or three and sit down to watch shit on the TV. Sherri had one of those big wrap around couches, with some throws and cushions on it.
B would often plonk down on the other end of the sofa. It would kill him. He would get hard immediately, but just made a silly jokes to take his mind off of it. Then, he would feel guilty and spend extra time going down on Sherri when she got home, after B had left for school.
One night in November, B threw herself down on the sofa right by him. She was wearing some loose cotton running shorts and a little top, pretty much her usual outfit. He pushed her away, and said "Hey, get over to your spot. This is my side of the couch." B flipped him off and stayed put.
"I'm cold. Gimme the blanket."
"Get another one."
"They are all wet. Mom didn't put them in the dryer. You have the only one and I'm cold."
"Sorry. Go put some clothes on if you're cold." She gave him one of those pouty looks and pushed her ass against his leg and pulled the corner of the blanket over her legs.
By then, he was as hard as a rock. She was acting like a little bitch, in his opinion. Ready to get fucked. No he told himself. Concentrate on the TV.
He could smell this invisible smell coming off her. His dick strained against his boxers.
"Fine. Keep it. I'll go put the others in the dryer." He lurched up, turning away to hide the fucking tent in his pants.
He went upstairs. Turned on the dryer and pushed his dick against it, hard. The vibration of the dryer and the memory of her ass against his leg made him come in his pants. He felt like a dirty, degenerate old man.
The next night, Sherri was home, thankfully. B was barely home. A week went by. Two. Seemed like she got herself a boyfriend at school.
Then, a repeat of almost the same thing: this time he had her blanket. She couldn't live without it.
