All characters in the story are above the age of eighteen.
It was a Sunday afternoon and I was hoping for a couple of quiet hours in the backyard. On that happy spot you are protected both from the noisiness of the street and the nosiness of the neighbors. I folded out my resting chair, one of those things with hanging cloth on a wooden frame. It can collapse quite easily, like something in a movie farce, and when the kids were younger they enjoyed making it do that, while I was sitting in it. So I learned to place the chair in a corner, where they could not sneak up behind me and I still do that today.
Now I was alone, I leaned back and I started to read. Being a proofreader you might think that I get tired of reading, but I only get tired of the reading the sort of trash they send to me (these new writers, they have no sense of style). I was going to relax with a good book, a novel by Balzac (yes, I consider reading Balzac relaxing and enjoyable). I had not been reading for more than eleven minutes when the backdoor was flung open and my daughter Jill stepped out. She was dressed in bikini, small shorts, sunglasses and nothing else. In one hand she held a large towel and a tube of lotion.
"Hi, dad!"
"Hi."
"I wanted a bit of sunshine. Do you mind?"
"Not if you can be quiet."
"Well, I might sizzle if the sun roasts me, but then I always sizzle, being as hot as I am."
"Sizzle quietly."
Jill put the towel on the grass, sat down and removed the bikini.
"Dad, can you put lotion on my back?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it will make my hands greasy and this is a book from the public library."
"You are such a bore."
She greased herself and lay down on her back. I continued with the experiences of Lucien. After circa eight minutes she rolled onto her belly. She pushed the sunglasses into her blonde hair and looked on the book.
"Lost illusions...What is it about?"
"About losing illusions."
"Oh, a lot of fucking?"
"No."
"What is happening?"
"Well, the main character has not left Angouleme yet."
"Angouleme? Is that in Louisiana?"
"No, in France."
"What do you think will happen?"
"I know what happens. I have read it before."
"You read it before? Then why are you reading it again?"
"Because it is a good book."
"Better than me?"
"I cannot compare you to Balzac."
"Was he that good-looking?"
"He was a rather short and rotund man with a moustache."
"So that is your type? I had no idea..."
I sighed despairingly and looked up at my smiling daughter.
"Tell me, Jill, why do bother about sunbathing? You never get a tan. All you get is a sort of golden hue to your milkyness."
"Oh, so you have noticed that?"
"I notice many things concerning you."
"Like how sexy I look with your cock in my mouth?"
"Like how annoying you can be. Apparently I will be forced to go away."
"Please, dad, don't go. You can read later. The book will not disappear. I can read for you afterwards. Sitting on your lap. Or stretched out across it so you can spank me when I pronounce the French names wrong."
"You can be really persuasive..."
"When I really want something. What do you say, dad?"
She crawled between my legs and grinded her face against my crotch.
"Jill..."
"Come on, daddy...Don't be such a bore..."
I could feel her warm mouth through my pants. With another despairing sigh I put the book aside.
"Allright, once again you will get what you want."
"Yay!"
"One condition, I decide the position."
"Which?"
