SUMMARY: This is a complete work of fiction. This story is told from the male POV (aka "Dad"). He contacts an escort company while he's out of town, but when the girl shows up at his hotel room, it turns out to be his daughter. See what happens from there.
All characters in this story are 18 or older.
DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction. Any character resemblances to real life personae are strictly coincidental. Copying, re-posting, storing (whether digitally or in print form) or redistribution of this material is prohibited.
STORY:
Feeling more nervous than I could ever remember, I needlessly flicked my cigarette toward the ashtray resting on the window ledge. I was sitting on the edge of my bed which was within arm's reach of the window of my hotel room. This hotel was one of the oldest buildings in Manhattan, and it was quite possibly the last place on earth where you could still smoke indoors. My leg started jittering as the nervousness hit a crescendo yet again. My stomach felt like it was doing summersaults. My nerves were completely shot, and smoking was not helping one iota.
Just as I lifted my arm to glance at my watch one more time, I heard a soft tapping at the hotel room door. My heart leapt in my chest and I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. Quickly butting the cigarette in the ashtray and waving the smoke out the window, I stood on wobbly legs, at which point the room promptly started spinning. Closing my eyes, I drew in several deep breaths. That worked. My heart rate slowed a little. Shaking my body to try to settle my nerves, I made my way across the hotel room toward the door. I had never done anything like this in my life.
With a final inhale, I grabbed the handle and swung it down, pulling the door inward. Standing just outside my room was the most gorgeous young woman I had ever seen in my life. She had long, silky black hair that reached halfway down her back. Her eyelashes were long. I assumed they were fake, but she had done such a good job applying them, I truly couldn't tell. They just seemed to make her eyes pop. Speaking of her eyes, they were a bright, topaz blue. She had ringed them with a dark eyeliner which she had accentuated outward at the corners, creating a look like she had little dark wings around them. Her face was round. I realized she was probably younger than I guessed. The makeup added a few years. I would probably peg her at about twenty. Maybe nineteen. Easily twenty years younger than me. Her lips were curvy and she didn't seem to be wearing any lipstick. It was almost strange to see such beautiful application of makeup everywhere except her lips. Yet, at the same time, the lack of it there almost made them that much more appealing. I suddenly found myself wanting to taste them. To taste the lips of this girl who was a complete stranger to me--
"Daddy?" the girl's voice pierced my trance. The one word she uttered, as a question, hit me hard.
Stumbling back from the door into the room, my eyes opened wide in shock. My mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. I stared at the girl who was standing in the threshold of my hotel room. The beautiful girl who I had invited over to... Oh jesus.
Finally getting some control of my face again, I whispered, "Bridget?"
My daughter strode into the hotel room. I realized she was wearing black heels that added at least three inches to her height. Not that I would have recognized her even if she was wearing sneakers. She was completely transformed from the girl who I knew. The girl who I had raised. My daughter--Bridget--had blonde hair. Glancing at this girl's hair once more, I decided it must be some sort of wig or something. But I'd be damned if I could tell it wasn't real. It looked perfect. And seeing it on my daughter's head was another shock. Bridget looked good with black hair. Very good. Her skin was extremely pale and always had been. She had always burned easily in the summer. But somehow the black hair brought out her porcelain beauty even more. She was absolutely stunning.
Now I just had to figure out why the fuck she had shown up to my hotel room after I had contacted an escort service. What was happening?
"Bridget?" I said her name again, just as my legs bumped into my bed and I felt myself falling backwards onto it. My entire world felt like it was spinning.
My daughter was still standing in the doorway, holding the door open with one foot. She seemed to be in just as much shock as I was. Yet she hadn't turned to go yet. She just stood there, staring at me. After what felt like an hour, she finally stepped all the way into the room and I watched as the door swung shut behind her, locking with a loud click.
Swallowing the enormous lump in my throat and staring up at my daughter, I stammered, "You-you're a-a hoo-hooker?"
Bridget narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips slightly, then said, "Call girl, actually."
"Is there a difference?" I heard myself ask.
She rolled her eyes and made a vexed sound and then said, "Uh, yeah. I'm professional."
I truly didn't know how to react to this. My own daughter was a... a whore? Fuck. But I wouldn't voice that thought out loud. Thank god I hadn't blurted it out when I asked if she was a hooker. That was at least a step up from "whore". But a million questions started tumbling through my mind just then. I threw out the first one I could think of.
"How long?" I asked.
She shrugged, looking away from me before answering, "Two years."
My brain did the math in half a second. She started hooking when she was eighteen? Christ! I opened my mouth to ask something else, but the only thing that came out was, "Jesus. I... I had no idea, Bridget."
