The following is a work of fiction. Copyright 2012 It builds a bit slowly, but I hope you find that the ending is worth the time to get there. As always, comments welcomed, and please vote (5's appreciated).
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I am a 50+ widower. My second wife was killed in an auto accident by a drunk driver about three years after we had gotten married. That was four years ago, so I had pretty much gotten over it, and had moved on in my life. I did not have a new woman in my life, although I did have a couple of female friends with benefits. I also had Amy, my step-daughter. Amy was 10 when her mom and I had started dating. She was now in her mid 20's. She was the spitting image of her mom, at least of the pictures of her mom at the same age. She was petite, standing only about 5' tall and definitely on the curvy side, with a gorgeous butt, larger than average boobs, and a bit of a tummy. She was blonde with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, with hazel eyes.
Amy had married at 19, having gotten pregnant with her high school boyfriend, and her son was just starting in elementary school. I had never really liked her husband, but it was none of my business. So I had kept my mouth shut all along, even though I was convinced that he was abusing her; emotionally, if not physically. Since her mom had died, Amy and I got together about once every few weeks, sometimes including her son in a day out, and sometimes, just the two of us having dinner and a drink. Her husband tagged along once in awhile, but Amy preferred to have it just be the two of us. Her dad had disappeared out of her life before she was three, so I was her only parent; or pseudo parent.
It was a Friday in late in July when I received a text from her, asking if we could have dinner that evening. I had no plans other than working on one of my model locomotives, so, of course, I agreed. I suggested she meet me at one of our favorite restaurants, and then showered, and threw on my jeans and a sweatshirt, which were my normal casual wear. Ninety minutes later I was seated at a table awaiting her arrival. Fashionably late, she joined me, and I could tell instantly that she had been crying. I gave her the normal hug and we sat down. As much as I wanted to ask her what was going on, I bided my time, figuring that sooner or later she would share.
I'll note here that as Amy had grown up, we had gotten to the point where no subject was taboo. This was the result of her lesbian adventure as a senior in high school, when she had confided in me, and asked my help in telling her mother. Both her mom and I were open minded, and the conversation had gone a lot smoother than she had imagined, and from that time on, she talked with me about almost everything.
We chitchatted while we studied the menu, and she shared that David, her husband, had gone fishing for the weekend with their son. Clearly that wasn't the source of her unhappiness, as they did that regularly. I continued to listen as I ordered a nice steak, and she ordered a Cobb salad. I ordered a bottle of Merlot for us to share. She asked me how my novel was coming along, as I had retired the year before and had started trying to write the novel I had thought about for the last ten years. I shared my progress, very little, admitting that I was spending more time with my HO railroad than at my keyboard. Our food arrived, and after a few bites, I noticed that she had teared up again, but I remained silent, figuring she would share eventually.
"Dad, am I sexy?"
I about choked on my bite of steak, but quickly grasped that I was dealing with a young woman who had just had her sexual self esteem destroyed in one way or another. "Oh, sweetie," I responded, "You are quite a sexy young thing. Why do you ask?"
Her tears were flowing now. "Well, I found out today that David has been fucking Trina, the teeny-bopper that lives next door to us. When I confronted him with the facts, he didn't deny it. He just told me that I didn't turn him on anymore. I know I'm a bit overweight, and my boobs sag a bit. I guess I'm over the hill, huh?"
"Jesus, Amy. If you're over the hill, what does that make me? Dead?"
"You're not dead."
"There you go. You're not over the hill either. He's just an asshole. And besides, being sexy is an attitude more than how you look."
"Whaddya mean, an attitude?"
I had no clue where this conversation was headed, but I figured she needed to talk it out, so I went along. "Well, basically, as far as I'm concerned, I consider a woman sexy when she displays self confidence, dresses confidently, and is willing to engage sincerely with a member of the opposite sex about the excitement of life." I knew it sounded corny, but I didn't want to get too specific.
"I take it you thought mom was sexy?"
"Duh! I wouldn't have fallen in love with her and married her if she wasn't."
"And I guess you two had a pretty good sex life?"
"Uh, yeah. Why?"
"Well, I guess I'm trying to figure out what a normal sex life is."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, ever since David started working at his current job, we've had sex about once a month, and then only when he wants it. And, to be honest, it hasn't been very enjoyable."
"For you or for him?"
"Definitely not for me. As for him, well, it is pretty much he climbs in bed with me, spreads my legs, and rams his cock into me. And even before I've gotten into a rhythm, he ejaculates, pulls out, rolls over and goes to sleep."
"I can certainly understand how you wouldn't enjoy that. And personally, if that's all there was to sex, I wouldn't enjoy it all that much either."
Now, she questioned my response, "What do you mean; he ejaculated. Isn't that what it's about?"
"Oh, god, baby. Sex is a lot more than just ejaculating. That's certainly pleasurable, but I assure you there is a lot more to it than just that."
"Oh," was all she said, as she returned to eating her barely touched salad. I followed suit by slicing another bite of steak. For the next ten minutes or so, we ate in silence. I watched her as she ate, and assuming I could read her facial expressions, it was clear she was trying to grasp the meaning of our short conversation.
We finished our entrees, and both of us declined dessert, but we did each have a Grand Marnier. But, we drank the Marniers in silence. As I paid the bill with my credit card, Amy broke the silence by asking, "Dad, would it be okay if I spent the weekend with you?"
I hesitated, as that would be problematic for me. My friend Cindy was planning on visiting with me the following evening. We usually got together once every few weeks, got totally stoned, and watched some porn. Depending on our moods, we would fuck each other silly, or watch each other masturbate, or some combination thereof. I had been horny all week, and was really looking forward to the evening of total raunchy behavior. But, I also could tell that Amy needed some loving attention, and how could I deny her at her time of need.
My hesitation was obvious, and before I could speak, she jumped in with a follow-up, "Oh, gawd, I'm so sorry; you must have plans. I'll go home now."
I stammered for a moment, trying to find a good solution. Finally, I got it out. "Look, sweetie, why don't you come over and spend the night tonight, and we'll take it from there. I have no plans for the rest of the evening, and it's clear you need some company. The spare room is yours."
"Thanks, Daddy."
"Do you need to go home for clothes or anything?"
"No, 'cause I was hoping you'd say yes, so I threw a couple of things in my overnight bag. How 'bout let's go watch a movie together?"
"That'll work." And with that, we left our dinner table and headed the seven miles over to my condo.
We got to my condo, and as we entered I told her I was going to get more comfortable. She quickly agreed and disappeared off to my spare bedroom. I changed into my lounging pants and a loose t-shirt, and headed to the kitchen to open another bottle of wine. Both of us were barely on the legal side of sobriety, but since we were now in for the night, it didn't matter. I had just popped the cork and poured us two glasses of wine when Amy walked in to join me. I did my best not to stare, but if weren't my step-daughter, I would have. She had put on a pair of quite short boxer shorts and a crop tee. It was quite evident that she was not wearing a bra, and her nipples were blatantly pushing the material of her tee out. The tee was cropped so short that as she moved, the underside of her breasts would be exposed ever so slightly.
"Jeez," I said, "that may be a bit too casual."
"What's wrong with this? It's just you and me."