Cramming For Finals

There was nothing else I could do. There were two towels jammed in the crack on my door. My music was turned up as loud as was reasonable. I glared at my computer screen. The time read 11:53 PM, and I wasn't even close to finishing the first page. It was finals week, I was behind on a huge research paper-- in French, no less-- and my dad had been screaming on the phone for the last two hours. Maybe, I thought for the hundredth time that evening, living at the dorms wouldn't be so horrible.

But there wasn't much that could be done at the moment. And unless he started screaming at my mom about classic French cinema instead of money, the house, my sister, and me, my dad's weekly phone argument wasn't helping me at all. I grabbed a highlighter and tried my best to tune him out while I scoured my notes again, looking for anything that might carry me through eight and a half more pages of this bullshit.

After submersing myself in obscure facts about Jean Renoir for at least a half hour, I turned down my stereo. Silence. Finally. I stood up, stretched, and was cautiously hopeful that I could finally get something done. Time for a smoke, and then down to business, I told myself. I grabbed my pack of Camels and made my way downstairs.

"Those are bad for you, you know." My dad was sitting at the kitchen table, a mostly-full bottle of beer in his hand.

"Hey, Dad," I said, glad to see he was off the phone. "Everything okay?"

Dad sighed, and took a small sip of his beer. "Not really."

"Oh no. What's up?" I was always ready to commiserate with him, even on nights like this. I was just as fed up with my mom's demands and tantrums as he was, which is why I went with him when he moved out. The fact that he lived ten minutes closer to my college was a fine excuse.

"Nothing, sweetie. Go have your smoke. Got that paper done yet?"

"I've almost started!" I told him with a grin. "Come sit outside with me. It's nice tonight."

"Maybe in a minute," he said. "I gotta go charge my phone. Or maybe just flush it down the toilet."

"Okay. The plunger's in the garage," I advised him, and walked outside.

It was a nice night. If a nine-hour deadline weren't looming over me, I'd crack open a beer myself. But no, just a smoke, and then back to work. I lit my cigarette, and took a deep, soul-cleansing drag, all the while cursing myself for procrastinating that damn paper. What a perfect night to sit out under the stars.

I heard the front door open, then shut. My dad sat down in the lawn chair beside mine, with two beers in his hand instead of one.

"Oh, no, Dad. I can't. I wish, but I've really gotta get cracking on this thing." I felt horrible. My dad wasn't much of a drinker, so I knew he must've really needed it.

"Well then just hold it, Claire. At least give me the illusion that I'm not drinking by myself." He smiled, and handed me the opened bottle.

"What's going on?"

Dad sighed. "She's leaving. I mean, leaving leaving. For good."

"Oh, really? Where to?" This was a big deal, and it was certainly the first I'd heard about it.

"Vegas. That's her crazy idea of a new life. Vegas." He was trying his best to hide it, but I could hear his voice cracking.

"Is she taking Leah?" As much as my dad and I were inseparable, my mom and my younger sister were worse. I knew it was a dumb question before I asked.

"Of course. You know your sister. Hell, you know both of them." He paused. "She wants you to come. After the semester's over."

"She's insane," I said. "I haven't lived with her for two years. What makes her think I'd wanna live with her in Vegas?" Giving into its siren song, I took a gulp of beer.

"I don't know. I told her you wouldn't, and she said you were an adult, and you'd make the right decision. I know you can't afford to live on your own, sweetie, but--"

"Oh, hush." I stopped him. "I'm not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway. I like my school, I'm finally getting somewhere with my degree, and I like living with you."

Dad turned toward me, his head leaning against the lawn chair. "You do?"

"Of course I do. And maybe now I'll have some peace and quiet once in a while!" I smiled at him, trying not to notice the tears in his eyes. With the light shining from the kitchen, even in our dark front yard I could see his face-- his thick mess of auburn curls, bright hazel eyes, and more freckles than I could count. Our eyes were almost the same (his were a bit closer together than mine), and I'd also inherited his mahogany hair, but without the curls. I kept mine short, like he did. Enhanced by the fact that we both wore glasses, nobody ever doubted that we were father and daughter.

I took another drag of my cigarette. "So it's finally done, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dad said quietly. "Yeah I guess so."

"It'll be okay, I think. This is for the best. We'll be okay here, don't you think?" I put my hand on his shoulder, strong and toned from his insatiable surfing obsession.

"Oh, Claire. I know we will be. It's just... I dunno. I guess I always had hope." He took another swig of beer, and looked pointedly at the stars. "She was beautiful, y'know. Different. She wasn't stopping traffic, but there was something about her. It was that hair, definitely. She had it short, and you could see the back of her neck... I found that so sexy."

I caught myself feeling the back of my own neck, wondering if anyone ever thought the same thing about me.

"I'm sorry, Claire. You shouldn't have to see me like this." He was no longer making any efforts to hide his tears.

"Nah, Dad. It's okay. I understand." I rested my hand on his shoulder again. "You did good. You were a great dad, you still are. It just didn't pan out the way you'd hoped."

He put his hand on mine, and smiled at me. "Go finish your paper, girly. Don't be up all night."

"Yeah, I really should. If you wanna hang out, I'll be in my room. I can't promise I'll be very good company, though."

"You're sweet to offer, but I think I'll take a shower and go to bed. The harbor's supposed to be pounding tomorrow." The prospect of a good surf session brought back a hint of his usual self.

"Sounds great. Back to French cinema for me, then!" I put out my cigarette, ruffled his hair, and returned to my room.

I was impressed at how well I had put my thoughts aside, and when I finally heard the shower running across the hall, I had six pages done. I sat back and stared at the ceiling. It was a little odd, sure, but sort of sad to think of my dad as a love struck young guy. Even when they were together, there were never really any signs of romance between my parents. They got along most of the time, and made sure my sister and I were happy and fulfilled, but I guess that fire had burned out long before I was old enough to notice anything. Before tonight, I'd never thought of my dad as being capable of being passionate about anything he couldn't ride waves on. But there he was, crying, pining for a long-dead romance. I shook the image out of my head. He'd get over it. He'd be okay.

After a few minutes, the shower stopped. I kept writing, pausing to conjugate some verb or another, and then writing some more. My thoughts, now mostly in French, kept creeping back to my dad's description of my mom. Like her, I never stopped traffic either. I was moderately built, and never paid much attention to whether or not I was sexy. If anyone ever complimented me on something other than my brains, it was my butt. It was nice, round, and really did fill out a pair of jeans. Other than that, though, years of academia had left me pale, not very toned, and sort of boring. Even that night I was just wearing a pair of sweat shorts, an oversized Metallica shirt, and no bra. At a 36 B, I could get away with that from time to time.

Focus, Claire! I was almost done. I read through my notes one more time, slapped together a rather weak concluding statement, cited my sources, and I was finished. Finished! I looked at the time-- 3:26 AM. That still gave me about four and a half hours of sleep, and I was grateful. I stretched again, let out a very audible exclamation of relief, and went across the hall to brush my teeth. As I stepped out of my room, I heard my dad's door open.

"Hey, everything okay?" He was wide awake, and just in his boxers.

"What? Oh, yeah Dad. I just finished my paper, and I'm heading to bed."

"Wait, you're finished? Good job. Let me see it!"

"See it? This one's for my French class, Dad! It's in French."

"I still wanna see."

I laughed. This was just like him-- celebrating a long-procrastinated accomplishment with me in the middle of the night. "Okay, c'mon. It's still on my computer-- I'll print it before class."

I led him to my bedroom and opened my laptop. "See? Eight damn pages! All in French."

"Wow, Claire." He turned to me, and put his hands on my shoulders. "I am so proud to have such a smart daughter."

"Well, I had to get the brains from someone." I looked at his eyes, and they were sharp again, not welling with tears.

He stared back at me, and without looking away, pulled me closer to him, into a hug. He was warm, and strong, and he smelled clean. His hands moved down my back, and rested right above my butt.

For a moment, I thought of pushing him away. He'd never done anything like this before, and I almost panicked. But, still looking into my eyes, he smiled at me. "You're a beautiful girl, Claire. Just like your mom was. But... you're so much more to me."

I smiled back. "You're everything to me, Dad. You know that."

He closed his eyes, and somehow I knew what was coming. I wasn't sure how it would feel, but as soon as it happened, his kiss electrified me. My lips relaxed, and our tongues met each other. He slid his hands farther down my back, and squeezed my ass.

"Can we do this?" he said, pulling his lips off mine. I was petrified, but I couldn't say no. I nodded, and drew myself back to him, kissing him deeper.

"Can I move these?" He pointed at the notes I had spread all over my bed. Still unable to speak, I nodded again. Maybe since I rarely saw him in my cramped, tiny room, my dad seemed taller. The light from my desk lamp set his frame into contrast, and he appeared more muscular, strong, and tan. He put my explosion of papers into a neat stack, and placed them on my desk. He sat down.

"Come here," he said. I was standing, frozen, in front of him. "Just come here, Claire." He pulled me to him, and I collapsed in his lap.

"I don't want to do anything that you don't want, baby." He ran his fingertips along my cheek. "Just tell me, and I'll go back to bed. Whatever you want."

I could tell him no. I could hand in my paper and be on a plane to Vegas. I could forget this ever happened, that I ever kissed my dad...

The right words finally came to my lips. "I love you, Dad." I kissed him again, and placed my hands on his chest. "I want this too."

He didn't say anything else as he slipped his hand under my t-shirt. His calloused, salt-dried fingers slid across my soft stomach. I laid down, and let him explore my belly button, my rib cage, and finally my breasts.

"Oh, baby." With both his hands caressing my nipples, he leaned toward me, and kissed me again. His tongue then slipped along my cheek, then down my neck. "So fucking hot," he whispered, probably to himself. I smiled, happy to see the fire back in my dad's eyes. As he licked my neck and my ears, I could feel his cock pressing against my thigh. I was bold, and I slipped my hand into his boxers.

"Oh, fuck yes." He stopped and looked into my eyes again. "You like that?"

"Yes," I whispered, starting to feel a twinge in my clit. I did like it-- his cock was thick, and uncircumcised, and it curved slightly upward. I rubbed my hand up and down his shaft, getting a feel for my dad's member.

"Here," he said, sitting up. He pulled off his boxers. "Suck my cock, baby."

Without hesitating, I put my lips around his head. I heard him moan, and his strong thighs gave a hint of a quiver. I sucked and licked, easing him in further with each breath. Every few moments, I stopped, and slipped my tongue under his foreskin. He ran his fingers through my hair and over the nape of my neck. "Yes, Claire, fuck yes."

I kept sucking, and he started pushing against me, his cock moving toward the back of my throat. He grabbed the back of my head and pushed, gagging me with his thick cock. I recovered quickly, and he ran his hands gently down my arms. "Ooh," he sighed. "Gave you goosebumps."

After a few more moments, he stopped me. "Come here, baby." We kissed again, passionately, or tongues coiling together. He laid me down on my bed. "I know you're not a virgin, baby," he said, slipping off my shirt.

"No, dad," I said, brushing his hard cock with my fingertips.

He didn't say anything else as he slipped his hands in the waistband of my shorts. I lifted my butt off the bed, letting him slide them down my legs. He laid down on top of me, and I spread my legs. The tip of his cock was poised at my trimmed pussy, which was now glistening with wetness.

"That's good," he said, and shoved himself into me. I gasped, not entirely accustomed to his size. He watched my face go from shock to a painful wince, and finally, a surprised smile.

"You feel good, dad," I whispered. "I love your cock."

He smiled at me, stroked my hair, and started fucking me. With as wet as I was, he moved in and out of me with ease. My pleasure built, and I wrapped my legs around him. "Yes, dad, fuck me," I breathed, edging toward orgasm.

"You like that?" He smiled, fucking me harder, and not breaking a sweat.

"Yes, yes, oh fuck yes, daddy," I moaned, wrapping him tighter in my legs.

I hadn't called him "daddy" in years, and he noticed. He smiled, kissed my neck, and slowed down, still shoving his cock deeper in me with each thrust. I couldn't help myself, and I moved with him, bringing my hips to meet his. He watched me, unblinking, as he fucked me to orgasm. I buried my face in his smooth chest as I orgasmed, nearly blinded by the intensity.

I dropped my head back down on the pillow. He'd stopped thrusting, but was still deep inside me. "You okay?" he asked, watching me gasp in exhaustion. I nodded.

"Good," he whispered. "Now it's my turn." He started fucking me again, this time faster, and harder. It didn't take long for me to come a second time, as I watched him thrust into me passionately.

"I'm gonna come, baby, oh god," he said, thrusting faster. "Can I...?"

"Yes, daddy," I said. "Come in me." I kissed him, and instantly felt jets of cum erupt inside me.

He slid off of me, and cramped in my twin bed, laid down next to me, gently caressing my face and breasts. I had no words, and simply cuddled into him closer, feeling his semen seep onto the sheets.

"I love you," he said, nuzzling my neck. I'd heard him say it a million times, but now it had a different meaning.

"I love you too, dad," I whispered. "That was fantastic."

He sat up, and smiled at me, gazing up and down at my naked body. "Want me to help you wash your sheets?" he asked, noticing the growing puddle of semen under my butt.

"I'll be okay. I REALLY need to get some sleep, y'know?"

Dad laughed. "Say no more!" he said, and scooped me out of bed.

As we laid down on his bed, he pulled me toward him. "You sure you don't wanna go to Vegas?"

"Dad," I said, situating myself in his arms, "if I wasn't sure enough before, I definitely am now." And I fell asleep, knowing that, despite how great Wayne Newton says it is, I'd never step foot in Las Vegas.