Ch. 04 Discovery
*****
Edgar Pomeroy was a good bowler. His one-ninety-two average wasn't the highest in the house at Freeway Lanes, but it was up there among them. Tonight, he had rolled exceptionally well, while the other guys had more than held their own. And so it was, at eleven-thirty-five on May eleventh, 'The Kahunas' were the champions of their twenty-four team, five-man, Friday Twilight Men's Scratch League for the first time in six years.
Jonesy, 'The Kahunas' youngest member, insisted on buying a round of beers to celebrate, and Stephen, the team's anchor, followed with another. Thirty minutes, and two Heinekens later, Edgar tossed a twenty on the table, raised his hand to signal the waitress, then said, "There's for four more for you. Great bowling, guys! I've gotta get going. Got a job early in the morning." Fifteen minutes later, he parked his Dodge Ram 2500 pickup behind to his wife's Caravan and switched off the motor.
As he dismounted from the four-wheel-drive truck's high crew cab, Edgar noted his daughter's old Honda sitting next to her mother's mini-van and smiled proudly. Even though she was eighteen and might, like some other people's smart-ass kids, argue that she was an adult who could do whatever she wanted whenever she liked, Suzanne was a good respectful teen. She knew that she was still dependent on the family for her support as she developed into a self-sufficient responsible grown-up. He was grateful that she always honored her midnight curfew when she went out on dates and even seemed interested in getting parental guidance sometimes.
Walking up the path from the driveway to the porch, Edgar looked up at the second-story's dark gabled window panes and drawn curtains. He sighed, because he had hoped someone would be awake to hear him brag a bit about 'The Kahunas' big victory. After stowing his bowling bag in the entry hall closet and hanging up his light windbreaker, he trudged upstairs. Suddenly, midway, he thought, "Wait a moment... That Carlson kid was coming up to the house when I left. If she's only been home a short while, maybe Suzie's only just turned out her lights and isn't asleep yet."
Stepping onto the top landing, instead of turning left and heading to the master bedroom, Edgar veered right, down the hall, past the bathroom to his daughter's room. The door was closed, but not latched, and when he tapped it lightly with his fingertips, it silently swung inward about three inches. In a stage-whisper, while he pushed the door wide open, he called into the dark bedroom, "Suzie? Are you asleep, honey? Daddy had a great night bowling, if you want to hear about it."
Edgar didn't know, couldn't know, that Suzanne had been in bed for three hours and was impossibly deep in dreamland. He felt a let-down when he saw her sleeping form on her double bed and heard no response but normal peaceful at-rest breaths. "Oh, hell," he sighed to himself. "And Bernice is no doubt snoring off her nightly Manhattans. Guess I can tell them at breakfast, if they don't have something else to distract them."
As Edgar was about to turn and depart, the shaft of light from the hall illuminated his daughter's carelessly piled navy tights and paler aqua panties surmounted by their matching demi-cup bra. Blinking twice, he picked up the discarded underwear and headed for the hamper in her closet while he clucked softly under his breath, "Suzie, Suzie, Suzie. How many times have your mom and I told you to put dirty clothes in the laundry basket?"
Edgar didn't know what made him lift his daughter's clutched lingerie to his face and inhale its intimate scents. It might have been the impact on his judgement from two quick successive Heinekens at the Freeway Lanes. Possibly it had to do with the fact that he was forty years old, twenty years married, and hadn't made love to Bernice for at least eight years. One thing was certain: He couldn't remember the last time he had touched used women's-underwear, but his brain ordered his blood to rush to his flaccid spongy penis and in moments he was painfully rigid behind his gabardine work pants.
Holding the aromatic cotton and rayon clothing close to his nose with his right hand, Edgar sniffed its personal fragrance deeply while he clawed at his crotch with his right hand to liberate his erect dick. As he unbuckled and unzipped his khaki trousers, then forced them, as a unit with his orange-striped white boxers, past his butt to the floor, his fat cock and dangling heavy balls emerged like a sprung Jack-in-the-box. Immediately, but unconsciously, he petted his pet's bulbous nose and veined neck while his hyperventilating lungs tightened his chest. Uncontrolled by reason, he hobbled to the small stool in front of Suzanne's vanity, then sat as unrelenting horniness swept through his whole being.
Edgar pulled his illicit nosegay from his face, but couldn't bring himself to relinquish it. Bending at the waist, he untied his brown Wolverine work boots with his right hand and then toed their heels until they were off his feet. All the while, his rock-hard boner rubbed its velvet-soft glans on his bowling shirt and every time it bumped a button it fired electric messages to his groin's center demanding a more lasting remedy to its needs. Finally, still wearing his socks, but leaving his pants and shorts behind on the floor, in violation of the very principle he had just mentally chastised Suzanne over, he got up, returned to the closet, and tossed her undergarments onto the rest of her dirty laundry.
At this point, Edgar could have walked twenty feet to the bathroom, jacked off, returned for his left-behind clothes and escaped to his bed. Instead, however, he was drawn, like iron filings to a magnet, to Suzanne's bedside. The summer-like May weather was his ultimate undoing. Not hot enough to make the central air conditioning automatically kick in, it was sufficiently warm to cause his daughter, despite her lightweight sleepwear, to throw off her covers and lay on her back with her left arm bent behind her pillowed head.
As Edgar looked down at Suzanne's angelic oval face, he was not only beside her, he was beside himself. He knew his admiring stare was lustfully nonpaternal, but the guilt didn't prevent him from slowly rubbing his cock and imagining his left hand was her hand; or mouth; or pussy; or ass. Risking discovery, he reached out his empty right hand to turn on her nearby table lamp. He held his breath as the switch clicked as loudly as any strike he'd ever rolled and the sixty-watt bulb lit the room like a Klieg light.
Suzanne's eyelids didn't flutter, nor did her breathing change at all. Edgar relaxed and swallowed the tennis-ball-size lump in his dry throat as he realized she was fast asleep. "If that didn't wake her, then as long as I just look without touching, I should be okay," he thought hopefully. He moved as close to the mattress as he dared without bumping it with his legs and jiggling her. He tightened, then loosened, his grip on his shaft while he slid his fist in longer, more deliberate strokes.
During Suzanne's earlier restlessness, before she finally made herself comfortable outside her covers, her pastel lilac-grass-and-rose striped gauze camisole top's long hem rode up above her matching wide-legged sleep-shorts' ruffled waistband. Edgar studied the flat elongated navel which stared back at him from her bared midriff and cursed silently, "Damn my eyes, if her belly-button doesn't look like a miniature cunt-slit." He squeezed himself harder and prompted a clear viscous dew-drop to issue from his dick's gasping mouth. Looking lower, he was disappointed that her pajama bottoms were too bunched between her thighs for him to see her actual pussy.
Above her toned athletic tummy, Suzanne's top's spaghetti straps had succumbed to any number of shoulder rolls. Now they in lay useless loops upon her upper arms and the triangular pockets intended for her mounded pert breasts inadequately performed their duty. Edgar sucked in his breath at the expanse of pale flesh which notably lifted, then fell, as she regularly inhaled and exhaled. Still, it wasn't enough and, rationalizing that touching fabric wasn't the same as touching her, he gently tugged loose the key-hole bow-tie, then peeled away entirely her protective puckered cotton tents.
Once again, Edgar dodged detection as his bold move went unnoticed by his slumbering daughter. Her beautiful blossoming boobs made his mouth water. He ached to plant tender long kisses on each pebbled puffy areola and tease its nipple to hardness with his tongue before sucking as much of the tit top as possible as far into his mouth as he could. Only his overwhelming fear of waking her kept him from satisfying his desire.
Edgar let his imagination go, but he did not let go his prick. His left hand sped up while his right hand cuddled and caressed his tightening nuts. He stared at Suzanne's perfect hills and visualized his cock sliding in the valley between them until his nuts could deliver their product to her dimpled chin. Responding to his thoughts and actions, his scrotum shrunk around his throbbing balls and hugged close to his root.
Edgar hated himself, but loved every thrill that raced from his gonads through his gut to his gullet. Switching visual targets to Suzanne's elliptical umbilicus, he pretended he was penetrating her virgin membrane and initiating her to full womanhood. His prick pulsed against his flexing knuckles as he capped his flared helmet just in time to catch and contain his jetting jism. Backing away from her bed, he stuffed his shooting cock under his Beefy-T T-shirt and held the spasming meat against his heaving belly until he felt no more fresh warm spurting semen.
Checking belatedly to see if Suzanne still slept, Edgar sighed his relief that he had gotten off and now would get away with her being none the wiser. Quickly he turned out the bedside light, then collected his clothes from her vanity stool and slunk out of the room leaving the door just as he had first found it. As he started to pad down the hall to the master bedroom, he thought, "Never again." But a second voice in his head snidely suggested, "Unless fortune smiles on you. She does seem to be a very sound sleeper, doesn't she?"
Abruptly, a groggy voice called out, "Da'? Daddy? 'Zat you?"
