This story is an assemblage of True Stories compiled into a delicious fantasy. Please let me know what you think, and share share share what you thought, ideas. Confess. Your responses are the reason I write. Thanks.
*
I am chatting with Sara tonight.
No one is home but I am sitting in the bathroom in my robe with my laptop, the door closed and locked. A necessary precaution, considering Sara is my daughter who is in her second year in college. It's all innocent stuff, fun really. We started emailing when she started college this year cause we missed each other. Then she showed me how to chat. I must say, there's something about the anonymity of the internet.
Sara: hahaha. No. This is how I think the process goes now. The first 'no' is just a way to politely acknowledge the offer. It's almost, thank you for asking to fuck me.
Me: Polite?
Sara: Hmmm. The second 'no' means I'm thinking about it. Considering the alternatives, maybe give head but nothing else. But regardless of which way I'm leaning, I can't appear too eager.
Me: But what about just falling into bed with the boys?
Sara: You mean Hooking up?
Me: Yeah.
Sara: I'm talking about a boyfriend girlfriend thing here. Or the possibility of.
Sara: I have one friend who had a one night stand, hooking up, but THEN they started talking. Talked two hours. They're still together. Very rare.
Sara: But back to the subject at hand. Third 'no,' if it is a no, just means 'no.'
Me: So three's the magic number. Three.
Sara: Pretty much. The process goes no. no. oh, yes, right lets fuck.
Me: Well, since you've asked three times
Sara: Hahahaha
Me: And after the third no.....
Sara: If it is a no then I guess you are breaking up.
Me: So sex after two no's
Sara: Pretty much.
Sara: If after a third 'no' you ask a fourth time, you're just being obnoxious and pushy. I already told you no! Geez, can't you take no for an answer!
Sara: But if you stop after just one no, well that's just rude.
Sara: You didn't want my nasty that bad. Ha! It's a snub. Just means the offer was made out of politeness on the offering party's part. And, well, he really doesn't want you to take up on the offer anyway.
Me: I never thought of asking someone for sex as being polite.
Me: You should be a lawyer.
Sara: Ha!!
Sara: Where are you?
Me: In the bathroom.
Sara: Hahah. Again! Why you hiding??
Me: I don't know.
Sara: In your robe?
Sara: Daddy hard?
Sara: You think we being naughty or something??
I sat there looking at the screen. I still had my socks on. I felt hot. My cock was stiffening under my robe. I didn't know the answer to that one.
It was innocent. Innocent. That's what I kept telling myself....
And
That's what I wrote.
Me: Innocent.
Sara: *Blush*
Sara: Now. You want to ask me for anything?
Me: You going to say no?
Sara: At least twice.
*******************
I am fifty years old, married when I was twenty (they tell me that is too early now) and had Sara when I was thirty. Still married. We're a happy family. I was probably a little too religious, and I probably drank a little too much, but I'm better now. I would describe my life as normal and nothing, NOTHING could have prepared me for what is happening right now in my life.
I'm getting older and sit at my desk staring at a piece of paper that gets increasingly important. My lab results: TC 4,3 mmol/l, LDL 2,7 mmol/l, HDL 1,2 mmol/l and Hb 133 g/l. I confess that I am surprised that I'm in as good shape as the results indicate. My blood-pressure was 125/75 mmHg, too. Amazing considering I don't take care of myself.
My life has been charmed, and continues to be. I'm waiting for Sara again, in my office. She wants to chat. But, really, I need to back up a bit.
After Sara went to college - her first year - I missed her terribly. She came home every month or nearly so, came home for holidays. But I could not believe that part of my life was OVER. The truly best years of my life. We were close, so very close. The summer passed quickly, she stayed at home working, saving money for her Sophomore year. And suddenly it was fall, that western breeze, that slight cooling in the evening, slant in the sunlight.
When she left this time, she gave me something. Her email address with a scribbled note, "Write me. Often. I'll miss you! Love Sara."
That was 'our' beginning.
Our missives began like laundry lists, weather, daily tasks, stuff we got, who was doing what in the family. It was nothing, simple, a point of contact - and I loved it. She was there! On the other side of this glass thread. But time provided a slow and steady shift which was imperceptible to me. I believe I stopped being her father, and she stopped being my daughter. We became something that was hidden, inside us. We shared a part of us NO ONE gets to see.
The lull of the web, the anonymity, the silence of it.
I created a completely separate email address that I provided to her. An address that was for OUR correspondence only. Secret. Then, she did the same for me. The secret alone should have been a clue. But as I said the changes had been so imperceptible. Like the suns rise. Looking up at any moment and you cannot see any movement, the sun hangs stationary in a clear blue sky, but then it is noon and the sun is overhead, and then the slanting shadows....and it is night.
I do remember the email which began it all though. It had the usual chatter of the day, moments, weather, schedules. But then...
'My roommates are such slobs. I can't believe I am living in such squalor. Which is really quite amazing because believe me, they could be spending more time in their own beds.
Sara'
I bit. I honestly did not know what she meant. I emailed back a simple question that evening related to what she meant, and when I rose next morning received this reply:
'Boys' dad. Boys. This place is a brothel, a pen in a zoo. A petting zoo. I'm not like these people dad. At least I don't think I am. But, I went out tonight and I have story - for you. There's this hotel nearby with a bar. And.....Yes. Yes. I admit I have an ID, a fake ID. I didn't seek it out, but they float around here like fireflies. I was given one. But that's not the point.
I shouldn't even be telling you this. I'm a bit drunk.
I went out. Within thirty minutes Emily and I were already weaving in their chairs, dizzily drunk, giggling, when a pair of nice older gentlemen showed up, ready to buy us drinks in the lounge. Imagine that! We had a bit of conversation about whatnot ... how everyone's day had gone and hints about where the night may be going. *teehehehehe* These gentlemen were from New York. They were giving a seminar, something, investment banking blah blah blah. Alone. They were dressed well and clearly refined and articulate and funny.
It wasn't long after that we were both on our backs in their shared room with our legs in the air. I think we did a pretty good job. I could see Emily the whole time. It was surreal watching her, like seeing myself. We would look over and smile at each other. I had John, I must say he certainly enjoyed the courtesies of my mouth.'
I was feeling myself getting aroused as I read.
'As I lay on my back I began to kiss him, and then kiss his neck and chest, lay him back and kissed his arms, lick his fingers. He had a wedding ring, and then back up his arm and down his sweet enlarged belly. I slid my body against him, pulled his cock in my mouth and he came so quickly! And the amazing thing, what a turn-on, that this man was used by another woman. That he would go back to HER, and in some way I would be there too. Would he think of me as she cooed in his ear? John said his wife is shrewish, selfish and always complaining. He was lying for my sake, she was probably wonderful, I didn't care. They'd been married for a long time, didn't have children. Blah blah blah. He was seducing me, could he call? Why? He would be gone tomorrow. Oh....the poor poor man. As he was talking, I managed to bring him to arousal again with my hand, and had another little romp....Then I gave him a big wet kiss, let him play with my open mouth, and we snuggled awhile saying lovely things, until - here I am. Don't know why I'm sharing.
Wait. I can hear Emily now. She's going around asking if anyone wants to go dancing. She's prancing room to room in her underwear. It's one in the morning. Just a sec.....
I just told her no. She has that freshly fucked look, OUR secret.
I'm tired. I'm drunk. I'm just going to hit SEND and not think about what I wrote. Can't remember anyway. You want to know everything about me.
So,
I miss you Sara'
**************
This email I read over and over and over. Don't know exactly why and aside from my initial warnings, of 'Be Careful' 'You shouldn't' etc. our conversations began to focus more and more on this side of her - our - life. The secrets, hidden places. Gradually becoming a confessional.
Sara asked me a question once shortly after her email, asking if I ever cheated on Annie - my wife, her mother.
I ignored the question (even though she did not). However, her missives raised distant memories, my thoughts went back and back, to the stupidity that is being twenty. How do we survive it? I would sit in my study, in my office - remembering. She also emailed me about wanting to chat, that it is all so much more immediate, more fun, and had set up a chat account for herself, would I too? I said yes, and she sent me some software.
Well, after some software installation, settings, phone calls, many giggling fits, and me being called a Luddite, we were chatting.
The chats took the same direction our emails had, only more quickly. I have to defend myself here. It's what happens, it's the medium. This screen that can talk back to you, just a blinking cursor, anonymous, silent, alone-not-alone, teasing out your thoughts, your hidden-self.
Your secrets.
Like Being drunk, not knowing when to stop.
*************
Add to that this game we took to, while chatting.
Each of us would sit with a bottle of wine, or a bottle of vodka, or Rum, or whatever was left in the house, and starting out stone sober we would chat, while gradually take shots, or slurps and gradually inexorably become drunk. Why not blend one addiction with another? Terrible really, but it's what we did.
My confession.
We were discussing, drunkly, her visit home; and I remember commenting how weird it would be to see her now.
Sara: Why?
Me: After everything we've shared, everything we talk about now. The things I know now about you. You don't seem like Sara on this thing.
Sara: No?? What do you mean:(
Me: No. Yes.
Sara: Hahaha.
Me: You do, I mean. I don't know.
Sara: I know what you mean. Is this really you? Can't see you, touch you, hear you? Just words on a screen. You could be some slobbering eighty-year-old with a tobacco stain running down your shirt.
Me: Or a fifty-year-old drunk with wine stains on my pants
