Late Back Ch. 02

Thank you for the encouragement. I have gone on ahead to the second chapter as requested, greatly buoyed by your positive words. It's a bit shorter, but I wanted to keep things moving along. I hope you don't feel it's too rushed – and I hope you don't feel short-changed. The anticipation is all, you know. Well, nearly. More to follow.

*****

Sometimes he even called himself "Linda's Dad."

He got called it a lot. When he'd picked her up from school her friends would sometimes chime in with "Oh hi, er, Linda's Dad!" when his actual name escaped them. Her teachers would introduce themselves as "So, you must be Linda's Dad." Other parents who he bumped into at those same PTA meetings. "Oh, how nice to meet you! Henry, come and meet Linda's Daddy. You must be so proud of the sweet little thing!" (He was, of course).

He didn't mind his life revolving around hers. That was part of the deal of being a single parent, he reasoned. If you wanted to look after a child, you make them number one. Your own life is less important. Sometimes he thought that maybe he could have been a little bit more successful if he hadn't always put her first. On at least two occasions he'd declined a move to the head office in another part of the country because he knew Linda was settled and happy where she was. He was really a bit too senior to still be stuck in a regional office, and younger men were starting to overtake him on the career ladder. But... success was relative, right? He told himself that, and most days he believed it.

But it was strange, sometimes, how his own identity had seemed to slip away over the years. He could hardly remember a time before Linda. Couldn't remember a time when she wasn't either in the house or he was waiting for her to come back to it. Couldn't remember a time when he wasn't thinking about her. He knew her timetable. He knew all her friends. He knew her taste in clothes, music. He knew – though she would be mortified by this, and he certainly never mentioned it – her monthly cycle.

And, alas, he knew her taste in boys. That Art, for example. She'd brought him over for dinner last week and he could see she really liked him and he and Art had finally found some common ground talking about classic 70s films and that had just about got them through the evening.

"Did you like him, Dad?"

"Yes, of course I did honey. He knows a lot about films, that's for sure."

"Yes, he really thinks about things. Not like most boys. I'm glad you like him."

Actually, he'd wanted to punch him, hard. Smug and condescending and stupid hair and sandals and generally just fucking irritating. You could do so much better, he wanted to tell her.

But of course he'd never say that. She was entitled to make her own mistakes, and his job now, sadly, was to slowly back away from her life. She was eighteen, she was an adult, he would always be there for her, but the relationship had to change now. His work, for the most part, was done. And, if he said so himself, he'd done a pretty good job with her.

It broke his heart, of course. If she could stay with him forever then that would be just fine by him. But this was his last job as a parent, he thought. Don't make her feel guilty about wanting to leave the nest. It's natural, it's right, and even if you lie awake at night thinking about how empty the house is going to feel far too soon now... well that was just how it was.

So it was getting to be time, he thought, to stop thinking of himself as Linda's Dad and to remind himself – and others – that he was also James (Jim) Hollins, he was forty-six, he wasn't dead yet, and he'd better start thinking about what he was going to do with the rest of his life. The money for her college was already stashed away, he had a reasonable amount of other savings, the house was paid off thanks to a couple of inheritances. If he wanted to, he could pack in the job and he could get a sailing boat and sail the world for a couple of years. Or climb Kanchenjunga. Or swim with dolphins. Or walk the Appalachian trail. Or take up scuba diving. Or... something.

Trouble was, none of those things appealed in the slightest to him. Maybe that made him boring. He hoped not.

What he mainly hoped his future held, to put it bluntly, was a Fuck Of A Lot Of Sex. Because by god, he missed that.

Since Linda's mother had left, he had been laid precisely four times. Once a year, each time when Linda had gone away to stay with her mother for a few weeks in the summer. (These trips with her mother rarely went well, which Jim was secretly very pleased by.) The town was just big enough to have a couple of escort agencies (thank God for the Internet) and Jim had availed himself of their services, meeting at a small hotel a few miles out of town. Outcalls cost a bit more, but he hadn't wanted the girls to come to the house. The house was just for him and Linda. It was their home. And there was something about the anonymity of hotels that added to the excitement.

He'd enjoyed the whole aspect of it. It was like a ritual, building up over a couple of days. Looking at the girls' photos. Reading their reviews. Making his decision and then the sense of growing anticipation. Showering at home before he left. Waiting in the hotel room. The knock on the door. The tentative hellos, the small talk, running his eyes over their soft, alluring curves, knowing that before long he'd be able to peel those clothes off, that pretty mouth would be on him, those long legs would be spread.

He'd done that for four years, but he hadn't done it last year. He'd gone to the same agency web site again (still thriving, twice the number of girls from when he'd first started using their services) and had started to browse, but then he'd seen something that made him change his mind.

He thought one of the agency girls was a friend of Linda's.

The faces were on the site were slightly pixelated, of course, but this particular set of shots was in a skimpy yellow bikini. And Jim thought he knew that bikini. He'd spent a lot of time discreetly gazing at it only a few weeks' previously, when he'd taken Linda and a group of her friends to the beach. He'd plonked himself down some distance away with a book but he'd sneaked a few looks when he could. Linda herself had been in a sensible dark blue one-piece that he'd bought for her, she'd grumbled about it but he was pleased to see her wearing it. She filled it nicely, he thought objectively.

And Karen had been in a yellow bikini. Well, she was barely in it. It seemed to Jim's trained eye that it had been designed for a B cup at best, and Karen was closing in on a D cup. And the bottom half was more thong than anything. She was a stunning girl, maybe a little bit obvious with her blonde hair that he suspected had some help from a bottle, but she oozed confidence and knew exactly the attention she was getting from every straight male within a hundred yards.

And there was a blonde busty girl in the same bikini on the agency web site. Careless, Karen, careless. Unless - she wanted him to know. ("Come get me, Mr Hollins.") But that was stupid. Of course she didn't. How would she even know he used the site? Unless... unless the agency let the girls look through the contact details of previous customers? Had she recognised his mobile number?

Don't be so fucking stupid, he told himself sternly.

He gazed again at the photographs. She was exquisite.

God, he loved the idea of booking her. Booking her? Christ, he loved the idea of fucking her. He probably would have booked her for the night if he could, rather than his usual couple of hours. He could just imagine waking up and looking down and seeing Karen gently sucking him awake...

But of course he hadn't.

For one thing, she might turn around the moment she saw him. ("Oh Mr Hollins – I'm so disappointed in you! And I know Linda is going to be horrified when I tell her all about you! Her dad is just an old perv!")

But even if she didn't, he had to live in this town for a while longer yet. And Karen was in Linda's social circle, and it would be More Than Awkward on both sides.

He was tempted though. Something about that age, that innocence... (Fuck that, how innocent can she be if that's how she gets her extra pocket money?)

Did Linda know she worked there? Surely she couldn't know? If she did, did Karen tell her stories about her customers? Did they sit around at sleepovers while Karen told them about who she sucked and who she fucked and who had begged her for her panties as a souvenir? Which made customers made her come and which had erectile problems and who had weird fetishes?

Did the girls sit around at sleepovers getting slowly wet while Karen told them all this? Did they discreetly rub themselves, almost without thinking, as they heard all of the town's dark sexy secrets?

Maybe it wasn't discreet. Maybe they took it in turns to rub each other, help each other along. Maybe they would slip the odd helpful finger into each other's shy young pussies, or teasingly lick a damp clit until the damp walls finally broke.

If Linda heard these things from Karen, did she get turned on by them?

Fuck. This was no kind of thing to be thinking about. No single man should be surrounded by teenage girls, he told himself. It was just too fucking much. Or not fucking enough, perhaps.

So he'd decided not to book Karen, but suddenly none of the other girls on the site seemed to appeal. Ranked by order of age, Karen (if it was her, and he was only eighty to ninety percent sure it was) was by far the youngest. The next girl up was twenty-two, and he wasn't that turned on by her photos.

Face it, he told himself, you only want to fuck a young girl now.

In the absence of actual female company, he'd done the next best thing. He'd retired early after a long shower, taken his laptop to bed, found a really good porn site specialising in teenage girls, and masturbated intensely for nearly two hours, bringing himself to the edge over and over, each time imagining a different girl ready to receive his load. Karen, mouth open ("Give it to me... please, Mr Hollins"). Then Angie, who Jim suspected of being a Very Bad Girl indeed, despite the angelic smiles she gave him. The way she dressed around the house... yes, there was Angie now, mouth open, rubbing her pussy, head bowed to receive his come spraying into her mouth. Now Angie and Karen together, fighting over who would get him to come in their mouths...

And then right at the end, as he approached the edge again, another face had popped into his mind. Chestnut hair, the prettiest of all of them, mouth open, eyes full of wonder and love and whispering his name...

No, he couldn't think that...

But he came as hard as he'd ever come in his life.

**

He'd heard her come home. She'd been with Art, of course. He really hoped that wasn't going to last. He was her third boyfriend that he knew of, but he seemed to be the most serious one so far. There was something slightly different about Linda these last few days, a slight distractedness, still affectionate towards him of course and still kissing him every morning and hugging him at night before going off to bed... but he sensed that she was drifting just ever so slightly further away from him. And that was as it should be, of course, but for her to go from him to Art was a bit disappointing.

She was moving around downstairs. He could go and get a drink – he was very thirsty - and talk to her, ask her how her evening went, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. ("Oh, Art is just a terrific fuck, Daddy, I came three times in twenty minutes! But I've gotta have a shower, I've got so much cum in my hair! Night!" Christ, what kind of thoughts were those?)

The other reason he didn't want to go and talk to her was that he currently had a huge erection which, mockingly, was refusing to go away. He often watched a porn film or two while his daughter was out, safe in the knowledge that the house was empty and he could take his time. But for whatever reason he hadn't been able to climax – but of course his erection had helpfully decided to stick around.

She was coming up the stairs now. She thought she was quiet, but although she was perfect in nearly every other way Linda had a heavy tread and tended to move around the house with the grace and discretion of a small buffalo.

Silence now.

He waited for the sound of her door to shut. Then he could go downstairs and get a drink of water. He should really have bought a glass up.

Come on Linda! What was she doing?

He thought he heard a faint whimper from outside his door. Some heavy breathing. Was she crying?

Had that bastard Art hurt her? Had he dumped her? He was fucking crazy if he had, she was way better than he deserved. But also, that would be quite good news.

Be honest, he told himself. You'd be fucking delighted if Art had dumped her and she was crying and you could comfort her. Even if your heart broke for her, seeing her so miserable, seeing the back of Art would almost make up for it.

Yes, another little whimper. Poor baby. He had to go and see she was all right.

He put the light on and swung himself out of bed. He pushed his erection irritably around inside his pyjamas but it was going to be hard to disguise it. It seemed harder than ever now. Perhaps he could just stick his head out, ask if she was ok. That would be fine.

He padded towards the door.