First off, it's not as bad as it sounds, really. I'm her step-father, and not her real dad. But in the end it's just an excuse. I mean, I raised her through her teen years and saw her off to college, so I guess, unless she really thought her deadbeat dad was a father to her, I was it.
As I walked into the city on the main street, Damrak, leading directly from Amsterdam's central train station, I nervously fingered the folded e-mail I'd been carrying tucked in my wallet for the past month and a half. Damrak changed into Rokin, and at the end of canal off the Amstel River, I made a right onto Heiligeweg.
Trillions is where you go to get laid. It's not a private club, but you do have to look a certain way to get through the door. Well-groomed, is perhaps the most polite way to phrase it. I flatter myself that I do try and take care of my looks. While photographing models I've picked up a few hints and tips, and I'm not too modest to say that I've been mistaken for one of them on occasion. For your benefit, I'm five-seven tall in bare feet, trim figure, 34C bust, with shortish blonde hair. My eyes are clear blue, and I have very full, soft lips, or so I've been told.
Saturday morning and here he was walking through the parking lot for work. He looked up and sighed. It was a beautiful day with just a few puffy clouds floating lazily across a bright blue sky. The temperature even at ten in the morning was warm enough that it promised to be a day for beaches, strolling down the lakeshore or sitting in a park watching the girls go by.
Jason Maxwell sighed once more and pushed on the glass doors to the main entrance.
There she is. She has amazing hair, the perfect skin, a great set of abs peaking out from under her tank top. She moves with catlike grace through the crowded bar, smiling at people even as she pushes them out of her way.
"God, you just want to grab that ass and lick your way up her stomach," I mumble to Brook. Brook just smiles and takes the pool cue from my hands for her turn.
He lay beside her, lost in a trance. Her fingernails trailed gently across his skin, so light it sent shivers up his spine. He lay as if dead, transfixed by the thrill of her touch. That entrancing touch, which left him helpless against her will. She continued to draw lazy, slow circles up and down his chest, gently grazing sensitive pierced nipples, running lusciously through a sprinkling of soft hair.
Sandra shook her head and sighed as she listened to her daughter talking to her boyfriend in the next room.
"You have got to be kidding me, right?"
"C'mon Jen, it'll be fun. Ron and Angela and Wendy and Greg will be there."
"A stupid protest? Please."
"We could end up on T.V."
I had been waiting at the airport for hours when I finally heard the announcement that my flight had been cancelled and there wouldn't be another one until the next day. I was going to visit my sister in California but now my departure would have to wait until tomorrow. So I headed to the parking garage for my car and headed home.
Honours year, and the going was tough. Going to uni at hours I didn't know existed, to check up on experiments. Going to uni on weekends, for God's sake. Writing methods, hypotheses, tabling results, hoping against hope that things would go OK - there's no margin for error as an honours student. At the end of the week, there was little I could do other than collapse into my bed and sleep.
It was a slower than average Sunday morning at the restaurant and pub I own in an historic town close to Washington, DC.
As is my usual custom I repaired to my office and began checking my mailbox at the various swinger sites to which I subscribe.
I was elated to see a response from a local couple I had sent an introduction to and, as luck would have it, the male half was online.