CHAPTER 1
At last new widower Charlie Creek was left sole occupant of his home. His two daughters had returned respectively to Rome and Los Angeles to their families after coming for the funeral and had cleared the house of most of Beth's things but had left the photographs of her undisturbed.
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It was her weekend at her father's, and was, as always, a nice vacation from her boring life at her mothers. Being at her dad's made her feel warm and happy, like she was a little girl again. She loved laying in the massive, ornate white canopy bed with its soft pink sheets and fluffy white comforters. This room was also her favorite backdrop for her adult amateur barely legal website.
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This story has only marginally incestuous themes although it involves a naked voyeuristic grandfather and his bi-sexual granddaughter in the same bed.
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When 68 year old Edgar Whitney went over to put in his daughter's storm windows for the winter, he thought he was going just to do his daughter a favor. After Anne's husband took off for greener pastures a couple years ago and pretty much disappeared from his wife and daughter's lives save the occasional support check, Edgar had tried to help out around the house whenever he could.
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Angela was a few years younger than me - well OK a good twenty. She joined our company straight from college and had other assets apart from being remarkably good at her job. She had long dark hair, perfect slim figure without being gaunt and pert young breasts that just looked perfect under anything she chose to wear. She'd been with us six months when her performance and potential were first recognised.
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At 28 years old I hadn't been with a man for three years. The first two years after my husband died, I couldn't bare the thought of another man touching me. I felt like it was cheating. Jake wasn't supposed to die in that car accident. He was supposed to grow old and gray with me. Jake was gone and I knew I had to move on, but acknowledging this didn't make things any easier. Still, at twenty-eight I wasn't willing to spend the rest of my life alone.
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Chapter One
Cassie and I had a date that Friday night and I had been looking forward to it all week. It had been several days since we had had much time together, which meant that we'd had no sex either. Since Cassie has an-eighteen-year-old daughter, sex is out of the question unless Amber is asleep or we have it at my apartment. And since the walls are thin, sometimes sex is still out of the question even if Cassie's daughter is asleep. We were going out for dinner; a movie and some time alone back at my place later.
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The old fisherman sat out at the end of the dilapidated dock in his lopsided deck chair. Though it was getting on toward evening the sun was nice and warm. He was fishing really light; a homemade bamboo pole and an old reel he maybe got before he had whiskers. Duck-taped it to the pole and wound it with ten pound test. Fishing flounder didn't take much gear. He had a card of hooks, a tin with some weights and floats and some leader. Minnows in an old milk bottle and a plastic paint bucket for his catch. He had caught some.
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Attending the cocktail reception welcoming the conference attendees was not at all out of the ordinary for me, as I always wanted to check them out before the opening sessions in the hopes that I might find a hot one to hook up with. In my early years of writing I had attended many such conferences as an attendee, for the past few years it had been on their dollar, as a paid speaker. I tried to do one or two of these conferences a year... picking my spots so it would be to a place I enjoyed visiting... and Newport Beach definitely ranked up there on my list of desirable places.
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"I am not going to apologize." He was adamant. He refused to apologize. She was not going to convince him that he owed Patsy an apology, neither was he was going to tell her what really happened. She might explode.
"Dad, just call her, alright? She wants you to call. You do not need to use the word, "apology," but you do need to call her. She said you left, just walked out."
"Oh, alright, Mary Ann, I'll talk to her later, but I'm busy right now." He thought if he offered a good enough excuse to his daughter, she would hang up and leave him alone.
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Robert Kyle had finally had it.
Everyday he allowed his American History class the last five minutes of the period to themselves. And everyday during those last five minutes, the female student sitting directly in front of him would do something to give him a raging hard-on.
Dropping a pencil. Re-tying a shoelace. Tossing something in the wastebasket and missing by a mile. All three caused her to have to bend over.
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