Father's Keeper

by Parker Ford

  Gil pushed into me on a slow even stroke, letting my body expand and adjust and take him in. Then he stilled, hands on my hips as my body shook with a fine tremor and I gulped air. When I pressed back against him, he made a small sound in his throat and thrust hard, holding me still and sinking into me. “God, I love this. I love you,” he said and I stilled. Somehow that invaded me more deeply than his cock.

  “I. . .”

  “Don’t say anything. At all. Put your head down,” he said softly and I did. A small smile played on my lips. He was giving me an out. One I didn’t need. I had flirted with the idea of examining my not so right feelings for him for so long, that now that I was free to express them, it stumped me.

  I reached behind me, putting my hands on his hips and feeling his muscled flex as he fucked me. Gil wormed his fingers between me and the vanity, finding my clit with his fingertip, he stroked me closer and closer to orgasm. My body so full of him, humming with the power of our coupling and the surge of emotions in my chest just for him.

  “So, so perfect. This is perfect, you are perfect.” Gil was muttering softly under his breath, almost like he was whispering secrets to himself.

  “I love you,” I said, facing him in the mirror. Seeing my own strong reflection in the glass, my blue eyes flashing, defying him to question me. “I love you, Gil.”

  “Done,” he said softly, his face shifting as he came. His fingers flying over my clitoris so that I joined him, a long liquid orgasm that warmed my pelvis and made my cheeks flush red. “Done and done,” he said again. “I love you too, kid. Always have. But. . .”

  I smiled, reaching back to touch his flanks again as the final small flickers of my release worked through my cunt. “I know. Not that way.”

  He leaned in and bit the back of my neck hard enough to make one more spasm work through me. “Not always that way, but for a while now. Just wouldn’t look at it.”

  Gil wrapped me in a towel and when I opened the door, I froze. My brain double clutched for an instant with confusion. I stared into my mother’s big blue eyes, so much like my own. My mother. Marian. Gil’s wife.

  She took me in, naked but for a towel and Gil behind me pulling his jeans up over his lean, naked hips.

  Her mouth tightened into a thin line and she said “Jennifer, your hair is blue.”

  * * * *

  “Why don’t you let me and your mother talk,” Gil said softly, moving past me into the dining room.

  “But I--”

  “Jennifer,” he said, giving me a look that was half warning, half plea.

  “Oh come now, Gilbert,” my mother said in that fake calm voice of hers. She never called Gil Gilbert unless he was passively aggressively pissed. Which she was. “If she’s old enough to fuck, she’s old enough to be privy to our conversation.” Then she smiled. She said it in the same voice as if she’d said please pass the gravy.

  “Mother, I--”

  “I think you need to shut up now, darling,” she said.

  “Marian, you left us. You have no right to come in here and be upset by anything.”

  “Gil, you were having sex with our daughter!”

  “By marriage,” I interjected. Then I bit my lip. The presence of them in the same room, the arguing, my mother’s belittling attitude all made me feel young and unsure. But it also pissed me off.

  “Shut up, Jennifer, you don’t know what you’re doing. Clearly you’ve--”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  “You’re a child.”

  “A child?” My face was hot and my throat was tight. “Fuck you!”

  “Very original,” my mother said.

  “Jen,” Gil said, coming to me.

  “Don’t touch her,” my mother said.

  “Touch me!” I crowed. “And you, shut up. You shut up, mother. You know why you think of me as a child? Because you really haven’t been there for me physically or emotionally since I was one. Gil and I--”

  “Are wrong. And I will tell everyone,” she said, her eyes narrowing. When they slitted like that she looked evil or crazy. My own mother--I hated when she looked like that because it meant maybe I could look like that at times. And the thought scared me to death.

  “No you won’t,” I said.

  “I will. I’ll tell everyone you seduced my daughter,” my mother hissed, her thin hands balled into fists.

  Gil shook his head, clenched his jaw. He looked away and I could see him trying to think and be calm. He was too good a man to toss around threats and nasty words. But I wasn’t that good.

  “No you will not,” I said. “Because if you do, I will go right behind you. I will tell everyone how you ran around on Gil for years. How you were never enough. How you were frigid physically and emotionally and he hung in there to be around for me and because he’d made a commitment.” I took a step toward her and made my voice louder. “I’ll tell them how I wanted him for years and years but he wouldn’t cave. How I kept at him and at him and finally, finally he let me in. Finally he let me seduce him. Finally, he realized that you were not enough woman for him and that he needed someone who would love him and respect him and be there for him. I will tell. Me. Everyone,” I finished.

  My mother had gone pale under her honey-colored highlights. “Gilbert!” she said.

  “Don’t cry to him,” I said, smiling. “He can’t make me and he can’t stop me. No one can make me do anything. And that’s what you don’t get. I’m not a child. I’m all grown up now, mom. And I want your husband. And I want you gone. You were gone when I got here, be gone again,” I said and stomped up to my room for clothing. So I cried a bit. So what.

  She didn’t see me.

  Chapter 15

  When I heard feet on the steps, I immediately thought it would be Gil. Come to do damage control for Marian. Something he’d been doing for as long as I could remember. But then I recognized the lighter step and I noticed it was a hesitant step. Gil would not be hesitant with me--not ever and especially not now.

  The knock was light but somehow entitled, or maybe that was me being sensitive and putting my spin on it. I ran my thumb nail along the small hole in the right leg of my jean. “Yes?”

  “May I come in?” My mother rested her cheek on the door jamb and stared at me. Probably waiting for me to throw a shoe at her or something. I had done that when I was fifteen. Tossed a high top sneaker at her. I realized now that all I really wanted was her attention. Good or bad, I simply craved it. Now I knew that even if I craved it, I might not get it. And if I did get it, it might not be what I expected it to be.

  I shrugged, shoved my fingertip in the small hole and forced it wider. I wouldn’t look directly at her, I thought it might make me start spewing hate at her and be unable to stop. “It’s your house,” I said.

  “True,” she sighed. It was meant to be an oh whoa is me sigh, I thought. Instead the lead in her statement stood out. It was her house and no one would forget it. Not if she had any say in the matter.

  “What do you need, mother?”

  “I’m leaving. Gil has decided to move out. I told him he could pay me rent. I won't be here. But he feels it’s best to start fresh.

  I nodded, waiting. I refused to speak. She finally cleared her throat and blinked. “Anyway, you can stay here if you like.”

  “No thanks,” I said. I really had nowhere to go and no idea where I could go, but I’d never stay here. Not without Gil.

  “Oh. Okay, then. Are you sure? Marty is insisting on a cruise around the world, he says. He’s going to pilot that boat…or is it captain?” She shrugged her trim shoulders and waved a hand at me. “Either way, he wants to sail and I said I’m up for it. There’s nothing for me here. Hasn’t been for a long time.”

  Inside, I winced at that. I hadn’t been gone all that long. Gil had always tried to love her and had taken damned good care of her. He worked long hours to churn out exceptional one of a kind pieces to keep my mother in her fancy workout clothes, expensive wine
and a new car every year. He’d busted hump and then she’d left. Him, me, her life.

  “Try not to fall overboard and drown,” I trilled and then couldn’t help myself, I laughed.

  “Jennifer!”

  I thought of saying I was sorry, realized it would have been nothing more than nicety and upbringing. I shook my head looked away.

  “Yes, well. Will you send me a new address when you have it? Will you let me know where you end up?”

  I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t, or even if I did, nothing would come of it. It’s as if when I left my mother washed her hands of me. Not because I was a disappointment, but because she was done. Not all families belong on holiday TV specials. She had done her job and now she was going forward, without me.

  When she left, I sat there, staring at the hole in my jeans, swinging my feet across the fuzzy white rug on my floor.

  “You okay?” Gil asked from the doorway.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. He had never said he was surely leaving. He hadn’t said a word. He loved me, he said, but that had been the heat of the moment. Men said all kind of stupid stuff when they were fucking. And what a heated moment it had been for sure. I couldn’t quite meet his dark gray eyes and I was afraid if I opened my mouth to speak, I’d cry.

  “Jen?”

  “You’re leaving then,” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “Oh,” I said. I put my head down, down as far as it would go. Part of me wanted to beg him to take me with him. Part of me was too fucking proud and refused to beg for love any more.

  The bed dipped and he was running his thumb over my other jean clad leg. “I was hoping you might come with me.”

  I looked up, my heart jumping in my chest, the blood thumping in my veins. “Where are you going?” I asked, as if that mattered a lick.

  “Wherever I end up,” he said.

  “Sound perfect,” I said.

  “Almost,” he said and took my hand in his, squeezed. “Will you come with me?”

  “Yes,” I said, putting my head on his shoulder.

  “Now it’s perfect,” he said.

  I smiled.

  * * * *

  We pulled out of the driveway and I felt the eyes. Marian had made sure to spread the word around before she left. But that was fine, we were going somewhere new. Somewhere where we were just Gil and Jen, not stepfather and daughter. We hit the road in his truck, my piece of shit in the garage in Pleasant Parks. I’d deal with the Chevy later.

  The hill going up and out of the streets named for mystical characters in tales for young children looked huge, but when we crested it, the town below looked small. So easy to leave behind that small life and move onward and upward. Into the unexpected and the big and bold life we could have.

  That night we pulled into a roadside motel with a fritzed out neon sign. It blinked at us like some highway siren’s song. V CAN Y. . . V CAN Y. . . We ate heavy greasy chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes. Flat beer and oversweet pie in the attached diner. I wore my mother‘s pearls to dinner. A small reminder against my skin and my heart of what I didn‘t want to be.

  Later we crawled into bed and he held my arms high above my head, slipped into me. His cock filling me where my body needed it most, his kisses filling my soul where it needed it most. Gil rolled his body over mine, coaxing not one orgasm from my cunt, but three, and he tasted every cry that crossed my lips with his own sweet mouth before coming with a humored groan saying in my ear “You’re gonna kill an old man, Jenny girl.”

  I shook my head, cupped his cheek, kissed him.

  When he dozed off, I watched him. The sharp cut of his jaw, the gorgeous fall of his long lashes on the apples of his cheeks. Asleep he nearly looked like a little boy. My harsh words about Gil to Carl came back to haunt me. I’m not my father’s keeper…I realized that maybe I was, after all, but that was okay, because he was mine too.

  And I remembered from my dream that seemed somehow prophetic now, Sometimes crops need to be tended a long time before they yield the sweetest fruit.

  The End

  ABOUT PARKER FORD

  Parker Ford writes all her dirty stories in her head during her day job. Just an average secretary working for a small publishing house, she adores her secret, filthy inner life. She often races home to jot them down and share them with her husband. He often races her to the bedroom to act them out. They live with one very spoiled dog and a plethora of 'adopted' wildlife outside their home. And yes, she knows that Parker is usually a boy name, apparently that is a memo her parents didn't get. Reach her at parker.ford13@yahoo.com

  If you enjoyed FATHER’S KEEPER, you might also enjoy:

  UNCLE ED’S LAP

  By Parker Ford

  Fiona volunteers to help her recently widowed uncle get his house in order before starting her freshman year of college. Uncle Ed and aunt Carole are two of her favorite people in the world. While trying to help her grieving uncle, she doesn't expect her school girl crush to turn into a torrid affair, but it does. She doesn't expect him to want her at all, but he does, more than he can handle. And as her uncle struggles with the thoughts of wanting and having his niece in so many ways, Fiona struggles to show him that it's all okay. That she's not a little girl any more.

  Warnings: This title contains explicit sex and language, incest, spanking, shades of erotic asphyxiation, bondage, elements of non-consent.

  EXCERPT:

  Fantasies were just fantasies. You didn’t have to act on them. Right?

  I busied myself cleaning the kitchen. Bachelors suck at cleaning. So do young coeds but hey, I was bored and my mother Marie had taught me well. Cleanliness was next to godliness, plus if you threw yourself into it, it could make the afternoon fly in an blink. I ate cucumbers from the garden with homemade ranch sauce uncle had made the night before for dinner. That was all I really had the stomach for. I poured a big glass of lemonade and downed it in four long swallows. Then I started rearranging the cabinets and wiping down the liners. The worst chore I could imagine from my growing up years. Now it seemed to soothe me.

  "Wow. I had no idea I would come home to such a tight ship," he said from the doorway. I jumped, a china plate shattering at my feet. A thousand tiny jagged teeth of china scattered around me on the red tile floor. Barefoot and in turquoise shorts instead of jeans, I was pretty much fucked. "Shit, I’m sorry, Fiona." He colored when he said my name aloud and my cunt responded with tightening warmth. "You're bleeding."

  I looked at my calf where a thick nearly black rivulet of blood trickled slowly down my leg. "It's no big deal. Just as shard. But I am kind of...stuck." I shrugged, feeling horribly stupid. "I'm so sorry. I can go on ebay and try to replace it. I'm such a klutz!" I felt like I might start sobbing right then from frustration.

  "Hey, I scared you. Don't talk about ebay or any of that. Stay there. I'm gonna grab you and take you in the dining room, then I'll clean up this mess."

  His work boots crunched over the china shards as he picked me up and carried me out. He set me on the table and put my foot on one of the ladder back chairs. "Let me get the bandages."

  I nodded, suddenly feeling little and helpless again. Letting him care for me the way he had when I was a little girl and I'd skin my knee. He caught that far away look when he came in. "You okay? You’re not cut anywhere else are you?"

  I looked. "Nope. Just there. Not too shabby considering the immense mess I made."

  "We made," he amended. "You never would have dropped it if I hadn't startled you." He wiped the cut with a wet cotton ball. Wet with alcohol it seemed because fire bloomed in the cut and I hissed. "Easy, be good," he said, smiling. He blew on the cut to cool the sting. Just like old times. Only now, the feel of him blowing on my skin made my pussy keep a wet temp with my heartbeat.

  "Ugh," I said.

  "Sorry it stings. It will be over in a minute. Promise."

  I could only nod.

  He squeezed a gem sized squirt of antibiotic lotion on and co
vered it with a big square bandages. "To keep it all covered," he said. His fingers smoothing the flesh colored cloth covering made me shift on the table. I felt trapped by his presence, the very hugeness of him and my pulse jumped at my throat from a mix of excitement and fear. So close like this I could picture him beating off to me. As close as we were, I could picture his hands pushing my legs apart. I could imagine a million scenarios I shouldn't. "Thanks," I managed.

  "You sure you're okay?" He turned my chin so I had to look at him. I nodded and swallowed hard.

  "Yeah," I said, thinking inside, God, just kiss me, kiss me already, kiss me and then touch me and we'll pretend it never ever happened, I swear...

  It took a second for it to register his hands on my thighs, his long finger splayed out so they pointed like traitors to my pussy. Uncle Ed leaned in, his lips brushed mine so softly it was more like a kiss of wind than a person. I opened my mouth, spread my legs, begging him with my body. More.

  I buried my hands in his too shaggy hair, tried to make sure I scheduled him a cut, and pulled him in tighter, I closed my legs around his hands and scooted forward just a touch. I wouldn’t think that I shouldn't do this. I'd think about how good and right it felt. Fuck feeling shamed.

  "Fiona, I shouldn't..."

  "I know...I do, but..." His fingers slipped over the hot moist V at the crotch of my shorts. I broke off in moan. It was like being burned, electrocuted, smacked so hard the blood seems like acid when it rises to the surface. I wanted his touch so bad that jut a fingertip made my mind go red and my heart skip wildly.

  "Don't make that sound," he said, but swept another finger along where the first had been. Two fingers running soft patterns over the crotch of my snug shorts. Over my pussy. Fuck. Directly over my clit.