Spit Ch. 01

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Tide was going out, waves licking the legs of my chair, water warm. The sun, still below the horizon, charged the clouds with an amber glow.

I love dawn on the beach. Not many people around. I bring my coffee. In the off-season, I’ll go naked, too many people now. I tilted my Panama down on my face and waited for the day.

She was walking, far away, but I could tell she was young, thin. Walked slow, looking for shells and checking out the sunrise. Closer now, she was eighteen, twenty maybe. Dancer thin, but swimmer strong, in the shoulders. Built like a boy, just a handful on top but round below, long brown hair, sun-kissed. Like my ex-wife. Why I kept looking at her, sideways, from under the hat. Cool.

A shadow? No, tattoo, a dragon, on her thigh, big. Shades of green and yellow, detailed, expensive. Wearing almost nothing, a bikini, yellow, three triangles with string, the back probably a thread. Looks good on her, very good.

Stops, almost in front of me. Checking me out. Why? I’m older, maybe twenty years. I’m in great shape, but no danger of being called a hunk. Turning, walking, closer, I lift my head, blink.


She stands in front of my chair, the tiny swimsuit not seeming to bother her under the circumstances.

“Nobody calls me that.”

“Cept me.”

“Cept you.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Cause you’re the spitting image of your mother.”

Shifts her weight to one foot, makes her hip drop, one nipple almost free, not bothered.

“What are you doing here?”

I stick my fist in the air, pointing behind me with my thumb, “Live here.”

She looks, two stories, all-glass front, almost two-thousand square feet, whistles, low.

“You’re doin alright.”

“Not mine.”

“Rental? High season? Still…”

“Belongs to a friend. He lets me stay here. I do things for him.”

“I remember. Same things you did back then?”

“Yeah, didn’t think you knew.”

“Didn’t, mom told me.”

“Yeah, I bet she did.”

Time to change the subject.

“What are you doing here? You live in the middle of the country.”

She waves her hand, back the way she came.

“Bunch of us rented a house, got in late last night. They’re all crashed out.”

The dragon seems to move when she flexes her hips. She’s her mother, except the ink.

“That coffee?” Pointing to the thermos.



“It’s black, no sugar.”

She picks up my cup, unscrews the jug, “Good, just the way I like it.”

Sipping, she turns, facing the sea. Round, firm, tanned, the tiny string tight in the clench of her ass, making it tough to be her dad.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?’

“The suit. I wasn’t planning on meeting my father after ten years.”

I lied.

“No, not a bit.”

Mind? No. Tough though, to separate the daughter from the woman in front of me.

“You look good.”

She bent over to check a shell. The string, in there, deep. Her lips snug and close, no hair. I couldn’t help it. I moved to conceal my reaction. She straightened, turned, holding a shell.

“What’s this called?’

I held it, turned it. Smooth, not damaged. “This is an Olive.” Handing it back, our hands touching, paused, “This is a good beach for shells.”

She put it on the arm of my chair, “You keep it for me, no pockets.”

“Guess not.”

Looking down the beach, “My friends are coming, gotta go.”

Hands me my cup. Walking off slowly a few steps. Turns and shifts on one foot again, “Can I stop by? I wanna talk.”

“Sure, just knock.”

“I won’t be interrupting anything?”


Dinner, Chicken Marsala, I made extra. I like the leftovers but…

A quiet knock.

“Come in Spit.”

My daughter slips in the door. Sundress, short, very short. Fabric so thin it’s only got one side, sandals, hair pulled back, no makeup, doesn’t need it.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“My friends don’t knock.”

“Do I need to knock next time?”

I was just plating dinner.

“I can come back.”

“Or you can join me. You eat yet?”

“No, and thanks.”

As she moves with liquid grace, the fabric clings and releases her, showing no lines. Her scent is clean, smells of sun and sand. We eat in silence.

Forks down on clean plates, “You were expecting me.”


“You made enough for two. Did you know I’d come here tonight?”

“Know? More like hope.”

“You got anything to drink or did you go all AA?”

“No, I was a guy trying to live a miserable life. I partied too much but never felt I had to drink. After you two left, I knocked it off. Rum in the cabinet, juices in the fridge. I think you can find the ice.”

“Should I make two?”


On the deck, chairs facing. We sip, I wait.

“Why didn’t you ever write, call, try to contact me?”

“Wanna see them? The letters, the cards. I have them all.”

She uncrosses her leg, the dim light from the kitchen on her upper thigh, showing me that I was right.

“You http://www.izmirlitv.com never sent them?”

“Returned, unopened, all of them.”

She sits back, drinks, legs closed now, “She never told me, that bitch, never.”

I had no answer.

She takes a long drink and sets the glass down. Leaning back, legs not quite tight, more thigh in the kitchen light.

“What happened?”

I lean back, “I think you know. I’m sure your mother told you.”

Fire in the brown eyes, makes her look even more attractive, “Mom told me lots of things. A lot of them were lies. I don’t live with her anymore. What happened?”

“We met in high school. We were exactly eighteen, virgins. We thought we were in love. Classic miscommunication. In one of our horny conversations, I thought she said she was on the pill. When the big day came, in my parent’s bed, I didn’t pull out. You know the feeling, first time, so amazing. After, she freaked, naturally. We decided to wait and see. You were already on the way.”

She drinks again, the glass is empty, “another?”


She gets up, uncaring about being seen, takes my glass. The fabric clings to her firm ass as she walks away. Memories of her mother in a different time.

I watch her through the window, confident, already comfortable in my space, humming a tune.

Hands me my glass, sits again, gives me another peak, doesn’t seem to care. Leans back, sips, “Then what?”

“I was raised well. I had done this, and I needed to take responsibility. I proposed, she accepted. Then we told our parents.”

She smirks, “Bet that went well.”

“Yeah, well, kinda. My parents were unhappy but glad I did the right thing. Your mom’s folks hated me. But they let us get married. I got in with the union, good job, benefits, and pay.”

“And some shady side work.”

“No comment. It doesn’t pay to be too nosy.”

“I’ll remember that. So, what happened?”

“I worked a lot. Odd hours, but I brought home a good income. Your mom did a great job raising you but the only thing she liked about money was saying goodbye. She spent it faster than I could make it. Lead to arguments, big ones. Then I think she found somebody else.”

“Why do you think that?”

“You just know, I hope you never find out.”

“You didn’t hire a snoop? Check up on her?”

“I didn’t want to know. Wouldn’t have mattered and could have been bad. I’d end up in prison. Beating up her lover wouldn’t make her love me again. I knew where it was going. She served papers. I figured we could work out an arrangement over you. I was wrong. I had a cheap lawyer, didn’t think I’d need one. She had a heavy hitter. I never saw it coming. You two were gone before I could do anything. I tried to stay in touch. I told you about the letters and cards. I haven’t spoken to her since that day in court.”

“Know what she told me?”

“No, and I don’t want to. You have to make up your own mind, you’re nineteen now.”

“Almost twenty.”

“You’ll get the card this time.”

She smiled, took a drink.

“How bout you? Anybody since?”

“Didn’t I warn you about bein nosy?”

Smiles again moves her leg, another peek. She knows.

“You’re not the man mom described; I want to know more, please?”

“There’s been a few, never married any of them. I’m getting better at choosing them. How about you?”

She takes a sip, looks off to the beach, scratches her thigh, pushing the dress up. I see more.

The wind is picking up, gusty.

“Now who’s being nosy?”

“You started it.”

“No, nobody. Lost the V card a few years ago in a very unmemorable event. Sounds like yours went much better. I date. But guys my age don’t like intellectual conversation, just fucking.”

“You mean lovemaking? Having sex?”

She snorts, “No dad, fucking, sport fucking, hooking up. Just get naked, get hard, get wet, get it done. I hate it and I won’t do it, so, I don’t date a lot.”

First time she called me dad, I noticed, “So?”

She sighs, moves the leg again, “I’m not proud of it but I ended up with a married guy for a while. He was about your age, with kids. I was weak and needy, so was he. He was so good to me. Truly made love to me. Sometimes we got wild too. I loved it, but I hated it.”

I took a drink, said nothing, letting her set the pace.

“I broke it off. It was never going to change, and I felt like shit possibly wrecking his family. People that fuck around almost always get caught.”

“Tough call, but smart.”

“I cried for weeks. I was a mess. But I stuck with it. Then, I met a guy, older, like you, but definitely not married.”

“How’s that going?”

“Gone. I thought he was going to propose. I found out I wasn’t the only one.”

“What did you do?”

She leaned back and smiled, “I firebombed his Porsche and her Ferrari, the one I sold her.”

I laughed, hard, snorting booze, “Really? I underestimated you.”

“Maybe I got it from you.”

I laughed again, “Hope you got something better than that. Hey, wait, the Ferrari you sold her?”

My daughter Zoe sat up, she glowed with pride, “Yeah, me. No college. I went to work selling cars. I’m damn good at it and in a year or so I was recruited by the Ferrari dealer. I’m killin it there.”

“There’s no…?”

Glaring, “Don’t even suggest that, dad. Even if I wanted, it doesn’t work. You get fucked twice, once in your pussy and once in your wallet, they’ll never buy.”

Her language surprised me, she noticed, “Sorry, got a little coarse there. I’m usually better.”

“I understand. I should have never questioned you.”

“S’ok. We’re getting to know each other. I like it.”

“Me too. Thanks for coming by, talking.”

“May I have your number?”

She calls my phone and I hers.

She gets up, I follow, “You’re a good cook. Maybe I’ll come back.”

“Don’t knock.”

She smiles, pauses, makes no move to leave, I wait.

“May I see them?”

“Of course, hold on.”

I get the stack, bigger than I remembered, two fat rubber bands. I come back out. Her eyes widen at the size of it. I hand it to her.


“You can keep them. They’re yours anyway.”

She taps the stack on her tanned thigh, “Thanks, dad. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, us old men need our rest.”

She laughs, “You’re thirty-seven.”

“Almost thirty-eight.”

“Well, g’night dad.”

“Night Zoe.”

Two days. I kept looking up the beach, second-guessing every word from that night.

The afternoon of day two. I’m on the porch, into a book. Got my speedo on today, comfortable, not expecting anybody. A shadow covers me.

“Stand up.”

I stand up.

Red rimmed eyes, tear-streaked face. Zoe clamps her body to mine, buries her face in my shoulder, and starts crying hard. I don’t know what to do. I grip her thin body around the waist. Another sundress, short. I feel something under it this time. But still warm, inviting, tempting me in ways I never expected. After a minute, she takes a gulp of air, talks, gasping.

“I took that pile home. I didn’t want to open them that night, I just organized them in chronological order. There were so many. We had a trip the next day. Last night I started. I read all night. It took me all day to recover and get over here.”

She steps back, looks me in the eyes, hands on my hips.

“Dad, I love you so fucking much. Letters. You wrote letters. Cards for every holiday and my birthday. I even checked the postmarks. You never missed. Always positive, always loving, always there.”

Feeling the tears well up, my voice cracked, “It was all I could do. I knew she would never let me see you.”

Zoe grabbed me again, hard, twisting. I can’t help it, I’m only a man. My cock pressed against her firm young belly. She looked up angled her head and before I could react, kissed me on my lips, briefly, then done. She released me and stepped back. No way to hide my erection, she knew anyway, ignores it.

“We need to talk.”

Her nipples are like two forty-five rounds under the thin fabric. I think I catch her scent.

“Let’s make dinner.”

I put a pair of shorts on over the speedo, not comfortable about being around her with no restraint, guilty about the feelings.

In my small kitchen, Zoe making salad, me prepping a steak for the grill. She’s animated, excited, always touching, running her hand over my back as she passes behind me, comfortable. I hold her hips as I squeeze by, firm, trim, tempting. I like seeing her like this.

“You’re not much on clothes, are you?”

She smiles, points the knife at my speedo, “Look whos’ talking. But you’re right, I’m not much on clothes. I’m usually nude at home.”

I laugh, “Me too. That’s funny.”

She takes the hem of her dress in her fingers, “Well?”

Caught flat-footed, “No, I don’t think so.”

She feigns a pout and wordlessly goes back to work.

On the deck, sliced steak, Caesar salad, red wine. Soft warm breeze off the ocean.

“I want to tell you about my life.”

“I want to hear.”

“Don’t be too quick, you may not like some of it.”

“I’ll take my chances. You’re back in my life. Nothing’s going to change that.”

“I love hearing that. I’m going to tell it all, no secrets. I hope your feelings don’t change.

“Shoot, I’m ready.”

“Mom took me away when I was ten. From that day forward, she never said a nice thing about you. It was all lies. But she was very good to me. A good loving mother if I didn’t ask about you.”

She takes a bite of salad, chews, reaches for the wine, holds the glass up to me, “You’re contributing to the delinquency of a minor, you know.” Smiling.

“That’s what brought you into this world, don’t complain.”

A whimsical smile as she twirls the wine in the glass, “I just never thought of you as a corruptor of youth.”

“You’re over eighteen, an adult. You can make your own choices.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Zoe tells me about her life for the last ten years. School, friends, trips, living with her mother and Aunt, Janet’s younger sister Pam. She was right, it was a good life, as long as my name didn’t come up. When it did, it was not enough money and he was never home, probably had some girl. Zoe stopped asking.

She told me about, losing her virginity, without a lot of graphic detail. Didn’t matter her nipples poked out while she was telling the tale, must have been some fun there. Told me more about the married guy and the next one. I could tell they were good. The stories got a bit more graphic. I got hard. Pulled my chair closer to the table. She squirmed in her chair and those nipples made a return. She paused.

“So, what do you like to do?”

“I work for Vinny.”

“No dad, for fun, you know?”

“I’m in the gym every day, work when there’s work, and hang out at the beach.” My answer was clearly not acceptable.

“You got a girlfriend? Maybe a FWB?”

“FWB?” I knew, I was just stirring the pot.

“Are you really that out of it? Friend with benefits. You know, a fuck buddy.”

I put my glass down and did my best to level a piercing stare.

“Just because you shared the erotic details of your life does not mean I have to share mine. I don’t have a lady right now and I never have a FWB. That’s shallow. I crossed the same line you did once, like you I called it off and for the same reasons. That’s as close as I got to a FWB. But I have done other things.”

Zoe wasn’t phased a bit, “A girl can hope you know. We’re a lot more alike than I thought we’d be and what do you mean, ‘other things?'”

“Time to clean up.”

She pouted and picked up her plate.

In the kitchen, she flipped on the radio, light jazz, low volume, made the work go faster. More hands running along my back, me too, she felt good under my fingers, still guilty. Work done, she slips the towel into the rack.

“Dance with me.”

Sade, ‘Unbreak my heart’, painful, pleading, deep. Zoe tight against me, arms over my neck, mine just brushing the top of the thong under her dress, swaying, comfortable, silent.

“Tighter, dad. Hold me tighter.”

I can’t help it, her pelvis, her pussy, against my cock, the traitor, growing, no sense of guilt, just desire. She knows, she must. Keeps dancing, swaying. Her breath now deeper, warm on my neck. My hands sweaty, afraid to move, wanting to move, lower, over her firm ass, cupping holding. It’s wrong, but I sense I may not be alone. Pressing against my bulge. She stops, looks up.

“Pee break, don’t leave.”

My cock softens, guilt returns. Dads should not have these feelings, but then again, neither should daughters. Have to let her lead, but can I follow if she does?

Back, face flushed, nervous.

“It’s getting late. I should get back.”

A reprieve, making space, reconsidering, maybe.

“Of course. You know you can stop by any time.”

A kiss, on the lips, longer than the last one, but still safe, and tempting.

“Should I knock?”

A weak moment. An open hand, slapping that firm ass, just a little, maybe lingering too long after.

“You know damn well you don’t need to knock, sassy girl.”

Her eyes go wide, then an evil smile.

“Aren’t I a little old for spanking?”

I smile, giving in to the flirt, “Remember what I told you.”

She turns, leaving, “I do. I’m an adult, I can make my own choices. But, dad, so are you.”

The screen door slams lightly, and I watch her walk away, swaying, no lines under the dress now.

I stare. The floor of my bedroom. Not the floor, what’s on it.

A thong, white, pure white, the gusset a shade darker, an irregular pattern. Laid out, carefully, gusset towards the door. An offering. I’m at a crossroads. She wasn’t peeing, she was masturbating, in my bathroom, thinking of me, soaking her panties, leaving me the invitation, the decision.

In my hands now, still a little warm. Her scent fills me. Hard, pressing against my shorts. Wet fabric in my nose as I unsnap, let them fall. Bursting out of the speedo, so hard, so needy. She smells clean, lusty. Stroking, picturing her, in my bathroom, hand up her dress, the other pinching a nipple. Fingering, thinking, of me tasting her, at her apex, licking. Then, over her, looking in her eyes as I enter, so wrong, so powerful. A feeling like none before. Starts in my toes, up my legs, my balls ache, my cock hardens even more. I’m there, my knees buckle as I jet my forbidden lust all over my daughter’s underwear. More, more than ever before, two three, then four jets. Shaking. Satisfied. Decision made.

I leave the thong, rumpled, cum filled, where I found it. My reply to her offer.

A text, over my breakfast.

“Boat trip today. Okay if I stop by after?”

“Looking forward to it.”

“How’d you sleep?” Subtle, fishing.

“Best night I ever had.”

Smile emoji. Message sent and received. It’s up to her now.

Mid-afternoon. I’m in my speedo. I see her on the beach, she sees me and jogs, then runs. The yellow G-string suit, her small breasts fighting to get out. I stand, we collide. She looks up, a kiss, on the lips, lingering, warm, nice. We’re both breathing a little deeper. She steps back, ignores my erection.

“Got booze pops?”

“You know where.”

I see her go in, take a right, towards my room. I smile, sit down, wait.

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