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From: anais ninja <anais_ninja@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Phoenix Rising - Chapter Ten - Annie Get Your Gun (Mf MFf fb teen inc mast drugs)
Date: Thu, 23 Oct 2003 05:10:05 -0400
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Phoenix Rising
 
 
(c) 2003  Anais Ninja  anais_ninja@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html 
 
Note:  This is my story.  The names and details have been changed to 
protect the privacy of those involved.  Some of this account has been 
reconstructed from memory, but most of it has been based on a journal I
kept during these years. 
 
This is a sequel to _Exile_, which can be found on my asstr-mirror.org site:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/exile/index.html

 
                             * * * 

 
Chapter Ten - Annie Get Your Gun (Mf MFf fb teen inc mast drugs)
 
 
It was nearly dawn when I woke up.  I slithered out of the sleeping bag
like a snake shedding its skin.  My father's cock had slipped out of me
during the night, and he was softly snoring.  I wrapped his jacket 
around me and walked out of the shack, into the cold air.  The fire had
faded to a pile of smoldering branches and embers, but it still gave
off a bit of warmth, and I held my hands over it, rubbing them
together. 
 
I peed in the bushes behind the shack, and went back inside, slipping 
back into the sleeping bag behind my father, clinging to his warm body.
 He murmured something and stirred, but he didn't wake up.  The dream
was still etched in my mind, and I tried to make sense of it.  But, as 
always, my dreams were impenetrable, their meaning eluding any rational
analysis or explanation.  I gave up trying to figure it all out and
fell back to sleep, lulled by my father's gentle snoring. 
 
 
                                  * * * 
 
 
"Wake up, kitten," he said, squatting next to me, gently rubbing my 
shoulder. 
 
"Daddy...," I said, still half-asleep. 
 
"Sleep well?" 
 
"Yes, Daddy," I said, sitting up and wrapping the sleeping bag around 
me.  "I had a weird dream." 
 
"That's funny," my father said.  "I'd always have strange dreams when 
we'd come out here.  What was yours?" 
 
"I was riding a horse," I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.  "And 
then there was this man, he was an Indian but his skin was so white..."
 
"Makya," my father said. 
 
"That's his name! How did you know?" 
 
"He worked for my father when I was younger," he said.  "In the 
warehouse.  Hopi, he was, and some of the other laborers said he was a 
medicine man.  One day he didn't come to work.  Rumor had it that he 
just walked into the hills.  Never heard from again." 
 
"He showed me something," I said, remembering the vision I'd seen, the 
young man on the carpet, lying perfectly still.  The rest of the dream 
had started to fade from my memory, but that image was still vividly 
etched in my mind. 
 
"You can tell me about it over breakfast," my father said, leaning over
to kiss me on the cheek. 
 
I didn't want to leave the warm embrace of the sleeping bag, but I was 
hungry, too.  I managed to get dressed without leaving the bag, 
struggling into my jeans within the warm nylon and flannel womb, and I 
stepped outside the shack.  My father had built another fire and was 
heating up water in the bean cans by placing them on top of heated 
rocks.  He poured some instant coffee into the water and stirred it
with a spoon he'd pulled from his pack, handing me one of the hot cans.
 I pulled the sleeves of my sweater over my hands to keep from burning 
myself, inhaling the steam from the can before taking a tentative sip. 
Then my father picked up a small brown pouch and poured a coarse yellow
powder into one of the chili cans, adding water and stirring the
mixture with a stick.  He poured the yellow slurry on to a heated stone
and it began to bubble as it cooked. 
 
"Where did that come from?" I asked my father.  We hadn't bought it at 
the store on our way out here. 
 
"It was in the shack, in that pile of broken furniture," he said.  "I 
guess I didn't notice it yesterday." 
 
"Weird," I said.  I sipped my coffee, feeling it chase the chill from
my bones, and then we ate our improvised cornbread and some dried
fruit.  The bread could have used some salt, but it tasted pretty good
all the same.  As we ate breakfast, I told my father about my dream,
the cave, the vision I'd had, the flood waters that chased me.  He sat
quietly and listened. 
 
"You don't know who that boy is?" he asked me after I'd finished. 
 
"I couldn't see his face," I said.  "But I felt like I knew him." 
 
"Could be just a weird dream, Annie.  I'd dream about flying when we 
camped out here.  Not in a plane or anything, but as a bird, a big
bird, like an eagle or a buzzard."  He stirred the fire with a branch,
making a shower of sparks rise into the cold morning air. 
 
"It seemed so real," I said.  "I want to write it down before I
forget."  I headed back into the shack and pulled my journal from my
backpack, jotting down whatever I could remember before I lost these
fragments forever.  I had just closed my notebook and was holding it
against my breasts when I heard a loud crack outside, followed a
split-second later by a metallic "ping".  I put my journal away and
stepped outside. 
 
My father was standing next to the fire, pointing something at the
trunk of a fallen tree, upon which he'd placed a row of six of the old
beer cans I'd swept from the shack the day before.  As I came closer, I
could see that the object in his hand was a pistol.  He pulled the
trigger and one of the cans tumbled backwards off of the log. 
 
"Daddy, I didn't know you had a..." 
 
"It was my father's," he said, firing another shot, sending another can
back into the dirt.  "His old Ruger .22, the one I learned on.  Come 
here, I'll teach you how to use it."  He handed me the gun, showing me 
the safety catch, how to hold it, how to aim.  He stood behind me as I 
held his gun at arm's length and pulled the trigger, instinctively 
closing my eyes when I heard the bark of the shot.  The bullet whizzed 
off into the distance, missing the row of cans.  I expected the recoil 
to be more forceful, like in the movies, but the gun just kicked a 
little when I fired it. 
 
"Keep your eyes open, princess," my father said, correcting my grip.  
"Line up the sights, take a breath, and just squeeze the trigger. 
Don't pull so hard."  I did as he said, re-wrapping my hands around the
grip, and fired.  One of the cans spun backwards off of the log and
clattered against a rock. 
 
"I did it!  I did it, Daddy!" 
 
"Good shot, baby," he said, hugging me, giving me a wet kiss on the 
cheek.  I fired four more shots, hitting three of the cans before the 
gun clicked on an empty chamber.  My father took the gun from me and 
ejected the empty clip, pulling another from his pocket and sliding it 
into the grip.  He walked over to the fallen tree and set up the cans 
again, and we took turns knocking them over.  I only missed one, 
prompting my father to call me "Annie Oakley". 
 
We spent the rest of the morning talking, sipping coffee, smoking one
of the joints Krystle had given us.  I asked him about Betsy, his
second wife, the one who had run off with that cult.  He seemed
reluctant to talk about her at first, the pain of her leaving still
with him, like a wound that refused to heal.  But he began to open up,
telling me about their life together, Dana's birth, how happy he'd
been.  My father said that when she left, he could have sent David off
to live with his grandparents, Becky's mother and father, but he
didn't. 
 
"As much as I love you and Dana, I always wanted a son," he said.  
"Didn't matter to me that he was another man's child, or that he's half
black.  I didn't care.  He's a good kid, he makes me proud when I watch
him play ball or he brings home an 'A' on his report card." 
 
"He's a handsome young man," I said, leaning my head on my father's
arm. 
 
"He is," my father said, putting his arm around me.  "Mia said that 
you've been with him." 
 
"She did?"  I'd told her, or rather I'd confirmed her suspicions, but I
didn't tell her any details of what we'd done together.  "Don't be 
angry, Daddy.  Please..." 
 
"I'm not, princess," he said, kissing the top of my head and caressing 
my shoulder.  "Make a man out of him." 
 
"Thank you, Daddy," I said, snuggling against his body. 
 
As noon approached, my father smothered the fire with some sand and 
dirt, and then he dug a notch in the ground with a stick and we buried 
our garbage.  We returned to the shack and rolled up our sleeping bags,
tying them to our packs.  I took a last look at the shack before we 
headed down the steep trail that led to the dry river bed. 
 
The hike back to the Jeep seemed shorter this time, and we only stopped
to rest once, at the Shell Rock.  Maybe it was because my pack was 
lighter, or perhaps it was due to the fact that I knew how far we had
to walk this time.  Either way, we reached the Jeep a few hours later
and drove back up the dirt roads to the highway, arriving back at the
house just as the sun was starting to set.  I figured that this might
be the last Arizona sunset I'd see for a while and I lingered outside
for a few minutes before heading into the house. 
 
"Annie, how was it?" Mia asked me, giving me a hug. 
 
"It was wonderful," I said.  "A lot of fun." 
 
"You didn't mind sleeping in the dirt?" she asked. 
 
"There was an old shack there," I replied.  "It wasn't as rough as I 
expected.  I do need a bath, though." 
 
"Use the tub in our bathroom," Mia said.  "You can stretch out." 
 
"Thanks," I said, heading towards Dana's bedroom to unpack my bag.  
Neither she nor David were around, but Schultzie was there, curled up
on the floor.  He got up and started sniffing my backpack, curious
about the strange scents it had picked up on the mesa.  I took off my
jeans and sweater and wrapped myself in a towel, heading into my
father's bedroom.  He was sitting on the bed, inspecting a blister on
his foot. 
 
"Mia said I could take a bath here," I said. 
 
"Oh, okay," he replied.  "I was going to shower, but that can wait." 
 
"You could use the one in Dana's bathroom." 
 
"Yeah, maybe I will," he said, taking off his other sock and looking at
the sole of his foot.  "Go ahead, enjoy." 
 
"Thanks, Daddy."  I headed into the bathroom and began to fill the tub 
with warm water and bubble bath.  It took a while to fill, but I
slipped into the bath when it was about two thirds full.  I had just
leaned back against the side of the big tub when I heard the door open.
 It was my father, dressed only in his boxer shorts. 
 
"I came to see if I could scrub your back for you," he said, kneeling 
next to the tub. 
 
"Please," I said, leaning forward.  My father took a soapy washcloth
and began to gently rub my back. 
 
"I remember it now," he said. 
 
"Remember what?" 
 
"The baths I used to give you when you were younger," he said.  "I'd 
forgotten about them, but you reminded me the other night."  He made me
lean back against the tub again and he began to wash my breasts with
the cloth, squeezing warm water over them, gently washing my nipples,
making them stiffen. 
 
"That feels good, Daddy." 
 
He began to scrub lower, down my belly, reaching between my legs, the 
way he'd done when I was just three, his fingers grazing my cunny, 
parting my lips.  I leaned back and smiled, closing my eyes, letting
him play with my pussy.  Then I felt him reach for my hand and place it
on the front of his boxers, where his hardness was straining against
the fabric.  I slipped my hand inside his shorts and fished out his
cock, stroking his shaft as his soapy fingers found my clit. 
 
I'd wanted him to fuck me one last time before we left the mesa, but 
we'd had too much fun plinking cans with his gun.  I'd really enjoyed 
shooting; it was much the same feeling as when I'd throw a strike when
I pitched in Little League, seeing some kid in a baggy uniform and an 
oversized batting helmet swing at the ball and miss.  And there was 
something more, something almost sexual about shooting, a feeling of 
power, of control, the way the gun kicked in my hand as it ejaculated, 
spurting hot lead from the barrel, sending another empty beer can into 
the dust. 
 
That's what I was thinking of, shooting, the way the gun felt in my 
hands, as my father rubbed my clit under the froth of bubbles that 
covered the bath water.  I felt a tension in my belly as I began the 
ascent to my mesa of pleasure, and I let go of my father's cock,
cupping my breasts with my soapy hands, flicking my fingers over my
slippery nipples. 
 
"Oh, Daddy," I moaned.  "I'm gonna come..." 
 
"Come for me, princess," he whispered, rubbing my pearl faster, urging 
me to my release. 
 
"Daddy..." I gasped as that feeling surged up from my belly, spreading 
through my whole body, down my limbs, making my toes curl under the
warm water.  I stiffened, lifting my ass up from the bottom of the tub,
riding my father's fingers as I came.  Another wave of pleasure washed 
over me, and as it receded, I relaxed against the back of the bathtub, 
reaching for his hand and pulling it away from my cunny. 
 
"You're beautiful when you come," he said, leaning over and kissing my 
lips. 
 
"Thank you, Daddy," I said, reaching for his cock again, my fingers 
gliding over his veiny shaft.  "Why don't you get in the tub with me?" 
 
"I thought you'd never ask," he said, skinning off his shorts and 
stepping into the bath.  It was almost full at this point, and he shut 
off the faucet, letting just a trickle of hot water drip into the tub, 
keeping it warm. 
 
"I'm not wearing my diaphragm, Daddy," I said.  I had taken it out 
before stepping into the tub, and it sat drying next to the sink.  "I'm
sorry." 
 
"That's okay," he said, leaning forward to kiss me again. 
 
"I want to make you feel good," I said, wondering if I should just put 
it in anyway, even though the spermicidal jelly was back in Dana's
room, in my backpack. 
 
"We'll have time for that later," my father said. 
 
"I know, but..."  I wanted to give him pleasure anyway, to let him know
the love I felt for him.  Reaching for the soap, I got up on my knees 
and leaned over him, scrubbing his broad chest and strong arms, his 
torso, his thighs, reaching between his legs to take his cock in my
hand again.  He smiled as my soapy fingers slid up and down over his
hard shaft, and he brushed the hair away from my face with a wet
finger. 
 
"That feels so good, kitten."  My father began to rock his hips as I 
stroked his hard tool.  It had been a couple of months since I'd given
a man a complete hand job; the last time had been that night when
Bradley and Helen had found me on the street, when a tow truck driver
had paid me to jerk him off in the cab of his rig while parked on a
side street.  I'd done it quickly and efficiently while he squeezed my
little tits through my sweater. 
 
This was different, though.  This was my father's cock in my hands, and
I wanted his pleasure to last.  I stroked him slowly, methodically, 
reaching under his balls with my other hand and cupping them, hefting 
them, feeling the weight of his heavy testicles.  His breathing grew 
heavy, sending little ripples in the water beneath the bubbles with 
every heave of his chest.  I cleared some of the foam away with my hand
so I could see him, his cock bobbing in the water with every stroke. 
 
I could feel him stiffen slightly, a telltale twitch that let me know 
how close he was.  I sped up my strokes, gently squeezing his balls, 
adding to his pleasure.  His hips moved faster now, splashing water 
against the side of the tub as he fucked my fingers.  I heard him gasp 
softly, and then he twitched again and let out a deep breath as he
began to come, thick ropy jets of semen pouring from the tip of his
cock, milky strands that drifted through the soapy water.  My father
relaxed, leaning back against the side of the tub as I milked his shaft
with my fingers, squeezing out the last of his sperm.  After I released
his cock we shared a passionate kiss, his slick hands sliding over my
skin as we sucked and nibbled each other's lips. 
 
"Please stay, Daddy," I said, seeing him start to get out of the tub. 
 
"I gotta help Mia, baby," my father said, reaching for a towel.  "She's
got a surprise for you." 
 
"Surprise?" 
 
"Don't ask me what," he said, drying his chest and arms.  "I promised 
not to tell." 
 
"Okay, Daddy," I said, leaning back in the tub.  The water was
beginning to cool, but it still felt delicious, soothing my aching
muscles and tired feet.  My father wrapped the towel around his waist
and knelt next to the tub, kissing me on the cheek. 
 
"I love you, princess." 
 
"I love you, too, Daddy."  He kissed me again and left the bathroom to 
get dressed. 
 
Despite the trickle of hot water, the tub began to cool after a while. 
Just as I was about to get out and dry myself off, there was a knock on
the door and it opened.  It was Mia, holding a fresh towel. 
 
"Here, Annie," she said, kneeling by the tub.  She leaned in and kissed
me on the lips. 
 
"Thank you," I whispered, pressing my lips against hers again.  After 
spending the last day with my father, her mouth felt wonderfully soft, 
yielding, pliant, like the petals of a rose. 
 
"I've got a surprise for you," she said. 
 
"Daddy told me," I said.  "He wouldn't tell me what it was." 
 
"I've laid out some clothes for you," Mia said.  "Take your time
getting dressed.  We'll be in the living room."  She gave me a quick
kiss and stroked my hair before getting up and leaving the bathroom.  I
stood up and used the shower massage wand to rinse the remnants of the
bubble bath from my skin, and then I dried myself with the towel and
wrapped it around me, picking up my diaphragm from the sink and heading
back to Dana's bedroom. 
 
There were new clothes laid out on the cot, a burgundy velvet
mini-dress with a high empire waist, a wine-colored bra and panty set,
and opaque black thigh-high stockings.  Before getting dressed, I
fished the tube of spermicidal jelly from my backpack and went into the
bathroom, lifting one foot on to the side of the bathtub and slipping
my diaphragm back inside my sex.  I noticed two bathing suits hanging
on the shower curtain rod, still wet and dripping chlorinated water. 
David and Dana must have just returned from the clubhouse pool while I
was in the bath. 
 
Mia must have remembered my size from our shopping trip earlier that 
week, because both the underwear and the dress fit perfectly.  It was a
lovely dress, the sort of sexy but formal frock one would wear to a 
Christmas party.  Thinking that we might go out to a restaurant for my 
last night here, I sat at Dana's desk and put on some makeup, just a
bit of mascara, eye shadow, and lipstick.  I thought about asking Mia
for some burgundy nail polish to match the dress, knowing she'd surely
have some, as it was her favorite color, but there probably wouldn't be
enough time for my nails to dry before dinner.  I slipped into my black
pumps and headed to the living room. 
 
The room had been festooned with streamers and balloons, a banner with 
the words "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" on it hanging over the fireplace.  On the 
coffee table was a birthday cake with fifteen unlit candles.  My
father, Mia, David, and Dana were all seated on the couch, and when
they heard my heels on the wood floor they all stood up and shouted
"Surprise!!!" 
 
"Daddy!  What...what is...?"  I stopped in my tracks, one hand on the 
bodice of my dress, over my heart, feeling it flutter. 
 
"Happy birthday, Princess," my father said, coming over to me and 
putting his arm around my shoulder, leading me to the couch. 
 
"But...but my birthday was last month," I said, sitting down between
Mia and Dana. 
 
"I know, Annie," my father said.  "And I'm sorry I wasn't there to 
celebrate with you.  We wanted to make it up to you." 
 
"Daddy, that's so sweet..." 
 
"Actually, it was Dana's idea," he said. 
 
"Is that true?" I asked her.  She nodded and smiled, and I hugged her, 
kissing her rosy cheeks.  "You're the best sister a girl could have." 
 
"I love you, Annie," she said, her eyes sparkling. 
 
"I love you, too," I whispered, hugging her again. 
 
"Let's have some dinner first," Mia said.  "Then we can open your 
presents and have some cake." 
 
"Presents?"  I would have been happy with just a slice of cake. 
 
"We all got you something," David said, reaching around his sister's 
shoulders to take my hand. 
 
"You shouldn't have," I said.  I felt such deep love for my family, 
wanting to make my last night there something special. 
 
"Let's eat," my father said.  "I'm starving." 
 
We adjourned to the dining room, where the table had been set with
Mia's good china and silverware.  There was a floral centerpiece and
two flickering candles.  My father sat me at the head of the table,
taking a seat at the opposite end, with Mia on one side and David and
Dana on the other.  Mia disappeared into the kitchen and returned with
the first course, her amazing onion soup.  My father poured wine for
everyone, and after the soup Mia and Dana served the main course, roast
rack of lamb with new potatoes and steamed baby carrots.  I already
knew what a great cook Mia was, but that night she outdid herself. 
 
After dinner, my father and the kids cleared the table and did the 
dishes while Mia and I sat in the living room, sipping our wine and 
chatting.  She promised to show me how to make that wonderful onion 
soup, and asked about my father's reaction when I told him of my plans 
to return to Boston and attend school there that spring. 
 
"He took it well," I said.  "He told me that having me half the year
was better than none." 
 
"I'm glad," Mia said.  "He's been so much sweeter this past week.  I 
think it's because you're here with us."  She reached for my hand, 
slipping her fingers between mine as she sipped her wine. 
 
"Maybe," I said.  "He still drinks too much.  I worry about him." 
 
"I know," she said.  "He said he would see someone about that, a 
therapist or something." 
 
"That's good," I said.  "I'm sure everything will work out." 
 
"I hope so," Mia whispered, squeezing my hand.  Just then my father and
the kids came into the living room, carrying the birthday cake, which 
they'd brought into the kitchen in order to light the candles.  David 
and Dana started singing "Happy Birthday", and my father and Mia joined
in. 
 
"Make a wish, Annie!" Dana said, her big beautiful eyes reflecting the 
flickering candles. 
 
"Okay, here goes."  I closed my eyes and thought of the one thing I
most wanted in the world, to be with my family again, people I'd hardly
know nine days earlier who were now close to me, who had given me their
love, who were now sharing a piece of my heart.  I opened my eyes and
took a deep breath, blowing out all of the candles.  David had brought
plates and forks, and handed a long knife to Mia so she could slice the
cake. 
 
After cake and coffee, my father went into his den and returned with a 
stack of gaily wrapped presents, placing them on the coffee table in 
front of me.  As he began to snap some pictures, Dana urged me to open 
my gifts. 
 
"This one's from me," she said, handing me a small square box. 
 
"Thank you, sweetie," I said, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.  I
unwrapped the box, slipping the pink ribbon over the sides and sliding 
my fingertips under the seam of the brightly colored paper.  Inside the
package was a lovely little wooden jewelry box, hand carved and
painted, and lined with dark blue velvet.  It played a tune when I
opened it, delicate little notes from a clockwork mechanism inside. 
 
"It's lovely," I said, hugging my little stepsister.  "I love it. 
Thank you."  Dana looked so pleased when I said that, and she snuggled
up to me on the couch while I opened the next present, an oblong box
that looked hastily wrapped.  Inside was a necklace, turquoise stones
set in silver. 
 
"That's from me," David said, smiling sheepishly as I held it against
my throat. 
 
"It's beautiful," I said, reaching for his hand.  "Help me put it on." 
He walked around to the back of the couch and fastened the clasp.  The 
stones felt smooth, the silver cold against my skin.  He leaned over
and gave me a quick peck on the cheek as my father snapped a
photograph. 
 
I opened the rest of the presents while everyone watched and had more 
cake and ice cream.  Mia had bought me my own tennis racket, along with
a outfit like the one she'd lent me, a short white pleated skirt, 
sleeveless knit sweater, and even a pair of those ridiculous ruffled 
tennis panties.  I blushed when I held them up for everyone to see, but
I appreciated the gift anyway and gave her a kiss and a big hug.  My 
father's gifts were even more personal, a sheer yellow babydoll nightie
and a pair of matching boudoir slippers with 3" heels a fluff of
marabou on the uppers. 
 
"Daddy, they're lovely," I said. 
 
"Just like your mother used to wear," he said.  He was smiling, but 
there was a wistful look in his eyes, as if he wanted to turn back the 
years and return to a time when we'd been together, with my mother and 
I, before he left us. 
 
"I know," I said, feeling my eyes begin to water, tears of happiness 
flowing down my cheeks.  "Thank you, Daddy." 
 
"Wear it with someone you love," he said, kneeling by the couch, drying
my tears with a napkin.  Mia put her arm around my shoulder and Dana 
took my hand in hers, and they held me while I wept joyful tears.  I 
felt a tug at my heart, knowing I'd be leaving my family the next day. 
I began to wonder if I'd made the right decision. 
 
I managed to compose myself after a while, though I had to make a quick
trip to the bathroom to fix my streaking mascara.  My father took more 
photos, setting the timer on the camera so we could all pose together
on the couch.  He sent David into his den for the Polaroid, taking some
instant snaps so I'd have something to take back to Boston with me, 
though he promised to mail copies of the shots he'd taken with his 35mm
camera. 
 
We'd just about finished the cake when it was time for David and Dana
to go off to bed.  They put up a bit of a fuss, complaining that it was
a Saturday night and that my father and Mia usually allowed them to
stay up late, but my father was adamant, and they headed off to their
rooms.  Mia followed, promising to tuck them into bed, leaving my
father and I alone on the living room couch. 
 
"Thank you for the wonderful evening, Daddy," I said, reaching for his 
hand. 
 
"I'm glad you liked it, kitten," he said, moving closer and putting his
arm around my shoulder.  "It's not quite over yet, though."  He reached
into his suit jacket and pulled out the vial of cocaine that Krystle
had given us for our camping trip.  He leaned over the coffee table and
spilled some out on the glass, using a business card to form the pile
of powder into four short lines.  We snorted them, and I leaned back 
against the couch, closing my eyes as I felt the rush chase my
weariness away.  He lit a joint just as Mia returned from putting the
kids to bed.  Though she couldn't do any cocaine while she was
pregnant, she did have a hit off of the joint and poured herself a half
glass of wine, even though she was just past her daily limit of one
glass.  I sat between the two of them, my father's arm around my
shoulder, Mia's hand on my thigh, gently caressing me as we smoked the
rest of the joint. 
 
"The kids should be asleep by now," Mia said.  "Let's go to the 
bedroom." 
 
"I'll meet you there in a minute," I said.  She and my father gave me a
kiss and headed down the hall.  I took a last sip of wine, picked up
the box with the nightie and slippers my father had given me, and went
into Dana's bedroom to change.  The lights were out, but she was still
awake, and she sat up in bed and turned on the lamp on her night table.
 
"Could we cuddle for a while?" Dana asked me, blinking her eyes against
the light. 
 
"I'm going to sleep with Daddy and Mia tonight," I said, stepping out
of my dress and sitting down on the edge of her bed.  "We can cuddle
later, okay?" 
 
"Okay, Annie," she said, holding out her arms for a hug and a kiss. 
 
"It was so nice of you to think of this," I said.  "It was the best 
birthday I've ever had." 
 
"I'm so happy you liked it, Annie." 
 
"When's your birthday, Dana?" 
 
"In March," she said.  "I'm turning eleven." 
 
"Eleven," I said.  "That's a wonderful age.  I hope I can be here for 
that.  We can do something really, really special for your birthday." 
 
"Thank you, Annie," she said.  "I love you." 
 
"I love you, too, sweetheart.  Now get some sleep, okay?" 
 
"Okay," she said, laying her head down on her pillow.  She watched as I
took off my bra, panties, and stockings, donning the nightie my father 
had given me, slipping the sheer yellow panties up my legs and stepping
into the marabou trimmed mules.  Before I turned out the light, I gave 
Dana a tender kiss on the lips.  Her eyes were half-closed, as if she 
was fighting to stay awake. 
 
"You look so pretty," she said. 
 
"Thank you, baby," I whispered, kissing the tip of her nose and turning
out the light.  "Good night, Dana." 
 
"Good night, Annie." 
 
I took a last look at her, smiling as she pulled the blanket up to her 
chest, and closed the door, heading for my father's bedroom.  The door 
was slightly ajar, but I knocked anyway and heard Mia say "Come in".  
She was sitting on the bed, wearing a white lace chemise that stretched
a bit in front to accommodate the swell of her belly.  My father was in
his boxers, leaning over the bedside table, snorting a line of cocaine.
 He wiped his nose, looked up, and smiled. 
 
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he said. 
 
"Lovely," Mia added.  "Come here, Annie."  I climbed into their bed, 
laying between my father and his pregnant wife.  Mia gently pulled me
on top of her, pressing her lips against mine, her hands roaming under
my nightie.  As we kissed, I felt my father's gentle caress as well,
and I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling of two pairs of hands
sculpting the curves and hollows of my body, cupping my cheeks,
fondling my breasts through the nightie's sheer fabric.  My father
pulled me off of Mia, laying behind me, softly stroking my skin as he
nuzzled my hair and kissed my neck.  Mia turned to face me, and we
kissed again, my lips yielding to her soft tongue as I ran my hands
over her round belly and swollen breasts. 
 
I felt someone's hands tugging at my panties, and I lifted my hips off 
of the bed so they could pull them down my thighs and off my legs.  It 
must have been my father, because Mia's hands were cupping and
squeezing my tits.  I felt his hardness, nestling between my cheeks, as
if we were made to fit together like this.  I wanted him so much, and I
began pressing my bottom against his manhood, rubbing my cheeks up and
down against his cock.  Mia slipped one of the nightie's thin straps
off of my shoulder, exposing my stiff nipple, which she began to lick
and suckle, making soft mewling sounds as I reached under her chemise
and found her cleft.  She must have shaved again, because I expected
stubble and felt none, just the smooth feeling of skin lotion on her
bare labia.  As I probed her nether lips, feeling the warmth between
her legs, she reached for my sex, teasing it with her fingertip, gently
probing me, feeling the moisture within. 
 
"She's ready for you, Frank," Mia said, lifting my thigh.  I felt the 
tip of my father's cock pressing against my slit.  He put his hands on 
my waist and moved his hips, trying to find the right angle that would 
allow him entrance to my passage.  Mia gave my clit one last rub with 
her finger and grasped her husband's penis, guiding it into my sex.  He
began to slide inside me, slowly, carefully, and I could feel every
vein and ridge on his shaft as he filled me, until his hairy balls
pressing against my thigh. 
 
As my father began to move his hips, Mia pulled the top of her chemise 
down over her shoulders, baring her swollen breasts and large brown 
areolae.  I leaned forward and began to suckle her, feeling them harden
between my lips, tasting the thin, sweet fluid that oozed from her 
nipples.  She moaned and stroked my hair, her hips moving in time with 
my father's as she humped my fingers. 
 
"Annie...yes...right there...," Mia gasped as I rubbed her clitoris, 
making her move her hips faster as I lashed it with my fingertip.  As
my father's beautiful cock slid in and out of my hungry hole, she
teased my little button, swirling her fingers around it, rolling my
pearl between them.  The bed began to make a rhythmic squeaking sound
as the three of us writhed as one, seeking our pleasure together,
riding the bed towards our release. 
 
Mia gently lifted my head from her breasts, seeking my lips for a kiss,
her tongue probing, searching for mine, eager for a taste of her own 
milk.  I could feel my father start to thrust faster, watching over my 
shoulder as his wife and I kissed, a sight that spurred him on even 
more.  As I sucked on Mia's busy tongue, he began to pound me faster, 
harder, his thighs slapping against my bottom with every stroke,
pushing me against Mia's fingers, pressing my belly against hers.  I
could feel my pleasure begin to mount with every thrust, pinned between
his thick shaft and her hand, sandwiched between husband and wife, an
instrument of their desire.   
 
I began to imagine what life would be like with them, servicing Mia in 
the mornings, sucking my father's cock when he arrived home from work, 
watching the progress of David's growing penis as he reached adulthood,
seeing Dana blossom into a beautiful young lady, the swell of her hips 
beginning to form, her budding breasts blooming like mine. 
 
And then there was the baby, the real guest of honor here.  I could
feel him stirring within Mia's belly, and I suddenly had the desire to
have one of my own.  I felt a tingling within my womb, a longing, the
urge to feel my father's seed planted inside me, to feel my father's
baby grow inside my body.  The tingling began to spread, pushing away
these unfamiliar thoughts, and I lost myself in my climax, releasing
Mia's tongue from my mouth so I could give voice to my joy. 
 
"Daddy...Mommy...yes...oh, yes..."  I clung to Mia's belly as she 
pressed her sex against my hand, tears of joy filling my eyes.  My 
father pumped my spasming slit, tightening his grip on my waist,
pulling me back and forth on his twitching shaft.  I could feel him
getting close, so familiar I'd become to his reflexes and responses,
but it was Mia's turn to find her pleasure as her hips bucked, rubbing
her sex back and forth over my trembling hand. 
 
"Annie...baby...my sweet...oh..."  Mia buried her face in my hair as
her words turned to moans, moans to stifled cries, cries to a
near-scream muffled by the pillow.  Her hips began to rock irregularly
and I felt the tension building in her body suddenly relax as she let
out a long, low moan.  Seeing his wife and daughter come together must
have had an effect on my father, because his thrusts began to get
erratic, as if he was trying not to come just then.  But he lost
whatever control he had, letting out a deep sigh as his twitching cock
began to erupt inside me, filling me with his seed. 
 
If only I wasn't wearing my diaphragm, I thought.  I might have a baby,
a pretty little girl or a handsome boy of my own, to love and care for,
to cherish.  I knew in my heart that this was an irrational feeling, 
impractical, almost whimsical were it not for the long-term 
implications.  At the very least I'd miss more classes, probably never 
even go to college.  And that's not to mention pregnancy, childbirth, 
nursing, years of constant care before school starts, and years of 
responsibility after that.  Still, there was this allure to the idea, 
and every kick of the baby in Mia's belly tugged at my heart. 
 
I tried not to think about this, preferring to lose myself in their 
caresses.  I told myself that it was the cocaine talking.  It always 
made my thoughts go a mile a minute, especially whenever I smoked pot 
afterwards.  I snuggled up against Mia, feeling her warmth, her gentle 
touch as my father stroked my back and nuzzled my neck.  Mia rolled
over on her back, trying to find a comfortable position, and I laid my
head on her shoulder, opening my eyes for just a second. 
 
That's when I saw them, two pairs of eyes at the window, watching as
the three of us lay quietly together.  I didn't think it could be David
and Dana, at least not at first.  They were asleep, I thought.  These
must be prowlers or something. 
 
"Someone's watching us," I said quietly. 
 
"Where?" my father said. 
 
"At the window." 
 
"Wait here," he said, slipping out of my sloppy sex and rolling out of 
bed.  He put on his bathrobe and reached for something on the top shelf
of his closet, something silver that he slipped into the pocket of his 
robe.  As my father put on his slippers and left the bedroom, Mia drew 
the sheets over her breasts and backed against the headboard, shaking 
like a leaf, and I cuddled up to her, holding her in my arms. 
 
"It's okay," I whispered.  "Daddy will take care of this." 
 
"I hope you're right," she said. 
 
"You're not freaked out about this?" I asked her. 
 
"What, prowlers?  Of course I'm freaked out." 
 
"No, not that," I said.  "This.  Us.  You and me and Daddy." 
 
"No, I'm not freaked out about that," she said, her fear abating for a 
moment.  "Not at all.  I think it's beautiful.  We love you so much." 
 
"I love you, too." 
 
"I have a confession to make," Mia whispered. 
 
"Tell me." 
 
"When I was younger, eleven, twelve years old, I had these feelings for
my father." 
 
"Mia...," I whispered, kissing her soft lips.  "Did you...?" 
 
"No, never, not even once," she said.  "But I thought about him all the
time, and I would touch myself..." 
 
"Tell me about him.  What was he like?"  I wanted to keep her mind off 
of what might be happening outside the bedroom window. 
 
"He's older now, almost sixty, but when he was in his forties he was 
handsome, tall..."  Mia paused for a moment and swallowed.  "...like 
your father." 
 
"Sounds dreamy," I said. 
 
"I still think of him, and I regret not taking a chance," she said.  
"You know, your father's been gone a long time." 
 
"I'm sure he's okay," I said, though I wasn't so sure myself. 
 
"We should call the police," she said in a trembling voice.  "Hand me 
the phone.  We'll call 911."  I reached over her to the bedside table. 
The phone was next to the coke, and I thought that we'd have to get rid
of that before the cops came.  Just as I handed the receiver to Mia, we
heard footsteps in the hall, coming closer.  The door opened and the 
ceiling light flicked on. 
 
David and Dana stood in front of my father, their coats zipped up over 
their pajamas, Dana's cheeks turned rosy red from the chilly night air.
 My father walked to the closet and put the silver object he'd had in
his pocket back on the top shelf.  It was only then that I saw what it
was: a small nickel-plated revolver. 
 
"Frank, you could have shot them," Mia said, drawing the sheets over
the rest of her body.  She'd seen it, too. 
 
"I knew it was them," he said, sitting down on the bed.  "They weren't 
in their rooms.  The gun never left my pocket." 
 
I hadn't bothered to cover myself, and I just laid there on my side,
the nightie half off of my body, snuggled against Mia.  David and Dana 
looked sheepishly down at their feet, knowing that they'd been caught 
doing something very bad.  David, however, kept stealing glances at the
bed, and I could see a lump forming in his pajama bottoms. 
 
"Well, that's awful, spying on us."  Mia said.  "Go back to bed and 
we'll talk about it in the morning." 
 
"No," David said.  "We want to sleep with you." 
 
"What?" my father said, incredulous.  "You want to what?" 
 
"We want to sleep in your bed," Dana said, an almost defiant look on
her face.  "With you.  I want to cuddle with Annie before she goes." 
 
My father's face softened, and he burst out laughing, leaving David and
Dana looking bewildered, having expected an angry outburst.  He reached
out for Dana, pulling her into his arms, hugging her, kissing her 
crimson cheeks.  She put her arms around him and smiled for the first 
time, a twinkle in her eyes. 
 
"Okay, just for a little while, and then it's bedtime," he said,
kissing her nose.  "Let's get this off first."  He tugged at the zipper
of her coat. 
 
"Frank, I don't think..." Mia said, as Dana bounded on to the bed and 
into my arms, holding on to me for dear life. 
 
"You too, sport," he said to David.  The boy eagerly pulled off his 
jacket and got into bed between me and Mia, snuggling up against me, 
kissing me on the shoulder.  I put my arm around him and his sister and
pulled them closer, feeling like I never wanted to let them go.  "Isn't
that sweet?" my father asked Mia.  "Look at them." 
 
"It is," Mia said, wistfully, rolling over and placing her hand on 
David's shoulder.  "Our beautiful children..." 
 
My father turned out the light and climbed into bed behind Dana, 
wrapping his arms around us, still wearing his robe.  Dana nuzzled my 
neck and David rested his head on my shoulder, holding me just below my
breast, gently caressing me.  Despite the size of the king size bed, it
was a bit small for five people.  Mia began to get a bit too close to 
the edge of the mattress, so she moved closer to David, snuggling up 
against him.  I could feel the hardness in his pajamas, pressing
against my thigh. 
 
I could say that we all ended up together in an ecstatic orgy of sexual
delight, but I would be lying.  David did press his erection against my
leg, but he soon stopped and fell asleep.  So did Dana, out like a
light even before her brother.  Mia straightened her chemise and laid
her head on the pillow next to David, laying her arm across his chest
and closing her eyes.  Only my father and I were awake.  He was
snuggled up to Dana, his hand on her hip, his eyes open.  I could tell
that he wanted to touch her more than anything else in the world, and I
wondered what would happen after I left.  No doubt he would at least
take more pictures, like the ones he'd taken of me.  I pictured her
tiny hands wrapped around his thick shaft, just the tip of his cock
between her rosy lips, his seed spilling from her little mouth. 
 
"Be good to her, Daddy," I whispered. 
 
"You know I will, angel," he said.  "I promise." 
 
"Thank you." 
 
"Good night, princess." 
 
"Good night.  I love you, Daddy." 
 
"I love you, too, Annie." 
 
With that, I closed my eyes.  The cocaine had all but worn off, and I 
was left with a deep fatigue, total exhaustion.  It had been a long
day, a long hike, a big dinner, and all that excitement afterwards.  
By this time tomorrow I'd be in Boston, in Carrie's bed, or perhaps
with Bradley and Helen.  As much as I felt at home here, I missed them,
and I looked forward to seeing them again.  I missed their warmth,
their affection, their love, even though I knew I'd miss my father and
his family as soon as I got on the plane in the morning.  The frantic
pace of my thoughts slowed to a crawl, and sleep finally descended, a
deep, dreamless sleep. 
 
 
                                  * * * 
 
 
It was Mia who woke me up the next morning, sitting on the bed in her 
bathrobe, gently caressing my cheek.  I opened my eyes, stretched, and 
smiled at her. 
 
"Good morning." 
 
"Good morning, Annie," she said.  "Breakfast's ready." 
 
"Thanks," I said, sitting up and pulling the bodice of my nightie up 
over my breasts.  Mia found my panties on the floor and handed them to 
me, giving me one of her robes to wear over the sheer nightie.  I 
followed her into the kitchen, where my father, David, and Dana were 
already seated, waiting until I arrived before they could dig into
their pancakes. 
 
Dana and David didn't say much during breakfast.  I could see on their 
faces that they weren't too pleased that I was going to get on that 
plane in a few hours, and that I wouldn't see them for weeks or months.
 After breakfast and coffee, David disappeared into his room and Dana 
followed me to her bedroom to watch me pack.  I needed a shower first, 
so I took off Mia's robe and my nightie and headed to the bathroom. 
 
David was in there, brushing his teeth, just rinsing out his mouth as I
twisted the shower's faucets.  He was about to return to his room when
I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the bathtub with me. 
 
"Not so fast, Davy," I whispered.  "One last shower, one for the road."
 
"I was hoping we'd have some time before you left," he said, reaching 
for the soap and lathering my breasts and belly.  I scooped up some of 
the suds with my hands and started running my slick hands over his 
chest, circling his small brown nipples with my fingertips.  I could 
feel his wonderful cock start to harden, rising between his legs and 
pressing against my cleft.  I reached down and stroked it, making it 
slippery with lather from my belly, and he eased it between my thighs. 
 
"We can't," I said.  "Not like that." 
 
"Why not?" 
 
"I'm going to be seated on a plane for five hours," I told him.  "I 
don't want to be sticking to my panties the whole way." 
 
"Too bad," he said. 
 
"Don't worry, Davy.  I'll make you feel good."  I pressed my thighs 
together, trapping his slippery cock between them, and started moving
my hips.  He put his hands on my bottom and pulled me closer, his
hardness sawing back and forth between my legs, pressing up against my
cunny, where he really wanted to be just then. 
 
"Annie...," he murmured, squeezing my cheeks as he moved his hips 
against mine.  Our slick skin slid together, my nipples gliding over
his chest, his soapy torso slipping over my belly.  We kissed, our
tongues melding into one, our bodies pressed against each other, the
warm water caressing our skin. 
 
It was over all too quick, and a moment later I felt his hot semen 
spurting against my nether lips, his cock twitching and throbbing 
between my thighs.  We broke off our kiss and rinsed each other off.  
David took a long last look at my naked body, as if he was storing up 
memories until we could be together again.  We dried each other off and
kissed once more, and then he disappeared into his room.  I returned to
Dana's bedroom to get dressed and pack. 
 
"I wish you could stay," Dana said.  She was sitting on her bed, 
watching as I folded my clothes and packed them in my suitcase. 
 
"I wish I could, too," I said.  "But I start school in a few days." 
 
"I know, but..."  Dana's eyes began to turn misty, and she sniffled, 
trying to hold back her tears. 
 
"Angel," I said, sitting down on the bed next to her.  "I'll be back 
before you even know it." 
 
"Annie..." she whispered, pressing her face against my soft sweater. 
 
"I know, baby," I said, caressing her back.  "I know.  It's hard when 
people go away, someone you love.  But we can talk on the phone and 
write each other, okay?" 
 
"Okay," she said.  "But I'll miss cuddling with you." 
 
"I will, too."  We held each other for a while, until Dana's tears 
stopped.  I kissed her on the lips, softly, tenderly, wishing that I 
could take her with me back to Boston so I wouldn't have to be away
from my beautiful little sister. 
 
"Let me give you something to remember me," I said.  I'd already given 
Dana my little vibrator, and now I gave her something almost as 
intimate, the sheer pink nightie I'd bought a year before, the one that
reminded me of the babydoll negligees my mother used to wear.  I pulled
the nightie and panties from my suitcase and handed them to Dana.  She 
smiled and pressed the nightgown to her face, inhaling the traces of my
scent that lingered in the sheer fabric. 
 
"Thank you, Annie," she said.  "I love you." 
 
"I love you, too, sweetheart." 
 
Dana put the nightie aside and helped me pack.  We'd just finished 
stripping the sheets from the cot and folding it up when my father came
into the room, car keys in hand. 
 
"Ready, Annie?" 
 
"Yes, Daddy," I said.  I put on Del's old Miami Dolphins jacket and 
shouldered my pack while my father picked up my suitcase.  Dana
followed us out to the front hall where Mia and David were waiting to
say goodbye. 
 
"I'm gonna miss you, sis," David said, hugging me. 
 
"I'll miss you, too, Davy," I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek and 
then another on his full lips.  "Be good, okay?" 
 
"I will."  He gave me a squeeze and kissed me on the neck.  Dana was 
next, holding out her arms for a hug.  We'd already said our goodbyes, 
back in her room, but hugs and kisses are things a girl can never get 
enough of, not Dana, not me.  I gave her one last squeeze and a kiss on
the forehead. 
 
"Here," Mia said, handing me a brown paper bag.  "A sandwich and some 
grapes, just in case you get hungry on the plane." 
 
"Thank you," I said, taking the bag and giving her a hug, too.  "Thank 
you for everything." 
 
"It was so nice having you here," she said. 
 
"I love you," I whispered in her ear.  She tightened her hold on me,
and I could feel the baby again, pushing against the inside of her
womb, as if he was eager to come into the world and be a part of this
family.  When she released me from her embrace I could see her eyes
were beginning to water. 
 
"We should go, Annie," my father said.  "We're running late." 
 
"Okay, let's go before I start to cry" I said.  "I'll call as soon as I
get back to Boston." 
 
I picked up my backpack again and followed my father out to the car. 
It was a sunny, mild day and the Cadillac's top was down.  I climbed
into the passenger seat and smoothed my flouncy skirt over my thighs,
the same comfortable skirt I'd worn on the flight over.  Mia and the
kids stepped out on to the front porch, waving as my father backed the
car out of the driveway.  I turned in my seat and waved back at my
family as we slowly drove down the street, heading for Sky Harbor
Airport. 
 
We rode in silence, my father looking sullen as he drove.  I didn't
feel like talking either, and I felt like I'd start crying any second. 
I kept wondering if I was making the right decision.  Soon we were 
entering the airport, wheeling into a short-term parking lot.  My
father parked the car and shut off the engine. 
 
"There's still time to change your mind," he said. 
 
"I know, Daddy, but..."  I was torn, and he wasn't making it any
easier. 
 
"You're right, princess," he said.  "I shouldn't do this to you.  It's 
selfish of me.  You're doing the right thing." 
 
"Thank you, Daddy," I said, reaching for his hand.  "Could I ask a 
favor?" 
 
"Sure," he said.  "Anything at all." 
 
"Kiss me."  We turned towards each other and our lips met, pressing 
together, my father's tongue finding mine, his hand on my thigh.  I 
didn't care who saw us or what they thought.  I wanted to feel his
hands on me one more time before I left.  After a moment of passion we
broke off our kiss.  My father looked flushed, and I knew he'd need a
moment before he could get out of the car and walk without letting the
whole airport know he had an erection. 
 
"I'm going to miss you so much," he said.  "Every second of every day."
 
"I love you, Daddy," I said, squeezing his hand. 
 
"I love you, too, Annie," he replied.  "Let's go before I start getting
choked up, okay?" 
 
He carried my suitcase into the terminal, standing with me while I 
checked it in and got my boarding pass.  Then he walked me to the 
security checkpoint.  He kissed me again, a fatherly kiss on the cheek,
but I could feel the passion surging through him nonetheless.  We said
a last goodbye and then I put my backpack on the x-ray machine's
conveyer and walked through the metal detector.  At the other end of
the machine I picked up my bag and took a last look at my father, my
tall handsome father, waving to him and blowing him a kiss.  He waved
back to me and watched as I walked down the long concourse to the gate.
 
I waited at the gate for a half hour before they called my flight, 
trying to hold back my tears.  I wanted to write in my journal, but my 
vision was too blurry, so I just closed my eyes and listened for the 
flight announcement, waiting to board the plane that would take me back
to Boston. 
 
The flight was just about full, and unlike the sparse weekday morning 
crowd that I'd flown over with ten days earlier, the plane was filled 
with mostly tourists instead of business travelers.  I had a window
seat again, but there was someone seated next to me, an elderly woman
and her husband, dressed in casual clothes, the sort of people we'd
call "snowbirds" in Florida.  As the plane backed away from the gate,
the woman reached into her bag and pulled out a Bible, opening it to a 
bookmarked page and reading it to herself.  I glanced over and noticed 
her lips moving as she read. 
 
The flight over with Robby had eased some of my fears of air travel,
now that I knew that the bumps and whines under the floor were normal, 
routine, the sounds of the landing gear retracting and some gentle 
buffeting as we passed over the hills east of the city.  As we leveled 
off, I reached into my bag and pulled out my journal, jotting down the 
events of the last couple of days and my thoughts and feelings about 
leaving my father and his family.  The flight attendants came by with 
the beverage cart and I closed my book, ordering coffee while my seat 
mates had soda and plastic packaged peanuts. 
 
"You're from Boston, dear?" the woman next to me asked. 
 
"Yes, ma'am." 
 
"I'm Jeanette, and this is my husband Harry," she said.  I shook her 
hand and Harry's, noticing his gaze falling on my short skirt and bare 
thighs. 
 
"Anne," I said.  "Pleasure to meet you." 
 
"We're from New Hampshire," she said.  "Nashua.  Have you ever been 
there?" 
 
"No, ma'am," I said.  "But I lived in Maine for a while." 
 
"Have you heard the good news, Anne?" she asked me. 
 
"Excuse me?" 
 
"Have you heard the good news." 
 
"What news is that?" 
 
"The Lord Jesus Christ died for your sins," she said. 
 
"Yes, I have heard something about that," I replied. 
 
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son," 
Jeanette said, "that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but 
have everlasting life." 
 
"Yes, I know," I said, wondering if there were any empty seats back
here in the coach section.  I sipped my coffee and smiled at Jeanette, 
wondering if I was in for a five hour Bible Studies class. 
 
"You should accept the Lord Jesus into your heart, Anne," she said.  
"Perhaps you wouldn't feel as if you had to expose your body to the 
lustful gaze of men." 
 
I wanted to say "Like Harry over here?", but I couldn't, though his
eyes were still fixed on my thighs.  I tugged at the hem of my skirt,
trying to cover another half inch of skin.  Jeanette began to quote
chapter and verse, talking of fallen women and sinners, the Whore of
Babylon and the fate that would befall nonbelievers when the Rapture
came to pass.  I listened politely, nodding every so often, but my
blood began to boil, and when she used the word "harlot", I lost it. 
 
"Harlot?  Harlot?" I hissed through clenched teeth.  "That's what
Father Ken called me when he raped me on the floor of his office. 
Where was your Lord Jesus Christ then, Jeanette?  I'll tell you where. 
He was staring down at me from the cross on the wall above the bed,
watching as Father Ken pimped me out to his buddies.  Where was He when
Megan got hurt?  She almost bled to death because a so-called 'man of
God' shoved his cock into her.  Where was God, Jeanette?  Where in His
plan does it say a nine-year-old girl has to suffer?  Fuck you,
Jeanette.  Fuck you and your 'good news'". 
 
The whole plane was silent, and people were turning around in their 
seats, trying to see what the commotion was.  Two flight attendants 
started walking down the aisle towards us.  Jeanette was speechless,
her mouth open, her eyes wide.  Finally, she summoned the nerve to
speak. 
 
"Satan," she croaked.  "Devil child..." 
 
"Fuck you," I spat.  I swept my cup off of the little table in front of
me, splashing coffee all over the window as I slammed the tray into its
upright and locked position, grabbing my backpack and stepping over 
Jeanette's legs and then Harry's. 
 
"Is this what you wanted to see, Harry?" I said, lifting the front of
my skirt and flashing my red lace panties.  "You've been staring at my
legs since you sat down.  What's wrong, Jeanette here won't give it up
for you anymore?  Take a good fucking look, Harry.  It's the last pussy
you'll ever fucking see."  Harry just stared at my crotch, bug-eyed, 
like a frog that had been run over by a truck.  I stepped into the 
aisle. 
 
"Miss...," one of the flight attendants said, an auburn-haired woman in
a tailored blue uniform. 
 
"Could you please find another seat for me?" I said, trying to control 
my anger.  "I need to use the bathroom."  I stormed to the back of the 
plane and entered one of the lavatories, locking it behind me and 
sitting down on the toilet seat, bursting into tears of shame and rage.
 I felt ashamed for causing such a scene, but my anger hadn't abated
even though it felt cathartic to vent my spleen.  After about ten
minutes I dried my tears and composed myself, unlocking the lavatory
door and stepping into the aisle.  The flight attendant was waiting for
me. 
 
"Are you okay, honey?" she asked me, putting her hand on my arm. 
 
"I'm fine," I said.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to do that.  It's 
just..." 
 
"It's okay," she said.  "Stay here.  I'll try to find you another
seat." 
 
"Thanks."  I stood in the galley so I wouldn't block the aisle.  The 
other flight attendants were really nice to me, letting me sit down on 
one of their jump seats, bringing me a fresh cup of coffee, asking me 
how I was feeling.  The auburn-haired flight attendant returned,
shaking her head. 
 
"Sorry, hon.  No more seats in coach, and I can't bump you up to first 
class." 
 
"That's okay," I said, steeling myself for a return to my original
seat. 
 
"It's against FAA regs, but you can stay here until we make the
stopover in St. Louis," she said.  "A seat should open up for you
then." 
 
"Thanks," I said.  "Really, thank you." 
 
"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling and squeezing my arm.  "It 
could have been worse.  She could have tried to sell you Amway products
or something." 
 
When we landed in St. Louis about a third of the passengers left the 
plane for their connecting flights, and only a handful of travelers 
replaced them.  The flight attendant ushered me to a seat near the
front of the coach section, next to an emergency exit.  There was a
woman sitting in the aisle seat, but because of the exit there was
plenty of room for me to slide past her to the window seat.  I shoved
my backpack under the seat in front of me and settled back into the
cushions.  The jump seat had been padded, but it was anything but
comfortable, especially after two hours. 
 
The woman in the aisle seat turned and smiled.  She was in her late 
twenties or early thirties, with short black hair and fair skin, very 
pretty but just a bit on the chubby side.  "Zaftig," Helen would say, 
which I had guessed from context meant "fleshy", but a soft fleshiness,
not at all unattractive. 
 
"My name's Alice," she said, extending her hand. 
 
"Annie," I said, taking her hand and shaking it.  She gave my hand a 
little squeeze. 
 
"Pleased to meet you, Annie," Alice said.  "I'd like to tell you about 
the wonders and the majesty of the Lord Buddha." 
 
"Oh, no," I gasped, feeling my heart sink towards my stomach.  We
hadn't even pulled away from the gate yet. 
 
"I'm just kidding, Annie," she said, laughing. 
 
"Thank God," I sighed.  "Thank Buddha." 
 
"I heard some of what you said to her," Alice whispered.  "Would you 
like to talk about it?" 
 
"No, thanks," I said.  "I mean, I appreciate your concern, but..." 
 
"Annie, I work for a rape crisis center," Alice said.  "Nothing you can
tell me will faze me.  Everything will be held in the strictest 
confidence, no one has to know, not your parents, not anyone." 
 
"Thank you, Alice," I said, taking her hand in mine.  "But it was
almost a year ago.  I think I'm over it." 
 
"You didn't sound over it back there," she said.  "Have you seen
anyone?  A counselor?  Therapist?" 
 
"I was in therapy late last year, just for a few weeks.  I'd been
having these nightmares..." 
 
"Sounds like post-traumatic stress," she said.  "Still having 
nightmares?" 
 
"No, not really," I said.  "I have some strange dreams, but they're not
what I'd call nightmares." 
 
"Good, good," she said, leaning over to pull her pocketbook from under 
the seat in front of her.  "Let me give you my card.  If you ever want 
to talk, please call me and we can set up an appointment.  We're in 
Boston, near the Fenway."  She handed me a business card with her name 
and number, and the address of the center. 
 
"Thanks," I said, slipping it between the pages of my journal. 
 
The plane began its roll down the runway.  By now, I felt like an 
experienced flyer, no sweaty palms, no white knuckles.  We flew east, 
heading into the twilight.  I looked out the window for a while, 
watching the plains become hills, the hills turn to mountains.  As soon
as we passed over the Appalachians, clouds began to obscure the ground,
thickening, and every so often I'd see a flash of lightning down below,
a bright circle flashing inside the dark grey blanket. 
 
Dinner was served, a barely edible meat patty with glue-like gravy and 
mashed potatoes with a synthetic aftertaste.  After ten days of fine 
restaurants and Mia's wonderful cooking, I could hardly choke it down. 
Alice didn't like it much, either, taking one bite and pushing it away.
 I reached into my backpack for the sandwich and grapes Mia had packed 
for me, sharing them with her. 
 
We got to talking, not about Father Ken or anything like that, just 
small talk, chatting about my visit to my family and the school I was 
about to attend.  Alice had been in New Mexico, visiting an old friend 
from college who was expecting her first child in the spring.  Her 
friend was living with another woman, her lover, and she'd undergone 
artificial insemination in order to have this child. 
 
This leg of the trip went by quickly, two and a half hours passing just
like that.  I enjoyed talking with Alice, and she was a good listener, 
something to do with her job, I supposed.  She was attentive, smiling 
and nodding, touching my hand or arm when she wanted to make a point. 
I had a feeling that she was attracted to me, just a bit, and only my
age or her uncertainty about my sexuality was holding her back.  As the
plane descended through the clouds, making its approach to Logan 
Airport, buffeted by some turbulent weather, I held her hand. 
 
"Nervous, Annie?" she asked me. 
 
"A bit," I said.  "I don't fly often."  The rain was coming down hard
as we flew over the harbor, lining up to the runway, heavy drops and 
streaks of water blurring the view from the window. 
 
"I am, too," she said, squeezing my hand.  We held hands until the
plane landed, tires squealing on the runway as we slowed to a crawl,
taxiing between rows of blue lights to the gate. 
 
"I liked talking to you," I said.  "Could I call you this week?" 
 
"Please do," Alice said.  "We can just chat over coffee if you want." 
 
"Thanks."  I leaned over the empty seat and gave her a kiss on the 
cheek.  She blushed, surprised, and gave me a knowing smile, as if some
secret password had passed between us.  As the passengers began to
stand up and stretch their legs, reaching into the overhead
compartments for their bags, I pulled my backpack from under the seat
and held it in my lap, waiting for the aisle to clear before
disembarking.  I saw Harry and Jeanette pass by; she refused to look me
in the eye, but Harry gave me a wink and a smile.  I began to feel
sorry for him. 
 
When the crowd had cleared, Alice and I stood up and headed for the 
exit, passing the line of flight attendants who were bidding everyone 
goodbye.  We walked up the ramp together, towards the gate.  A woman 
about Alice's age, blonde and thin and pretty, waved at her. 
 
"That's Sherry," Alice said.  "I'll talk to you this week, okay?" 
 
"That would be nice," I said, giving her hand one last squeeze.  She 
walked over to her friend, hugging and kissing her in a way that let me
know that  they were lovers.  They left together, arm in arm, heading 
towards the baggage claim area.  I looked around and saw Bradley, 
standing by the gate in a wet raincoat, a folded umbrella tucked under 
his arm.  He looked tired, pale, like he hadn't slept in days.  
Shouldering my pack, I ran to him, holding out my arms and hugging him.
 
"Annie," he said.  "Nice tan.  You look great." 
 
"Thank you," I said.  "I missed...what's wrong?"  There was a sadness
in his eyes despite his smile. 
 
"Let's get your bag," he said.  "I'll tell you in the car." 
 
"Tell me now," I demanded.  "Is Helen...?"  I expected her to meet me
at the gate, too. 
 
"No, she's fine, considering," Bradley said.  "I can't tell you now.  
Not here." 
 
"Okay," I said, taking his arm.  We walked to the baggage carousels and
waited for the luggage to come off of the plane.  The conveyer belt 
began to roll after a few minutes and bags started appearing through
the square little hole in the wall.  My suitcase had been one of the
last on the plane, so it was one of the first to come off.  Bradley
scooped it up by the handle and we headed out of the terminal, into the
rainy night.  The car was parked not too far from the terminal, and
Bradley opened the passenger side door for me, placing my suitcase and
backpack in the trunk.  I got into the car and unlocked his door,
watching as he folded the umbrella and placed it on the back seat. 
 
"Bradley, tell me," I said.  "What happened?" 
 
"It's Brad," he said, closing his eyes and leaning his head on the 
steering wheel.  "He overdosed on something at school." 
 
"When?" I asked him, reaching for his hand, my heart pounding in my 
chest.  "Where is he?  Is he okay?" 
 
"He's in a coma," Bradley said.  "It happened last week, Tuesday.  We 
had him brought to Newton-Wellsley Hospital so we could be closer to 
him." 
 
"Will he wake up?" 
 
"They don't know," Bradley said, his voice breaking, his tears
beginning to fall like the rain on the windshield.  "But the doctors
don't think he will.  His heart had stopped and it was a while before
someone found him.  We've been praying for a miracle." 
 
"How is Helen?" 
 
"She's holding up," he said.  "She's devastated, but she's been my
rock.  We have to swing by the hospital to pick her up on our way
home." 
 
"Are you okay?" I said. 
 
"I'll make it," he replied.  "It's just so hard.  My son, my only 
son..." 
 
I scooted next to him and held him as he sobbed, trying to choke back 
the tears but unable to rein in his grief.  I embraced him for a while,
listening to him weep, trying to comfort him as best as I could.  Then
I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a plastic package
of tissues. 
 
"Thanks," Bradley said, drying his eyes. 
 
"Why didn't you call me?" I said.  "I would have flown home right
away." 
 
"We didn't want to spoil your trip," he said, turning the key in the 
ignition and backing out of the parking space.  "How was it?" 
 
"It was great, but..." I said.  "I want to see him." 
 
"Annie," he said.  "You don't need to see him like that, all the 
tubes..." 
 
"I don't care, Bradley," I said.  "I love him," I added, in a softer 
voice. 
 
"He loved you, too," Bradley said.  "It killed me to see how he treated
you during winter break." 
 
Now it all made sense, his bad grades, his sullen demeanor, the way
he'd lock himself in his room and turn up his music, blocking me out of
his life.  I remembered what Denise, my room mate at the foster home
had said about heroin: "Better than sex".  Better than sex.  Better
than my love.  My heart sank as I thought about this, wondering if
there was anything I could have done.  I could have tried harder to get
through to him, I could have broken down that wall he'd placed between
us.  Even though he'd only been home for two days before he went off
skiing with friends, I felt like I could have done something to get
through to him. 
 
It took us over an hour to get to the hospital, driving over the
highway in the heavy rains.  Bradley parked the car and unfurled the
umbrella, coming around to my side of the car and shielding me from the
rain.  We hustled into the hospital and that smell hit me again like a
slap in the face, antiseptics and salves, reminding me of that day when
I carried Megan into the emergency room, her blood soaking into my
clothing and coating my hands.  I choked back my nausea and tried to
suppress the sudden feeling of panic, following Bradley to the
elevators and heading up to the ward. 
 
Brad was laying on his back, his eyes open but seemingly lifeless, 
attached to a machine that breathed for him through a long tube that 
connected to a blue plastic mouthpiece.  There were wires coming from 
the neck of his gown, more tubes in his arm and between his legs, and a
bag of clear fluid hanging from a stand next to his bed. 
 
Helen was seated in a chair next to her son, her eyes rimmed with red, 
deep lines on her face that hadn't been there when I'd left for Phoenix
ten days before.  She held a balled-up tissue in her hands as she 
watched Brad for some sign of awareness, waiting for a miracle to 
happen.  Only when she heard us enter the room did she interrupt her 
vigil. 
 
"Annie..." she said, standing up to greet me.  I put my arms around her
and hugged her, and our tears began to flow.  Bradley stood next to us,
his arms around both of us, holding us as we wept. 
 
"I'm so sorry," I whispered. 
 
"You made him happy, Anne," she said.  "You brought him joy." 
 
"It wasn't enough," I said.  "If only I'd tried harder..." 
 
"Don't say that, Annie," Bradley said.  "There's no reason to blame 
yourself.  It's my fault for sending him there, to that school.  He 
should have been closer to home." 
 
"It was a good school," Helen said.  "He liked it.  You know that. 
It's not your fault.  Not your fault..."  The tears started again and I
held her close, caressing her back, kissing her cheek.  Just then a
nurse came in to check on one of the tubes sticking out of Brad's arm. 
 
"Visiting hours are over in a few minutes," she said. 
 
"We were just leaving," Bradley replied. 
 
"Take a few more minutes if you'd like," the nurse said softly. 
 
"Thank you," Helen said, her voice breaking.  The nurse left us and 
Helen sat down in the chair again, Bradley standing behind her, rubbing
her shoulders.  I stood at the foot of the bed, looking at Brad, and 
then I fell to my knees and prayed, something I hadn't done since Megan
got hurt, praying to Julia, my goddess, my guardian angel, praying for 
her to bring Brad back to us, just as I had prayed for Megan to be 
delivered from her suffering.  My prayer trailed off into sobs, and 
Bradley came over to help me to my feet, holding me in his arms as I 
cried, his strength and poise the only things keeping me from
hysterical weeping. 
 
The nurse came in to let us know that visiting hours had ended ten 
minutes ago.  We thanked her and took a last look at Brad before we 
left.  Maybe Bradley had been right; I shouldn't have seen him like 
this.  I should have remembered him as I first met him, at that party,
a young blond Adonis in a white dinner jacket.  We headed down to the
car and sat for a while before leaving, listening to the sound of the
rain on the metal roof. 
 
"The doctor wants to do an apnea test tomorrow," Helen said, breaking 
the silence. 
 
"What's that?" I asked her. 
 
"They take him off the resuscitator to see if he can breathe without
the machine," Bradley said. 
 
"And if he can't?" I asked him. 
 
"Then that's it," he replied.  "There's no chance he'll ever wake up 
again." 
 
"You can't...," I said.  I didn't understand this.  "There must be a 
chance he could..." 
 
"He can't, Annie," Helen said, reaching over the front seat for my
hand.  "We've been trying to reconcile ourselves to the fact that we've
lost our son.  Now we have to keep him from suffering." 
 
"But...but..."  There would be no miracle this time.  Bradley started 
the car and we drove home in silence. 

It was Sunday night and the housekeeper was off.  Bradley and Helen had
missed dinner, so after we brought my bags up to Carrie's room, I went 
down to the kitchen and opened a couple of cans of vegetable soup and 
toasted some bagels, glad to have something to do to take my mind off
of Brad.  We sat down at the table and ate in silence. 
 
"So, how was your trip?" Helen asked me after we'd finished eating. 
 
"Wonderful," I said.  "It seems like it was a year ago now." 
 
"Have you decided what you're going to do?" Bradley asked. 
 
"Yes," I replied.  "I want to stay here, at least for the semester. 
I'm going to visit them during spring vacation and maybe for the
summer, but I want to stay with you for now." 
 
"Are you sure?" Helen said.  "Don't do this just because Brad..." 
 
"I made up my mind a few days ago," I said.  "And even if I was going
to live with them right now, I'd still want to stay here.  I want to
help you get through this." 
 
"You're an angel," Helen said, taking my hand and bringing it up to her
lips, kissing my fingers.  We sat at the table, holding hands while 
Bradley put on some tea.  Afterwards, I went upstairs to unpack and
call my father, letting him know I'd arrived safely.  He was saddened
to hear about Brad. 
 
"You liked him a lot, didn't you?" my father said. 
 
"I loved him, Daddy." 
 
"I'm sorry I can't be there with you." 
 
"It's okay," I said.  "Bradley and Helen need me right now." 
 
"Send them my condolences.  Here, Dana wants to talk to you." 
 
I spoke with her for a few minutes, trying to mask my sadness and
grief.  She'd already started writing a letter to me, and she said she
was wearing the nightie I'd given her, even though it was a bit big for
her slender body.  We said goodbye and after I hung up the phone, I
realized how much I missed her, wishing I could be with her right then,
cuddling with her, kissing her ruby lips. 
 
After the phone call, I went back downstairs and sat with Helen and 
Bradley in the library.  I poured three snifters of brandy from the 
crystal decanter on the sideboard and sat and listened to them talk 
about Brad, reminiscing about the good things in his life, the 
highlights, the happy memories. 
 
"He was so scared of the water," Bradley said, his arm resting on his 
wife's shoulders.  "When we had the pool put in he wouldn't even go
into the backyard." 
 
"When he did finally go into the pool, he had to wear those floatie 
things," Helen said. 
 
"Water wings," Bradley added.  He got up from the couch and went over
to one of the bookshelves, where there was a row of trophies.  He
picked one up and handed it to me.  It was Brad's, a varsity swimming
team award. 
 
"Water wings, a life preserver, and an inflatable cushion," Helen said,
laughing for the first time in almost a week.  "He looked like the son 
of the Michelin Man." 
 
"What do you remember, Annie?" Bradley asked me.  "What's your best 
memory?" 
 
"I really can't say," I said, blushing.  I had a vision of his smile, 
his muscular body, his beautiful cock. 
 
"Tell us," Helen said, reaching for my hand. 
 
"It was that weekend we spent at Julia's house," I said.  "We made love
in her garden..." 
 
"Annie...," Helen said, her eyes filling with tears even though she was
smiling.  As we held each other's hands, I remembered something, that 
dream I'd had on the mesa, the cave, the old man, the vision. 
 
"Where did they find him?" I asked Bradley. 
 
"What do you mean?" 
 
"Where was Brad when they found him?" 
 
"He was in his dorm room, on the floor," he said. 
 
"Was it carpeted?" 
 
"Why?" 
 
"Tell me, was there a carpet on the floor?" 
 
"All of the rooms had carpets," Helen said.  "I remember this from that
time we visited him in October, for Parents' Weekend." 
 
"Why do you want to know this?" Bradley asked. 
 
I told them about the dream, how I'd seen a young man on the floor of a
room, describing it as best as I could.  I couldn't see his face, but I
had the feeling that I knew him.  And there were the words of old
Makya, his reply when I'd asked him who the boy was: "He tugs at your
heart". 
 
"I saw him," I said.  "I saw him." 
 
"Come here," Helen said.  I got up from the leather armchair and sat 
next to her on the couch, and she held me as my tears began anew. 
 
"You loved him," she whispered.  "You were connected.  That's how you 
could see him.  There was a bond." 
 
"I loved him," I said as she rocked me in her arms.  I didn't want to 
cry, I didn't want to fall apart like this.  I needed to be strong, for
myself, for Bradley and Helen, and for Brad.  Helen dried my tears and 
handed me the snifter of brandy.  I took a sip and choked back my
tears, trying to put on a brave face.  As bad as it was now, I knew it
would get worse after Brad was taken off of the breathing machine. 
 
We sat and talked for a while, until we couldn't fight our exhaustion, 
our weariness.  I went upstairs with Bradley and Helen and kissed them 
good night before they went into their bedroom and closed the door.  I 
sat in Carrie's bed for a while, wearing one of her comfortable old 
flannel nightgowns, alone with my thoughts, afraid of what my dreams 
might hold.  Then I tiptoed into Brad's room and turned on the light.  
 
It was as if he'd never left, everything in its place, books on the 
shelves, guitar leaning up against the corner of the room, the bed
made, ready for him to come home from the hospital and convalesce.  I
sat on his bed and clutched his pillow, hoping to catch a scent of him,
but the linen had been freshly washed.  I opened his closet and looked
around, finding an old varsity jacket of his, pulling it out, holding
it to my face.  It smelled of stale sweat, that locker room aroma, but
it was his sweat, his scent.  I laid down on his bed, holding the
jacket in my arms as I fell asleep.


 
                                  * * * 
 
 
(c) 2003  Anais Ninja  anais_ninja@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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