Today was shaping up to be like most any other Thursday; pretty boring. My daughter Alice turned 21 today and, despite promising me that she and I would go get her first legal cocktail together, she was going out after work with her new friends from the law firm where she just started interning a month ago.
Since it was about 4:30 in the afternoon, I figured my wife Suzie had cracked open that new box of chardonnay by now. Yeah, I know. Wine in a box. At least it's cheap that way, like a volume discount. And the way she drinks it, that's a good thing. I didn't want to go home and hear her bitch and moan about the good old days and how our baby girl is all grown up and whatever else pops into her little head.
Without going into the 30 years of history that the wife and I have together, let's just say that the romance is gone. And the fun is gone. And the sex is gone. So what's left? Just the 'going through the motions' part? That seems to be enough for her, but it isn't for me. I've already consulted a lawyer to get the ball rolling. I don't have that many good years left! 52 is the new 40, or at least that's what I tell myself. I look pretty good, people think I'm my early forties. Still, have my hair, and it isn't gray. Didn't get fat like most everyone else, either. My wife may have dried up after menopause, but my dick is still active. Well, mostly, anyway! I've got the blue pill when necessary.
So I called Suzie and said I had to work late. And I did work late. That wasn't a euphemism for sneaking around with another lady. I just wanted to work until about 8:00 p.m. or so. Suzie usually had half a box of wine by then and would be passed out in the bed.
Got home and ate the stew that she left me in the fridge, and thought, 'What the hell. I'll try some of that box wine.' I promptly ran to the sink to spit it out. God, is it just me or is it really vinegar? How can she drink this stuff? I went and got myself a bottle of Justin from my wine chiller, which I keep set at 58 degrees for the reds. It's a little cooler than maybe it should be, but that's how I like it. I checked the box wine again, I know it was a new one, and it felt half empty. That's maybe 2 liters gone! Almost three bottles. Christ.
I went upstairs and sure enough, the TV was on and Suzie was zonked out. I covered her up and went into our master bathroom suite to take a shower and perform my man-maintenance. Trimmed up the nose hairs, ear hairs, eyebrows, and the dick area. Why would someone who hasn't slept with his wife in over a year care about his genital hair? Because I was going to see Jaylene tomorrow, she's my masseuse. Well, she started off as my masseuse, giving me what's known as "sensual massages". But after a couple of those, we progressed to full sex! $220 an hour for a blowjob, titty fuck, and to cum inside her. She says she doesn't do this with any of her other customers. I pretend to believe her.
Checked my email, checked my "other" email to see if any sexy ladies had written me from a couple of the porn story sites (they hadn't) and finally shut down at about ten and drifted off to sleep.
= = =
I dreamed that I was in a Hollywood movie and that I was the star of the movie. This really blew my mind! And just when it was getting interesting, this mysterious movie lady grabbed and pulled my arm and told me to wake up. She seemed pretty anxious about it.
I did wake up, and a lady was pulling on my arm, telling me to "Wake up, Mr. Jansen. Wake up!" In those first fuzzy seconds of awareness, I couldn't wrap my mind around what was happening. Some chick I didn't know was in my bedroom. Finally awake, I began thinking of how I was going to push her back and get my shotgun from under the bed and get some answers.
Fortunately for her, she quickly said, "Your daughter needs help!"
I jumped up out of bed, knocking over the glass of water on my nightstand. Shit!
"What's happening! Is she hurt? Where is she!" I couldn't talk fast enough, or get answers fast enough.
"No," answered this chick. "She's not hurt. She's just drunk downstairs in the Uber."
Oh, okay. I calmed down a little and turned on the lamp by my bedside. I realized that I was just in my boxers and nothing else. I pushed past this mystery girl and grabbed a T-shirt from my drawer. I also began to notice that this girl/chick/woman was hot. And I mean smokin' hot. She's the kind of girl that not only turns heads when she walks into a room, she gets the blood flowing to the nether regions. Immediately.
Oh yeah, And she seemed drunk, too. Her business attire of medium length dark skirt, white blouse, and dark blazer were all somewhat askew; blouse partially unbuttoned and untucked here and there, skirt seemed torn, and her blonde hair was a bit messy.
I glanced at my darling wife, still asleep. She could sleep through a 9.0 earthquake at this point, I think.
"Take me to her," I ordered this chick. She giggled and grabbed my hand and led me downstairs.
"Who are you, anyway?"
"I'm Melanie! Melanie Johnnsson. And you need a hundred dollars for the (hic) ...puke."
Her "esses" slurred a bit. Then I recognized the name.
"From the firm? 'Iron Balls' Johnson?"
She giggled again.
"The one and (hic)... Only!"
Fuck, she had a pretty smile.
I've heard my daughter tell tales of this one, and none of them were good. She was the ball-buster of the office. Great lawyer, apparently, but very tough on the interns. But never mind about that. I grabbed my wallet from the kitchen and we went outside.
My daughter was sprawled out in the backseat of this Prius. The Uber driver stood there with his arms crossed, he looked pissed.
"I need a hundred bucks to clean up this puke! And I want cash!"
I flung my wallet to the lovely-but-drunken Ms Johnson and said: "Pay the man."
The car reeked. I don't need to describe it, it was awful. Most of it was on the floor of the car, but some was on my Alice. I tugged and pulled and finally got her in a position where I could pick her up. Alice is a little bitty thing, just five foot three and about a buck-ten or so. But still, that's dead weight that's just flopping all over the place.
I headed towards the front door, but it was shut! And Melanie was still talking to the driver!
"Hey! Lawyer chick! Quit deposing the witness and get over here!"
Alice stirred from all my yelling.
"Is that you, Daddy?" She said this in such a sweet little sing-song drunk voice. Poor little thing.
"Stand still, Daddy."
We weren't moving at all, I was still waiting for Melanie to get her drunk ass over here.
"Daddy?" she asked, concern in her voice.
"Yes, little punkins?"
"I need to, I have to... " and she paused for a few seconds.
Then in her sweet little sing-song voice again, said, "Uh-oh!"
It would've been cute if my left arm that was supporting her thighs didn't suddenly feel wet and warm. Thanks, honey. Seemed like she hadn't peed in about a week.
Melanie sauntered over and finally opened the door, but I waited until Alice's tank ran dry. Then I carried her to the laundry room.
"Melanie, help me… no, you hold her… oh shit, let me hold her… no that won't work..."
We struggled with balancing Alice on the washing machine and getting her skirt and blouse off. I couldn't help but notice a couple things. One, my daughter had some very racy and skimpy underwear on and I'm NOT supposed to notice that, but I couldn't help it. And the second thing was that Melanie had very lovely breasts that kept banging into me as we fiddled with the soiled clothes. Little Mr. Jansen noticed those things also, much to my dismay.
I picked up Alice again. I had to get her to bed, but not with her smelling like this, and there were some pieces in her hair, too. She needed a shower. As I began thinking about the logistics of that maneuver, Melanie doffed her blazer and started unbuttoning the last few buttons of her blouse.
"Uh… what are you doing, counselor?"
She smiled at me as she pulled her blouse back and off her shoulders and arms. She stood for a moment in her black bra and skirt.
Good fucking God! What a nice rack! A full C, or probably a D. My wife is like an A Minus so I'm not good at judging bra sizes. Let's just say D, for argument's sake.
"I've got barf on me, too!" And she removed her skirt. Which revealed a black G-string. And it was a tiny G-string. I saw absolutely no hint of any Iron Balls. What a body!
I stood there holding my daughter in my arms, transfixed by this Melanie person. I think my brain ceased functioning for a full ten seconds. Hands on her hips, she tilted her head to one side so her gorgeous blonde hair fell farther down one breast than the other, which was good because then I could at least stare fully at the one unobstructed magnificent breast.
"Hey!" Melanie snapped me out of my trance. "What's next? A shower? I'll grab her purse."
"Um, yeah," I said as I headed for the stairs. "Can you help me with that?"
Melanie nodded and giggled.
I got to the upstairs bathroom but, no good. It's just a shower bath, and I thought that I couldn't just lay her in there. That would be nasty. Plus I wasn't sure I could get her up out of there.
I looked at Melanie and told her to shush, to which she giggled in response, and we headed towards my master bedroom.
Suzie hadn't moved a muscle, thank goodness. Although she would have been a big help right now, she also would have been yelling and crying, and nobody needed that. Fortunately, the bathroom suite had a door on it. I whispered to Melanie to close it, which she did. But only after some over-done drunken tip-toeing. Then she burst into laughter. I shook my head.
"Come on! Get the water going!"
Our shower has a large sprinkler-type head that pours straight down from overhead. It puts out a lot of water. It's on a swing-arm so you can push it over to the corner if you don't want it right over the middle. Additionally, we had one of those hand-held pulsating massage shower heads on a silver flexible hose. Melanie went to the shower and bent over the knobs.
As she faced away from me, I saw her black G-string disappear in the cleft between her butt cheeks. And those cheeks were perfect. No marks, no pimples, just impossibly smooth, tanned skin. She must sunbathe in the nude. And in the place where of a tramp stamp normally goes, she had… hands praying? What does that mean? And she had some Chinese or Japanese characters tattooed above the hands. I thought she looked incredible. My dick thought so, too. Despite my aching back from carting around my catatonic daughter, my cock decided to make an appearance.
Melanie stepped back and seemed to be very pleased with herself for being such a good helper. I told her to push the overhead shower out of the way so I wouldn't get sopping wet, which she did.
Then, Melanie decided that she didn't need her under things anymore. She hooked her thumbs under the G-string and pulled it down past her feet, stepping out daintily. She stood back up and tossed her blonde hair back overhead. I don't know if the carpet matched the drapes; there was no carpet. Completely bare. And possibly aroused, her lips seemed a bit swollen. I thought about kissing those lips...