“Well, what do you think?” she asked, pulling the lapels out to the sides to show me the bra underneath.
I was so taken aback that it didn’t occur to me to stop her. It took several seconds for me to compose myself and assume the father role to teach my daughter about public decency.
“I think you should have waited until you got home, taking your shirt off like that. It’s not really appropriate to show everyone your breasts right here in the mall, you know.”
“Men can go topless, so why can’t women?”
“You know, I actually agree with that wholeheartedly, but I don’t think men should go without shirts in the mall either. Beach, yes. Mall, no.”
“Gotcha. I’ll show you when we get home.”
“Okay… Speaking of, we should get going.”
I grabbed our things and headed out to the parking lot, the image of my daughter’s naked breasts burned into my mind. Sure, she had on that new jacket, but then beneath that was a white blouse that she had unbuttoned and opened up… and while she was transitioning from one bra to the other, there they were – her two round, firm, wonderful, medium-sized breasts. Once seen, I couldn’t get that visual out of my head.
We got to the car and I hopped in, eager to get away from people who could notice my awkwardness. I was blushing, I knew that. My face was burning and I could even feel the effect reaching my ears. They were probably reddening too.
Then there was the other reaction. The one in my pants. The thought of Alisha’s firm breasts had given me a strong erection – one that I was desperately trying to conceal. I now realized that I should have fixed that before getting in the car; it was a bit late to fix it now that we were driving. Difficult to do without her noticing. I tried adjusting my seat, moving my pelvis around – anything to avoid actually moving my hands to my lap.
Ali looked over at me and giggled.
“What are you doing – trying to hide your bulge? It’s okay, I don’t mind. I know you’re getting turned on.”
“Well, I… uhm…”
Busted. The blushing sensation in my cheeks intensified. Alisha checked her appearance in the make-up mirror of the sun visor.
“I mean, I’m a hot, younger version of your wife. Why wouldn’t you be?”
I was going to deny it, but realized it was too late for that. I didn’t want to admit that she was correct, but it was pretty hard not to see that round hump in my pants. One thing that struck me, though, was how full of confidence she seemed when she confronted me about it. She was the one making me flustered, not the other way around.
She was right about another thing too. She looked so much like her mother. A young version of her. Like the girl I had fallen in love with some twenty years ago. Not that looking like that hot Latina wifey of mine was a bad thing, but the fact that she was just my type did make it even more difficult to avoid these involuntary bodily reactions.
Even harder when said hot teenage daughter actually start touching you.
“Waah…!” I exclaimed as her hand started stroking my bulge.