I woke up to the early morning sun and chirping birds. We had maybe another two hours before my son might return. When I turned, she awoke too, stretching her arms above her head as she awoke.
“Good morning,” she said. I cupped her cheek in my hand.
“So,” I said, “This is the end.”
She snuggled into me, “It has to be this way. But it was a crazy ride.”
I ran a finger around her breast, “No sneaking, no flirting. Back to normal, 100%. It’s the only way to make sure nobody gets hurt.”
She nodded, “I know.”
Her hand found my face.
“I’ll miss you.”
I jostled a bit in the bed, “This version of me.”
She sighed. “I waited so long after the second time, because I had feelings.”
I nodded, “I did too.”
She sighed, “Kink has to end there. It’s a hangover. It’ll be months before I’m not missing you.”
I played with the skin just below her navel.
“Sarah I….I know this started because of my rapey, creepy episode. But…I…when you knew you were pregnant…”
I looked at her and continued.
“Did you ever think to…take another route? I would have helped you.”
Her mouth bunched up and she swallowed, “Don’t you do that. Don’t you do that to me,” her eyes welled up the slightest bit, and my heart sank, “Don’t you do that.”
“I’m sorry baby,” I said, kissing her forehead. We laid in the quiet for awhile, breathing together.
“I need it one more time,” she muttered, “Just quiet, the two of us.”
She climbed up and mounted me. I held the sides of her tummy as she swayed. I could see the tops of her breasts like a silhouette in the dark. I pressed to the hilt, like nature told me to, when we finished. She left, and I began to change the sheets.
It was normalcy. And I felt like I could exhale.
—
The nine months before she went to college were tough times. Not in an insurmountable suffering sort of way, but in a slow, aching way. I never saw her in any state of undress again, not even in a swimsuit. Our conversations were safe speech with her mother always present. When we did talk alone, she sometimes talked about more emotional topics with me, but nothing sexual. I was so relieved to see her recovering. There were no more “flu” days.
After many discussions and arguments, her mother let her go to New York. I can summarize that six years later, she was on top of the world. A SUNY degree in economics was her personal achievement, but the modelling really took off. And not in a “nice career” way. More like a “changed the families financial dynamic forever” sort of way. Her total haul over the six years was in excess of four million dollars. I didn’t know if a few well-timed blowjobs helped get her to the top of the heap. Needless to say, our mortgage was her Christmas present one year. I couldn’t be more proud or expected any less, even if she went the sideways route to get there. She was one in a billion, maybe she never had to take it to the basement with a horny talent director after all.
The internet pages started cropping up. Whole forums dedicated to horny men posting pictures of her and talking about all the horrible things they’d do to her body. Yes, there were nudes. And I took a peak, despite swearing to her mother they were blasphemy and immoral. Seeing her shine that light on the world, the one that turned me into a perverted monster…I don’t know how other men coped.
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