The Girl Written by: Jem Aura (C) Chps 16-20
----> SIXTEEN <---- The dream was explained in detail to me and it was
scary how many details matched. I'm not one to argue with fate and
coincidence. By the end of the week we were moving into our new home,
still on blocks but fully functional as a home, being plugged into the
marina utilities. I had examined the keel and bulkhead structural damage
carefully and had designed a repair that would make her stronger than new,
using a Kevlar composite to reinforce it, just like repairing the spar of a
modern fighter aircraft. But that could wait. As long as we weren't going
to sail her, we could put off repairing the crack in the bulkhead
indefinitely. First, the rudder, prop shaft, and keel had to be repaired,
along with several scars and punctures on the larboard side of the hull.
While I worked diligently at the necessary repairs to get us floating,
Polly built our nest inside, making lists of things we needed to buy, and
delighting in organizing everything in its place. We had talked at length
about how life at sea is much different than in a house. How everything
had to be secure and every possible thing that could happen had to be
thought about ahead of time so that provisions could be made. There would
be no stores to buy nuts and bolts or food or medicine. You had to have
everything before you left. But that would not be until next summer, after
she is out of school again. By the time Polly went off to her first day of
school, starting sixth grade at a middle school for grades six, seven, and
eight, I was being hounded by Tony to get `that thing' floating.
Apparently unwanted boats became `things'. I put him off for a little
while by paying in advance for the slip I would need, plus a nice bottle of
whiskey. The problem was parts. I had to order parts for the prop shaft
and rudder from the manufacturer, and until they arrived, I was stuck. But
it did afford me the opportunity to spend a lot more time and effort
sanding and shaping the hull repairs to the point where you couldn't tell
they had ever occurred - something I would never have done if she were
otherwise ready to launch. And I tore out the interior on both sides of
the cracked main bulkhead and performed my magic with three quarters of an
inch of Kevlar composite on both sides. Eventually I had to close up shop,
having nothing else to do but read up on engine maintenance and the
electronic equipment and ordering emergency replacement parts for items
that had a history of failing, such as belts and hoses, etc. I also
stocked the deck lockers with all sorts of toys such as snorkeling
equipment, spear guns, inflatables, portable furniture and a large sun
shelter for the beach, two queen size air mattresses for overflow sleeping
on deck or the beach, and much more. I bought an old stainless-steel
swing-out crane from Tony that he had stashed in one of his sheds and
mounted it on the port side. It folded flush against the cabin and when
covered with a sail-cloth tarp cut to fit, was barely noticeable. The
crane would come in handy hauling the new jet-ski aboard. There really
wasn't a good place to store the jet-ski, and many a disapproving comment I
received because of it - apparently I was breaking some kind of rule about
what "toys" were appropriate aboard a sailboat. I had a skif, but I
planned to leave it deflated, stowed, and un-used as much as possible.
With the crane, the jetski would be a snap for quick trips and emergency
towing, but it did need to be secured due to the strong listing of the deck
that would occur while under a full press of sails. I had to lash it to
the deck much the way an old man-of-war would do to a cannon. As an
afterthought, I installed a hundred gallon gasoline holding tank next to
the three hundred gallon diesel tank that fed the two engines, and in the
last available locker space, I tucked a 5000 watt emergency generator. Now
I was really twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the parts to arrive. My
boredom was broken while at the post office. Checking my PO Box there was
a formal looking letter from the State Family Services office in St.
Louis, the same office that adopted Polly out to me. Polly's crack-whore
mother was urgently trying to locate her, and had threatened to sue the
state for `tricking' her into giving her daughter away. When they first
approached her to get consent for the adoption, she wanted money. I paid
her $2000 directly. Now she was claiming that she never got the money, and
had been somehow coerced into signing the document. There was a hearing
scheduled to determine if there was merit to any of her accusations. Since
there was no way for me to travel, having no one I could trust to watch
Polly, I hired an attorney to present my cancelled check and other
documents on my behalf. Right after the hearing the attorney called and
said the judge was stuck on some technicality and ordered another hearing
in two weeks. I told him to hire my private-I, and collect all of the poop
he could on her. I got daily reports of her activities. Apparently she
had hooked up with an old guy with money, living in a huge house, and
traveling every night into the city to buy drugs. Twice she had detoured
after scoring her crack to pick up a very young girl waiting for her at a
corner in the city. They parked and shot up together, then went home back
to the big house. Other tidbits included the fact that her attorney was
being paid for by her rich old boyfriend, and the young girl was videoed
offering the PI sex for drugs. The girl had disappeared shortly after that
and no other information about her was available. When I received the
play-by-play of the next hearing my heart did a full gainer with a half
twist. Her mother, Patricia Paxton, threw a book across the court at my
attorney for showing the video of her shooting up. She denied even knowing
the young girl and stormed out of the courtroom. A bailiff had to drag her
back in, kicking and screaming. The judge slammed his gavel pronouncing
her an unfit mother. "Is that what you plan to do to your own daughter?
Shoot her up with drugs? You may have just brought some new charges down
on your head young lady! Getting your daughter back won't be one of your
worries any more. Maybe if you complete drug rehabilitation while in
prison you could try again. But I caution you, if I find your accusations
regarding this adoption are false, I'll charge you with so much you might
never get out." The rich boyfriend posted her bail. ----> SEVENTEEN <---- I
brought Polly out to a family sports bar to celebrate my victory over her
mother, even though Polly knew nothing about it. Several beers and a shot
of tequila later and she was shooting me disapproving looks, not for the
drinking, but for the open flirting with the very cute blonde waitress that
it caused. "Hey, you're starting to act like my wife!" I said to her,
trying to be funny in an obnoxious sort of way. Polly stiffened as if
slapped in the face. I had never spoken to her like that before, and the
reference to my wife (she had to assume I meant my ex-wife) hurt her
feelings deeply. We had both shared some of our deepest emotional woes in
a "oh yeah? I can beat that!" type of conversation, where I dragged my ex
through the mud as if she were the worst person on the planet. So my
unfortunate comment, combined with her jealousy over the waitress and
wondering what we were doing there in the first place, crushed her
emotionally. She attempted to stifle any outward sign of her hurt feelings
and quietly excused herself to the restroom, where she stayed for nearly
half an hour. I sent the waitress in to check on her and she reported some
soggy sounding sniffles coming from one of the stalls. She also gave me a
look that said "What an ass-hole". Eventually, I had to coax her out
standing at the door to the women's restroom, threatening to leave her
there and getting "loser" looks from anyone passing by. All eyes followed
us to the door. Polly didn't speak during the five minute drive home. I,
however, was a blithering idiot, apologizing profusely and feeling very
much as if I were married. By the time we were under hatches, she had
softened considerably, seeing how upset I was over her being upset. As I
sat in the dark on the sofa, she came in and stood in front of me in her
nightie and announced rather formally that she forgave me. I reached out
for her and she fell into my arms, bursting into tears and gushing out a
string of apologies of her own for being so... silly. Once she had calmed
down, she said simply, "I love you". There was something about the
position we were in and the intimacy of the moment that made me
uncomfortable. It was reminiscent of many groping sessions I had had with
dates when I was a voracious teenager. And Polly was exacerbating it by
caressing my arm endlessly. Fortunately, she fell asleep. The next morning
I poked my head in her room to get her out of bed. But she was already up,
arranging her dolls on her dresser. It was an intensely intimate scene.
Polly had curled her hair and had ribbons tied in it, and one around her
waist, but otherwise she was completely naked. See illustration here:
<https://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Jem_Aura/www/mainpage/girl/love.JPG>
"Oh, you're up already." I said, quickly pulling my head out of her room
like a frightened turtle. "Come here!", she yelled, "I want to show you
something." "Maybe later, when you've got some clothes on." "Oh maaaaan!",
she said in a frustrated long whine. I sat at the galley table waiting for
Polly to finish her shower so I could tell her where I was going. She
emerged in typical fashion, in just her panties and a towel on her head. I
couldn't help but notice how she was maturing, her small breasts were just
beginning to fill out from the points they had been on that first day, and
her hips were beginning to show some curves. But all of that was a minor
distraction, quickly brushed aside in favor of the quest I was on. Once I
had outlined the errands to her, she leaned against me dreamily, as if she
were preoccupied with other things. I caressed her smooth back while
trying not to spill my coffee. Since she was standing and I was sitting,
her chest was pressing against my cheek. So I pushed her gently aside, got
up, kissed her, and left, Polly smiling sweetly in my wake. An hour and
forty-five minutes later I pulled into our marina, having to avoid a large
car coming out that slid on the gravel at the entrance. I climbed the
ladder and found the Princess empty. No sign of Polly. I called and
looked around the yard. Could she be hiding to play a trick? That's not
like her. I ran to Tony's office. "Hey, Tony, have you seen Polly?" "No,
but there was a lady here wanting to know which boat was yours." "A lady?
Did she say what she wanted?" I asked, panic beginning to well up inside
me. "Nope. Just which boat was yours. Is she a new girlfriend or
something? She was kind of sexy, but strung out on something. She just
left a few minutes ago. I heard her spin her tires out at the gate." Ten
minutes later I was peering up the road at the cars and trucks, choosing my
path carefully considering I was going 140 mph in a pick-up truck. I knew
that if she stayed on this highway, and she was approximating the speed
limit (not realizing I had returned moments after she left) that I should
be getting close. I had to keep my eyes on what was coming up ahead. I
dialed 911 and found out that Tony had beat me to it. There were already
units on their way. Unfortunately, they were already arriving at the
overpasses with their lights flashing. They were beginning to chase me.
But seeing all the excitement forming around her, Patricia Paxton panicked
and tried crossing the median. She got stuck in some soft Florida sand.
She saw me coming at her and tried to run. I tackled her, Polly looking on
fearfully. "Are you okay?" I asked. Polly nodded and stayed tightly glued
to my side. She looked at me periodically as if I were some sort of
superhero. Once the police arrived, I regretted the whole scene. Polly had
to watch as they dragged her mother away in handcuffs, screaming in anguish
to please not take her from her daughter. Mitch could tell it was partly
an act, to get the officers feeling sympathetic. They asked Polly who her
rightful guardian was. She pointed at me. Then the squat seargent wagged
his finger at me: "you are damned lucky you didn't hit anyone going that
fast." and in response one of his officers came at me taking out his
handcuffs. I pushed Polly behind me and took a step back. "Wait a minute.
You can't arrest me. There's no-one else to look after her." The Sheriff
put a hand up to check his officer. Rubbing his chin a moment, looking
into my determined eyes, he turned on his heels and left, his officers
following close behind. Patty was still bawling and filling the air with
poignant despair. Polly was struggling with her conflicting emotions as
her eyes met her mother's, wishing her mother was healthy. It all had me
wondering if it were even possible... An idea was beginning to form. ---->
EIGHTEEN <---- I used to smoke. It was an addiction that had a firm grip
on me, the only one that ever did. I was desperate to quit and had tried a
variety of methods, only lasting a few hours at best. And the gum was a
joke. While puffing away at a family picnic, my aunt told me about a
method they use in Singapore for children who smoke. Basically, the
parents consent and the penal system takes them and beats them with canes
while they smoked cigarette after cigarette. The mind quickly makes the
connection and decides not to like cigarettes any more. I begged my father
for the funds to go there. I went, and I have not smoked since. They beat
the shit out of me while stuffing lit cigarettes in my face, using bamboo
canes that had been split on the ends, on my bare ass and thighs. I was a
bloody mess. But it worked, and it was worth it. Secretly, in the back of
my mind, I used it as a right of passage. I had brought it upon myself,
for my own good, and held my head at a different angle when faced with a
threat. I left feeling strong, even though I couldn't bend in the middle
for a couple of weeks. ----> NINETEEN <---- The next morning, waiting for
Polly to emerge from the shower again, I rehearsed my lines so I could
clearly explain my plans for her mother. Pulling her into my lap and
trying to ignore the fact that she was topless, I told her my idea. She
stopped me and made me back up and explain the psychology of corporal
punishment in depth, because I had skipped ahead thinking she wouldn't
understand. I was wrong. She understood perfectly and asked several very
intelligent questions, trying to satisfy doubts that someone as far gone as
her mother could possibly be rehabilitated. In the end she stated, very
businesslike, that she was willing to give it a try, but wanted the power
to put a stop to it at any time. I had to wonder at the intelligence at
work within her. Of course I had to agree, and her mood shifted
immediately as she snuggled herself deeper into my arms. "Well, I had
better go visit her today before they ship her off somewhere." I said.
Looking up at me with saggy eyes, she kissed me, but she held it there a
couple of seconds longer than usual, her arm hooked around my neck holding
me captive. We always gave each other goodbye kisses. Come to think of
it, that was the only reason we ever kissed. But this one was very
premature considering I still had to drop her off at school. I sat there
stiffly, aware of her being half naked and the fact that a kiss like that
is supposed to be accompanies by holding her in my arms, and to support
that, Polly seemed like she was waiting for something, for me to say or do
something. Eventually she pulled away and rolled slowly off of my lap.
She held my eyes with a flirty, sideways gaze and a wry smile, continuing
it over her shoulder as she walked away. In my thick denial, I dismissed
it as simple playfulness. `girls' I thought to myself. I received another
kiss goodbye as I dropped her off at school. This one was the classic
short peck I had grown accustomed to, but I got another strange look as she
closed the door. I guess it's possible I was just imagining things. During
the drive to the county seat of government, I tried to imagine the
impending encounter with her mother. I knew I couldn't disclose to the
prosecutor, or sheriff, or whoever, what my scheme was for rehabilitating
her. I can just hear them: "So, you're going to drop the charges if she
lets you spank her? Is that it?" Just like so many things in this world
that actually make sense, people seem to be able to negate them simply with
the tone of their voice and a few cleverly chosen words. When I arrived, I
hadn't gotten any closer to developing a strategy. I had to wait an hour
for the sheriff to return from a call. The county clerk who was holding
down the fort wouldn't tell me anything. It was a small courthouse with
the jail in the basement. When the sheriff finally appeared, with his
beady little eyes under a white flat top head - obviously a drinker with
his bulbous red nose - he informed me she wasn't even there. "Do you know
where she is?" I asked. "We don't have the facilities here for a woman
prisoner, at least not for extended periods. She's at a private prison
about 20 minutes from here. I have to pick up a few inmates for court this
afternoon, but I suppose I could go now and escort you in." He offered.
"That would be great." I followed the Sheriff, cruising 90 mph the whole
way. Again, a long wait to even get into the prison, and another waiting
for them to deliver her to the well furnished and very comfortable visiting
room. I was instructed by a very attractive young woman that we can hold
hands if we wish, but no other touching is allowed. And no kissing. The
image that popped into my mind was of her decking me in the jaw. What
about that? is that allowed? As I sat there facing the prisoner entrance,
a series of automatic doors began to clash and hum. From the expression on
her face as she emerged, she had no idea who was wanting to see her. She
stepped quickly toward me, since I was the only one in the room, and as she
neared, recognition dawned on her face and she abruptly turned, telling the
officer she didn't want to see me. I yelled after her, "Patty, I'm here to
see if we can drop the charges." She stopped and studied me over her
shoulder, then slowly she turned around and walked up to the table. "What's
the catch?" She asked with a sarcastic little chuckle. She ran her fingers
nervously through her wet hair. Apparently they let her take a shower
while I waited. I nodded at the chair and then fixed her with an icy glare,
fully reclined in my seat and my arms folded across my chest. It took her
a while to decide, but once seated, she couldn't sit still. Her eyes
darted around the room and then back to me. "Got a smoke?" she asked. I
didn't answer. Again she swept the room all around, flinging her hair. She
checked her pockets, combed her hair with her fingers again, started
humming a song... finally she straightened herself around and put her
hands on the table, attempting to compose herself. "Well?" She said, an
edge of frustration in her voice. I watched her hands. They shook. The
veins shone purple through skin that seemed to belong to an old woman. As
she became aware of me, she moved her hands under the table. "What are you
looking at?" She asked. "Not much, that's for sure." I said. A wave of
emotion washed across her face. My words had struck a nerve. For a split
second it seemed like she might cry, but she quickly recovered herself with
her righteous indignation. "Fuck off." she said coldly I continued to make
her squirm with my eyes fixed upon her. I became aware in my mind that
subconsciously I was carefully measuring her, that these slight cruelties I
had been inflicting upon her were designed to disclose to me certain
aspects of her personality, mental health, and personal fortitude. What I
discovered was that Patty Paxton had, at one time, been a self-assured,
highly capable human being. That old sense of self shone dimly at times
when being challenged. Even more apparent was the self loathing she now
inflicted upon herself, having lost control of her life and her mind. I
was about to test how deep those waters ran. When she had finally settled
down, I calmly stated, "Patty, I know you weren't always like this. I can
see you under all of this... ", I gestured with my hands at her whole
person. "...shit. Somewhere in there is a kind and compassionate woman.
Your daughter still loves you." I watched as her defenses peeled away from
her one at a time, realizing that I was not going to allow myself to become
angry or distracted, and her tears began flowing. I took the opportunity
to pull out some pictures of Polly I had brought with me. "I don't know
what you remember about Polly the day you tried to take her, If you noticed
anything different about her. I suspect you were probably distracted
trying to get away, and probably stoned. She's not the same girl." I slid
the small pile of pictures over to her. Patty held her breath as she
lifted the 8x10 portrait of her daughter. It was a professional studio
shot, and it accentuated all of Polly's best attributes - her bright and
deeply thoughtful eyes; her brilliant smile; her perfect complexion, her
shining reddish blonde hair, darkening slightly as she continues to enter
womanhood. Patty touched the picture delicately with her fingertips and
said softly, "Oh, look at her smile. You fixed her teeth." She looked up
at me and there was gratitude in her eyes, and the tears doubled in
intensity. As she mopped herself with her wrists, one of her hands settled
onto the table. I took it and held it. She stiffened for a moment, her
breath caught in her throat and her eyes went wide with fear... staring at
me in disbelief. She tried to slip it out of my grasp, but I held on. A
shy schoolgirl expression blinked across her face, then a sultry hooker,
then she was back to being afraid, her eyes fixed upon me. I had to just
sit there and let her ebb and flow. At last she bent over, sliding the
pictures away tp keep her tears from damaging them, laying her face on her
arm, and she sobbed, deep moaning sobs of despair. On and on it continued,
talking to herself at times as if in an argument, shaking her head on her
arm and saying "No, I can't. I've tried. I can't." After a long while,
her sobs quieted down and she sat up. "Polly thinks there might be some
hope for you." I said. "She's wrong." Said Patty, honestly. "She doesn't
know." "Maybe. but I think there's hope for you too." "Shit, you don't
know shit. You got the whole "Clark Kent" thing going on, true blue
American boy, I suppose your shit don't stink either." "Patty, if you are
even half the person your daughter is, then I know there is hope. I have
an idea that I think will work." I could see the doubt on her face. And a
new wave of fear hit her, because her drug addiction had become her
comfortable place, any threat to that and all of her defenses come up
automatically. "Who cares what you think?" she asked. "Polly does." I
said. "besides, you really don't have a choice. Unless you want to go to
prison for a long time." I let those words soak in for a while. "There's no
way I can quit. I've tried." "You'll quit in prison." I said "But not once
I'm out." She replied. "Why? Why not just stay clean once you get out?"
"It doesn't work that way. It's not that simple." "Exactly right." I said.
Patty glared at me indignantly, as if I had just insulted her. "What could
you possibly know about it?" "That part, the part that makes you go right
back to it even after a long time being clean, that part is in your mind.
That's the part I can fix - and fix it good. Fear and doubt again washed
across her face before the tough facade came back. "What, you going to
hypnotise me? I've tried. It don't work. Besides, I don't think I want
fixing." "Why the hell not? Are you crazy on top of everything else?
Don't answer that. Just answer me this: If staying clean was as easy as
pushing a button on the wall, would you push it?" She studied me closely
for a long while, trying to figure out what she was getting herself into.
Finally she said, "I'd push it." "That's good." I said, and I proceeded to
tell her about my experience in Singapore and my plan for her - minus the
canes. I wouldn't let her decide right then, but to my amazement, I could
see a ray of hope in her expression when she finally realized that the
treatment would be punishment - as if that somehow made more sense than
anything she had ever considered, beleiving it necessary to be treated in a
way that fit her self image, and realizing that this was not a half-baked
scheme - that I was dead serious. Just before I left her I told her to
write a letter to her daughter explaining why we should go to the trouble
of trying to clean her up, and why we should have hope for her to succeed.
I also told her that Polly holds ultimate veto power and can pull the plug
whenever she wants to. I left with a very strong sense that Patty actually
regretted not being able to come with me right then. I think she wanted to
believe in me, in Polly and me, to save her. The next day I met with the
prosecutor. He seemed relieved when I told him I wanted to drop the
charges. But when I told him about my plan, that we would be going to sea
to keep her clean, and that I needed her to stay locked up until school let
out, he became overwhelmed with the implications. Finally I simply
suggested that he could keep her in legal limbo, and that her attorney
would cooperate, etc., that we would be saving the state buckets of money
that they would have had to pay for her long term imprisonment and
subsequent rehabilitation. Reluctantly he agreed, and asked if I had a law
degree. I should have been flattered, but actually it just highlighted how
incompetent he was. When I picked Polly up from school, she slid over next
to me and feigned sleepiness, resting her head on my shoulder and curling
her legs up beside her. Her mother was still prominent in my thoughts, and
I said to her, "Remember at that bar when you got so mad at me?" "Yes,
don't remind me." "Well, I didn't tell you why we went there." "What do you
mean?" She asked, lifting her head and looking at me. I told her the whole
story about how her mother had tried to take her back. She sunk deep into
her thoughts after I finished speaking, staring off into space. At length
she came out of it. "Do you really think this can work?" She asked. "I do,
but alot of it will depend on you." "Huh? Why me?" "She loves you Polly.
She can't help but love you - you're her daughter. If she can catch a
glimmer of what life could be like with you, how proud you would make
her... I think she will find that worth the fight." "I hope you aren't
thinking of giving me back." She said with panic just beneath the surface.
"Never. Polly, Come on, you know better than that. I won't give you up no
matter what. If she wants a life with you, then it's with me too." "You
mean, like you'd be married?" "I don't think so. But it's not totally
impossible. Your mom was once a very intelligent and classy lady. I can
tell. She wasn't always a drug addict." I paused, trying to remember the
question I was answering. "No, but I'm not against us all living together,
if she can get her shit together." Using the word 'shit' got me a punch in
the arm. "Sorry." I said. "She's going to need us for a long time. You
can't expect to be able to clean her up and then just set her loose to find
her own way. She will become dependant on us for her sense of belonging,
to feel like she is worth something. Living alone and feeling lonely is
the quickest way back into drugs. Nobody likes being alone." Back home we
found Tony waiting for us at the Princess. He was sitting on some boxes,
smiling. "Well, here's what you been waiting for." he said, "How long will
it take to install them?" "You're not in a hurry, are you?" I asked
sarcastically. He fixed me with a sailor's eye that had death in it.
"Tuesday, My nephew will be here scraping bottoms. I want it ready to go
by 10 in the morning." The icy glare was done in jest, but his tone took on
all seriousness. "No problem. We'll be ready." I said. Then I noticed a
rare gleam in Tony's eye. He was happy. A very rare thing indeed. I felt
compelled to investigate."Tony, are you smiling? What the hell? Did you
get laid?" His smile spread even wider. "Nope, even better... I won the
suit. Against the crane manufacturer. It's a done deal." I knew what this
meant. Tony was on the verge of bankruptsy due to the accident with the
Princess. His insurance wasn't paying up while all the lawsuits were
flying around. And the only thing that kept him floating was the money I
had paid him for her. "Awe, Tony! That is awesome. Oh, man! We need to
celebrate. You still have that whiskey?" Polly danced on her tiptoes with
excitement waiting for me to open the boxes. But the complicated metal
parts were nothing she could even identify and she climbed the ladder
rather dejectedly. I left her to her own devices while I began digging out
tools and trial fitting the parts to see if they were the right ones.
Everything fit perfectly, and unknown to Tony, I could have been finished
installing the parts in about two hours. But Polly called me to dinner. In
the galley Polly was fussing around with a ready to eat roasted chicken
that she heated in the microwave, Rice-a-Roni in a large pan, and green
beans in a smaller one. Everything was hot except the rolls that sat on
the table still in the bag. I got the butter, a soda, and a beer out of
the fridge and sat down. I watched her closely as she fixed each of our
plates of food. Polly glanced at me strangely, making me suspiscious but
not knowing why. She had on her canvas galley apron that she customized
with a belt of flowers drawn with colored markers. When she finished, she
untied the strings in back and lifted it off, hanging it on the hook I had
installed just for that purpose. As she approached the table with our
plates, my jaw fell open. She was wearing a black lace halter top that was
so incredibly sheer, she might as well be wearing nothing. "What are you
wearing?" I asked, trying to hide my surprise. "It's a halter top. I made
it. Don't you like it?" she said nodding, hoping to get me nodding my
approval as well. "I can see right through it!" I exclaimed. Polly sagged
with disappointment. "It's the only material I could find. I never sewed
anything before and I wanted to practice in case I need to sew something in
a 'mergency." She said, but her eyes betrayed her. She had been looking
directly at me at first, but they strayed to a spot on the floor as she
finished, then, glancing up at me she added, "Don't you like looking at me?
I mean... you know..." Obviously Polly's mind had been going places that
mine hadn't. This was a total shock to me. She left no doubt what she
meant. Mostly in the way she said it rather than what she said, or didn't
say. I was struck dumb. I couldn't speak. I just stared at her in
disbelief, my mouth hanging open. Polly set the plates down and slid into
her chair, waiting uncomfortably for me to say something. When I didn't,
she shrugged to herself and began eating. I stared at her chest as she
buttered a roll. Looking up she caught me, but I wasn't actually staring
at her breasts, I had seen enough of them to immunize me against becoming
aroused: it was the top she had made, it reminded me of something... but I
couldn't think of what it was.
"Well take a picture why don't you?" she said smiling at me. Then it
hit me. "Wait a minute, where did you say you got that material?" I asked.
"There's a roll of it down below, in the closet by the pumps." "Sweetheart,
that is screen mesh for the portholes, in case they get torn. And there
might be a hundred other uses for it that I haven't thought of yet. Where
did you get the lacy stuff?" "You remember my blue nightie? The sleeve got
torn. It had black lace and I cut it off." She had done amazingly well
creating it - for her first attempt. I was trying desperately to find a
way to address the real subject at hand, but the practical discussions
about how she had made the thing was making it more and more difficult to
get back to it. Finally I just laid it out there. "You know I think you
are beautiful, don't you?" Polly nodded, taking a bite of chicken. "And you
know as your father I try very hard not to look at you like..." I ran out
of words. "Like what?" asked Polly with a devilish little smirk on her
face. "You know like what." I snapped back. Then, regaining some control I
said, "Polly, people are designed to slide right into romance without
thinking about the consequences. If people always thought carefully about
the consequences of having sex, there would not be any babies. It's normal
at your age to be thinking about it, and playing the game, but I just can't
play along with you. And I can't have you playing it with anyone else
either. It's just too dangerous." That string of to-the-point talk about
sex lit Polly up, her eyes wide with wonder at being spoken to like an
adult. As she munched I could see the gears turning behind her eyes.
"So..." she said slowly - "...it's okay for me to play the game... but not
with anyone... Is that right?" I could tell I was in trouble. It smelled
like a trap. "I guess so. I mean, it's normal for you to be thinking
about it." "Oh, okay." She said, and focused in on her dinner. "Hey, you
gonna eat?" she asked, pointing at my untouched plate with her fork. "What
are you up to?" I asked. "I don't like it when you get that devil in your
eyes." "Nothing. Why?" "Because my spider sense is tingling." ----> TWENTY
<---- The following evening I emerged from the shower to a perfectly
operational, sea-going vessel. Polly had everything organized and neat as
a pin, and I had completed all of the repairs a whole day ahead of time.
Seeing me dripping on the hardwood floor she came rushing up. "Look what
you're doing! It's gonna leave spots.!" she yelled and then glanced around
for something to mop it up with. Her eyes zeroed in on the towel I had
around me. We grabbed for it at the same instant; Polly trying to pull it
free, and me trying to keep it on. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't win
the tug of war and keep the ends tucked in, so there I stood holding the
end of the towel, Polly holding the other, and her eyes soaking in
everything. But her quick wits and intelligence forced her out of her
reverie and into more playful antics, hoping the moment might continue.
She feigned defeat, letting the towell go slack, but then gave a quick jerk
and pulled it right out of my hand. I reached out for it but she
stiff-armed me in the chest and stuck her tongue out. Dropping to the
floor, she mopped up the drips, coming up to my feet where more drips were
still falling. "Move!" she screamed, pointing at the rug. "Stand over
there!" I moved back a step onto the rug and watched her mop up the
drips... and mop some more.... and some more.... the whole time glancing
up at me, and eventually just baldly staring. "My towel please?" "What?
I'm not finished." "Oh yes you are." I said as I stepped toward her. In a
flash she was on her feet and holding the towel behind her back, retreating
away from me slowly, and smiling wickedly. I noticed her eye glance toward
her only means of escape. I turned on my heels to head her off.
Unfortunately, my wet feet came right out from under me. It was an
embarrassing fall onto my left butt cheek, and it hurt. Polly laughed into
the towel hysterically, then seeing my face contorted in pain she stifled
the laugh and knelt down beside me, genuine concern on her face. She
reached out as if to rub the sore spot but I flung her hand away, grabbed
the towel, and hobbled to my cabin. Polly yelled, "You know, towels are for
drying off. Why don't you try it sometime?" I take my showers in the
evenings, and Polly takes hers in the morning. So in the morning, as
usual, I was waiting for her to emerge - except this time I was pressed
flat against the wall just outside the door. When it opened, she stepped
out and screamed bloody murder. I grabbed the towel from her head and
flung it across the cabin. When she turned to go after it I hooked my
finger in the waistband of her panties at her butt crack and yanked them
down. Her legs had just come together in her stride so they went all the
way to her ankles, tripping her. She fell forward, catching herself with
her arms. I deftly slipped the panties off her feet and spun them on my
finger, taunting her. "Oh my God! You are such as fart! I'm too sure!
Give 'em back!" She said in a blur of syllables and scrambling to her feet.
She was smiling, only slightly embarrassed at being completely naked all of
a sudden, but ultimately energized at being pursued and teased by the man
she so adored. She came at me intending to take back the panties. I
stiff-armed her and held her panties behind my back. She backed me up
against the couch and pushed me onto it. I stuffed the panties deep into
the bowels of the couch and then calmly folded my hands in my lap.
Immediately she sprawled herself across my lap trying to fish them out.
She had no leverage to force her hand in far enough, especially with my
butt in the way. "Get up!" she yelled. But I just sat there. Eventually
she gave up, twising her shoulders around staring up at me. I smiled
affectionately and victoriously down at her, and then intentionally leered
at the full length of her body - from head to toe. But instead of being
aghast at this as I had hoped, she smiled and snuggled herself onto my lap
while straightening her hips around, exposing her frontside completely to
me. And in the ultimate gesture of trust, she closed her eyes, calling my
bluff as effectively as a world class poker champion. I had to make good
somehow, since I initiated the whole thing, just paying her back for the
night before: so I tucked some loose hair behind her ears with my finger,
traced a line down the bridge of her nose to her mouth, ran my hand down
her arm to her elbow, then across her hip, and finally along her leg to her
knee, and then all the way back up again. I continued caressing these long
lines of her body, carefully avoiding her erogenous zones, pretending we
were just having our usual morning snuggle. However, as my mind
subconsciously drifted through fantasies where we were doing more than just
snuggling, having her lying across my lap like that, being as perfect a
specimen of femininity as I could possibly imagine, her eyes suddenly
sprang wide open. It took a moment for me to realize why - my erection was
pressing firmly into the soft place between her shoulder blades. I
launched her from my lap and headed toward the ladder. "Hurry up and get
ready, you're going to be late." I said. That evening after my shower I
carefully opened the door and peeked around the corner. Polly was there
and she sprang out with her claws ready to strike. I calmly stepped out of
the bathroom, fully dressed, and gave my hair a final scrub with the towel.
"Uhm, did you want something?" I asked.