SEVEN SEAS FOR FOUR

by Holly Rennick

AUTHOR'S NOTES

For you nice readers requesting a sequel to FISHING FOR THE POCKET TROUT (http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Fishing_for_the_Pocket_Trout.txt, originally titled SEVEN SEAS in reference to the theme park setting), here you are.  I could have been unduly obtuse and called this one CCCCCCC44.  A further sequel in the works?  No, but we'll see.

This story was written five decades after the American publication of "Lolita," voted by the Board of the Modern Library as the fourth greatest English-language novel of the 20th Century, behind "The Great Gatsby," "Ulysses" and "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man."

SEVEN SEAS FOR FOUR

Your brain's sharpest when you wake up, Sara's observation about her own, at least.  Less clutter.  A night's processing on whatever's been mulling around.  And anyway, there's not much else to do till the others wake up.

Having to share the hotel bed with her brother (the cover-hogger, but at least the bed's big enough) was why her mind's been mulling.  He'd been faking sleep when she and Dad got back last night from the light show -- a sister knows that sort of thing -- but once she was sure his sleep was real, she'd felt him through his pajamas.  She'd planned to ever since Dad announced that the two would have to share a bed.

Her brother's boner surprised her.  He must have been dreaming big time.  And it wasn't as if she didn't have some idea of what he'd been dreaming about.  Maybe not in detailed form -- though she herself indeed had some first-hand experience -- but at least the subject.

Get it?  She laughed at her own joke.  First-hand experience!  Lots of 13-year-olds hadn't a clue.  She could have done it last night after the rest were asleep, except she'd drifted off, too.  She could give it a go now, except somebody might wake up.

So let's replay yesterday a bit more, she decided.  So interesting!

Interesting that Rob also had a boner at the Pirate Trove Cafe.  Easy as pie to tell when he stood up.  Order a Tropical Twist at the restaurant today, she reminded herself, as it's neat how they swirl the foam.

Mom seemed to have been footsieing him just before that.  If we miss each other at Flagship Light Spectacular, she'd instructed in her listen-to-Mother voice, just meet back at the hotel.  A girl can tell when a parent has another agenda and sure enough, Mom and Rob were no-shows.

And then the oddities when they at last got back to the room.

Mom attributing how long it took her to open the door to dozing off while watching TV.  But a show about the North Pole?  An Oprah special might make sense, but not polar bears.

And then Mom moving the suitcase from her bed to the floor before Dad noticed.  Where'd she been dozing?

Talcum powder on Rob's bedspread.  Her brother wouldn't use it, that's for sure.

Mom's panties on the floor, and more than that even, beside the wrong bed.

It's one thing to wonder about your brother.  It's another to wonder about your mom.  And it's entirely something else to wonder about the two of them.

And why would she wonder things? as if she didn't already know.  Because Seven Seas is totally about that particular subject.  Probably the same for all theme parks, she supposed, but she'd only been to this one.

Which relates, Sara allowed, to the light show.  She'd felt the lump when she'd sat on Dad's lap.  Even your own dad has a you-know-what.  He'd have had one nine months before your birthday, for example.  When the fireworks began, she'd snuggled lower, wrapped his arms around her and held them against her chest.

On the hotel shuttle, Sara wasn't sure if the driver's calling her 'Skipper' was good or bad.  What the driver didn't notice, she hoped, what that she was maybe a bit old to ride in her father's lap.  Sort of drowsing, you might say.  She'd wanted to check and sure enough, what happened at the light show happened again.

It's one thing to know that your brother gets boners.  It's another thing to feel your father's twice in one evening.

And now there was the day ahead.

Adventures in Seven Seas Adventureland!  For sure she'd find more rides she could do in Dad's lap.  Plus she'd get him to buy her one of those little sea horses in case she had to do a science fair experiment.

As the rest of the family still wasn't stirring, Sara rose, turned on the TV and let the weatherman wake them up with temperatures.  77 downtown.  74 at the airport.  Presumably 70-something at Seven Seas.

"Last day," Sara announced, though of course they already knew it, as she chose her clothes and headed for the bathroom.  Better remember her sun visor, if the weatherman was right.  Her Italian visor, at least in brand, not something with a smiling octopus.

Breakfast.  Shuttle.  Seven Seas!

"See you birds later," Rob bid her and Dad adieu as soon as they cleared the main gate, a.k.a. Seven Seas Passports.  "Me and Mom want to explore the Sand Castle.  Right, Mom?"

"Top of my list," Mom's sudden interest in nautical fortification striking Sara as one more oddity.

Unsurprised at Mom's and Rob's departure, Sara adjusted her bra straps to show better.

"Looks like we're on our own again, Daddy-O."

Submarine Escape was exciting, Dad behind her at the porthole.  She knew, of course, that they'd evade the squid.  A hunch of her shoulders was all it took to pooch her collar and when the glass reflected Dad eying down her straps, she inhaled to look a size larger.

"Buccaneers dead ahead, mates!  Prepare to dive!" ordered the loudspeaker.

Spytower Tree Fort was a cinch, though Dad was slow on the walkway.  When they went up the hollow trunk, that's when she bumped herself against Dad's arm.  Not too much, of course, but enough to bump.  When they had to crawl through the knothole, she sent Dad ahead so he'd see both cups when she emerged.  She'd not chosen a crew-neck for no reason.

Maritime Missile was more of a Rob-type thing -- lots of facts about space travel.  A real rocket wouldn't have an emergency exit, however.  It was in the Sea and Sky Crew Cabin, "Step to the bow, cadets," where Dad brushed her twice the same way -- elbow against the side of her chest, up and over, and then back.  Some thirteen-year-olds have more, she'd admit, but others have less.

During the meteor shower she moved to his other arm and let the skyscape sway them.  As it was hardly an inch either way, nobody would notice the pattern of her to his left, him to her right and then her to his right, him to her left.

Bumps and brushes weren't anything she'd not had pulled on her at school, especially in the stairwell.  She'd set cute guys up to pull it on her a few times, even.  Just carry your books beside your hip, is all.  But with your dad, it's more accidental, and even if it's not, it's because you're having fun.

Noah's Flood was a series of improbable aquariums.  Sea bass circumnavigating the Pyramids.  Sea stars on the Great Wall of China.  Jellyfish above the Empire State Building, which Sara knew to have been built post-Noah.

Port Starboard was better.  Everything was backwards, starting with the entrance labeled TIXE.

Real palms lined the Lilly Pad canal, the ride where Dad touched her knee.

Sailors Hornpipe should have had an apostrophe somewhere in its name, Sara bet, as they'd covered apostrophes in English.  When Dad again put his hand on her leg, she laughed at the dancing whalers and turned a tad in his direction.

Rob and Mom had done the Twister yesterday, but they'd not volunteered much information.  Dad's arms pinned Sara against his grasp on the pole.  Most every guy seemed to be doing the same.  'Ahoy, I'm Todd' -- the attendant, sort of a cute guy -- has to watch a million girls getting felt up, she bet.  Probably drives him batty.

Dad wasn't doing that, of course, but it didn't mean that he and she weren't holding on in the same way everybody else was.  She hoped he noticed how her bra pushed her together.

You can't be positively certain, but when you twist your butt, you pretty much realize what part of him you're touching.

Interesting, thought Sara.  Apparently interesting to about half the girls on the ride, based on how they twisted their butts.

The line for the Tunnel of Mystery would have taken too long, but Sara knew why the older kids thought it worth the wait.  It's where you go to make out.  From yesterday's reports, Rob and Mom went more than once, the more-than-once only slipping out because they gave different times.  Not to fool around, maybe, but then again, it might have been for more than just getting scared.

Sara pictured Mom slipping Rob a little kiss, him pretending to not like it, then kissing her back.  If the line hadn't been so long, Sara would have let Dad captain their way into the mysterious darkness.

She clutched her father's elbow to steer him to Speedboat Speedway.  As the passed the snow-cone kiosk -- sort of an igloo -- she didn't ask for one, but tugged his arm again across her front.

****

I'd not expected Maritime Missile to be so packed, Phil judged, but we probably weren't in violation of whatever law applies to overcrowding in public rockets.  Counsel for Seven Seas probably wrote the law, anyway.

In any case, that's where I brushed Sara's breast, the first time, that is.  It wasn't my fault, how the show made us sway as we circumnavigated Jupiter.  So firm and so conic.

A guy's arms around a girl seemed de rigueur on the Twister, but that's because the ride was for high school truants.  Hold the post and let her press against your hands.  Confusing about who's doing what, some of these rides.

I watched a boy feel up a woman old enough to be his teacher, her nipples more-or-less "Push to Start."  I'd once read an English teacher's story that ends in her bedroom; the kid hardly knew what was coming, but did great.  As the two I was watching seemed to share facial features, perhaps she was his aunt, not his teacher.  There's another story about a boy whose aunt's a librarian, but they do it by a lake, not in the library, as you might expect.  In any case, this aunt, or whoever she was, didn't catch me watching.

A ride like the Twister is for pretending you don't know exactly what the ride's about.  About half of Seven Seas seemed to be fun things for little kids and the other half, another kind of fun for older kids.  Two target merchandising groups, I suppose: one sporting junior pirate hats; the other, sporting tank tops.

In any case, Sara's shirt was indeed what got rubbed when the Twister twisted her one way and me the other.  I'd have been surer about her nipples if she'd just been in one of those tank tops, but I was pretty sure anyway.

I hoped my erection wasn't obvious.  Given our velocity, nobody could have seen, but there were also her bounces into my front side.  No hope of twisting away, however.

"That one looks super fun," Sara next decided, a cone nudging me toward Speedboat Speedway.

A theme park can try to make a silk purse from a sow's ear, but this one still looked like bumper cars.  Tugboats on wheels, maybe.  Vespa tires for bumpers, as the point's to ram your way.

"Sure, hon," rediscovering her nipple.

At least this was a ride of the younger-child variety.  If bumper cars are what Sara wants to do, fine, as I could use a few minutes to clear my mind.

"You help me drive, okay?"

"You're not that little," though I didn't say why.

Sara flashed her smile, the one that's hard to overrule.  "I'm just thirteen," surprising, as she usually claims to be old enough for anything.

And that's how I ended up in the driver's seat, daughter on my lap.

"Keep her in the speedway, Dad" advised 'Ahoy, I'm Zoe,' the college-type attendant who seemed well-accustomed to all possibilities of driver/passenger duos.  Catching me eying her chest, she flicked her tongue and grinned.  As the 'Ahoy, I'm Zoes' of the world can get you in trouble, however, it's better to pursue your adventures through adult literature.

Sara missed few opportunities to vehicular whack those foolish enough to cross our bow, but at a couple of miles per hour, collisions weren't like the rides that damage your internal organs.

Sara had the wheel to hold and I, her.  At first I held her sides, but as the seat wasn't that deep, I'd a better perch around her waist.  As Speedboat Speedway wasn't teen-oriented, any higher might have violated the rules, but 'Ahoy, I'm Zoe,' probably wouldn't have cared.

"That's better," Sara agreed.

Perched over Sara's shoulder -- same as on the submarine -- I couldn't help but now and then glancing downward.  More often than on the submarine, actually, as whenever a collision slammed her backward, the top of her bra gapped in peek-a-boo manner.

There's no way you can't look.

Strawberries perched on shallow slopes.  I say this not because I dwelt on the view, not because the lift of my arm prolonged the moment of observation, but only as a metaphor.  In most stories, girls even younger than Sara have large breasts, but other than height, Sara hadn't had the rest of her growth spurt.

And how can you not notice pubescence?  The linear hips.  The elevation of the breasts.  When collars blossom open, the little white cups.  Or to be particular, when the little white cups blossom open, the ripening fruit.   There are thousands of stories about Lolitas, but except for the original, they're mostly about professionally-endowed young ladies.

What I didn't intend was to park my other hand on her stomach.  When I realized where I was -- out of sight beneath the dashboard, but even still! -- I of course retreated, but that's when we sideswiped a grade-schooler under parental tutelage and my hand returned beneath the dash.

I again would have moved away, but that's when we careened off the next competitor.

"Got 'em!" laughed Sara, ignoring my perch now on the waist of her shorts -- the ones she wore for soccer -- as she spun the wheel for drama.

How can I help it if a finger or two drifted onto the fabric?

Nylon slides so smoothly over cotton.  I say "cotton," but maybe her panties were also of something synthetic.  Whatever they were made of, the contours within started not that far below the hem.

Don't, I warned myself, but not until I'd made the journey.

She doesn't feel me, not at all, I told myself, beginning to search.  I'm just a backseat driver, except one in the same seat.  A backseat driver taking a secret drive.

Sara laughed at a near miss as we ricocheted off the guardrail, splaying her knees for stability.

In many stories, this is exactly how things start, inadvertent contact through clothing.  I wouldn't think that Sara would know about these stories, however, as they inevitably lead to sex.

She steered with utmost concentration.

Thank God that driving keeps her mind occupied!  It wasn't as if I were doing anything, but I'd not have wanted her to wonder what I was doing.

My hand cuddling her shorts reduced my defenses against her butt cuddling my trousers, but as she didn't recognize where I was, she'd also miss its effect.  It was like touching mounds on the Twister, except this time I was lower and she was slower.

It's one thing for a dad to discover how much his daughter's grown; it's another for a daughter to discover how much her dad can grow.

So oh God! when I realized how exactly the rock of her backside matched the rhythm of my finger and how fully the roll of her rear massaged the jut of my lap.

Is she feeling what I'm doing?  What it's doing to me?  Maybe I could blame my hand on the crashes, but that reason wouldn't fly for my other part.

Oh God! as her thighs trapped my hand and she shifted higher onto my trousers.

Who will she tell?  Park security?  Her mother?  My fate will be identical.  Today wasn't supposed to be like this!

No, Sara, I wanted to plead.  It's not what you think.  I'm...  I'm just...

I'd want to stop immediately, but it's easier said than done when your hand can't get away and her butt's beginning to call the shots.  You can only hope that if you climax, your boxers will soak it up.

"This is so fun!" Sara laughed, waving at the parents who let their kids drive alone.

And then I saw that she was referring to the driving.  It's so much fun driving!  So focused on steering, she's missing the rest!  Moving her butt is just from the ride!  She doesn't know a thing!

Thank God!

Slow down, I'd liked to have told her, finding the crease within the softness.

"Move over, buster," she yelled at a precocious ten-year-old who blocked our path.

My fingertip nestled the head of the divide as we hit the straight-away.

'Ahoy, I'm Zoe' flashed us a thumbs-up as we sped by.

As Sara aimed our vehicle -- aiming, more than steering, being her style when the traffic thickened -- I hoped my demeanor appeared causal to the watching parents.

Was I doing something I shouldn't?  Not that much, just letting our tosses and turns decide how much to furrow.  When her legs open, then trap and then again open, however, it's difficult not to seize each opportunity.

You can't feel every little thing through nylon and whatever, but you know when you've found the clitoris.  Not by its form, of course -- it's way too tiny -- but by the reaction.

It wasn't that I'd planned to.  It wasn't that I'd even chosen to.  It was her driving that made me.

"Here we go!" announced my daughter, bouncing as we sped on until finally she thrust backwards, maybe three times, even, slumped her shoulders and decelerated.

My God! as her wiggles subsided.

Was that what I thought it was?  It seemed totally impossible, but at the same time, how maybe a girl her age might climax.  No theatrics.  No admission.  Just unabashed spirit.

It seemed impossible that it was I who made her, but maybe I'm just reticent because she's my daughter.

But oh God!  If that's what it was, how could I have let myself?  I was just playing around, not trying to make her do anything.

What's she going to say?

The consequences, I wouldn't even want to imagine.  Kathy might understand about my erection, but no excuse was going to fly regarding a masturbation.  They'd probably call it child abuse, something like that.  They'll call me a molester, put me in jail.

But -- hope against hope -- she could have twitched for any sort of reason, something related to driving, perhaps.  Is she even old enough?  Would she even have recognized what it was?

The possibility of her not comprehending was my life preserver.  Maybe nothing will happen.  Not with park security.  Not with my wife.  Home free!

Or maybe, even, what happened wasn't quite as criminal as I'd feared.  Helping your daughter orgasm -- if that's what it was -- maybe her first one, even, well, what can you say?

"Driving's rad," Sara's summary as we extracted ourselves from the vehicle, her hand on my thigh to steady herself.  Maybe not only on my thigh, but she was so quick I wasn't sure.  You're so sensitive at times like this that even your fly can goose you.

'Ahoy, I'm Zoe' bid us adieu with an appraisal of my front pocket, tongue flick and grin.  I could only hope that the wrinkles masked the persistence of my state.  There's a whole genre of stories about erections in public places.  Some are first-person, even, but they still may be fiction.

Somebody could probably write a story about what Zoe sees on a daily basis.

"Thanks for the ride," grinned the driver, her eyes momentarily following Zoe's.

***

When the four met for Buccaneer Burgers and to coordinate evening plans, Sara bet they'd remain as already paired.

As yesterday, Mom seemed to sit a bit too close to Rob.  Sara couldn't actually tell, but it sure looked as if they were again touching toes.  Mom talked too loud and Rob stared too long at distant objects.  You guys can't fool me, she'd liked to have told them.

"Going to catch the light show?" Mom suggested, same as yesterday with her such-a-fun-idea voice.

"Maybe," Sara allowed.  "How 'bout you?"

"We'll head back.  Long day, you know, but you and Dad will really like it!"

Illogical.  The show's so great and posters say is different each evening, but no, they'll skip it.  Not that Mom's super logical, but "long day," baloney!  It's some sort of plan.

I'll play, too, Sara decided.  "You're right about a long day.  We'll head back, too.  Okay, Dad?"

Dad looked disappointed, but this game wasn't about him.

Mom took the bait.  "If you're getting tired, yeah, you'd better head back," pausing a moment.  "You still want to see the light show, Rob?  I'm up to it."

"Sure," agreed Rob with sudden interest.

"Okay," Mom settled it, then turned to Dad, "See you two back at the place, darling.  We'll maybe be a little late."

"There's lasers," Sara assured, pleased with the outcome.

Pleased and a little wiser.  Dad and I decide to go back, she noted, and then those two decide to stay.  There's a reason.

"We'll probably find a National Geographic show," Sara added, not because she cared about lions and iguanas, but to check reactions.  And sure enough, Mom gave Rob a smile.

At least the shuttle bus driver didn't call her 'Skipper' again, as she was too old for that sort of thing.  She led Dad to the rear seat, at first planning to plop onto his lap, but after further consideration, wormed her way beside him as if to sleep

Once the bus left the curb -- "All aboard for Seven Seas Inn and Conference Center" -- it took little time for Dad's arm to find what she knew it was looking for.  As on the rocket ride, the sway of the vehicle rocked him back and forth across her, but there it was his elbow and here it was the inside of his forearm.  On the rocket ride, she'd tried to seem bigger, but now she needn't bother.

Okay, Daddy-O, Sara ruled.  Big games begin as little ones.  We'll call this one, "Pirate!"

Anchors Away!

Merchantman on the horizon! announced Pirate Lookout Sara in the crow's nest to Pirate Captain Sara at the wheel.

All hands on deck -- though she'd only be using her left one -- and full speed ahead! she now commanded, or whatever you say when you wear an eyepatch, faking a swash-buckling yawn as she slid her hand onto the merchantman's thigh.  As close as she'd had to snuggle for Dad's arm to find her, it wasn't as if she had to reach particularly far.  The corduroy felt fuzzy.

Dad didn't seem to notice, but maybe that was because he was secretly touching her breast.  Old pirate trick -- let the merchantman think he's the pirate for a while.

In range, maybe how they say it, Sara guessed.  Raise the Jolly Roger and fire at will!

Dad for sure noticed now and blocked her up-thigh advance with a quick placement of his hand which Sara pretended to be lace cuffed.

Probably thinks that her hand's inadvertent, she figured.  Fine by her, him thinking that.  By the time he realizes it's for real, he'll be too far gone to stop it.

Shiver me timbers and fire again, she commanded herself, counting to ten for suspense.  She wasn't exactly sure what "shiver me timbers" meant, but it sounded fierce.

Again he intervened, but this time only to deflect her onto his pocket.  Through the corduroy she could feel the room key.  No need to wait for that, though.

Bring her alongside, Matey, she commanded herself, docking against his fly and counting to five.  "Along side.  A long side."  She'd want to remember that one.

Not to her surprise, his defense had crumbled to little more than feathering above her knuckles.

Prepare to board! this time not bothering to count to anything.

He'd by now shut his eyes.

Surrender, kind sir, or we'll send you to Davy Jones' Locker!  Don't worry, she'd liked to have added.  Nobody will ever know about our pirate game, how bravely you defended your honor.  You've just met your sea-going match, is all.

Up we go, the prize now hers for the taking.  Only after she'd ascertained its magnitude did she began to rub.

Dad's covering hand would shield her piracy from prying eyes, though she doubted the other passengers would turn around.  And even if they did, they couldn't see below the seatback.  They probably call it a bulkhead on a boat bus, though.  "Privateering in private," another one to remember.

She of course knew he'd be the way he was, but was none-the-less impressed with its firmness.  Pleased with its rigidity, of course, but equally pleased with her seagirlship.

When you rob a bank, it occurred to her, you need to skedaddle.  When you capture a treasure ship on the high seas, on the other hand, you can hang around a while.  You can count the jewels.

Corduroy's fun, she decided, running up and down the parallel ribs.  As Dad was angled a little bit toward his near pocket, however, she had to decide between many little ridges or one big one.  As the latter had so much more to offer, it won.

Probably lots of treasure's been captured on the shuttle bus to the hotel, she supposed.  A day at Seven Seas would do that.  Probably most often, though, the pirate's not the lassie.

***

Am I supposed to act like this is accidental, Phil wondered?  That I don't notice?  That it doesn't make me react?  It's sort of possible, I guess, if she'll let me pretend.

But oh, God, Sara!  What you're doing is hardly pretending!

The turnaround was disquieting, but what could I do?  She'd not be doing what she's doing if I hadn't done it to her.  She'd not be reminding me.

There's the role that goes with being a father and there's your masculine response.  The boundary's not at all clear-cut.  One part of you says no and another part of you says something else.  The part saying something else, of course, was the part she was touching.

It would be one thing if it were accidental.  Daughter bumps father, discovers something surprising and that's that.  It's another when it's deliberate.  Daughter bumps father and shows him what she can do.

The only thing to do is try to forget the stories about guys coming in their pants, often when they're standing before a large audience.  Unfortunately, I've read scores.  Then there are the ones about guys prevented from coming who end up as slaves.

Oh God, Sara!  At least pay attention that nobody sees.

***

As Dad hovered close when they entered the hotel, Sara knew their secrecy was secure.  She could have made him come -- everybody said it was easy -- but she didn't think it a good idea on the shuttle.  He might have done something embarrassing.  She could have finished him off on the elevator, but they might have stopped for more passengers.  After he knows you can make him, you can probably do it about anywhere.

She herself could have climaxed perfectly on the bus ride -- same as at Speedboat Speedway -- but that wasn't the plan.

As soon as the two entered their room, Sara switched on the TV.

Some hotels get adult channels, but apparently not this one.  Too family friendly, maybe.  Such a shame, as she'd have left it there and watched Dad pretend to read the Visitor's Guide.  That would be rad, watching him pretending to study the parking lot map while the actress made ooh and ahh sounds.

There were millions of movie channels, but nothing worth watching.  Once when their folks were out, she and Rob saw an un-cut "Leaving Las Vegas" with the woman-on-top scene, but they never talked about it.  That would be rad, too, asking Dad what if actors were acting.

Not even ballet on the Arts Channel or swimming on a sports one, two places for uncensored sexual shapes.  "Hey, Dad," she imagined saying.  "That girl on the left, the one with the buttons inside her swimsuit."

A travelogue about animals of Argentina was good enough, however.  Her friend Laura was on a family vacation and could hear their neighbors humping through the motel wall.  They probably don't have polar bears in Argentina, but she saw a parallel to last evening.  Background broadcast.

Sara hooked the door chain in case Mom and Rob made an early return.  Fat chance, though, given the supper-time footsie.  The light show would have lots of places to do whatever.  Mom on Rob's lap seemed ludicrous, but who knows?

"Wanna' do it together?" in what she hoped sounded a casual tone.

"Huh?"

"You know what," as she pulled up her shirt.  Dad had seen her bra lots of times, not just today, but now she'd let him look without pretending otherwise.

Dad looked alarmed as she reached to undo the hooks.  "Sara, maybe you'd better..."

Usually she just spun the thing around, but figured that wouldn't look very grownup.

"We got time," as she revealed herself.

"Listen, you can't..."

Keep up the momentum, she told herself.  "You had a boner on the Twister."

"What?"

"Plus when you made me come."

"When I what?"

Too rattled to deny the boner, she noted.  Excellent.

"You know, masturbated me while I was driving," diving to the point.  She couldn't believe she'd said the word, but once out, she liked how it sounded.  Using the proper word gives you authority, something she learned in English.

"Wait a minute!"

"Naughty Daddy-O," she reflected with mock sternness, shaking her finger for effect, then letting it wilt and after staring at it dramatically, watching it reassume its angle.  Her stagemanship made her giggle.  Maybe "stagegirlship," she decided.

Dad's protest, "It wasn't what you think," was less than convincing.

"Wasn't what?" touching the extended finger with another.  "Me coming or you making me do it?"

"You can't..."

She liked how quickly things were moving and dropped the finger-pointing.  "The girl who works there watched."

"Watched what?"

"Me come."

Dad seemed dazed.

"It was like, total!" she added before cranking up her offense.  "You wanted me to do it back, right?  The pirate game."

"The pirate what?"

"On the bus," as she didn't want to explain the sea stuff.

"I was sleeping."

Okay, Sara decided, pleased with his fall-back to ignorance.  We'll say you were sleeping when the pirates attacked.

"I was just checking," she fibbed.  Denying Dad's orgasm took lots of work on her part.  It had been sort of fun, though, walking him to the end of the plank so many times.

"I'm your father, for Christ's sake."

"You really need to, right?  Now, I mean.  Wanna' get on the bed?"

"Are you kidding?"

"We can talk and stuff."

"I can't just..."

"Maybe both of us, then."

"Both of us what?"

"Masturbate," the word now on the table.  "It'll be rad, doing it together!"

"What if...?"

Perfecto! at having so smoothly transformed him to co-conspirator.

"They're at the light show," she assured, though what exactly Rob and Mom were doing at the light she could only speculate.

"You sure?"

They'll be late, she could have told him, but only said, "You can't put it in me, though."

"Huh?"

"Just on my outside," in case he'd not understood.  Dads can be so dense.

***

Is this for real? Phil wondered.  Maybe a little something happened on a ride or two, but it wasn't like I'd planned it.  Sure, I'd had a hard-on, but how was I supposed to know that she even knew what one is?

It's one thing, of course, to have masturbated your daughter on Speedboat Speedway.  It puts a different light on it, though, when she tells you she liked it and 'Ahoy, I'm Zoe' with the peek-a-boo nipples watched.

Sure, she'd played with me when we were riding the bus, but just through my corduroys.  It wasn't like the story about the guy who got manhandled by a whole volleyball team.  The setter got to be the finisher.  The rest were taller and prevented his escape.

Oh, my aching balls!

"Listen..."  I paused, swallowed, then tried again.  "What happened, you know, wasn't, you know..."

"Wasn't what?" as if she didn't understand perfectly.

"You know, maybe something sort of..."

But again she cut me off.  "You don't have to take off your pants or anything."

"We can't just..."

"This one's yours," showing me which pillow.

We lay side-by-side, my shoulder, her pillow, my arm around her enough to cup one breast as she palmed the other.  Sure, maybe I'd felt through her shirt a bunch today, but I never thought I'd touch skin.

Her nipples were maroon M&Ms.  The regular ones, not the peanut variety.

My other hand, at her insistence, was inside my own trousers.  I know it sounds impossible, your daughter making you, but I'd no choice.  I of course wasn't about to masturbate, but it was good to straighten the thing out.

"Show me how," she demanded.

Pulling up and down felt pretty nice.  I wasn't exposing myself, as she couldn't see anything but the motion.

Sara gave a grin, slipped off her shorts and shoved her hand into her panties.  For some reason, at the speedway I'd thought of them as white, but in fact they were pink, pink with little white polka dots.

From my vantage point I could see the wisps beneath her palm.  Brunettish-blonde or blondish-brunette, depending on the light.  I'd assumed she'd have hair, but didn't really know how much.  I guess she must have been lifting her wrist to let me find out.  Like with her panties, the color surprised me; I'd have thought it would be black like Kathy's.

"We should come at the same time," she suggested, repositioning her hips for improved access.  Coming at the same time struck me as good, though I wasn't sure I could last that long.

Masturbating along side my daughter!  Her knuckles rippling under the polka dots.  Before today, the thought would have been inconceivable.  Before today.

After we'd established our respective techniques, however, she announced -- ordered, maybe -- "How 'bout each other?" guiding me to her waistband.  I could have declined, but at some point you start to go along.  I'd not have reached inside, except for the fact that that's where she'd been.

"Like at the speedway," she instructed.

Oh God!  How could a girl her age be so primed?

Every girl has a clitoris, of course, but how many even understand what it's for?  Ones like Sara who know about masturbation, I suppose.  Plus lesbians, but I don't often read that line of stories.  In any case, Sara's was easy to fondle.

I wondered about her hymen -- maybe more of a concern in a bygone era, I suppose -- but as I'd promised not to go inside, I couldn't really check.

Masturbating my daughter!  I tried to tread lightly, or perhaps better said, tried to comply with her wishes.

I was apprehensive as she worked on my belt.  When she reached into my boxers and took hold, however, it seemed I passed the test.

"Wow, Dad!  You really need to."

Please, Sara!  Don't make me do anything I'll regret.

Ultimately, though, it wasn't as if I'd much say.

The longer she could prolong it, instinct must have told her, the more I'd need it.  I once read a story about a speeder who got handcuffed by a motorcycle policewoman.  He didn't get a ticket, which was only fair, since she wasn't really a policewoman.

She turned her gaze to better observe -- she had enough of me exposed for a head-on view, I guess you could say -- but what could I do?

"How'm I doing?" as she teased out my own wetness.

When I finally came -- all the way onto her breasts, actually -- she climaxed against my finger.  At Speedboat Speedway, she'd just lurched.  Here she bounced almost off the mattress.

As my daughter foretold, I admit with admiration, the two of us finished in tandem.

We both needed a minute to settle down.

"You okay, hon?"

"Jesus Christ, Dad!  That was totally great!"

Normally I'd have said something about that sort of language -- I'm not sure I'd ever even heard her talk that way, actually -- but in this case, well, how to put it?  When you've just made your girl come like a banshee, you can't follow it with a Sunday School lesson.

Me!  I'd made her orgasm like that!  Her dad!  Who would even believe it?

So let's face it.  We're supposed to think that it's all about intercourse, but maybe that's not so with a thirteen-year-old.  When she's your daughter, at least.

I apologized for the mess as she swiped a streak of semen off her abdomen, but it was okay by her, she pointed out, as it biodegrades.  I guess they think more about such things these days.

It didn't occur to me until later that putting it where I think she put it wasn't very smart, but maybe it was already biodegraded.

She'd have made me come again but for the fact I needed a little break.  Kathy's more realistic, at least, one thing you can say for a grown woman.  In unrealistic stories, the guy has no limit.  Take, for example, the one about a high school newspaper reporter who keeps statistics for the football team and ends up riding the rally squad bus.  A touchdown every time!

"Better wash up," Sara declared as she exited my side.

"Go ahead."

"You can wash my back.  We'll wear underpants."

I hadn't realized that she'd meant together.  While the underpants idea seemed silly, given what we'd already done inside each other's, there was still something to be said for modesty.  But oh, God!  Hadn't we done too much already?

She left the bathroom door ajar and revved up the water.  "You want lavender?"

"What?" as the shower made it sound like, "You want lavender?"

"The kind of soap.  Hurry up."

Through the shower door I could see that she was shampooing.  On Speedboat Speedway, I'd glimpsed her breasts, and in the bedroom, of course seen them totally.  But through the glass they looked rounder.  Maybe it was because they were sudsy, though I wasn't sure what difference that would make.

"Forget the underpants," from the steam.

"You're in yours," as I could see that much through the glass.  They'd been part of the deal.

"Yours won't dry out."

I guess she had a point, as Kathy would wonder about wet ones.  I dropped my shorts and stepped in.

"Wild rose," she identified the shampoo, acting as if she'd seen me naked a million times before.

What could I say as she wild-rosed beneath the pink panties with white dots?  When she opened the elastic to rinse, the exposed curls seemed darker than brunettish-blonde or blondish-brunette or whatever.  Maybe because of being wet, I wondered.

She interrupted my gaze.  "My back, remember?"

What could I say as she worked her spine against me while I lathered her shoulders and then stood on tiptoe to entrap me between her cheeks?

My penis hit her mid-stomach when she turned to face me, maybe even higher, given its inclination.  She pretended not to notice, then grinned at her effect.  With Kathy I'd never have gotten hard again so quickly, but Sara seemed to have a way.

I wished I'd thought to turn off the lights.

"Needs more soap," as she wild-rosed my balls, wagging me across her forearm in the process.  I'd the distinct impression that she was using her arm as a ruler and would later use her school ruler to get it in inches.

"Don't you think...?" I managed as she reached underneath to soap my butt.

"Lots to wash," mater-of-factly as she returned to my front and took hold in much the manner she'd done on the bed.

My way or the highway, I could hear her saying as she circumnavigated my authority with the soft side of the soap bar.

"Nice and slippery," as if I needed to be told.

Was she just seeing how much I could take?

It's not that I minded her appreciation of what I had to offer.  It was more her forwardness.  Who did she think was in charge of things?

"The shower's a good place," she advised, again rising to her tiptoes, but this time also pushing me downward.

A good place?  A good place to wash?  Of course, but you wouldn't bother to say that.  If you're nice and slippery, a good place to...? my thoughts increasingly swayed by her proximity.

Oh, to pin that slithery little body to the wall and find out about her hymen!

Times like this are when guys do all sorts of things.  New things.  There are fewer stories set in showers than in bathtubs, but actually we were in both.  I tried not to think about the tale involving a niece at her uncle's snowed-in cabin.  The tub was claw-footed, not relevant to what happened in it, but the type of detail one remembers.

"Sara," I attempted.  "I don't think..."

"Yeah, they're coming back pretty soon, but how 'bout for my birthday?"

"Your birthday?"

"When you put it in me."

"What?"

"You know, like..." squeezing to demonstrate.  "Except with not my hand," in case I missed the point.

Oh God!  She wants to have sex!

"But maybe just part way," she added as an afterthought.

She wants to have sex, but just part way?  Hey, wait a minute!  I do to all the work and have to stop "just part way?"  Who does this kid think she is, telling me how far?  What this bossy little teenager needs is...

Sara interrupted the re-establishment of male privilege with, "I'm the monkey  and you're the tree."

When she hooked around my shoulders to shinny up my chest, I, once more as second in command, had no choice but to steady her.

Oh God! as she climbed to where my penis nuzzled a polka dot.  Through the cotton she felt wide enough and I was hard enough.  Lowering her just an inch wouldn't really...

"Not till my birthday, remember?" she giggled, pulling just out of reach.

And that's when the hallway door started banging.

And that's where I'd draw the line, anyway.  You don't do it with your daughter, not all the way, I mean, not even though she's made you nice and slippery.

Why not?  Well, it's against the law, for one thing, though maybe not if it's just a plan.  Our church doesn't allow it, but I read about one where the preacher impregnated his daughters because as God's apostle, it kept them virgin.  The cops got him for welfare fraud, less subjective than theology.  Such stories are in the regular newspaper and the guy usually has a beard.

Then there are the practicalities.  I still wasn't sure about the hymen thing, but I'd read stories about young girls -- younger than Sara, some of them.  Basically, just get them relaxed and enter slowly.

Although it didn't matter one iota to me, not one bit, I'd never actually popped a cherry.  Could have, of course, except for the fact that Kathy rode horses as a youngster.  Lots of girls, as she explained, get theirs broken that way.  Of course I'd not think of Sara in terms of popping anything; it would just be taking care of what horse riding might have done.

I'd have to wear a rubber, the kind with lubrication.  Maybe, though, it would be better for a popping to feel exactly what I was up against.  Having nothing between us would be more personal, as well.  Maybe what to do would be to have one handy, but to make the decision based on how things were going.

A major challenge, of course, would be keeping this from her mom.  Kathy's pretty conventional.  We'd need to change the sheets, but maybe Sara could do that, as she knows more about the washing machine.

Not that we'd have sex, but it's good practice to make a check-list.  I'd want to get some of that gel they talk about.  I didn't know if girls Sara's age can have multiple orgasms, but I'd bet so for Sara.  We'd want at least an hour.

Later in bed, that's when I realized why Kathy, too, had been tardy in opening the door.  Last night was a no-brainer, actually.  She'd caught Rob jerking off, told him not to worry, it's natural, yada-yada, and ended up being nature's helper.  I've read stories about mothers finding out, but didn't think in real life they'd actually cooperate.

The thought of Kathy masturbating Rob was disconcerting -- it should be, damn it -- but having successfully masturbated Sara twice myself, I knew how things can get going.

I tried not to picture Kathy doing Rob, but the exercise was counterproductive.  How long did she spy a while before announcing herself?  Did she let him touch her?  She probably did him again today in the Tunnel of Mystery, them along with all those teenagers.   She must be as horny as hell.

The more I pictured the two -- Rob feeling her up as he shot onto her sleeve -- the more I had to show Kathy the real deal -- a big O from someone who can deliver.  Someone with years of experience.  Someone who's read lots.

Not to my surprise, Kathy was ready the moment I touched her thigh.  Wow, Phil! I could feel her saying.  Show me what that great big honkin' rod of steel can do!  Now!

Sure, babe, I imagined myself answering back.  Do I ever have something for you!

Given the kids, I tried to stay noiseless, but she grabbed my shoulders, slammed me against her and fucked me as if we'd the whole hotel to ourselves.  Shoot!  I'd have thought she'd have wanted me to decide a few things, but it's hard to know in advance.

I hoped the kids were asleep.  If not, they'd be masturbating.  Never read a story about that one, though.

***

Rob had done super last night, Kathy judged, once she'd quit faking and taken control.  Actually, Rob hadn't had to do much, as the day's rides had her pretty primed.  Put it in and stay there, his main job.  Her orgasm started as he'd worked down her panties and was still clicking after he'd proven his virility.

A breakout day, yesterday, that's for sure!

She'd told Ron as soon as they were alone in the Sand Castle that last night was "pretty special," but he'd just grinned.  Talking about it would come later.

She'd hoped for a quickie in today's Tunnel of Mystery ride.  'Ahoy, I'm Cristal' had greeted Rob as "Admiral" and her as "First Mate," but maybe that's what she says to most moms.  As there'd been children in the boat ahead and in the boat behind, however, she'd limited Rob to out-of-view foreplay, nothing more.  Probably she'd never have sex in a boat, unless like yesterday, the fore and aft riders were likewise occupied.

When they'd met the other two for dinner, they'd footsied, but only when Phil was refilling his soda.

It almost happened at the light show, but then a family of about eight sat behind them.  Life's full of almosts, but you shouldn't dwell on them.  Probably Mormons, she figured, and the older girls were actually junior wives.

The problem on the shuttle bus was the gay couple behind them.  Two guys would have their own ways, she supposed, but wasn't sure they wouldn't also watch.  Nothing against gays, of course, just their watching.

And with Phil and Sara already back in the room, they'd lost that venue.

It's a bummer to be denied a follow-up.  You want to address a few things.  The timing, for example.

But who's complaining?  Not that many girls get to have a virgin.  Rob was her first, and considering her situation in life, probably her only.  She wasn't going to do a Mrs. Robinson on one of his classmates, something stupid like that.  Good movie, but boys talk.  An older Dustin Hoffman, even if it worked out, wouldn't be a virgin.

And anyway, there'll now be all sorts of opportunities with Rob.  When was Phil's next trip?

That's what was in her mind when Phil at last unlatched the door.  Wet hair, misbuttoned shirt, demeanor off-stride with a flustered, "Oh, hi.  Didn't hear you, I guess.  You know, in the shower."

Kathy glanced at the bathroom door, the shower yet going.  Her daughter's clothing was on the bed, its cover a snapshot of a stormy lake.  Phil and Sara had been there; this Kathy knew.  Not in it, as things were still tucked, but on it.  The wet spot in the center told the rest of the story.

Well holy moly!

"I mean not in the shower, but before," Phil flailed.

Phil, you're one lousy liar, she wanted to say, but maybe it's better to let you think you're fooling me.

Emerging from the bathroom, a towel-wrapped Sara waived a Hi, grabbed her PJs, darted back behind the door and re-emerged with a bright, "There's still lemon soap, Mom."

Kathy was impressed by her daughter's nonchalance, but the Wow! in her eyes was a give-away.

This kid's no longer the little girl she used to be, at least in her own opinion.  Here we go!

But with drab old Phil?  In a hotel, like it was some sort of affair?  A girl's first time should be with her boyfriend, probably after school before his parents get home, though of course she'd prefer prom night.

But it's not like most fathers couldn't be swayed, even ones as unimaginative as Phil.  Sara had her reason for showing her bra straps this morning.  The thin little things!  She'd have watched what other kids were doing on some of the rides.  What happened on the bed was probably more her doing than his.

Probably they did it while the fireworks were exploding.  Probably everybody in the hotel was doing it.

What happened wasn't okay, though.  Absolutely not!  Period!

But face it, she'd laid Rob last night, sort of similar.  Her orgasm was as good as one from her husband and Rob's now got one less thing to worry about.  Things like this happen when you just kick back.

Actually, she had to admit, her orgasm had been better than one from Phil.  More serendipitous.  More adventurous, as after all, it's Seven Seas Adventureland.  She hoped Phil's sex with Sara wasn't as great, though.  Special, sure, it being in a hotel and everything, but Sara wouldn't have done much back.

At least she'd worked yesterday so Rob thought it was his doing.  Unless maybe, well, who knows?  On the boat ride, did showing her nipples make him notice or did his noticing make them poke out?  Difficult to assign responsibility when sex is involved.

But even still, darn it, there's no way the other two should have just gone and done it!  A girl needs advice, as birth control is confusing when you're starting out.  Just don't let on that you know whose sperm you're talking about.  You of course don't tell your husband that you know what's in the works, but you tell him how amazing he is when you're on top.

Kathy couldn't be certain about Sara's "starting out," of course, but moms have a way of knowing.  If Sara hadn't been exactly a virgin, she hoped Phil hadn't caught it.  Thinking that Sara was would help his self esteem.

Who would have thought that she and Phil would take their kids to bed just one day apart?  It's not as if you're not still a parent, but you can't always be just one thing.  A crazy place, a theme park -- riding rides and having sex.

How Rob kept her aroused most of yesterday, how he'd sneaked open her nightgown and tried to screw her secretly, how Sara seemed so pleased with her own accomplishment -- so many thoughts played upon Kathy's own stirrings.

Darn those Mormons deciding to sit behind her and Rob!  She should have screwed him then and there and shown them that it's not just an temple ritual, or whatever.  Darn those brats on in the Tunnel of Mystery!  Seven Seas needs an 'Ahoy, I'm Whoever' to enforce age limits.  It would be like the movies, though -- "unless accompanied by parent."

Ohmygod, did she need it!  Women need it most of all!  Something to bring things back to when you were younger, something your husband can crow about next morning.  Right now, Phil, not tomorrow!

Sara and Rob in the room complicated things, of course, but they were asleep.

Well, what if they're not?  Parents have sex; what's new about that?  If your kids are old enough to do it themselves, they obviously know their folks do it, too.

"Long day," she announced to no one in particular as she flipped the radio -- one of those hotel-room models with oversized numbers -- to an easy listening station.

"Something to wind us down," cranking up the volume of a John Denver hit for which she knew all the lyrics.  Too bad he died.

"Lights out, all."

When Phil touched her thigh, she knew she'd get her way.  Making him forget they were sharing the room took little more than coaxing him her direction.  They'd make love all night, kids or no kids.  If you can't cut lose at Seven Seas, you might as well stay home.

***

Sara understood Mom's intent with the radio volume, though not the choice of Elton John.  Noise provides cover.  But Mom wouldn't let her bed squeak louder than the music unless she thought everybody else was into it, too.  Mom had seen the messed-up bed and Dad looked guilty.  Viola!

It's not right, though, getting zero credit from Mom for keeping Dad from doing the real thing.  Not that getting masturbated wasn't pretty fun, but holding it at that sure took work.

She pondered the unfairness of it all.

Well shoot!  If your mother thinks that you're an adult -- that you've already had sex, to be specific -- why not go ahead and be one?  It's not like you're not totally ready.

Which of course begged the question about her brother.  Mom's doing it in front of them both makes it seem that she's not doubtful about him, either.

Sara held back until her folks seemed past the point of no return.  Sex does that, she observed, gets you where you can't turn back.  Everybody's got that point.  At Speedboat Speedway, Dad got her there even through her shorts.  The girl running the ride gave her a thumbs-up for being able to continue driving.

Sara wasn't sure about that point for a guy, though.  She'd gotten Dad close on the shuttle, but not let him finish.  On the bed, though, there was no turning him back.  Getting him almost there in the shower was pretty fun, especially telling him, "just part way."

If the others hadn't shown up right then, well maybe she'd have passed her own point and anything else wouldn't have been her fault.  She should have taken off her panties, just in case.

Listening to her folks made her wonder if her mother's point was perhaps perpetual.  How else could she keep going and going?

***

Rob was awakened by a poke to his ribs.  Rudely awakened, as a matter of fact.  He'd been dreaming, something about being in front of the school assembly and Mom being the principal, except that she was an Eskimo and he'd lost his pants but she was the only one who knew that and they were in a secret castle and...

But he was enough awake to feel Sara's knee against his hard-on.  Oh shit!

"They're doing it!" she whispered.

"What?" more concerned with her knee than who else was doing what.

"The deed, dummy."

"What?" trying to ignore the press of her leg.

"Shush!"  Between James Taylor, the hum of air conditioning and the squeaks of the folks' mattress, however, there wasn't much reason to whisper.

Once Rob listened, he knew exactly.  Holy crap!  Dad's fucking Mom!  Here in the room!

"Right?" Sara pursued.

But wait a minute.  He'd screwed Mom last night, gave her a super fuck.  She'd said so, more or less.  Sure, he'd a few things to work on, but it wasn't as if he'd really needed her help.  He'd have screwed her a bunch more today, but she kept making excuses.  So how come now she's letting Dad?

The wiggle of Sara's knee broke his train of thought.  "Pretty long, right?"

"What?"

A giggle.  "How long they're going, bozo."

His sister had him and Rob knew it.  If he'd have been quicker, he could have perhaps escaped, but maybe he'd first let her knee him a little more.  You ought to be nice to your sister.

"That's how she wants it," he pointed out in what he hoped was the voice of experience.

Listening to Dad fuck Mom and letting Sara feel his hard-on made sense to do at the same time.

***

Sara met no objection when she sprung her brother out of his PJ bottoms.  No objection in a real sense, that it.  He'd whispered, "Don't," but she knew he meant the opposite.

Past the point of no return for him, too, the certainty enhancing her own anticipation.  It's neat to have your brother in the palm of your hand, so to speak.  You've still got your other hand for yourself.

"You did it with Mom?" she pursued, stroking in the same way that made Dad go along.  Uncertain of how far the "it" might have progressed, vagueness was safer.  Masturbation, like her and Dad?  Given that Mom didn't now seem to care that they were in the same room, at least that far.

Rob's "Maybe" still didn't say what it was.

"She wanted you to, right?" playing to ego.

"Yeah."

"Shush or they'll hear.  When?" giving him enough of a pull to demand an answer.

"Careful!  Before you got back."

"Which bed?" holding her push an extra second.

"This one."

"You made her come?"

"Sure."

By now she'd little need to shove her fist, as he was doing the work.

"Liar!" pretending to let go.

"Honest!  Fucked the shit out of her."

Bingo!  Exactly what all the clues proved, in retrospect anyway.  All the way!  She squeezed with more respect.

Light around the drapes illuminated Dad above Mom, their bedspread enough askew to reveal her flattened chest.  Sara couldn't see below, though.  The two had paused to talk, but Sara couldn't catch the words.  Something about Rob and her, she bet.  As Mom was smiling, whatever they were discussing seemed not to be a problem.

After another moment -- did Mom look her way, Sara wondered? -- Mom's neck arched backward, Dad's hips thrust forward and she watched his butt bounce before Mom pulled the cover up.

Pretty good, judged Sara.  Doing it, stopping to chit-chat and then picking up where your left things.

But baloney about Rob's claim of who'd done the deed last night.  Mom would have laid Rob, not him laying her, so to speak.  But even still!

At least Rob wasn't still a virgin.  That would be a bummer, having a brother who couldn't score.  She still was, of course, but only because she'd told Dad he had to wait.  Technically a virgin, but at least one who'd felt a boner through her panties.  Dad's birthday present would be so awesome, that plus some decent clothes.  Or better, Dad plus a gift certificate.

Half the soccer team said they'd gone all the way, but they were exaggerating except for Katelyn who'd probably done it a million times.  Sara would be the second, as her birthday wasn't that far off.  But if she waited that long, maybe Jessica would beat her and then she'd be third.  The real bummer with Dad, though, would be that you couldn't tell your team.  Everybody would say it was weird.

Rob probably wouldn't deliver the same personal payoff, but that's not necessarily the most important thing.  For your first time, you want someone a little older, of course, but not really, really old.  A brother would deserve some sort of sibling preference.  Mom would want it to be a nice guy and Rob's sort of that.  Plus you can tell your team -- give them enough hints to guess, anyway -- since they think he's cool.  Some brothers aren't.

Plus your rooms being both upstairs would make it as easy as pie.  For sure, though, she'd not wear anything polka dotted.  Older girls wear tiny little things.

"Like it?" she asked as she pushed and pulled, knowing the answer, but needing him to admit it.  Your dad knows when you've got him, but you need to make your brother say it in words.

"It's okay."

You love it, she could have corrected him, but saw no benefit in a longer answer.

Sara knew she should have planned things a bit more in advance -- maybe done today's rides with Rob instead of Dad -- but criminy!  Some things you just need to go ahead with.  "Ahead," catching another inadvertent witticism as she played with her brother's.

But if she'd done the rides with Rob, he probably wouldn't have done that much.  Dad wouldn't be screwing Mom right now, so it worked for the best.  Things usually do if you maintain an open attitude.

"Me, too," Sara ruled, sitting to pull off her pajama top.  Sitting up of course blew their cover, but the folks were in no position to interfere, and even if they tried, hardly had a case.

"You what?"

He's not a virgin, she realized, but he's still pretty new at this.  Like maybe he thought this was about using her hand?

"Like with Mom," slipping back under the covers to remove her bottoms.  It's one thing to show your brother your boobs; it's another to let him see the rest.  Dads can see more because they're easier to regulate.

"You mean...?" Rob apparently not quite believing.

"You're really big," reclaiming possession.  She thought so, anyway, though it wasn't quite what Dad had to offer, but Rob didn't have to know about that.

"You sure?" in what she took as reference to having sex, not her compliment.

"I'm good at coming," the total truth.

Other than being smoother, Rob's boner wasn't that that much different than Dad's.  Maybe not quite the same, of course, but Dad's might have been a bit too much for starting out.  Probably Rob wouldn't shoot as much, another positive, as the extra's wasted.

He'd pulled up the blanket, but it didn't stop her from re-exposing her top, same as Mom.  Sara of course knew where to put her knees -- it's totally obvious -- and he got where she assumed he'd get.  She'd teach him about her details later.  Not teach -- he wouldn't like that -- but rather, make him discover.

"Ready?" he asked.

Don't be a dummy, she thought, but answered with a kiss.  No sense in saying, "just part way," because he'd forget, and anyway, why miss out on half of it?

All she needed to do was to clutch his back and rock her hips.  Maybe because it was Rob, though, she pitched in to help him out.  She stretched where she wasn't quite his size, winced when it hurt and stoked the nape of his neck to show she didn't mind.

"Are we having fun yet?" she asked herself, but knew the answer was already turning to yes.

She knew he'd pound until he shot his load -- thanks to Dad, she now knew something about loads-- so was surprised when he paused on a push.

"We don't have to keep going," his cock still impressively rigid, but his voice softer.  "I don't want to make you do anything you don't want."

Wow! Sara realized.  He said that?

"You're really good," she assured.  It doesn't take much to tell your brother he's appreciated and get him back on target.  You lock his lips to end the discussion.

Sara wondered if maybe the two of them shouldn't be so obvious.  But then again, why not?

She knew that Mom was watching.  Multitasking, so to speak.  Mothers find out sooner or later and probably tomorrow she'd get the spiel about staying safe.  If not, she'd get sex ed in ninth grade, but everybody already knows that stuff.

Fathers don't usually find out as quickly, of course, but most fathers aren't in the same room.  But as Dad was finally getting what he needed, she figured he'd understand.  Maybe she'd get a little brother or sister out of this, even.  She'd babysit for free some times, as she'd kind of made it happen.

She bet, however, that Dad would beat Mom home by an hour on her birthday.  They'd use her bed because it's quicker to remake.

Or, even better, she'd get Mom on the way home from work to pick up Rob from football and take him to Pizza Hut.  That way, she and Dad could also finish "I'm the monkey and you're the tree."

Then for Rob's birthday, Dad could take her to Pizza Hut while Birthday Boy gets Mom's present.  Totally fair, other than he hardly ever makes his bed to start with.

Thanks to Rob's enthusiastic contribution, Sara finished nicely.  Not as gigantic as from Dad's finger, but so what?  She and her brother had a big bed and all night long.

And speaking of all night long and big beds, she noted, the folks were still cruising in theirs!

On the radio, Karen Carpenter sings "Close to You."

Two hotel-quality mattresses sometimes swishing, sometimes squeaking, sometimes thumping, sometimes recuperating.  Sometimes in concert and sometimes one taking ques from the other.  Duets sometimes flying like dolphins and sometimes floating like jellyfish.  Familiarities and discoveries.  Opinions, suggestions, giggles.  Oohs and ahhs.

The radio goes off because it has some sort of a timer, but nobody cares.

A family of four at Seven Seas.

THE END

Holly on the Web

Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As literary errors (or just lame word usages) are made known, I'll repair that which is salvageable on http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick.  If you take the time to read me, don't wade through an early version.

You can contact me via the site's message form.

Holly
