My underwear was heavy with moisture. In my half-dream the image of my daddy’s huge cock came back easily, on this time it was fully erect, huge and thick and long but so hard it arched up and bobbed against his belly when he moved. He took a step towards me and then there was a knock at the door.
Bolting upright, I was jolted to full awareness. Another knock.
“Erica?”
It was my mother, home from work. I slid my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. I pulled my hand out of my underwear and looked at it. My fingers were wet and when I looked down and canted my hips forward I could see a spot on my crotch. Great.
“Mom?”
“Honey, it’s time for dinner. What are you doing in there?”
“I took a nap, mom. Long drive.”
“Well, come on and eat, okay?”
I sighed, and scrambled to change. I stood there bottomless for a minute and thought unsexy thoughts, but it didn’t help. I pulled on a pair of underwear and dark, loose sweat pants and changed into a knee-length, ratty t-shirt for good measure. It wasn’t until I pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail that I realized I was dressing as deliberately unsexy as possible. I shrugged, unlocked my door, and slowly crept down into the kitchen. Dad was working the frying pan, turning strips of chicken with tongues. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and kept humming to himself. Mom was on her chair at the table, one leg propped under her, the other dangling in front of her. She’d taken off her jacket but she was still in a skirt and blouse and had her hair in an undo from work. She was reading a magazine that came in the mail and nibbling on a pretzel.
“Erica,” she said. “There you are. I thought you were hiding from me.”
“What? Oh, no, just taking a nap.”
“You said.”
I sat down at the table and squeezed my legs together. Mom looked up at me over the thick rims of her reading glasses. “How do you think your grades will turn out?”
“Good,” I said. “I had a lot of trouble with the math test.”
“Oh,” she said. “Why?”
“I’m not good with statistics. I had to draw a box and whisker plot.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Dad came over, pan in hand, and put a slab of well-turned chicken on my plate.
“It’s too big,” I said.
He looked at me and his eyes went wide.
“The meat, I mean. The meat is too big.”
He coughed and switched the chicken from my plate to his.
“I want a small one, too,” said Mom. “I just don’t think I could take a big one right now.”
I coughed.
She looked at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, feigning a gravely throat. “I just need a drink.”
I hopped up and went around him over to the cupboard as he carried over the mashed potatoes and began spooning them out. When I opened the cupboard, I sighed. The bottom shelf was empty and there was a pile of glasses in the sink, stacked up in nesting bunches.
“The little ones are all dirty,” Mom said, idly. “Just take a big one.”
I covered my mouth and grabbed a big glass. I filled it to the brim with water from the jug in the fridge, downed half of it, and filled it up the rest of the way. Then I sat down, pulled my chair up to the table, and stared into my plate. Mom and Dad were already eating. I started cutting the chicken.
“How’s work?” said Dad.
“I wish I could just take the rest of the year off, like some people around here,” she said, eyeing him. “I’m working on this huge account. Absolutely massive. It’s almost too much for one woman to handle. The idiots in acquisitions let it slip through out fingers, and now it’s ready to blow up in our faces. You should see the load they dropped on my desk this morning. Erica, what’s wrong?’
“What?” I squeaked.
“You’re purple. Are you alright?”
“Fine, Mom,” I said, hastily. “Just, uh, chicken. Down the wrong pipe.” I drank a big gulp of water for emphasis.
Dad gave me that look, the same look he gave me when I accidentally killed my first hamster, Secretariat, and he covered it up for me by saying she escaped.
“That’s a shame, dear,” said Dad, hastily changing the subject. “You know, I am working on a paper.”
“Right, publish or perish. I know, I know. At least you get to be home. I’m lucky I made it for dinner.”
He shrugged. Dinner went on. I decided to skip desert. It was all I could do to help clean up and pile the plates up next to the sink.
“Erica,” said Mom. “Don’t you think you should help out with the dishes?”