Jackson
It’s foolish of me to let myself imagine I interrupted her while she was masturbating. The sounds were indistinct. Sure, it sounded like a porn movie with the volume turned down low, but the whole point is I might just be thinking about things as how I want them to be instead of how they are. Okay, sure, she shows up at the door wearing just a robe, but she lives alone and she’s entitled to dress down. Hell, there are days I wear next to nothing all day long.
I probably want to imagine her masturbating because I’m obsessed with the girl. From the first moment, she captivated me and she captivates me still. This town is perfect for a guy like me. There’s a vibrant community of ageplay couples; something that’s usually hidden elsewhere. Nobody walks around advertising it, but the small Northern town is – for the most part – a live and let live kind of place. A man I know, Carl, owns a club. He’s a Daddy. His little girl is becoming the new singer-songwriter sensation. That club also has days set aside every week for Daddy/little girl dates.
Which is why I am here. And why I am trying not to think about her masturbating, because it’s silly for me to believe that’s what she was doing before she heard me knock.
Okay, sure, her eyes have a glazed over expression. I know that expression. It’s a post-orgasm expression. Of course, there are probably a hundred other reasons an expression like that one might come to a girl’s face. Her cheeks are flushed and so is her neck a little. I can’t see through the thick terrycloth robe but I imagine her nipples are hard as hell.
My mind is going crazy.
It’s all stupid because I let Thaddeus convince me to do a single date, but not to go any deeper. A single date. As if I’m not going to sleep with this girl and I’m not going to notice that she’s perfect in every way. I’m not going to notice her cute face or her pink fingernails or the way her jet-black hair almost shines. She is perfect.
“Jackson,” she breathes out, and I realize I’ve just been standing outside of her door staring at her for about a minute. “Uh, hello?”
I smile a little guiltily and say, “Hi Sara Jean. Uh, Thaddeus wanted me to check in and see if there is anything that needs to happen with your new condo or if you’re good to go.” Then, just so I can downplay the staring a little bit, I say, “I’m not used to speaking to people professionally. Sorry. I usually work with numbers, you know.” Both of the statements are half-true, at least.
She gives me a bright smile and I feel almost weak in the knees. “I’m good to go,” she says. “I’ve never owned my own place before, and it’s exciting.”
“Well,” I say, and it has to be the lamest transition, “I was thinking maybe since I’ve been a homeowner and I’m in the business I could take you to dinner and share some pointers. If that’s—”
“I’ll go get ready!” she replies. She comes close to shouting it and then dashes away from the door. Her robe opens and swings behind her and I get a very brief flash of her body. It’s breathtaking and I stare where I saw her even after she’s not there. I hear her call, “Come in!” and I step through the door and close it.
I didn’t actually expect to take her out tonight. Hell, I would have just called her but I don’t have her phone number. I don’t have plans tonight, though, and since I’m putting myself on risky ground by going on a date in the first place, I guess it makes sense to just do it while my mind is wrapped on nice and tight and I won’t get myself into trouble.
But, trouble is already here. Her whole demeanor is one of a perfect, giggly little girl. Her face is like a china doll’s face, and when her robe flowed up and revealed her body, even for that split second, I felt as if I’d caught a glimpse of perfection. Her perfect heart-shaped ass moving beneath her slender waist and above her shapely thighs… God, it’s been a long time. Against expectation, I want her and I want her desperately. I’m in trouble, and I need to take some time to breathe and get past it.
Then trouble walks back out to the living room.
Her hair is gathered in pigtails with pink butterfly barrettes holding them in place. The only makeup I can tell she’s wearing is on her lips, pink as well to match her fingernails and barrettes. She wears a white tee shirt with a blue denim jacket over it. The tee shirt is covered with butterflies in all sorts of colors. The jacket has a few pink butterflies on it as well. She is wearing Capri jeans that make her figure seem about a million times better. With pink tennis shoes and white ankle socks completing the picture, she’s…
Well, she’s perfect.
“Do I look okay?” she asks coyly.
“You don’t have to fish for a compliment,” I reply. “You look lovely, little girl.”
Little girl. I didn’t mean to say that.
She blushes and says, “Thank you, Daddy.” Daddy. She meant to say it. She twirls around with her arms extended and I see there are pink butterflies on the back of her jeans.
She’s the perfect little girl.
Exactly the kind of little girl I want.
No! Not the little girl I want, the little girl I’m attracted to.
After she finishes spinning, she says, “Where are you taking me?”
“I’m new in town,” I reply, “but I hear Carl’s club has really good food.”
She squeals and nods vigorously. “Yes! Let’s go there!” She looks around and says, “Where did I put my purse?”
“You don’t need your purse, little girl,” I say. “I’ll pay for everything. Just bring yourself.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she squeals. She practically skips over to me. I can’t believe how incredible it feels to have an excited little girl in front of me. She hooks her arm in mine and I’m chuckling as I lead her from her place, down the stairs and out to my car. She seems about to squeal again, just because I open the car door for her.
I’m squealing a little on the inside myself.