She was vain about her long, straight, straw-blonde hair, too.She was vain about her long, straight, straw-blonde hair, too. The color was natural, which meant her pubic patch was pale and silky and sparse. Susan guessed that that was the image her father had seen in the bathroom, and it was the image he had apparently carried around with him the remainder of the day. It was her fault: If he hadn't seen her naked, he would never have done what he did. Some time after midnight, that Saturday night when she was 12, her father came to her room and gently woke her. While she rubbed her eyes, he mumbled something about how he needed her, how her mother wasn't interested in his needs anymore, how Susan was his little girl and she could help him, couldn't she? Susan had no idea what he was talking about, and she didn't really understand what was happening when he slowly pulled down her covers. And she didn't know what to do when he stroked her long, tan legs and slid his hand up under the tee shirt she habitually slept in, and rested his palm on her stomach. He told her quietly to sit up and lift her arms, and she did. She was an obedient little girl, and at that moment she was also puzzled and confused. Her father ran his hands slowly over her pointy little breasts, and she shivered. She had already learned to produce that tingling sensation for herself, but her Daddy doing it to her startled her so, she just sat there with her hands at her sides, staring at him. When he got up from the bed abruptly and threw off his robe, she was even more startled, but also amazed. |