Not once did we leave the house, or even get dressed that weekend. Steve stayed in my bed both Friday and Saturday nights. We made love many times until I was too sore to take any more. We were then content to lay in each others arms, our nudity beautiful in skin to skin contact. But alas we had to part in the late afternoon before my parents arrived home. Our last kisses were full of tenderness and pledges of love, for we both knew that we had something special.
It didn’t take my mother too long to work that I was no longer an innocent young girl anymore. When she asked me if I was okay, I grinned mischievously and told I was just great. She grinned knowingly at me and gave me a hug; it was one of those special mother and daughter moments that are never ever forgotten.
Over the following weeks, Steve and I took every opportunity we could to make love, when either of our parents went out, or in the car as a last resort. Our love prospered to a stage where we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other, which had ramifications.
“Your father knows what you’ve been up to.” my mother advised one afternoon. “And he’s not happy.”
My father being not happy was an understatement, for he spent the next few days giving me the cold shoulder. On one hand I was old enough to do what I wanted, but I also loved my father dearly and felt uncomfortable about the whole thing. One night I waited until he was in his favourite chair in the lounge, and then climbed into his lap as I loved to do when I was a child. I placed my arms around and kissed him on the cheek before cuddling into him.
“I don’t want you to grow up.” he said after a short time. “I want you to stay my little girl for ever.”
“I know.” I replied. “But Steve and me love each other. I know you’re unhappy with me, but I still love you to bits.”
We sat quietly together as no words were required as the bond between us returned.
“And anyway, how old were you when you met mum?” I asked knowingly.
“That’s different.”
“Oh really.” I asked cheekily. “And why would that be?”
To my relief, my father began to laugh, “Your mother taught you well my sweet. You’re a handful just like her.”
I grinned, what he didn’t was how much a handful I really was. Only my Steve knew that.
Leave a Reply