Rosy Posey by Ajars

To say it happened gradually would be an understatement. So let me just make that clear. I didn’t wake up one morning and think, “Oh, you know. My daughter is really hot. I think I’ll bang her.” No, this was something I didn’t see coming and, certainly, neither did she. So here we go.My wife, Molly, wanted to name our daughter something strong. Something feminist and womanly. I voted for something simple, like ‘Sarah,’ but she went through half a list of “strong women” and then continued on to greek goddesses. When she settled on Persephone, I thought she was crazy (she was), but you don’t fight with a 8 month pregnant woman so I said I’d call her Posey, and gave in.

So I guess that the fact that she was named after a greek goddess famously raped was our first sign. In most stories, it’s her uncle, Hades, but in others, its Zeus, her father. Maybe it was psychological from the start. I held my daughter in my arms for the first time and felt nothing but joy looking down at her perfect little face. She had her mother’s eyes, a vivid violet-blue that was closer to a morning sunrise than an eye color, and I was smitten.

Posey was a good girl when she was younger, a bit lively, but I was having problems in my marriage, so I admit she took a bit of a back burner. My wife was accusing me of cheating with my secretary, a crime I did not commit, and was filing for custody. I fought hard, but no matter the amount of money, the “mom card” was on Molly’s side, and I had Posey on weekends. Posey would come home from school on Friday’s, wavy light long hair and lean body surrounded by a gaggle of friends. First it was all girls. Some, I admit, I found incredibly cute. Then there were less girls, but it seemed she’d found a tight knit group, then…then came boys.

“Hi Mr. Peters.” A little zit infested shit said to me at the door.

“No,” I said, not even fully opening the door. Posey stood next to him, her face flushing with embarrassment. She wasn’t told no often, and it was obvious she hadn’t expected her new friend a denied entry. Her fair skin grew pink, lips a dark puckering rosebud. The more I spoke, the higher the color in her slender neck became. I didn’t care that I was mortifying her. Dads could do that.

“There’s no way some scrawny perv is coming into my house for a ‘study date’ with my daughter.”

“Dad…” Posey begged softly, she bit her lower lip, looking over at the little shit through the shadow of her thick lashes.

“Sorry, he gets like this. He’ll come around.” She said, voice soft and feminine, I watched as the twerp melted under her soft brush against his hand.

“No he won’t.” I said unkindly, “Now scram.”

For the first time, outside of a hug, I laid a hand on my daughter. I grabbed her arm, just below the elbow and yanked her inside. She broke free of the boy at the door just as the door slammed in his face. Tears bloomed in her eyes, making them more violet than blue, and as the tear slid down I wanted to kiss it away. Until I thought of that boy and folded my arms as she rubbed at where I’d pulled her.

“Dad!” She complained, her voice was just as melodic as before, but not it held heat from her frustration. “What was that?”

“That, was me being a father. No boys Posey. New rule.”

“That’s a stupid rule!” She shouted at me, her first time raising her voice. “I hate you!”

The words pierced me so deep I lost control of myself, I grabbed her chin with a firm hand, dragging her face towards mine. Fear lit across her features, and I made my voice firm.

“Apologize.”

Her lip trembled for an instant, that one tear finally landing upon it, after its slow streak across her face. I still wanted to kiss it, but she was speaking, docile now from my reaction.

“Sorry Daddy…”

I let her face go. Nodding. Of course she was sorry, of course she didn’t hate me. I pet her hair, kissing the top of her head as I always did. The white blonde from her childhood had never faded and as I stroked it I tried to mend things between us.

“Your hair is pretty as ever. Your mom take you to get it trimmed?”

She nodded, still seeming upset. I tried again.

“Ice cream?”

She beamed up at me, and just like that, I was her hero once more.

Boys didn’t come around the house, but I could tell from my check ins with Molly, they came around hers. Josh, Matt, some guy named Felon, ( I shit you not). Posey started dressing differently, and when she came home from school in fish nets that rose above her jeans, and a crop top, I’d had enough. Molly and I argued over the phone while Posey stamped off to her room. Her jeans hugged her newly curving hips, and the crop top made me realize my daughter now had breasts. An uncomfortable revelation, let me tell you. I’d fucked a chick the night before, and she’d had pointy tits, just on the verge of sagging. Posey’s were round and firm, a sweet honeyed apple size that were twice as nice. I needed to not know that.

“Molly do you want her pregnant before she’s eighteen? Is that the grand plan?” I shouted through the phone.

“Stop slut shaming Craig, it’s just an outfit!”

“No, it’s not. It’s less than one.”

“Then tell her to take it off, I don’t give a damn, it’s your house. You’re the bad guy.”

“Fine, I will. Someone has to be the adult around here.”

“Adulterer you mean.”

I hung up. Molly was a moron. Posey was a teen now, she needed discipline. I marched over to her room and knocked loudly.

“Poe?” I called, “Posey?”

No answer.

I barged in, Posey on the phone mid sentence. “He’s such an assho—Dad! Knock!”

“I did!” I said, then I got pissed, realizing I was the asshole. “Off the phone. Now.”

My voice must have been scary because she hung up immediately, I looked her over, eyes lingering too long on the fishnets that decorated her thin waist and naval. I forced my eyes back up, all the more enraged.

“Get up.” I commanded. She stood, budding hour glass all the more evident. “Take those clothes off now!” I ordered.

She flushed pink, stunned and didn’t move. Her halo of hair covering part of her face as she looked down and away.

“Now!” I said, not understanding why she wasn’t listening.

“Wi—with…with you watching?” She asked.

I took a step back. That isn’t what I had meant…was it? No, I’d just been trying to get her to change. I shook my head, the image of her lifting that crop top over her round dollop of breasts playing through my head on repeat. Her shaking fingers as she undid the button her her too tight jeans.

“No, no of course not.” I sputtered. “I’ll leave you to it.”

I shut the door. Sliding against it momentarily. What the fuck was that? I thought to myself. Hearing the ruffle of clothes as she changed through the door. A fantasy of me barging back in had me reeling away from the room, the door, and her. I went back to my phone, ordering pizza and two pints of ice cream. Knowing her favorites. A peace offering, and way to distract myself. Thank god she didn’t emerge until the food came, because I’d needed time to settle my thoughts. Nothing good came from those types of clothes. Nothing.

We were almost back to normal after that. But I could feel the difference, the distance and the tension. I could tell she was changing before coming over, her clothes unwrinkled, and backpack stuffed. Months passed, my life resumed, and I tried, again and again to connect with my daughter who, despite hiding her figure beneath her clothes, kept blossoming underneath them. I could no longer compliment her without it sounding strange, forced, and false. I stuck to the truth.

“Your hair looks nice.” I said, as she came in. Distracted by homework and her phone. She kept biting her pencil, the tip sliding delicately between her white teeth as she worked on a math problem. I watched as her lips and teeth grazed the pencil as it twirled in her fingers, before absent-mindedly she reinserted it into her mouth.

“Huh?” She said, writing something down, I watched the pencil, waiting.

“What?” I rasped.

She looked up at me, cheekbones high, eyes bright but holding confusion. “You said something.”

“Oh,” I said, “I just said your hair looks nice. Erm, still just that pretty blonde color. You know the doctors said when you got older—”

“Yeah, I know the story Dad. They thought it’d look like yours.” Her tone was dismissive, eyes flicking momentarily to my muddy blonde.

“You don’t need to be impolite Posey.” I said, trying to keep my cool.

“No, what I need to do is my homework.” She said, closing her book and walking over to her room. “I’ll be out for dinner.”

Even as she said it she checked her phone, whomever it was on the other line getting the bulk of her attention. Todd? Mark? Devin? Whoever the fuck. I stood, starting on that dinner she had so kindly reminded me of.

Dinner ended up being nachos, and curly fries. A known favorite. I knocked on her door and she didn’t answer right away. Then she mumbled a reply. I entered, and she was laying in bed, curled under the blankets.

“Hi Daddy…” She said quietly, she sounded weak.

“Poe, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel good. I think I need to go to bed early.”

I felt her head, she was fine, but maybe the fever hadn’t hit yet, she’d seemed alright earlier. I offered the nachos and she grumbled, dipping beneath the blankets. I patted her back, my first pat a little low because I was looking at her face, the round of her ass being felt through the blankets instead. I cleared my throat, rubbing a bit higher at her lower back. She seemed tense, and I got up to leave.

“Alright sweetheart.” I said, “I’ll come check on you later.”

“No, that’s ok, I’ll just get some sleep. I don’t want you to accidentally wake me up.”

I sighed, if she was already this sick, I’m sure I’d be handing her a bucket by Saturday night. I left, and turned on a movie. The actress in it was sexy as hell and I looked back at the quiet hall way, before unbuttoning my pants and pulling out my cock. Fuck I was hard. I stared at the pretty blonde on the screen. It was some spy movie and her outfits were skimpy.