My daughter Sarah had known Angela since the beginning of high school, but it had only been since the beginning of their senior year that they'd become close friends.
Partners, whether it's in friendships or romances, specialize. My daughter was the bright, bookish, responsible, slightly shy one with a surprisingly dry sense of humor for an eighteen-year-old. Angela was the vivacious, outgoing, adventurous and flitatious one.
She was flirtatious with me too, but I knew that Angela flirted like a boxer does push-ups: just to keep in that constant state of readiness for the actual event. So I playfully flirted back.
I enjoyed it, of course. She had a cute, ripe, young body -- petite with small but perky tits and red hair. "It's DYED, Daddy," my daughter noted with rolled eyes when I commented on it once. But I didn't care a bit.
My daughter alternated summers living with me and her mother. In the summer in between their senior year and college, she was with me, so I saw a lot of Angela. Her attention to me seemed to increase. At the beginning of the summer, when she came to pick up my daughter, Angela would first come find me and make small talk, giggle and flirt for a couple of minutes. After a week or so, she was sitting down with me to talk, and my daughter would have to come find her so they could go out. A bit longer after that, it became a running gag between us how my daughter had to pull Angela by the arm to get her away from me.
Sometimes when Angela wasn't there, my daughter would complain, half seriously: "Daaaady, quite flirting with Angela! It's...well, WEIRD!"
"We just do it because we know it bugs you," I said, smirking. But I was also blushing as I said it, because I knew that wasn't the only reason.
One day Angela showed up, just quipped "Hi Professor," and then got Sarah and headed out the door. I have to admit that, after the door closed behind them, I felt a bit disappointed, but I reminded myself that she was just my daughter's teenage friend and I had no right to expect her attention. I tried to focus on what I had been reading.
Then I heard the front door open again. "Professor, it's Angela! I forgot my cell phone in Sarah's room! I'm just gonna run up and get it, okay?" There was a pause. Then she added, "Sarah is in the car. She'll be outside."
Was that a trembling in her voice? I heard her short, pretty legs trot up the stairs. I thought of the ridiculously short skirts she wore that showed off her jogger's calves.
My body went on auto-pilot. I walked over to the stairs and was waiting as she came down. She walked toward me slowly, watching my face and smiling. She had the facial expression of a girl who knows she is just about to be asked to the prom by the guy she wanted. I noticed that running up and down the stairs seemed to have left her breathing suspiciously quickly for a jogger.
We turned so that she was in between me and the wall. I put my arm on the wall and leaned over her. She rested her back against the wall and looked up at me. "See?" she said nervously. "Cell phone. Right here."
I stared into her eyes. She was still smiling but I could feel her melting deliciously under my gaze. "What else did you come back for?"
"What do you think?"
I leaned in and kissed her. The kiss was like a shock that stunned us both. The next think I knew we were wrapped in each other's arms, passionately kissing while my hips ground hers against the wall. She was an impressively good kisser for someone so young. Her agile tongue responded expertly and imaginatively to my own.
HONNNNNNNNNK! My daughter was leaning on the horn outside. Angela's cell-phone ploy had only bought us a couple of minutes alone.
I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled my cell-phone number. "Here, call the house when you know Sarah's not here, or call my cell any time."
She nodded quickly as she rearranged her clothes and smoothed her hair. I added, "We can't let Sarah find out. I think it would, I don't know, make her, uh--"
"Yeah, freak out." I swatted Angela smartly on the ass. "Now get out there and act innocent!"
"Yes, sir, Professor!" I watched as Angela went out the door, adding an extra sashay to her walk.
I knew it would be hard for Angela to get away to see me. She and my daughter Sarah had become close friends, so Sarah was used to being with her during most of her free time (in the way of those intense teenage friendships).
But the day after our first kiss, Sarah came home with Angela and announced, "Hey Dad! Angela had a good idea: I'm gonna look for a summer job to make some extra money for college." Angela's lips were tight. She was obviously trying not to smirk about finding a way to keep Sarah occupied part of the time. I couldn't resist teasing her, though.
"Hey, that's a great idea, darling. But why isn't Angela looking for a job too? Maybe you two could waitress together or something?"
Angela's expression was priceless! Fortunately, she was standing behind Sarah, so Sarah couldn't see her face. Sarah replied dryly, "I think Angela is planning on getting job as a paid...oh what's the expression? Slut!"
Angela playfully punched Sarah in the arm and said, "Shut up and let's go look online for jobs for you like you said we were going to!"
As soon as they were in Sarah's room, I overheard her say, "Okay, go flirt with my Dad while I find a few places to apply to." Angela just giggled at first, but Sarah insisted: "Since when are you shy about flirting with my Dad? You do it every time we're here."
I heard the clack of Sarah's fingers on her keyboard as Angela walked into the den. "Hi Professor," she said nervously.
"Hi Angela! How's your summer going?" I gestured for her to stand closer.
"Good. Fine. Good." She was standing right in front of me. The sexual tension hung in the air. The clacking of computer keys stopped. We both looked toward the door. Then the sound of typing resumed. Angela turned back toward me. "It's killing me not being able to touch you," she whispered.
"Me too." Then in my regular voice I said, "Yeah, uh, do you know what dorm you'll be staying at in the fall?" I looked at her pretty legs, which I could see almost completely thanks to her ridiculously short skirt. I reached out and ran my fingertips up the outside of her thigh. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
I was impressed that she managed to keep a normal tone in her voice as she said, "The freshman dorm."
"Oh, the freshman dorm? I guess that would be because, uh, you'll be a freshman." My hand circled around to the inside of her thigh and my finger tips caressed up and down, coming just to the hem of her skirt. She bit her lip.
She kept up the normal tone of voice: "Yeah I think that's the way they do it. They put the freshmen in the freshmen dorm." She pulled the edge of her skirt up just a little bit more. It was only slightly below her pussy now. I wondered whether she was wearing any panties.
"So there are no upperclassmen in the freshman dorm?" I said. Then I whispered, "Show me. Show me it all."
"I can't," she whimpered softly. Then in her regular voice she said, "Yeah, I mean, right, no upperclassman in the freshman dorm." I could tell from her tone and her facial expression that she wasn't inhibited because of Sarah being in the next room (although if either of us had an ounce of common sense that WOULD have been holding us back). It was just too much for her to stand in front of a fully clothed man twice her age and, in the bright light of his den, pull up her skirt like a whore. Despite her obvious sexual experience, she was still an eighteen-year-old girl.
"Uh huh. Do they have a, whatchacallit, dining hall?" I looked sternly into her eyes, and my voice was quiet but commanding: "I said DO it."
She melted under my gaze and voice. She watched me intently as she pulled her skirt up, exposing her shaved pussy, its lips like rose petals covered in dew, open with lust. "Yeah, they have a dining hall, but they call it a 'caferia.'"