" Julie, I'm not angry. You can call me dad. I liked it. It felt... good, right. You can call me dad or father or just Bill if you want. Whatever feel... right for you." I-I-I don't deserve to call you dad. I don't deserve to call you anything. Matter of fact, you should hate me. I planned to use you and trap you at the start of this trip. I was angry with you. I hated you, or so I thought. You should hate me."She held her hands over her face as she began to cry. I cut the motor and pulled her. Your whore. Your slut. Your lover.“Shhh...” you whispered. “I need more wine.” I watched you stand up, my eyes transfixed, envying the grace of each movement, the raw sensuality you radiated. You were in your red dress, the one we’d talked about. As you walked toward the kitchen, I closed my eyes and remembered the last few hours.You’d arrived in that dress and spent nearly two hours transforming me. A full body shave, then a massage and a light oil rubdown. Three attempts at make-up before we. More

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