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copyright ©2009 by A_Satori. All rights reserved.
[Author’s note: My thanks to Andrea4328 and ny_girl14 for their editorial help on this story. It is greatly appreciated.]
I unlocked, then pulled the passenger door open only a foot or so on my nine year old pickup. I started to walk around the front as Lana jerked the door open wider and then climbed up into the cab. “Climbed” is the best way to describe it. She was petite, slim verging on skinny, clear and alluring blue eyes, brunette hair that I was sure had been dyed slightly darker recently. Her legs were smooth and slender until her ankles which were a half size too wide compared to the rest of her limb. She had the prettiest feet I had ever seen. Her breasts were small, her lips fairly thin, her face was cute, maybe even pretty when she didn’t trowel on the makeup. She had an irritating eyebrow piercing, which only had the little ring in it today. Sometimes she had a short, dangling thing swaying from it. Whenever she had that little chain or something hanging down, it took all my strength of will not to rip it off her face.
I had to unlock my door. She never leaned over to open it for me. I kept unlocking her door first just to see if she’d ever do it. I pulled the door open and my gut clenched. She was wearing a black stretchy miniskirt and her black shitkicker boots. She was slouched on the seat. I got in and closed my door. I shoved the key in the ignition and turned on the engine. “Take your feet off the dashboard.”
Lana made a face. “Why? This stupid truck is so old and crappy, who cares?”
My pickup had turned into a rusting beater, but the interior was still fairly nice except for the crusty carpeting and the cigarette burns showing in the cloth bench seat between my thighs. “Take your feet off the dashboard.” I could hear her chewing her bubble gum.
“What difference does it make? Gawd.”
I switched the engine off and slouched a little too. From the inside pocket of my down jacket, I pulled out my pack of Marlboros, then my Zippo from my jeans. I lit one.
“Wha’ we gonna do, just sit here?”
I exhaled my first drag and rolled my window down a crack. It was early March. Warm weather was at least a month away. I didn’t answer her. I gazed at the prison. It looked like the prisons in a dozen movies I’d seen, cyclone fencing topped with coiled razor wire, then the concrete wall topped with more wire, brick and concrete buildings on the other side of the wall. The mortar colored structures nearly melded with the sad gray overcast of the sky.
Lana exhaled audibly. She slid her boots down to the floor. “There. Happy now?”
I put the cig between my lips, reached under the seat and pulled out a rag. I offered it to her. “Clean it off.”
“Gawd… you’re such an ass.” She yanked the mechanic’s rag from my hand and gave the spot where her boots had been a quick once over. She barely touched the dashboard or glove box door, essentially just smearing the wet, dirty sole prints. I didn’t really care, but I did get pissed when she tossed the rag onto my lap.
“There. Happier now?”
I took the rag off my crotch and shoved it under the seat. I sucked another drag from my cigarette.
“Gawd.” Lana jerked the belt across her chest and then shoved the metal tongue into the buckle on the seat.
I restarted the engine and we pulled out of the visitor’s parking lot of the women’s state prison. It was a two hour drive home. I really needed a drink. That was one of the things Barb and I had in common, we really liked our cocktails, cocktails and fucking, usually rough fucking. She had a nice, hot body. We had been going out for about four months and for some reason, one night I asked her to marry me. She said yes immediately. We tied the knot a month later, small affair, with a big open bar. She was 32, I was 27.
Barb had gotten knocked up when she was fifteen, had Lana when she was sixteen. When I proposed I hadn’t given much thought to Lana. She wasn’t my kid and I had never planned to be her “stepdaddy.” Before and for a while after the wedding, I thought Lana and I were at least getting along. When Barb and I had were dating, Lana and I sat together a few times and we had real conversations which made me hope we’d be friends, and failing that, we’d just be neutral and coexist. I knew she and Barb had their problems, but even though I had spent days and slept over quite a few nights at Barb’s before we were married, I had no idea how bad things were between them until after the wedding when I gave up my crappy apartment and moved into Barb’s nearly as crappy rental house.
For the first four or five months, if I wasn’t too drunk, and occasionally even when I was, I would try to mediate their arguments. Sometimes taking one side, sometimes the other, depending canlı bahis on who I thought was more right or at least logical. Mostly though, I took neither side, tried to calm them down, then told them what I thought was right, just, or equitable. No matter how I handled it, their usual response was they’d both get pissed off at me. I gave up on trying to be the voice of reason. After that I usually just left the living room and went to the kitchen or out to the garage, or just left the house. Of course that pissed off Barb. She’d get angry at me later and ask why I wasn’t there to give her support. Yet whenever I made any suggestion about parenting, even when there wasn’t an argument in progress, she’d point out that there was only one parent in the house and it was her.
One time when Barb and I were in a sober period, we drove into the city on a Saturday for lunch. We actually had a wonderful time together, at the restaurant and taking a stroll along the lakefront. We talked about a million things that day, and we did speak calmly about parenting and Lana. She mentioned that the arguing with Lana had never been as heated and emotional nor as frequent before. She said it had started getting much worse about a year or so ago. That evening while I was checking the oil in the truck, I realized a year or so ago was about the time Barb and I had gotten married. I started wondering if Barb was blaming me for Lana acting like a little bitch.
There was one real knockdown drag out between them last year. Lana had invented an online persona on one of those social/friend/chat internet sites. Barb had walked into her room and happened to see the six hot photos on Lana’s personal page. From their shouting, I knew none showed her face, either her brunette hair hid it, or the pose did.
When their fight moved down the hall to the kitchen, I stepped into Lana’s room. The pics page was still on her monitor. In half the photos she looked her age at the time, seventeen, in the other pics she appeared to be two or three years younger. She wasn’t totally naked, so no nude shot of her pussy, the same for her small tits which were covered by a camisole or a strategically placed arm. Three featured her cantilevered, thonged apple ass. The other interesting surprise in her room was that her bed was made, no clothes or crap on the floor, it was clean and orderly but not retentively so.
Barb had screamed for nearly an hour calling Lana a slut, a whore, an ungrateful little bitch, et cetera, et cetera. Barb made her delete the internet page and grounded her for a month. As with all her groundings though, it was forgotten after a few days, when Barb and Lana would get along, or at least have the appearance of doing so. It was always like that. They’d have explosive, screaming arguments, and then be tentative friends for a few days until the tension and animosity started growing again.
On a Friday night, eighteen months into our marriage, Barb and I went out for dinner and drinks, which usually meant drinks first and maybe free peanuts at the bar. I had a blowout with my foreman that day, so I really got smashed. I was so loaded I had no idea nor recollection of how drunk Barb was, or of leaving the bar. I guess some bar “friends” helped her get me into the car. She drove. Ten minutes from the house, she had an accident. I was either passed out or asleep when it happened. I didn’t have my seat belt on. I got a 3 inch laceration running from between my eyes angling towards my temple. I still don’t know what I whacked my face into. It required 32 stitches.
Barb didn’t have a scratch on her, but the sixteen year old boy riding his bike hurrying home from some party, who she had broadsided, was DOA at the hospital. A couple months later she got a decent plea bargain, 3 to 5 for depraved reckless endangerment. It could have been manslaughter which would have at least tripled her sentence. The county was overwhelmed with criminal cases and they had just convicted a guy for drunken driving – manslaughter a month before her accident. A lot of press on that one. I guess the state prosecutor figured there wouldn’t be much news coverage on the same crime. She was incarcerated on October 15th.
Before her sentencing, she asked me, begged me to be Lana’s guardian. I finally relented, mainly because I was half in the bag when she brought it up, and 3 years seemed like three months to me at the time. We were both sure she’d be paroled after 3 years. Of course that wasn’t based on any facts. It just seemed right and fair that she would be out at her first parole hearing. I mean, it never came out at the court proceedings or sentencing, but the kid had been drinking too, the autopsy showed his alcohol level just barely under the legal adult limit. Maybe that fact helped her lawyer get the plea deal. I don’t know. Anyway, I signed the papers. The lawyer took all her savings, plus whatever she and bahis siteleri I had socked away in that year and a half of marriage, which wasn’t much. The family of the kid had a civil suit against Barb too. I’m still not sure how financially liable I would be on that. I really didn’t want to know.
“Turn down the heat. It’s hot in here.”
I sighed. “I have my window open. It’s not too hot. Crack your window open if you think it’s too warm.” I liked a little heat on my legs but a cool breeze at my head.
“I don’t wanna open my window.” She exhaled sharply raised her foot to the seat and started unlacing her boot.
I pushed the fan lever to off, there would still be some heat coming out. I was too damn tired to tell her to take her boot off the seat. I really didn’t care. So far, Lana had come with me every week since October to see Barb. Actually she didn’t once, during her Christmas vacation. She had hung with her friends that day.
In late January, I came with a birthday cake for both her and Lana. Barb had asked me to do it. Their birthdays were three weeks apart. I brought the cake more or less at the midpoint between the dates. At our little visiting room “party,” Lana had acted like a real bitch when Barb told her she loved her, had been spending a lot of time thinking about their history together, and how she prayed everyday that when she got out they’d be able to start over again and have a better and much closer mother-daughter relationship.
Even I knew it was a pipe dream, but I still got really pissed at Lana. Even if it was only a momentary self-delusion, it was obvious Barb needed a positive response from her daughter that visiting day. Lana gave her a smirky smile and said sometime like, Oh, Mom, get real. It is what it is, and who knows where I’ll be when you get out. It was something like that. When Lana later went to the vending ladies room, Barb had burst into tears.
I glanced over again as Lana planted her delicate, pretty feet against the dashboard. I noticed her tight miniskirt had slid up almost to her pussy. It pissed me off that my cock started growing from a partial hard-on to a full mast. I thought about those nearly nude photos on her internet page. I again didn’t want to admit to myself that I really wanted to fuck the living shit out of the girl. Fuck her cunt, fuck her mouth, and especially fuck that sweet, cantilevered, seductive apple ass of hers. I really needed a drink badly. I was also hungry. All we had eaten was crap from the vending machines at the prison visiting room.
“Turn up the heat, it’s cold in here.”
My jaw clenched for a moment. I told myself to calm down. I switched the fan from off to low.
Lana was eighteen now, since a week or so after that damn birthday cake. She could be on her own. I could divorce Barb. Say hell with both of them. But I hated breaking my word more than I hated the situation, at least thus far. The only reason I could come up with for signing those guardian papers was being half in the bag at the time. That had to be it. And why, when Barb talked to me, didn’t I ask her about what would happen when Lana turned eighteen and finished high school? Today Barb said that she had written to the local community college and a packet of information would be coming to the house for Lana. She said Lana should start there and live at home and then when Barb got out on parole, she’d work and help Lana pay for a real college. I almost laughed when Barb asked Lana if she had gotten a part-time job yet. All three of us, at my insistence, had talked about it in October. I doubted the little bitch had ever filled out a job application at any point in her life.
I sighed and watched the road ahead.
Lana giggled softly. “I bet Barb’s just goin’ nuts in there.”
“When did you stop calling your mother ‘Mom’?”
“I don’t know, recently I guess.” She stroked her palms on the tops of her slender thighs a few times while grinning. “Yeah, I bet she’s just goin’ nuts, she must be so horny. You two used to fuck all the time. Gawd. She used to get so loud it’d wake me up.” She giggled again. “Once I woke up, and I thought I heard loud, real slow clapping coming from your bedroom. And I couldn’t figure it out for a while, and then…” She laughed once more. “I like realized you were spanking her. There’d be that loud clap, then a… oh, or a… oooh! And I’d hear you too, but your voice was low and growly, so I never heard what you were saying.” She laughed. “I knew Barb was a slut, just not how big of one.”
I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up, but even though I was now her legal guardian, I wasn’t her parent. And Barb and I had fucked a lot and she was right about the spanking too. It both surprised me and pissed me off she had just called her mother a slut, but it’s probably what I had thought when I first met Barb. Was Lana also calling me a slut? I was the guy bahis şirketleri with Barb. Wouldn’t that make me a slut too? Dammit. I had to say something.
I kept my eyes on the road. “You should never talk about your mother like that, if nothing else, she gave you life. You should thank her for that alone.”
“Thank her for what? My life? Who would want my life? She should have aborted me. I would have.”
At the moment, I wholeheartedly agreed with her about that abortion.
“Turn up the heat more, it’s still cold in here.”
It wasn’t cold. I looked at her bare, smooth legs. The damn skirt was up to a fraction of an inch shy of her eighteen year old, teenage cunt. I checked the mirrors, slowed the truck and pulled off onto the shoulder.
“What’re we stopping for?! I wanna get home!”
I opened my door and stepped outside. I gripped the lever behind the seat. “Lean forward.”
“Lean forward and you won’t be cold anymore.”
Lana exhaled sharply. Her bare feet slid down the front of the dashboard to the floor. She leaned towards the windshield. I folded the bench seat forward a little and grabbed a large plastic zip seal bag. I let the seat fall back. I tossed the baggy next to her. “There’s a blanket. Put it over your legs.” I got in, put my seat belt on, checked the mirrors and got on the road again. I figured the blanket would keep her warm and stop me from looking at her legs.
“This thing is filthy. I’m not going to use it.”
“Any dirt, is on the bag, not the blanket I washed it months ago and I’ve never used it. It’s for emergencies.”
She shoved the bag towards me. “I’m not going to put that rag over me.” She tightened her black, fake leather jacket around herself, and planted her feet back on the dashboard again.
Ignoring her shit wasn’t working. The little bitch was making me angry as hell, yet I knew if I gave her an amplified verbal piece of my mind, I’d still be pissed and she’d probably be a bigger bitch. It was just these rides every week when I couldn’t escape, couldn’t jump in the truck and go to Sully’s or some other bar, or just turn the TV volume up. The real irritating part was that I was supporting the little cunt. I fed her, I paid the rent, I gave her the allowance, and I picked her up when she couldn’t get a ride home from wherever. I was getting really sick of it all. I kept thinking that she was eighteen years old, no matter how much younger than that she looked. She was fuckin’ eighteen!
I took a slow breath. “How many part-time jobs have you applied for, meaning filling out applications, interview, all that stuff?”
“How many is that? Because it if was enough, you’d have a job right now.” My gut was knotted tight.
“Why do I need a job anyway? I’m still in high school.”
“You won’t be in a couple months. And… I’m not a chick, but I’d imagine chicks want to buy clothes and other crap before they start college.”
“I’ll use some of Barb’s savings. That’ll be okay with her. And if it isn’t, I’ll just take it and pay her back whenever she gets out of prison. My name is on that account too.”
I laughed. “Your mother’s broke.”
“You have her money. I know she had savings. If you don’t give me some when I need it, I’m telling her you’ve stolen it.”
“You think that lawyer was free? We used all her savings and basically all our savings since we’ve been married. There’s no money for you to count on.”
“She spent all that?!”
I wondered what she considered all that. “You don’t believe me, ask her next week. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m the one supporting you, and come summer, you are going to get a job. I’ll pay for tuition, fees, and books at that community college, but I’m not paying for clothes, shoes, CDs, DVDs, any new shit like that, and… and after you graduate in June, no more allowance. If you get a job this summer, a full time summer job, and save all the money for school to pay for most of the tuition and fees, and want some little things, maybe I’ll pop for ’em, as long as you save your checks for school.”
I expected her to scream at me, but she just slumped lower in the seat and her arms folded across her chest. I glanced over and got a peek of her red panties. I had assumed she had a shaved cunt but the part I could see looked soft, somewhat puffy, so I guess I was wrong. Yeah, it did look like there was a curly muff under that cotton. She finally spoke five minutes later.
“Life fucking sucks,” she said softly but with an edge to every word with even more emphasis on the last one.
I completely agreed with her. I felt like telling her so, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. I turned on the radio, classic rock. I expected her to bitch about it, but she stayed mute. It was another hour before I spoke again.
“Wanna stop and pick up a pizza for dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.”
I looked over at her. I walked my eyes along her slender legs to her skirt. Her panties were still peeking out. I thought about how much I wanted to shove my cock hard and deep into that bitchy little cunt.
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