"Daddy, Christine needs a ride to and from practice. Can we help?"
My 12-year-old daughter Angela, who had just posed that question, plays soccer on a competitive team in our suburb. I help out at the practices by mainly moving cones and goals. I did play up through high school, but this coach feels he doesn't need help, so I am in the background. My daughter spends every other week with me; my ex-wife and I share custody, with the changeover every Friday evening right after dinner. We don't live far apart, but my 'ex' is in the opposite direction from the practice field from where I live.
"Gee Angela, can't somebody else do it?" I asked.
"No, they've been trying. Crystal used to take her, but now her brother has soccer too on a different field a long way away and it is after ours and her mother can't take Christine home and if you can't do it she will have to quit the team."
Wow - all of that on one breath too. Hesitating for a moment I caved in. I always cave in to Angela when she gives me that sad, pouty look.
"Great!" she squealed, "I'll call and tell her. Thank you, daddy. I love you." She hugged me and ran to her room to make a "private" call to Christine to tell her the good news.
I had to think for a moment or so to remember who Christine was. Ah, then I remembered - the lanky girl who was always absent-mindedly rubbing her abs. When the coach would talk she'd put her hands under her shirt and raise it up to cool off and then gently rub her belly and abs. It was a completely subconscious thing for her to do, but now I knew who it was I realized I'd caught myself watching her do this - and getting turned on by it. She'd push the shirt up to just below her boobs.
The next day we drove over to Christine's apartment. She lived about half way between my place and the field, so it was no problem to swing by and get her. She was waiting by the curb with her bag and quickly threw it on the back seat and climbed into my car.
"Thanks Mr. St. James," she said, "my mom and I really appreciate this."
"No problem," I replied "we can't let you leave our team can we?"
I saw a shy smile in my rear-view mirror and then we were off.
Practice was the same as always, but this time I took particular care to watch Christine when the coach was talking. Sure enough, her hands slipped under her shirt from both sides and she lifted it away from her body and then up. I could see her taut belly showing and then I paid more attention and realized that she had her shorts pulled down to well below her waist, in the current fashion. The well-defined muscles on her hips and lower belly pointed down to the front of her shorts in a delicious upper part of a sculpted "V" that pointed to the "Promised Land" at the bottom of the "V".
"Shit, some boy is going to strike gold there someday" I thought as she finally dropped her shirt back down and they resumed practice.
The rest of the week was the same. I'd pick her up and then I'd drop her off on the way home. I hadn't thought about the next week when Angela was with her mother. I still picked her up, but now I'd have to pick up Christine first and then drop Christine off last, after I'd dropped my daughter off across town.
Christine was waiting for me by the curb, except this time after throwing her bag in the back she climbed into the front seat of my car. Anticipating a problem when we got Angela I said "You'll have to move to the back when I get Angela".
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr Double's Palisade A MrDouble Production:
Changes last made on: Thursday, August 02, 2012