I was deep into the most boring quarterly report on Earth when I heard the laughter outside. That wasn’t unusual: my house, my pool, my twenty year ikd daughter home from college for the summer, and her best friend basically living here since Memorial Day. What made me look up from the hellish Excel grid was the way Bella’s laugh got sharp and scandalous.
They were out there again, perched on rafts with drinks in hand and not a care in the world. I could see them through my office’s big glass door, both in bikinis that looked like they’d been shipped to the wrong address. Bella wore a cherry red number that screamed “Daddy’s paying tuition” and left almost nothing to the imagination. Scarlett, her friend, was the real hazard: fit, all tan and curves and that “porn name” energy, her long black hair wet and wild. If there was a contest for which one looked more like they belonged on a clickbait ad, I wouldn’t even know who to bet on.
I told myself to get back to work. Instead I just listened, pen tapping against the hardwood.
“—swear to God, he’s a fucking mutant,” Bella was saying, that performative tone she saved for blowing people’s minds at parties.
Scarlett’s voice, “How would you even know?” Then a wet thunk as she splashed water at my daughter. They were close enough to the door that the words carried easily.
“I saw, like, a million times when I was little. The only reason I ever stopped walking in on him is because I thought it was some kind of monster. I’m surprised Mom didn’t have to get sewn up after they had me.”
Scarlett screamed laughter. “Stop! That’s so fucked.”
“It’s true. I think it’s why she drinks. It’s like, they talk about ‘big dick energy,’ but there’s like a critical mass where it stops being fun and you just get bullied by it. It’s a miracle he can walk without passing out.”
Another fit of shrieking giggles.
I grinned. There was a running joke in the house that I was “well equipped” started by a neighbor’s rumor that I overheard at a block party and never corrected, but this was new. It didn’t bother me. Not when it made them laugh like that. Besides, Scarlett was the type who’d probably ask to see it before she believed.
I waited for the conversation to veer, but they kept circling the drain. Bella poured more wine, and then it was Scarlett’s turn to roast me.
“So what’s it like? Is it like, scary? Like, if you ever saw it, would you faint?”
“Why don’t you go find out?” Bella teased. “You’re practically living here, you have my blessing.”
Scarlett made a game show buzzer noise. “Absolutely not. I’d die. Or it’d break my jaw.”
“I dare you,” Bella said, grinning so hard I could hear it. “I triple-dog dare you.”
“Not worth the dental work,” Scarlett fired back. She sounded like she was blushing through her bravado, and it was almost enough to make me laugh out loud.
I didn’t. I just let them keep going, scribbling uselessly on my legal pad, feeling strangely proud. There were worse things to overhear your daughter brag about.
I let them tire themselves out. When the gossip turned to boys from Bella’s old high school, I started actually getting work done.
But later, when it came time to make dinner, I realized I had to face the firing squad.
I made chicken, not because it was summer but because it was the only thing I knew how to cook for more than two people. I opened the sliding glass door and called them in, and Bella came first, towel around her waist, hair still dripping. Scarlett lagged behind, not bothering with the towel. She just padded in barefoot, glistening and confident.
“You’re on salad duty,” I told her. “Chop that, toss it, don’t burn the house down.”
Scarlett smirked. “Yes, Chef.”
She had this way of moving, hips first, a little sashay, like she’d practiced in front of a mirror. Even in my kitchen, she made it look like a set. She came up behind me at the counter while I was slicing chicken, close enough that I could smell the vanilla sunblock and a spike of sharp, boozy perfume.
“Is this good?” she asked, pressing her body in just enough to make it obvious. I pretended not to notice, but I could feel her watching my arms, the way my biceps pulled the knife down. She chopped romaine with tiny, careful stabs, like she’d never done it before.
“Perfect,” I said, not looking up.
Scarlett wasn’t subtle. She kept finding reasons to come around my side of the island, bumping into me or reaching across to get at the salt, the pepper, whatever she could invent as an excuse. The third time she “accidentally” brushed against my hip, she tried to play it off with a giggle.
“Oops,” she said, voice a little higher than usual. “Sorry, I’m clumsy.”
I just smiled. “Don’t lose a finger.”
Bella appeared at the fridge, rummaging for ranch. “Scarlett doesn’t cook. She can barely pour cereal.”
“I learn fast,” Scarlett said, flicking a look at me. “Some things you just need the right teacher.”
Dinner was easy. We ate at the island, all perched on barstools, swapping stories about teachers they hated and dumb shit they’d done in dorms. I noticed Scarlett watching me more than she watched Bella, eyes darting up and down every time I gestured with my fork. At one point she asked me about my workout routine. I gave her the usual answer, “lift heavy, sleep well, try not to get old.” And she said she could tell.
“Your arms are crazy,” she said. “You ever arm-wrestle?”
“Not in a while,” I replied.
“I bet you’d win,” she said, holding my gaze a little too long.
Bella elbowed her, but she just laughed.
After dinner, Bella disappeared to her room to FaceTime her boyfriend. I cleared the plates. Scarlett hovered.
“Want help?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “If you can handle the pressure.”
She grinned and loaded the dishwasher. When she bent down, I caught her watching me in the reflection of the oven door, eyes fixated, a hungry little smile on her lips. I pretended not to notice, but my ego practically doubled in size. If I hadn’t known better, I’d say she was angling for some kind of “accidental” rendezvous.
We finished up. Scarlett patted her hands dry on the dish towel, then lingered by the sink.
“I’m gonna hit the shower,” she said. “Thanks for dinner, Mr. M.”
“Anytime,” I said. “And it’s just Chad.”
She laughed and sauntered away, hips swinging.
I waited until I heard the water start before I let myself breathe out. The thing about being a divorced dad was that you got used to people treating you like a nonsexual entity, like you were a blood relative to the whole world, permanently decommissioned. So having a girl like Scarlett flirt with me, even in a jokey way, was its own kind of narcotic. It didn’t mean anything. It was just nice to know you hadn’t aged into total invisibility.
When I headed up to my own room, I didn’t expect anything. I got into shorts and a t-shirt and settled into bed with a bourbon and a rerun of Top Gear, waiting for the night to wind down.
\*\*\*\*\*
When I was in bed, around midnight, I heard footsteps in the hall. My door creaked open an inch, then stopped.
I waited, nothing. “Come in,” I said, not sure who it was, probably Bella.
The door edged wider. Scarlett stood there in an oversized “University of Michigan” t-shirt, hair still damp, face shiny and clean. She looked less like a sexpot and more like a kid who’d gotten up for a glass of water, but her eyes were locked on me.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey. Everything okay?”
She nodded, stepping inside, but didn’t say anything. She stood in the middle of the room, fidgeting with her fingers, biting her bottom lip. She looked like she was about to confess to breaking something.
I sat up. “What’s up?”
She took a breath. “You, um. You heard us talking earlier, didn’t you?”
I grinned, putting the glass down. “Hard not to.”
Scarlett winced but didn’t leave. She wandered over to the side of the bed, looking down at me, then away at the wall.
“I just … Bella says a lot of crazy shit. But, like, she said something and I can’t stop thinking about it.” Her cheeks went pink. “About you.”
I waited.
“She said … I mean, she joked … that you’re, like, really big. Like, too big. Is that…” She trailed off.
I considered making a dad joke, but decided against it.
“Bella exaggerates,” I said. “But, uh, she’s not wrong.”
Scarlett swallowed, eyes wide. “Could I… see? Like, just for a second?”
I stared at her. She looked like she was going to bolt, or maybe start giggling and run out. But she didn’t. She just stood there, waiting for my answer.
I pulled the blanket aside. She climbed onto the bed, half kneeling. I tugged my waistband down an inch, then another, letting the top of my cock peek out. It was already half-hard, more from the attention than anything else.
Scarlett stared. Her mouth actually fell open.
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
I pushed the shorts down farther. My cock flopped out, growing with each heartbeat, thick and veiny and already standing up at a proud angle. The look on her face was like she’d just been given a peek at a cursed artifact.
She reached out then stopped. “Can I touch it?”
“Yeah,” I said, voice a little hoarse.
She wrapped her fingers around the shaft, tentatively at first then tighter as she realized it wasn’t going to bite her. She stroked it slowly, eyes huge, studying every inch. The way she handled it was like she was testing a new toy, fascinated and awed.
“It’s even bigger than I thought,” she whispered. “Jesus. How do you walk around with this?”
I laughed. “Very carefully.”
She squeezed, running her thumb over the head. I shuddered, more turned on than I’d been in years.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not really. Only when someone tries to get too ambitious.”
Scarlett smirked. “I could try.”
She looked up at me, waiting for me to say no. I didn’t.
She leaned down, keeping her eyes on mine. The first lick was careful, like she was tasting frosting off a cupcake. Then she wrapped her lips around the head, sealing her mouth and moaning at the stretch.
It didn’t all fit, not even close, but she was determined. She bobbed her head, trying to sink lower, letting spit coat the shaft. Her hand never stopped stroking the base, and every time she looked up at me, her eyes glittered with challenge.
I let her go at her own pace. She gagged once, coughed, then tried again, more saliva pouring down her chin. She started to get messy, pulling off to catch her breath before diving back in.
She liked the mess. She smeared drool down the length, gripping tighter, stroking faster. I couldn’t believe how good it felt to have such a young, fresh woman sucking my cock, how hungry she looked every time she glanced up at me. I groaned, unable to hide it.
She grinned around my cock, lips stretched wide. “You taste good,” she said, then stuffed me back in.
Scarlett’s technique wasn’t polished, but what she lacked in experience she made up for in enthusiasm and youthful looks. She used both hands now, twisting and pumping, tongue lapping at the tip. She hummed around me, like she was enjoying every inch.
“Getting close,” I warned her, but she just doubled down, moving faster, sucking harder.
When I finally came, she gasped at the flood but didn’t pull off. She gulped, swallowing as much as she could, some spilling out the sides of her mouth and dripping onto her shirt. She looked up at me, face flushed, mouth full, grinning with absolute satisfaction.
She sat back on her heels, wiped her chin with the back of her hand, and gave a little laugh. “Fuck. Bella was right.”
I lay back, breathing hard, barely able to believe what just happened.
Scarlett got up, padding toward the door. She turned back, gave me a wink. “Night, Chad.”
“Night,” I said.
She disappeared into the hall, leaving me alone, still hard, still stunned, and grinning like a fool.
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