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Standing up on my tip toes, I kissed him on the chin. “Everything’s fine. I promise.” I whispered.
“Well, alright. Anyway, remote’s on the coffee table. I was just getting done in the yard before it gets too hot to breathe out there. I’ll be back in a few. You good?”
“Yeah. Thanks. I really mean it – you’re absolutely the best.”
He smiled mocked a hat-tipping motion, and went on his way.
***
Peter, Peter. Oh, Peter. That’s what he made me call him when we were out in the world. Made sense – I mean, for all our quirks, I can understand why he would prefer I not call him “daddy”, even though he was my step-dad.
I lay back, flicked on the local news-at-noon, and half-heartedly rocked the baby for a moment before he started making his hungry sounds.
Although I could have done without the little bundle’s gnawing, the feeling of his warmth pressed against my chest, and his weight resting on my belly was just wonderful. Davis’s little suckles, the way my milk spilled across his lips and how he always managed to latch on to the same bruised place on my breast gave me a strange feeling of bliss. No matter how much it hurt, or how often he pinched the same part, there was just some kind of magic about this little life form, this tiny jumble of me and my daddy that made it so everything was alright.
I absent mindedly stroked the back of Davis’s head as he sucked. For some reason, I became utterly transfixed with the knot on the TV weatherman’s tacky, splotch-patterned necktie. Looks like a mixture of Jackson Pollock and, I donno, rotten tomatoes. A snort of laughter came out of me and surprised my baby, making him spit, which in turn, got me laughing even harder.
As soon as he calmed down enough to eat again, and I quit chortling at Sam Skipton’s necktie, the cool rhythm of suckling and swallowing made the lights in the living room seem a bit dimmer. A sort of hypnosis. Those were the most relaxing moments of my life – safe in my daddy’s house, waiting for what promised to be an enjoyable Labor Day weekend hanging out by the pool, and waiting for my gorgeous, funny, tiny man to finish his lunch.
The world could not, I thought, get much more perfect.
Laying there with little Davis, I decided sink into the giant, over-stuffed couch and rest my eyes while he ate. As soon as my head hit the cushions, my vision was blocked by a huge stack of laundry.
Oh shit. I almost forgot about this pile of pants. Guess I better get up and deal with that before my eyes start to get heavy and...
“Are my little girl’s tits sore from all that milk?” As I accidentally drifted off, the baby at my breast was replaced in my mind by my daddy, Peter. He stroked my hair out of my face and let one of his hands go to on my belly directly underneath my
bare tits.
His lips brushed against mine in a sweet, safe kiss and then traced my jawline to just behind my ear where he nibbled softly.
Peter’s hair was thick and soft tangled around my fingers. He kissed down my neck, a trail of goose bumps rising along his path until he nestled his face between my breasts and cupped one gently in his palm.
My daddy drew a slow, tight pattern of circles with his tongue starting from the prickled skin on my chest and ending up with fluttering licks across my sweetly aching flesh. Caressed by his breath and excited by the promise his tongue made, my nipples puckered and peaked, yearning for his embrace.
Th-th-th-th-thwop-op-op!
I sat up, cradling my baby to my chest, startled and alarmed
Thweeee-we-we-we-op!
“Weed eater,” I said, craning my neck to look out the window. “Daddy is weed eating the bushes. Why can’t he just use a pair of shears like everyone else on Earth?” I laughed as I watched him wobble around with the orange tool over his head, chopping accidental lines in the shrubs.
“Well, little man,” I said, rubbing Davis’s back, “you about done?”
He responded by sputtering and looking back at me with that glazed, euphoric look he always has after a meal.
“Okay, good. Let’s get some of this laundry done. Well – I’ll do the laundry. You’re going to take a nap.”
After I got him swaddled and safe in the port-a-crib, I grabbed the pile of pants, the baby monitor, wandered in next to the washing machine and started to work.
Completely wrapped up in mechanical folding and washing, I was unaware that my daddy had come in behind me until I felt his thick, powerful forearms close around my waist.
“Hi there,” he said, kissing the back of my neck. I could hear his smile.
“Baby down?”
I nodded.
