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Like I said. I’m proud to be your dad. Proud that you’re a Jackson. Don’t let those other shitstains get you down.
Love,
Dad
* * *
A rustle at the door catches my attention. Four-year-old Grace is peeking through her hands at me. She spreads her tiny fingers as far as they can go as she runs toward me.
After having our two boys in quick succession, Charlotte and I thought we were done, but Grace came along when the boys were ten and eleven. She’s a ray of sunshine, and I can’t even envision my life before she came along.
I cuddle her on my lap as she shows me her fingers. “I washed my hands after I pottied.”
“Good girl.”
She wipes the droplets of what I hope is water on my shirt.
“Grammy and Grandpa are napping,” she announces. “They were playing with us outside, but after Grandpa tickled Grammy, they were too tired to play. Grandpa said it was time for a nap, and they disappeared.”
Out of my office window I see the two boys playing football with their cousins. My parents are sitting on a swinging bench watching the game, so it must be Bo and AnnMarie who have snuck off for an afternoon quickie.
“Your parents are insatiable.” I don’t need to look up to know Charlotte has walked in. The slightly uneven tread signals her arrival.
“What’s insaysible?” Grace asks.
Of course she does. “Sleepy. Very sleepy,” I lie and kiss her forehead.
“I’m not sleepy.” Worried that we’re going to make her nap, she jumps off my lap, runs to give her mother a hug, and then trots out as fast as her pudgy legs can carry her. She careens into the opposite wall, rights herself, and then clatters down the hall.
“It’s a good thing your parents are just having sex and not trying to nap because your daughter makes more noise than a five piece band.”
Charlotte laughs lightly and limps over to climb onto my lap. Her nose finds its way into my neck, and I shiver. Squeezing her waist, I draw her tighter against me. “I’m suddenly very tired. How about you?”
“I could be convinced to take a nap,” she murmurs against my throat.
“Good, let’s go.” I slide my arms under her body and stand up.
“I can walk.” The protest is perfunctory so I ignore it.
“That new leg of yours isn’t the right length?” I ask, jostling her in my arms. Charlotte’s been testing out a new biomechanical limb that is powered by the neurons in her brain. It’s amazingly lifelike. She can wiggle her toes and twist her ankle. Over time, she could even develop a stronger calf muscle—at least that’s the hope. But currently it doesn’t sound like it’s working right.
“We’re still in the testing stage. I ordered a pair of stilettos. I can’t wait to try them out. What do you think?” She pokes me in the chest. “I’ll be wearing fuck me pumps for the first time.”
“As if I need any encouragement,” I grunt. I’m still as randy as I was when I was seventeen. It takes very little to get me hard and even less to get me into bed. “I’m easy.”
“Speaking of easy, did you find out what was bugging your eldest?” She reaches out to open our bedroom door.
“That wasn’t easy,” I protest and throw her on the bed. I watch appreciatively as her breasts bounce. She wastes no time in shedding her clothes, so I sit back and enjoy the show.
“Hunter?” she prompts.
“What about him?” My eyes are glued to the light blue lace concoction she’s got covering her tits. The material is so sheer I can see her rosy nipples clearly. “This is hot. Did you just get this? I don’t remember seeing it before.”
“Yes, it’s new. Don’t rip it,” she cautions.
“I want to see the bottoms. Do they match?” I tug at the waistband of the simple knit skirt she’s wearing.
“Of course they match, but you don’t get to see them until you tell me what happened with Hunter.”
“Who?” I mumble absently, pulling harder on the elastic waist so I can get a better view of her panties. She slaps my hand away. Sighing, I decide to undress myself. “Hunter told a bunch of his friends that he wasn’t interested in losing his virginity until he’d found the right girl, and they decided to hassle him over it.”
She gasps. “Those little fucking punks. I ought to beat them with my leg.”
The vision of Charlotte whipping off her prosthetic and bashing a bunch of horny fifteen year olds strikes me as so funny, I topple over with laughter. “I’d pay a lot to see that,” I gasp.
“This one is pretty heavy. It’d hurt.”
“I bet,” I say wiping my eyes. “But shit, you don’t need to do it on account of Hunter’s hurt feelings because he doesn’t have any. He told me that he didn’t give a fuck—fudge—what his friends thought. I wrote him a letter to tell him I was proud of him. Going to tuck it under his pillow tonight.”
