Stranded Daddies

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5-12 Available On

PLEASE NOTE: This is a preview of this novella. It is available for purchase in its entirety via

Author's Comment: This story is dedicated to two readers. They don't know each other ... at least I don't think so ... but they asked for the same story, or at least the same kind of story. So, I wrote them one. This is for Gordie, and Lily

Chapter One

Dave Thompson turned the radio up a little as "You're Addicted To Love" came on the station they were listening to. He heard Robert Palmer, but, in his mind's eye, he saw the dead pan, white faces of the women on the video, as they held guitars and swayed enticingly, in that unbelievably sexy understated way. Dick Williams, his next door neighbor, and best friend, started rocking in the seat next to him as he got into the beat too.

The girls were in the back seat, dead to the world, after a soccer game that had been a real thriller. Dave looked into the rear view mirror to make sure he hadn't made the music too loud. He didn't want to wake them. They'd played hard, and they were bushed.

"Man, the memories this song brings back," said Dick, his face twisting as he mouthed the words "addicted to love", hamming it up.

Dave was so into the music that he didn't see the warning light on the dashboard light up. It wasn't until he felt the car falter, that he looked down and saw the "oil" light brightly lit. He heard the rapid, staccato sound of valves, trying to work without oil, and knew it was bad already, if he could hear it over the music.

"Fuck!" he snarled, letting off of the gas. His hand flashed to the volume knob and he twisted it viciously.

"Hey!" said Dick, and then he heard the noise too. "Uh Oh," he said, unnecessarily.

Dave pulled to the shoulder and shut it down. Even inside the cab they could both hear the crackle and pop of overheated metal, flexing under the hood. He looked in the rearview mirror, to see if there was any traffic behind him, and when he didn't see anything, he opened his door. He leaned down and pulled the hood release, groaning when smoke flowed out of the gap created by the hood popping up a few inches.

Both men stared at the engine. They could feel the heat, standing three feet away. The dip stick burned Dave's fingers when he tried to pull it. There was a rag in the trunk, but he didn't want to go get it. He knew what he'd see when he pulled the stick. Nothing. He'd see nothing, where a black coating of oil should be, where the cross hatched lines lay next to the words "operating range" on the dip stick.

"Did you check the oil when we left?" asked Dick.

Dave shot him a dark look. "Of course I checked the oil. I'm not an idiot."

"Just asking," said Dick.

"What's going on?" came a female voice.

Both men looked to see Denise Williams, Dick's daughter, come from where the open hood had blocked their view of her getting out of the back seat. Both men noted her short, lush body, still in her soccer uniform. That uniform did nothing to hide her big breasts. Her dark brown hair had been let out of its pony tail, and fell to her shoulders in long gentle waves. She looked at the two men with startling hazel eyes, that seemed to flicker from green to blue, depending on the light. At first glance, she was stocky looking, short and wide. But a closer examination, and the right clothing, revealed that, below broad shoulders, and breasts that looked too big to be on such a short girl, there was a narrow waist, and then hips that, combined with the shoulders and breasts, were why she looked so stocky.

"Did you break the car, Uncle Dave?" she said, putting her hands on her hips. Both men stared at her. They had stared at her all through the game. Dave stared at her every time she came over to the house, to see his daughter, Cindy, who was apparently still asleep in the car. Dick, her father, had stared at her for years, unbelieving, as she turned from a little girl into a young woman any man would gawk at.

She saw the disgusted look on her "uncle's" face, and realized he was really upset.

"How bad is it?" she asked, serious now.

"Oil," said Dave, shortly.

"Or lack, thereof," said Dick.

"Well, put some more in," said Denise. "I'm hungry."

Dave finished unloading the trunk. He'd found two quarts of oil, amid all the sports gear, old newspapers he'd forgotten to take to the recycling point, the picnic blanket they hadn't used in years, and one very flat spare tire. Thank goodness they didn't need the spare.

He poured the oil in and felt arms go around his waist. His daughter had awakened as they tore the trunk apart, and had been brought up to date by her best friend. She didn't say anything, and he knew she was just trying to make him feel better.

He put the cap back on and then got on one knee, to look under the car. He saw oil start dripping out slowly, and knew what had happened. In the parking lot, after the game, he'd tried to pull forward, through the empty slot in front of the car. He'd forgotten there was a concrete tire barrier, and his forward momentum had carried the car over it. Everyone in the car had heard the crunch and groan of metal impacting concrete, but he'd though it was just the frame.

Turned out it must have been the oil pan.

"We have to go!" he yelled. "It's leaking out! COME ON!"

They all piled into the car and he started it. The knocking was there immediately, but he put it in gear and started forward. He wanted to go fast, to get somewhere quickly, but knew that running the motor at slower speeds would do less damage. They were in the middle of nowhere, taking what looked like a short cut on county roads ... at least it looked like it on the map. He couldn't remember if they'd seen any traffic, but he knew he hadn't passed anybody, or been passed, for quite a while.

Dick yelled, with pent up anxiety, as he saw the sign up ahead.

"Flannery - 1 Mi" it said.

Dick grabbed the map and stuck his nose two inches from it.

"We're on 79, right?" he asked.

Dave nodded, but kept his eyes on the road.

"I don't see anyplace called Flannery on the map," said Dick.

The knocking intensified, and took on a deeper tone.

"It had better fucking be there," snarled Dave.

"Now Daddy!" came Cindy's voice, chiding him for cursing. He ignored her.

There was a silo ahead, and a small cluster of buildings. A faded sign said "Flannery - unincorporated", and then there was a railroad crossing sign, and then there was Flannery, which was composed of the grain elevator and seven other buildings. One was a gas station. Dave more or less aimed the car there and winced as he heard things begin to rattle under the hood. As if the motor knew it had done its job ... had gotten them to civilization ... it gasped its last and died with a series of jerks and shimmies that shook the whole car.

A man in overalls came lumbering toward the group. He had on a ball cap that, at one time, had been red, but was now an indeterminate maroon color, due mostly to grease that had almost covered up the red. He had a rag in one hand, which was also greasy. He used that rag to wipe his hands, frequently. An observer might have noticed that, sometimes, the rag got grease on his hands, instead of cleaning them.

"You folks having some trouble?" he asked. He waved his hand in front of his face to blow away the smoke and fumes that were billowing from under the hood of the car.

"I think I hit something and put a hole in the oil pan," said Dave.

"Hmmmmm" said the man. "You shouldn't have done that."

Dave looked at Dick, who shrugged, as if to say "Well ... he's right."

"Is there a mechanic around here?" asked Dave.

"That would be me," said the man. "I'm Jimmy Joe. Howdy." He stuck out his hand, which was covered in grease.

Dave took it anyway. In a place this small, there couldn't possibly be more than one mechanic, and he didn't want to get off to a bad start with this one.

"Dave Thompson," he said, and then found himself introducing the whole group to the man. He felt stupid, but finished. Jimmy Joe spent extra time examining the girls, and grinned happily as they each gave him two fingers to shake.

"Will she start?" asked Jimmy Joe.

"I sort of doubt it," said Dave. "Key's in it."

Jimmy Joe got in, turned the key and listened as the motor turned over slowly, but didn't catch. He got out again, shaking his head.

"Ainít looking good," he said. "Help me push her over there and I'll do some checking to see how bad it is."

The three men pushed, while Cindy steered, and they ended up in front of the open garage door that was part of the station. Jimmy Joe got a jack and lay on the ground to position it. Then he stood, pumped the handle, and rolled under the car on a creeper. He rolled back out, went to a tool box, made some selections, and rolled back under the car. Ten minutes later he rolled back out, pulling the oil pan with him. It had a white colored scrape on it, with wet oil streaking away from a tear that looked like a crack. He stood up, lifted the pan, and peered inside. Then he stuck a finger inside and wiped along the bottom. He held the finger out for Dave to look at.

"See all that pretty sparkly silver stuff?" he asked. "That's shavings of metal from your motor. They ain't supposed to be in the oil pan."

Dave wanted to scream. Of course metal shavings weren't supposed to be in an oil pan. Any idiot knew that!

Jimmy Joe went blithely on. "The bad news is that your oil pan needs to be replaced. The good news is that there will be a new oil pan on the new motor you're going to have to have."

"Where the hell am I supposed to get a new motor around HERE!?" yelled Dave, his frustration boiling over.

"I'll call Lester," said Jimmy Joe. "He's sort of our parts man in this neck of the wood. He might have something that will fit in your car." Jimmy Joe smiled helpfully. "Course, it will be used and all, but, to be honest, I don't even know where to call to get a brand new motor."

"How long?" asked Dave, preparing himself for more bad news.

"To fix it?" asked Jimmy Joe.

"Uh ... yes," said Dave, his voice tight.

"Well," said Jimmy Joe, looking up into the sky, for some reason, "If Lester's got something, maybe a couple of days."

Dave blinked. That wasn't so bad. He looked at Dick. Dick looked at Jimmy Joe, and then said "Why don't you call Lester, while we talk."

There wasn't much to talk about. It was obvious they weren't going anywhere real soon, unless they could rent a car. A quick question to Jimmy Joe, while he was on the phone with Lester, determined that wasn't going to happen. The girls had had a little sleep in the car, but were still tired from the rigors of the game, and home was still three hours away. It was getting late, too. Cindy, who had been listening quietly, tugged at her father's shirt sleeve.

"Daddy, there's a motel over there," she said, pointing.

Dave and Dick turned to look. Behind a row of trees was an old style motel, in the shape of an "L", with a row of rooms making the two legs of the L, with the office at the corner. A faded sign stood beside the dirt driveway. The letters could barely be made out, but they said "The Queen's Motor Court" A smaller wooden sign hung under the big one. Dangling from one of two eye hooks, and moving slightly in the breeze, it said "Vacancy". There was one car, parked near the office, but it was rusty and beat up. It could have been there for years, based on the look of things.

"I don't think that's actually open for business," said Dave.

Jimmy Joe waddled back to the group, ogling the girls again, and told them that Lester was pretty sure he could come up with a motor that would fit in the car. He'd know for sure sometime in the morning. They asked him about a rental car again, but he said the only cars in town belonged to people who needed them. He floored them all by suggesting they stay the night at the Queen's Motel, which obviously meant the dilapidated place Cindy had pointed to.

"But I'm hungry now!" moaned Denise

"I've got some candy bars in the station," offered Jimmy Joe. "They ain't too old ... mebbe a couple of months."

"Where are you going to eat?" asked Cindy, turning on the charm.

Jimmy Joe looked at her frankly. "I take my meals with my lady friend, Maggie. I 'spect she'd be a might off her feed if I brang home a bunch of strangers ... specially two girls like you. She might not let me ... I mean she might be mad." He frowned. "Maybe Pops, over at the Queens has something. I know them rooms of his have cookin' stuff in them ... pots and pans and the like. I live there my own self, in one of his rooms. He might have some vittles he can sell you."

"Isn't there a store?" whined Denise.

"Yeah, we got one, but I don't know if Mable will be there or not. She lives upstairs, and there's a bell. You can try that too."

In the end, there wasn't anything they could do. They had no luggage. Their trip had been intended to be a run up to the game, which was a challenge match between their town soccer team and that of a town in a neighboring state. They were "sister cities", in a program that had started decades ago, when one twin sister got married and was taken away by her new groom to live there. The sisters wanted to see each other, so they put on a campaign to have the two towns establish an official, if rarely attended to, relationship.

It was supposed to have been four hours over, play the game, and four hours back. The rest of the team was on a school bus, but Dave and Dick wanted to go see their daughters play, and the girls had ridden with them, instead of on the bus.

The door of the office opened under his hand, and Dave walked in to find an old time desk bell sitting on a dusty desk. He hit it with his palm and it rang loudly.

Nothing happened.

They could hear the sound of a television from back, behind the wall in back of the desk. He rang the bell again, and then again, until he got so frustrated that he started hitting it over and over again. Dick eventually stopped him by grabbing his wrist.

"The TV's too loud. They can't hear you," he said.

Cindy took matters into her own hands by simply walking around the end of the desk and walking through a curtained door in the wall. Dave felt a stab of concern, and started after her. He was reaching for the curtain when it moved, and Cindy came back through, followed by a man who looked as decrepit as the motel.

He had to be in his late seventies, or early eighties, and walked with a shuffle. Oversized hearing aids stuck from both his ears, and Dave heard a high pitched squealing sound as the man fumbled with controls on each one.

"Dint know I had visitors," he wheezed. He smiled, showing startlingly white and even teeth, that had to be dentures. They belonged in the mouth of someone fifty years younger. He shuffled to the desk and stood, looking at them, obviously waiting.

"We need a room," said Dick.

"Room?" asked the man, leaning forward. "Course we got a room. This is a motel!"

"We NEED a room," said Dick, much louder.

"All right," said the man, as if something important had been decided. He pulled a big cloth covered book in front of him and flipped it open. Dust flew everywhere as the cover slammed down on the desktop. He flipped a couple of pages, until he found one that was only half filled in. With practiced hands, he spun the book in a half circle and pushed it towards Dick.

"Sign in right there," he said.

"Do you have a pool?" asked Cindy.

"Rules?" said the old man, leaning forward again. "Don't disturb the other guests. That's my only rule."

"No," said Cindy. "I asked if you had a swimming pool!"

"Oh, POOL!" The man grinned. "They's one out there, but it ain't been filled for quite some time. I'd have to clean it out and all that. How long you folks staying?"

"Two nights," said Dave.

"Tonight?" asked the man, looking disappointed. "If you're only staying tonight, it ainít' really worth all that work."

"NO, NO," said Dave, shouting. "TWO NIGHTS ... MAYBE!"

"Oh," said the man, fiddling with his hearing aids again. "Damn batteries don't last for shit." He looked up. "I'll try to take a look at it tomorrow. I won't make no promises, though. Even though we're on a well, it would take most of a day to fill her up, so it still might not be worth the trouble."

Dick finished writing in the ledger, and spun it back around. The old man peered at it.

"Just one room?" he asked, looking back at them. "You all's properly married ... right? I don't allow no funny business in my place."

Both men looked shocked, and both girls giggled. Cindy draped herself over her father's right side, hugging him.

"HE'S MY DADDY!" she yelled.

The old man peered at her and licked his lips. "Yeah ... right," he said. "Whatever you say. But all of you in the same room?" His eyes gleamed for a few seconds, and there was a half smile on his lips.

Then he shrugged. "Prolly better that way anyhow. I only got one that's nice enough for folks like you. Got a Tee Vee and everything." He smiled proudly. "Cable's hooked up too, from Jimmy Joe's satellite dish."

The room matched the exterior of the motel. There were four walls, with peeling wallpaper, and two beds, of the size that used to be called a double deluxe, which meant they were six inches wider than a double, and about a foot narrower than a queen. You couldn't tell what color the carpet actually was, but that was from age, rather than dust - it had actually been vacuumed in the recent past. Table lamps provided most of the light, through dingy, yellowed shades that, in years past, had been white. The television was a 13" color Sylvania set, that had quite possibly come off the assembly line as the girls who stared at it were pushed out of their mother's birth canals. Only the microwave, on the counter by the sink, still had any shininess to it, but the light inside didn't come on when Cindy pushed the button that opened the door.

Dick, who was in need of bladder relief, discovered that the bathroom held a claw-footed tub, and a toilet that had a huge, round, silver handle on the front of the tank. The mirror was the front of a white-painted metal box on the wall, that swung open to reveal thin metal shelves inside, upon which someone, at some date, far in the past, had left a toothbrush that didn't bend, flex, wiggle, or do anything else that a toothbrush made in the last ten years claimed to do besides simply brush teeth.

But there were no cobwebs, or mouse droppings, or any other signs that the room hadn't been entered in a decade. Even slapping one of the bedspreads didn't raise a cloud of dust, like Dave expected it to.

In short, it was shabby, but clean. While a grown woman would have wrinkled her nose and turned a wrathful eye on the man who had rented this room, the girls who now stood in it thought of it as "quaint", and decided, almost together, that this had turned into an adventure. The men looked around and, like men, figured that if there was a bed, and a TV, that was all they needed.

"Where's the remote?" asked Denise, looking around where the TV was sitting.

They all turned to the old man, who seemed not to have heard her question. She tried again.


The proprietor grinned. "Course it's remote. We're in the middle of nowhere. But, we have us a nice town here. Don't get too many visitors, but we get by OK. It's nice and quiet."

"NO," said Denise impatiently. "THE TV REMOTE!" She pointed at the TV and pantomimed pushing buttons on her palm.

He bobbed his head. "Well, we don't get regular TV way out here. Like I said, we ran a line from Jimmy Joe's satellite dish. You have to watch whatever he's watching, but you all look tired anyway. You prolly just want to get to bed anyway." He leered at the girls and cackled, as if he'd made a joke. Then he turned and shuffled to the door. He walked out, leaving it standing open.

"Deaf as a post," commented Dave. "That's why he thinks it's so quiet around here."

Denise had bent over to peer at the control panel of the television set. Dave stared at her butt. Even in the loose uniform shorts she was wearing, her buttocks looked round and firm. He'd always thought she was going to be a babe, and a heart breaker, as she'd grown up over the years. He felt an uncomfortable sensation in his groin, and looked away as Denise pushed a button on the control panel.

The room was suddenly filled with a hissing static sound, and the screen of the TV resolved into snow, on a black background.

"Great," she said, sounding miffed. "Now, where's the channel selector?"

Cindy went to bend over beside her, and Dave was now faced with two sets of female buns. The uncomfortable feeling in his groin intensified. He wondered how he could stare at his own daughter's buttocks and get excited. That was something that had been happening for the last two or three years, as his baby grew into a young woman. He forced his eyes away, looking at Dick, who was staring, not quite slack jawed, at the girls' behinds too. Rather than feeling unhappiness that his best friend was staring at his daughter's ass, Dave felt better, somehow. Maybe he wasn't so perverted after all.

The sound changed from hissing to the obvious sounds of a woman having an orgasm, and both men jerked and stared past the girls at the screen, which had resolved into a picture of a penis, being shot in extreme close-up, as it slid in and out of a wet pussy.

Both girls stood, and stepped back, looking at the screen interestedly. The scene changed to a wide angle shot of a man, on top of a woman, fucking her like there was no tomorrow. The volume was loud enough that even the motel proprietor could have heard it, and the woman was making it very plain that she wanted it even harder and deeper.

Dick moved first, lunging for the TV and punching buttons like crazy, while he tried to block the screen by waving his hand in front of it. The girls giggled and took another step back.

"Daddy, you're in the way!" complained Denise.

"How the hell do you change the channel?" gasped Dick. He'd already punched three buttons, and nothing had happened. Finally he hit the on/off button and the screen shrank to a point of white, on a black background, and then winked off.

"Well, I guess we know what Jimmy Joe likes to watch," giggled Cindy.

"Totally inappropriate!" pronounced Dave, frowning. "I'm sorry you girls had to see that."

"See what?" asked Cindy, grinning. "I couldn't tell for sure what that was. What was that, anyway?"

Her father turned his frown on her.

"You know what that was, and you know I don't approve of you seeing that stuff."

Cindy had had her fun, and she tried to look chastened.

"Oh, OK. No harm done. Denise and I already know about the facts of life." Then, like a woman does, she changed the subject. "Now, about food. I'm starving."

Dick stood up, trying to ignore the TV. "Yes!" he said. "I'm hungry too. What say we try to find the store. That mechanic said there's one around here someplace. Hopefully it isn't closed yet."

"You two go ahead," said Denise. "I'm going to lie down. My legs still hurt from the game."

Cindy looked at her friend, one eyebrow going up, and then said: "Yeah, me too. We'll just stay here and rest while our big, strong daddies go out and kill a moose or whatever."

"There isn't a moose within five hundred miles of here," said Dave, looking at his daughter.

"Well then, trap a rabbit or whatever, but your darling daughters are starving, and you're the men of the family, so it's your job to feed us. Go on now," she said, shooing them out of the door. "Go hunt, or gather, or whatever it is you big strong men do."

Cindy stood by the curtain, peeking through it, watching as her father and her "uncle" walked out to the road. "OK, they're gone now," she said.

She turned to find Denise already turning the TV back on. She found the volume button and pushed it until the noise level went down considerably. The scene they had seen was over, and now there was a shot of a swimming pool, and a young man, with a net on a long stick, walking around it. An "older" woman was sunning herself on a chaise lounge, and was giving the pool boy orders. Among them she ordered him to put sunscreen on her, which he did with great enthusiasm. When he pushed his hands into the top of the woman's swim suit, she pretended to scold him, but did nothing to stop his actions. By the time Dave and Dick had located what they thought was the general store, and were reaching for the door handle, their daughters were excitedly watching the pool boy stripping "the woman of the house" and sliding his impossibly large prick into her well-used pussy.

Dave reached for the door handle, looking at the cardboard sign in the window of the door that said "OPEN" in faded, red, capital letters. As his hand touched the handle, the sign seemed to slide away from him, into the store, and was flipped to reveal "CLOSED" in faded, black, capital letters.

He knocked on the glass, rapidly and urgently, and saw the sign move again. There was part of a woman's face peering out at him.

"PLEASE!" he shouted. "WE NEED FOOD!"

The sign was pulled aside, and two eyes looked out at them. Dave backed up, automatically, to let her see that he was doing so. The sign flopped back down, still reading "CLOSED", but the door opened about five inches.

"We're closed," said the woman's voice.

"Please," said Dave again. "We broke down, and our car's in the shop. We're staying at the motel down the street, and we don't have anything to eat. All we need is some food."

The door opened further, and the face came into view. The woman was blond, but it was pretty clear that wasn't her natural hair color, since it was a brassy yellow color that didn't quite go all the way to the roots.

"You're staying at Pop's place?" she asked, sounding incredulous. "Really?"

"I believe it's called the Queen's Motor Court," said Dick, trying to be helpful.

"Imagine that," said the woman. "Actual paying customers, staying at Pop's!"

She opened the door.

The brassy blond hair was attached to the body of a woman who was just passing her prime. While she still had an hour glass figure, it was a well padded hour glass figure, and the sand was slipping into the bottom of the hour glass with increasing rapidity. She had generous breasts, and generous hips. In fact, everything about her body was generous.

"I'm Mable," she said, her hand going to her hair. The men got the idea she hadn't seen a strange man in years. "You boys just come right in and I'll take care of you." Her eyes went immediately to the third finger of their left hands. She felt a leap of anticipation when she saw both fingers were bare.

Both men got the feeling that "take care of you" meant something different to this woman, than it did to them. Not that she was ugly, or anything, but there was a flavor of aggressiveness about her that promised that, if she got her hooks in a man, he would have a hell of a time getting her hooks OUT of him, should he ever desire to do so.

"You boys traveling alone?" she asked, interest plain in her voice.

"No!" said Dick, a little too quickly, and a little too loudly. He darted a glance at Dave. "The women are at the motel."

"Oh," said Mable, sounding distinctly disappointed. "That's nice." It was obvious she didn't mean that either. She became more business-like immediately. "Well, the weekly truck isn't due until tomorrow, and everybody in town has already done their shopping, so the pickings will be a little slim, but we can find you something."

"Something" turned out to be a can of Spam, two cans of vegetarian vegetable condensed soup, a bag of potato chips, and a dusty can of asparagus. The men also got a half gallon of milk, and a box of Fruit Loops. There was enough beer along one wall to supply a company of thirsty soldiers, and Dave picked up a case, trying to see what the expiration date was on it. It turned out to be the freshest thing in the store.

The people in this town might have been forgotten by the world, or at least the world that didn't deliver goods on trucks that drove through town, but Mable had a shiny, working credit card machine. She rang up their purchases on an antique cash register, that had keys like an old manual typewriter, that moved an inch, and made little red and white flags with numbers on them pop up in the window on the front of it, and then swiped Dave's credit card with an expert twist of her wrist. It was a little like being in a museum, but they left with enough food to fill four hungry stomachs, even if it was mostly junk food.

"I live upstairs," said Mable, as she walked them to the door, smoothing her dress over her substantial hips. "There's a button beside the door. If you boys need anything ... just push the button. Anything at all ..."

Her invitation was obvious, and both men felt a little shiver of dread as they stepped out of the door, hoping they wouldn't have to come back. Mable made the atmosphere predatory, and kept alarm bells ringing as the men stepped away from her. Still, they were stuck in this town, and they might HAVE to return, so Dave forced a smile onto his face.

"Thanks so much," he said. "You've been a life saver, and we really appreciate it."

Her smile showed white teeth. "No problem. Anything at all. I'm right upstairs."

Dave swore she tried to wiggle her breasts at them, and turned to walk quickly away. Dick was right there with him.

They were twenty yards away when Dick gave a long sigh. "Man, that woman is dangerous!" he said under his breath.

"Ya think?" chuckled Dave. "People sure are friendly in this town." He laughed. "You could be getting your pipes cleaned back there. What are you doing here with me?"

Dick entered the comfortable kind of man-talk easily. "What? I'm hard up. I admit it. But I'm not THAT hard up!"

Dave grinned. "I don't know," he said. "That's the best offer you've had in ... oh ... at least the last six months or so."

"That's the ONLY offer I've had in the last six months or so," laughed Dick. "Tell you what. You're my best friend. I'll back off and let you have her. That's how much our friendship means to me."

It went on like that, as two friends, who often joked this way while they played golf, or fished together, or engaged in any number of other pursuits in which they shared each other's company.

The barbs had gotten around to the general subject of "bed warming" when Dick stopped.

"I just thought of something," he said. Dave stopped and looked at his friend. Dick was frowning. "What do we do about tonight?"

Dave had already thought about that, though he hadn't worked it through in his mind. There had been the faint, quick fantasy of sleeping with Denise, but he had pushed that out of his mind. He owed Dick a lot more than thinking like that. Thinking about sleeping with his own daughter wasn't a whole lot better. Around the house, neither of them were particularly bashful. She often walked around in bra and panties, or just a T shirt and panties, and he often wore his boxers in the evening. When his wife, Trudy, had taken off, leaving him to raise their daughter, they had become survivors together, and grew close in that mind frame. It was them against the world, and they were both proud of being successful at being a one-parent family.

Still, as she developed into a beautiful young woman, Dave couldn't ignore that, and he had feelings for her that he knew were completely inappropriate. He still remembered teaching her to use tampons, and seeing her adolescent pussy, having something inserted in it. Her breasts had just been mere humps then, with unformed strawberry nipples, but her pussy had looked all grown up as the cardboard tube wormed its way inside her. To his father's mind, seeing the tampon being pushed in was like thinking about a boy dumping his sperm in her, and when she took the empty cardboard tube out, and smiled trustingly at him, proud of her success, he had felt awful, staring at those delicious pussy lips, with that string hanging from them. Since then, seeing her walk around half naked was bad enough. He had a pretty good idea that sleeping in the same bed with her would affect him in ways he wouldn't be proud of.

And, there was just no way he could admit to his best friend that he lusted after both girls.

"Maybe it should be you and me in one bed, and them in the other," he offered.

Unknown to Dave, Dick's life was startlingly like that of his best friend. He hadn't had to teach Denise about feminine hygiene. Valerie, her mother, had taken care of that, on one of her infrequent visits from corporate headquarters, where she was a rising star. That's why she wouldn't marry him, when he knocked her up. She had plans, and they didn't include being a full time mother. She'd agreed to have the baby, and to put his name on the birth certificate, so he wouldn't have to adopt her, and she visited, once in a while, ans sent cards on special days, but that was it.

One other difference was that there wasn't the same casual attitude about half nudity in their house. Denise always went fully covered, and he wore a robe, but even so, his daughter's lush body hadn't escaped his notice either. It was, perhaps, for that reason, that he tended to concentrate on Cindy, his best friend's daughter. It didn't feel so bad lusting after her, with her corn-silk hair, and slim, but still feminine body. He loved having her in the house, or being at their house, because he got to see those spiky nipples of hers poking through whatever she was wearing. In bed, alone at night, he had a hard time deciding which one to think of as he flogged his log, to get relief. Like Dave, he knew that, if he slept with his daughter, unwelcome thoughts would make sleep difficult. If he slept with Cindy, he might actually cum in his shorts.

And, like Dave, he couldn't very well admit any of that to his best friend.

"I guess so," he agreed. "That would probably work out best."

Had either man been able to hear what was going on in the motel room, they might have thought differently than they did.

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