Where the Heart Is

by Odd 1

 

Mg, inc, pedo, cons, 1st, oral, rom

 

Prologue

 

Home.  They say that's the place where, if you have to go there, they have to take you in.  Stupid saying.  And who the hell are “they”, anyway?  Well, I didn't like it, not one little bit.  Since an acrimonious split with Katie, my wife of almost 30 years, I was used to being by myself, doing what I wanted to do, visiting friends if I needed companionship, and enjoying a LOT of peace and quiet.  I could walk around my house in my underwear (or not) if I wanted to, and lately I wanted to.  My A/C had gone out that Fall.  My adopted “son-in-law” Dale, who did such things for a living, looked at it and pronounced it dead.  Do Not Resuscitate.  The unit was over 30 years old and held together, as the poet said, “by wire and a couple a hunks a twine.”  So it was time, but that was a few thousand dollars I didn't have.  I dreaded the coming Summer, which in the deep South is long and brutal. But Winter edged into Spring, into June, and then July.  I have to say, it wasn't as bad as I expected.  I dressed down, set up a couple of fans, and all in all the Summer was passing comfortably.  Until...

 

Until.

 

The shrieking phone crashed into my serenity, snatching me out of the peaceful passage I was playing on my guitar – a gorgeous, elegantly understated slothead Collings with tone to die for, strings that melted like warm butter under my fingers, and...<CLANG!>.  Damnit!!  “Let the machine pick up, stay in your groove, that's it...,” I thought.  And then, slightly muffled through the small speaker of the TAD, came the voice I knew so well.  A voice which, quavering with despair, spoke a single word.  A word that would change my life forever. 

 

“Daddy?”

 

Chapter 1: Starting Over

 

Joyce.  My daughter.  My wayward child.  Fleeing from her mother's abusive tongue, she had run away from home with a boy 10 years her senior and disappeared seemingly off the face of the earth.  I knew the boy, Gary was his name.  He used to work for me.  The section manager to whom he directly reported had fired him for what we liked to refer to as “PPP”.  Piss Poor Performance. One day he just showed up on my front porch, asking if Joyce was home.  Remembering that ill-fated day, I seethed with anger, even after all those years.  The nerve of him!  My daughter!!  I remember telling him “No she isn't, and if you know what's good for you you'll get the hell away from here!”, unaware that Joyce was peeping through the blinds of her little bedroom window and had seen and heard the brief exchange.  Gary hadn't said a word as he stepped off the porch, but it was only a week later, maybe two, that I knocked on by daughter's bedroom door to get her up for school, and found her gone – clothing spilling out of half-open drawers, her favorite poster (The Backstreet Boys) absent from its place of honor at the foot of her bed.  These are a few of my favorite things. Seven months later she resurfaced.  Pregnant of course.  Joyce was 14.

 

Her first baby was a boy whom, after much deliberation, she saddled with the name Maurice.  Which is, I suppose, reason in itself to hate one's mother, although he would come to have reasons plentiful enough.  After the inevitable split-up Maurice was adopted by his paternal grandparents – a good Christian couple whom I could not envision having raised such a loser as Gary.  A succession of men followed, each one worse than the last. Joyce was a lowlife damn MAGNET.  You could put her in a room with a hundred guys and she would unfailingly end up with the mangiest dog on the lot.  I blamed myself.  I had married while still in college, too young to raise a family. I had plans for my life, big plans, and kids were just in the way.  I didn't have time for them.  And so, when Joyce needed love, her father's love, she only got the few bits I grudgingly doled out.  My wife viciously abused her, calling her vile names of every sort; constantly demeaning her, beating her down.  When I interfered she turned her full focus on me, heaping abuse on the man she called her soul-mate.  But I would not, could not, walk in that midnight heart filled with hate.

 

Two more children followed Maurice, all of different paternal lineage: Mesha and Janie.  Joyce tried to make a go of it with Mesha's dad, Dale.  Dale was at heart a decent, hardworking man who, once he put his demons behind him, settled down to the quiet business of earning a living.  But to Joyce, too much of a good thing was, well, not a good thing, and she soon resumed her old habits.  Janie's dad –  we were never sure who he was.  I don't think Joyce was too sure either.  In the end we, Katie and I, raised the girls with Dale's help.  Dale treated them both like his own and they called him Daddy.  Which he was, DNA or no DNA.  Every so often Joyce would straighten herself out for a while and we would let the girls move in with their mother, whom they loved desperately in spite of her faults.  Then Joyce would screw up again and we would be back in court – another custody hearing.  But this last time it seemed Joyce was finally on track.  She was with a guy named Tony who lived in a modest but neatly kept trailer just outside of town.  He raised a few chickens, spoke respectfully, helped with chores around the house when he and Joyce visited – all in all, the kind of man my daughter deserved.  Or so I thought.

 

When the phone rang and that pitiful voice spoke, I knew it was more of the same old drama.  At this point I had been separated from Katie for two years and was enjoying a peace I had not felt in, well, a long time.  I had not seen the girls during this time as well, since Tony had taken a job out of state and neither I nor my daughter had much in the way of traveling money.

 

Did I say this was the same old drama?  No.  This was a whole new drama.  This was Tony stripped down to his whitie tighties, an unwrapped condom by his hand, laying next to a sleeping Mesha. God knows what would have happened if Joyce hadn't returned home unexpectedly and burst through the door.  I didn't want to think about it.  How DARE he!, I raged.  How COULD he?! He claimed he was drunk. It didn't matter – he went to the county jail pending his trial, and there he passed out of our lives forever.  Mesha was 13.

 

So now I had a full house again.  A troubled 36 year old, a troubled teen, a troubled 9 year old, and...me.  An oasis of sanity I suppose, in a desert devoid of hope, calm, or goodness.

 

 

Chapter 2: Re-acquaintance

 

In the two years since I had seen them my granddaughters had done a LOT of growing.  Mesha, instead of a cute, slightly plump, studious girl of 11, was now a full-fledged, of not fully developed, 24 carat beauty.  In my eyes, anyway.  Sure there were girls who were more flagrantly beautiful, but they didn't hold a candle to my Mesha.  Mesha had her own, understated, Uma Thurman kind of beauty.  You didn't see it right off, but when you got it, you GOT it.  Her mahogany hair, no longer short, cascaded luxuriously to the middle of her back.  I adore long hair, and hers was captivating – sleek, shiny, and...touchable.  The kind of hair I loved to bury my face in, to inhale its fragrance, to...but I digress.  She had two little dimples that appeared at the corners of her mouth when she smiled.  I had never understood what the deal was with dimples until I saw how they transformed her already entrancing face into a brilliant beacon; her heartfire gloriously bathing anyone fortunate enough to be the recipient of her favored glance.

 

Mesha had always been my girl, never balking when I asked her to do something, never talking back – in short, a perfect little lady.  But now she kept entirely to herself, totally absorbed in living vicariously through the cellphone Dale had bought her.  I tried to draw her out with little gestures of affection – spontaneous hugs, things of that sort...but these she stoically tolerated, neither pulling away nor returning the gesture.  I didn't know what to do except hope that time would heal her and bring her back to me.

 

Janie, on the other hand, was still...Janie.  Which is to say, a brat.  A stubborn one at that.  She was her Daddy's girl and he spoiled her relentlessly.  Dale's family consisted mostly of uneducated, crude folk – poor white trash, if you prefer.  Since Janie preferred to spend most of her time with Dale and his family, she developed the same unfortunate mannerisms as her rural cousins.  She was also very close to failing school.  In contrast, however, to Mesha's standoffishness, Janie was, and always had been, extremely affectionate.  She constantly needed verbal and physical affirmation.  I would have said that was because she had been bounced around from home to home so often, but in fact she was like that as early as I can remember.  Insecurity was just part of her nature. 

 

As we settled into our new life over the next two years, I began to see new aspects of my granddaughter's personalities emerge.  Mesha became OBSESSED with boys. She ALWAYS had a boyfriend on the hook.  She would break up with one, and two days later she had a new one. Like mother, like daughter, I thought, but she refused to be compared to Joyce, growing very angry if anybody tried to point out the obvious similarities.  She kept her grades up, but was no longer the honor student she used to be. But for all that, she retained a strong sense of self-respect, determined NOT to be her mother.  After all she had been through, some girls would have let themselves slip, but Mesha had a destination in mind.  SHE was not going to be poor white trash.  She did not allow her boyfriends to get past first base with her (we had several very frank conversations on this point).  On the few occasions were able to do something special together – just her and me, I would instruct her on how a proper young man should treat her (Let the girl pick the radio station, small kindnesses of that nature).  From what I saw, none of her Beaus measured up to my standards – their own fathers never taught them how to behave in the presence of a lady, if the father was even around, which was usually not the case.

 

Janie was – well, she was still bratty, and not willow slender like her sister.  In fact she was something of a butterball – not grossly fat, but decidedly overweight.  She had worn eyeglasses from a very young age (at first we had thought she was actually blind) and the extra-thick lenses made her look like Mr. Magoo.  Where Mesha was fair skinned, Janie was dusky hued.  In place of her sister's manicured mane, Janie's shorter hair refused to be tamed. She was not, and never would be, a pretty girl.  What I discovered however, was that she possessed two traits which were near and dear to my heart.  First of all she loved music.  Could not get enough of it. I didn't care that she was not enamored of the new-age compositions I played on my guitars – she had found her own way, and that was all right with me.  The other thing I discovered was that despite her poor performance in school, she was frighteningly smart.  Intelligence is a quality I prize greatly, and she had it in spades. She would frequently correct her older sister when she miss-spoke or got some historical fact wrong.  By the time she was 11 she knew things no child her age should know.  This would soon become particularly apparent.

 

Now, I have mentioned that Janie was overweight.  This did not at all disguise the fact that she was already developing womanly curves.  Her breasts were already larger that her sister's – maybe B-cup size.  It's the chicken she's always eating, I mused. It's full of growth hormones.

 

Because Mesha lived in her own little world, and because I discovered these wonderful facets of Janie's personality, I began to spend more of my time with my younger granddaughter.  Since her mom monopolized the one television in the house (I despised the thing and refused to watch it), Janie and I would spend long hours in front of the computer, mainly picking music videos on YouTube.  We would often play the “music game”, where she would pick a video, then I would pick one, and so it went back and forth.  The fact is, I wanted her to enjoy some of the same music I did, but it just never clicked.  She liked country (much of which I considered unsophisticated) whereas I preferred good songwriting. I liked classic rock with rich instrumentals and she liked Top-40 wall-of-noise fodder.  And so on.  But it was during one of these sessions that, quite unexpectedly, our relationship began to change.

 

Chapter 3: Awakening

 

Janie was sitting in my lap.  We were watching Tommy Emmanuel perform “Nine Pound Hammer” - an old Merle Travis tune I hoped she would like.  She twisted a little bit, facing me, head tilted up, to ask me a question.  I have no idea what she asked, for at that moment, for the first time, I became very aware of her lips.  She had a little bow-shaped mouth, with full lips – and so small!  Half the size of my own.  I stared in wonder.  How is it that I never noticed before?  From out of nowhere an image flashed on the picture screen in my mind.  An obscene, totally inappropriate image.  Those lips around my cock – the shaft so large; her mouth so small!  The image was so powerful, so unexpected, that my breathing actually stopped. My lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but frozen in the moment.  I could literally feel the sensation of being inside her mouth, her eyes turned up to my face – questioning, pleading.  I clamped down hard on my imagination, slamming that door shut.  My God!  Where the hell did THAT come from?!  I wasn't into little girls; had never even thought about it.  And my own granddaughter? No, no, no...I would never, ever do anything to hurt that precious child. No.  But God!  That picture in my mind – so vivid, so real!  Of its own volition my hand moved.  I reached out a finger and brushed it across those lips. Lightly. Wonderingly. Lovingly. Janie didn't say anything or react in any way.  She just turned back to the computer, question unanswered, and we continued our game until the hour grew late. “Okay,” I gave her a little pat, “Time to get ready for bed.”  She started to climb out of my lap but before doing so she turned slightly and planted the merest wisp of a kiss on my cheek.  Then she got up and went about the business of brushing her teeth and taking care of all the other necessities.  That kiss – she had never done that before.  She was always affectionate, wanting to be held, wanting to touch and be touched, but never a kiss.  Until now.

 

The next two weeks passed in a flurry of activity.  I wasn't home much due to the new exhibit we were opening at the nature center.  This one was my baby – a 40,000 gallon swamp habitat – and I had designed and supervised its construction from the ground up.  We still were missing some of the animals – I had wanted a pair of albino gators but had no luck in acquiring any.  I got a few leads from the local tackle shops but none of them panned out.  Nothing wrong with regular gators, but hey!  It would have been nice.  Most of the fishes, some purloined from other exhibits, were settling in nicely.  I was happy with the water parameters, the equipment was working well, and finally we took down the plywood barrier and opened the exhibit to the public.  We did have one little hiccup – a junior staff ornithologist thought it would be nice to have a few mallards paddling around.  The gators were in complete agreement.  It was, shall I say, a short lived phenomenon.  The mixed delight (of the boys) and horror (that was the girls) of the visiting 3^rd grade class was almost as dramatic as the spectacle itself.  That poor ornithologist never lived it down.  Ever after, the call “Here, ducky ducky ducky!” was wont to ring in the corridors of the staff area, always just within earshot of his office.

 

But at home a storm was brewing.  Joyce was constantly nagging Janie about her weight and it was wrecking Janie's self-confidence and morale.  I wasn't too much aware of this until I came home one evening to find Janie standing in the middle of the kitchen bawling her eyes out.  She was so upset her body was shaking, drawing ragged, gasping breaths.  I had never seen her like this.  I got down on my knees so that my eyes were level with hers.

 

“What's wrong, baby?”  I asked. 

 

She didn't try to speak, but instead covered her face with both hands, sobbing uncontrollably – deep, heart-wrenching sobs. 

 

“Can't you tell me?” I tried again.

 

Janie tried to speak through the convulsions racking her little body: “M – M – Mo – Mo – Mom s – sa – sai – said – I wh – I whu – I was a Hi -Hi – Hippo – pa – pah – potomus!”

 

My heart broke for her.  No child should be told such a thing, and by her own mother, no less!  What I did next was, well, not something I had exactly planned, but there was something I had not been able to get out of my head ever since that night sitting with her at the computer.  I needed to say something, something that I couldn't say with words.  I took my sweet Janie's face between both of my hands and kissed her directly on the lips, those lips which had haunted me ever since.  I lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.  Hello baby, it's me.  I love you.  It's gonna be OK.  She didn't have time to prepare, didn't kiss back at me, didn't react in any way, and when I pulled back her expression hadn't changed.  But something had.  Something inside me...and, I was to learn in the weeks to come, inside her.  For I had, whether consciously or unconsciously, given her something beyond the only comfort I could offer.  I had given her...permission.

 

Chapter 4: Speechless

 

Janie sat on her bed, puzzled.  Her mind replayed it over and over.  Poppa's hands cupping her face.  His eyes, reflecting the pain in her heart.  He kissed me.  He kissed my mouth.  Poppa doesn't do that.  Poppa never does that.  Why did he do it?  Does he – does he LOVE me?  He always says he loves me, but does he – does he mean he LOVES me? What if he thinks I don't love him back?  Oh, please don't let him think that! Please, no...I love him so much. So, so much. I have to...have to... Have to what?  Janie didn't know.  But she knew, just as her Poppa had shown her, that words were not enough.  Not enough.

 

The next day I was off work.  I normally worked on weekends, since that was when we had the major crowds.  I liked having weekdays off better anyway – the movies weren't crowded, the lines were short at the stores – less competition all around.  I puttered about in the yard for a bit, not motivated. The heat was intense and I couldn't work for more than an hour or so without having to come into the house and cool off in front of the fan.  I didn't really miss the air conditioner; fans worked just fine for me.  I especially didn't miss the high electricity bills.  It was late afternoon when I finally gave it up and came inside for the rest of the day.  Janie had been grounded for the day by her mom for some minor infraction – no TV, no playing outside, no computer – so she was moping around the house feeling sorry for herself.  I took myself into the shower and washed the sour sweat off my body and out of my hair.  I had downloaded a new Stephen King book onto my Kindle and I looked forward to spending the rest of the afternoon and evening Under the Dome. Drying off, I donned a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt, perfect for relaxing around the house.  As I walked down the hallway toward my bedroom I hesitated – I needed to get my guitar practice in.  I started to turn into the music room when Janie materialized at my side. “You smell good.”, she stopped and said, before continuing towards some vague destination.  Huh?  Since when did Janie care about how I smelled?  Hmm.  Guitar pratice momentarily forgotten, I walked down the hall to my own bedroom, propped up on a couple of pillows, and turned on my Kindle.  “This is gonna be a good one”, I mused with pleasant anticipation.  I was only halfway into the first chapter when Janie wandered in, already dressed for bed in her standard uniform – a pair of panties and one of my T-shirts, which came down almost to her knees.  She had sleeping clothes of her own but she spurned these in favor of my shirts for some strange reason.  I had never really wondered why, but her comment in the hallway surfaced in my mind.  “You smell good.”  Really?  Did she like my shirts because they smelled like...me?  Nah,she's just a little girl, not some sexed up teenager.  Who cares what the shirts smell like – she likes them because they're soft.  Yeah, soft – that's the ticket.

 

Janie climbed up on the bed, clearly bored. She lay beside me in silence for a few moments and then sat up. 

 

“Rub my back”, she commanded.

 

Happy to oblige, I set the Kindle aside and asked, “OK, how do you want me to rub it?”

 

“You know – like you do.”

 

Like I do?  Was there a certain way I rubbed her back?  When did I ever rub her back, for that matter?  I must have done at some time, maybe when we played the music game?  I tried to remember.  Failed.  OK then, I'll just ...do what I do, I guess. I kneaded her shoulders with my hands, pressing the balls of my thumbs into the muscle above her shoulder blade.  Deep tissue massage – not hard enough to be painful, but enough to tease the muscle fibers apart, forcing them to relax. I moved my hands back and forth working the knots loose, knowing she was enjoying it.

 

After enduring this torture for 15 minutes or so, she sensed that my hands were tiring. She turned her torso towards me, forcing me to disengage.  And then this dear sweet girl, this CHILD, looked directly into my eyes and spoke softly, spoke words which I received with total surprise, spoke words I never, ever, would have, could have, anticipated:

 

“I want to kiss you.”

 

And without waiting for me to reply, without waiting for permission, without giving me time to think about it, she brought her lips to mine and kissed me once, twice...three times!  Little girl kisses to be sure, but Oh My!  My heart immediately jumped.  Had I kissed her back?  Oh yes, I had kissed her too, trying to prolong the contact – too short, too short.  Her lips – so soft.  Her mouth – so small.  Thrilling.  Devastating.  In that moment, that perfect moment, I knew what I had always somehow known, somehow hidden from myself.  I knew I was totally, completely, eternally hers.

 

Chapter 5: Seasons

 

For the next two months our relationship resumed its'  normal parent/child status.  There were no more special moments, no more kisses, but it was still there between us.  Smoldering.  Waiting.  I needed time to process my feelings.  I didn't know what was going on in her head, but inside mine was a tempest. Self loathing.  Desire.  Regret.  Anticipation.  My thoughts returned to Tony and how angry I was at him, how he wanted to defile my Mesha.  But Mesha was an unwilling participant.  Janie was...11 years old.  I spent a great deal of time online, reading psych forums, incest survivor stories, victim support groups.  They were universal in their condemnation of their abusers.  Was I an abuser?  The middle aged man in the prison photo, with the words “Child Molester” writ large beneath?  The creepy guy you didn't want in your neighborhood; the guy that had to carry a special identification card with “SEX OFFENDER” printed in large red letters?  A minor child is incapable of consenting to a sexual act, I read.  But was that all it was – gratification of lust?  I then discovered that there was another type of “victim”.  The ones who loved their abuser, never regretted it, and persisted in their inappropriate relationship well into, and past, their adult years, sometimes living together as husband and wife, sometimes married to others but unable to give up that special someone.  Cousins,  Siblings.  Sons.  Moms.  Was it possible I was one of these?  One who would only bring joy into Janie's life?  I didn't know.  I resolved not to pursue an inappropriate relationship with Janie.  I would not encourage it, not drop subtle hints – she would just be a regular granddaughter.  But I also knew that if she initiated anything, I would be as powerless to stop it as a ball of dough beneath a tank tread.

 

And so, Summer passed into Autumn, and with it my mind turned to my favorite outdoor activity - camping.  While the weather wasn't exactly cool, at least it was pleasant and the mosquitoes weren't swarming as thick as diesel smoke.  I hadn't used any of my vacation time yet – two weeks.  I could spend some of that in a nice campground, far enough from home that it felt like a real vacation, but not so far as to involve a grueling road trip.  The gulf coast was less than four hours away – that looked promising.  I pored over maps and websites for a likely looking spot and started making plans.  With Janie of course.  Mesha didn't like camping - “There's BUGS, and there's DIRT, and there's WILD ANIMALS, and...and NATURE and stuff!”  Janie on the other hand was just like me.  Turning over rocks, squealing with delight if, perchance, a salamander lay beneath.  Presenting me with a huge click beetle she had discovered (“Look Poppa, it has eyes on its back!”).  And then there was the water snake...well, that one didn't end nicely.  Nerodia in general, and this one in particular, do not make friends easily.

 

With the changing season came another greatly anticipated event:  shopping for Winter clothes. Mesha's idea of the height of fashion was blue jeans and a t-shirt.  Well, OK, not just any jeans, but they pretty much all looked the same to me.  Except for the pair that was faded in just the right places to draw attention to her slender but shapely rear.  Hmm, maybe she had a point, at that.  Janie liked more variety - girly blouses, dresses, and skirts.  I gave Joyce enough money to buy each girl a few outfits and sent them off to the mall.  They would be gone all day – a few hundred dollars was not too high a price to pay for a little peace and quiet.  That meant quality time with my guitars!  I had been working on a tune by Alex DeGrassi called “Western”.  It was an intricate composition with some very awkward fingerings.  I was also having trouble with the timing in spots.  So, maybe an hour on that one, then I could rehearse my repertoire, keeping muscle memory alive.  And so the day passed – music, grilled cheese sandwiches, more than a few beers, and NO blaring TV or high-pitched cries of outrage.  The daylight was fading when the girls finally returned and I was feeling, as the song goes, Comfortably Numb.  Mesha hustled her bags back to her room and disappeared for the rest of the evening, as usual.  Janie was clearly delighted with her new clothes and pulled them out to show me.  “Wait here!” she instructed briefly retreating to her room, emerging moments later in a very nice, very feminine, full length dress.  It had an unusual cut to it, higher in the front than in the back, so that a good part of her legs were exposed when she faced me.  Personally I prefer a nice rear view, but I wasn't complaining.  I uttered the usual compliments and she retreated once again.  This time she was in her room much longer.  Even at 11 she had figured out how to take an abnormally long time to dress!  My attention was meandering when she returned, wearing a huge smile and...Oh.  My.  Fucking.  God.  My head snapped around, thunderstruck.  A blue jean skirt.  I adore blue jean skirts, the single sexiest thing a girl can wear.  And this one was perfect!  The hemline stopped at mid-thigh, and it was cut so as to make her childish hips appear more mature, like those of a grown woman.  A very sexy woman.   Janie struck a pose:  slightly turned to one side, one arm above her head, one resting on her hip.  Fuck Me!

 

Janie watched her Poppa carefully.  Will he like it?  She stood just the way she had practiced in the mirror in her room.  Oh, Wow!  Poppa's eyes got so big!  He likes it! Yes!!

 

My blood seeped back into my oxygen starved brain after having taken a sharp detour south.  My speech center reawakened as I realized my mouth was already open.  “Your...mother bought you...THAT?  Joyce had always insisted that the girls dress modestly, refusing to allow them to wear makeup and only grudgingly assenting to small stud earrings.  This was totally out of character for her.  Why she would buy that skirt for Janie was totally beyond my comprehension.  But she had.

 

Janie giggled and turned back to her room.  As she strode down the hall I noticed that her gait was – different.  With each step she would cross her leading foot over the other.  The net effect was to give her posterior an exaggerated swell and delicious sway.  Where did she learn THAT? Halfway down the hall Janie paused for half a step and tossed a look back at me over her shoulder, green eyes sparkling.  Then, still giggling, she pranced down the remaining length of the hall and disappeared behind her door.  Lordy, Lordy!

 

I turned to find Joyce studying me intently.  As casually as possible (she would freak if she knew what I was thinking) I asked, “Has she been losing weight?”

“About time you noticed”, my daughter replied.  Then, eyes still fixed on mine, she spoke very deliberately:

“Daddy, I know I haven't been a good daughter to you, and I haven't been the greatest mom either.  We can't always choose who we fall in love with, you know.  You're the kindest, most decent man I've ever had in my life.  I always seem to fall for losers because nobody else measures up.  I'm telling you this because I don't want Janie to fuck up her life like me.  I don't want her to settle for second best, or third, or 50^th.  I want her to be with the one man who will make her happy, the one man she deserves to live her life with.  So I need you to promise me something...I need you to promise me that you will never allow her to settle for less than what she deserves.  Promise me that she can be with that one man who will make her happy.  Can you do that?  Can you promise that you won't let her be with anybody but that one special man?”

 

It was the longest speech that had come out of my daughter's mouth since she moved back home.  I remember saying “Of course, I only want the best for Janie”, or something lame like that.  If I had known it was the last time we would ever speak, I would have thought of something better to say.

 

Chapter 6: Abandoned

 

Janie awoke crackling with energy.  She and her mom had a long talk the day before.  Mom had dropped Mesha off at the mall entrance and told her that she and Janie would catch up with her in Old Navy.  Then she drove around the parking lot until she found a spot which was isolated from the other cars, turned off the engine, put a hand on Janie's knee, and started talking.  She told Janie things.  Weird things.  Wonderful things. Janie hadn't spoken; she just listened.  It was a lot to think about.  But now she had questions.  Scary questions.  Questions she was afraid to ask, but she had to know.  Mom would know.  Mom would have the answers.

 

Janie walked into the living room expecting to see her mom stretched out on the couch, or maybe up and making breakfast.  She wasn't.  Maybe she was in the bathroom?  Nope.  “Mom?” she called.  Silence.  Outside in the yard?  Nope.  Well then.  Strange.  She went into the hall and knocked on Mesha's door.  “WHAT!” came the muffled reply.  She opened Mesha's door to find her sister face down on the bed, her hands holding a pillow over her heard.  Janie carefully navigated the debris field of discarded clothing and stood beside the bed.

“Mesha?”

“What do you want?!” came from underneath the pillow.

“Have you seen Mom?”

“She's gone.”

“Well, duh, but like, when is she coming back?”

Mesha rolled over and sat up, the pillow dropping from her head.  Her face was red from crying, tears streaming down her face, rolling off her chin and splashing on the bed.  “She's not COMING back, idiot! She's GONE, gone!”

Janie's gut immediately clenched in fear and despair.  No.  NO!  It isn't fair!  We were doing good, we were a family again!  Why can't we just be a family?  Why can't it just stay like this?  Why, Momma?  Please don't be gone, Momma.  PLEASE!”

“Where...where did she go?”

“How would I know?” Mesha swallowed and snuffled through her tears.  “She left with some man in a red car.  She sneaked out last night and he picked her up on the street.  She thought nobody was awake, but I saw.  I couldn't sleep and I saw her do it.  She took all her stuff, and she found the money I was saving and took it too.  I hate her!  I HATE HER!!”  Mesha retreated beneath the pillow again, leaving Janie alone with her own grief.

 

So, this was the day I awoke to.  Joyce had known I would never allow the girls near another of her amours after the Tony fiasco, so she just left them behind.  Unnecessary baggage.  At least Mesha was old enough to look after her sister while I was at work.  Man, I really needed that vacation!

 

Before I knew it the week was gone, and it was Monday.  When I saw the girls off to school, Mesha surprised me with something she had never done before.  I would always send her off by hugging her, kissing the top of her head, and saying “Have a nice day at the factory!”  She tolerated my ministrations but I could tell she still didn't like to be touched.  This time she hugged me back.  Tightly.  “Have a good day at the museum, Poppa”, she said before turning away to board the bus.  I waved as the Bluebird pulled off, then grabbed my field collecting gear and threw it into the back of the Jeep and headed into work.

 

The rest of the week passed almost normally, with the notable absence of an extra potato on the couch and the concurrent incessant blare of the television.  Mesha continued to return my affection, which I counted as a blessing.  Janie was even more clingy than usual.  I could tell that the girls were deeply hurt, but Joyce never entered into our conversation.  I thought about the last words she said to me.  She was telling me goodbye.  But I got the sense that she was trying to tell me something else too.  Something just beyond my grasp.  I gnawed and chewed at the problem but in the end I had no answers.  Friday arrived.  The girls were spending the weekend with Dale.  Normally I would have been home to see them off, but I had to drive to a collection site several hours away then I had to get the fishes acclimated to their quarantine tank where they would spend the next four weeks.  When I finally dragged in around 9 p.m.,  the house was empty.  Although it was quiet and peaceful I missed my girls already.  My girls.  The thought hit home.  The last time their mother had dumped them on us, Katie had been there.  Now it was just me.

 

I decided not to let the rest of the evening go to waste.  I could stay up late and sleep in tomorrow.  I poured myself a Courvoisier and headed for my music room, the brandy gently warming in my hand.  When I opened the door I immediately spotted, much to my annoyance,  a puddle of blue on the floor.  “Damn kids,” I muttered under my breath.  “Why can't they pick up after themselves?”  I reached for the garment and then with a start realized what it was.  The skirt.  The one that had caused my mouth to drool and my heart to flutter.  Janie must have worn it that day.  Damn – I missed seeing her in it!  I picked the skirt up reverently, held it up and tried to picture her again strutting down the hall, looking back over her shoulder.  Something fluttered to the carpet.  Something white.  Cotton.  Lavender and pink polka dots.  Janie's panties!  I knew what I was going to do even before I reached for them.  As I brought her panties to my nose, I couldn't help noticing that they were bikini cut.  Another inconsistency, like the skirt itself.  I felt more than slightly perverted as I inhaled – cautiously at first, then deeply.  I didn't know what little girl pussy was supposed to smell like, but what I didn't expect was the full-frontal assault of her pheromones on my sinuses.  My GOD!  I caught myself looking guiltily around the room to see if anybody had caught me in the act.  Of course not.  I was alone.  I shook my head to clear my senses.  Damn.  I remember the time a co-worker held a bottle of Tink's #69 under my nose.  Janie's panties smelled a lot like that, except this was Girl in Estrus, not doe urine.

 

Recovering, I noodled on my guitars a bit, too distracted to really get into it.  Finally I gave it up, placed the D-45 gently on its' stand, and moved to the computer.  I typed a few keywords into the Google toolbar and began to read.  The more I read, the more I realized I didn't know.  It's possible, I mused.  It's just barely possible.

 

Chapter 7: Blue Clue

 

I slept late as promised, finally climbing out of bed around 9:30 yawning and stretching.  The first order of business entailed a visit to the porcelain god.  The second order of business was what made my days off special:  coffee and homemade biscuits.  I was pouring buttermilk into the mixing bowl when the phone rang.  Perfect timing as usual.  The dough needed to be kept cold and it couldn't be over worked.  Sighing, I slipped the whole concoction into the refrigerator and picked up the receiver.  It was Mesha.

“Hi Poppa!”

“Hey yourself!  What are y'all doing today?”

“Daddy took us hunting!  I shot at a squirrel!”

Really?  I was surprised Dale even got Mesha's face out of her iPhone. 

“Did you hit it?”

“No,” she sighed.  “He got away.”

“That's too bad,” I sympathized. “I was really looking forward to squirrel brains for supper!”

“Ewwww! Poppa, that's disgusting!”

“No, really!”  I teased.  “You crunch their heads up in your mouth and suck the brains out.  And their little cheek muscles are so tender and delicious!”  I had heard all of this from a Cajun friend who was quite sincere in his appreciation of this fine delicacy. 

“I don't want to hear about it!  That's...WOW.  Just  wow.”

I couldn't help but laugh, having achieved the desired result.  “How's Janie doing?” I asked.

“She's right here.  Hold on.”  After a few seconds of clattering noises as though the phone had been dropped, Janie's voice came on the line.

“Hey Poppa!”

“Hey baby.  I heard you got to go hunting today.”

“Yeah, it was boring.  I didn't get to shoot anything.”

“Did you see any turkeys?”

Janie giggled.  “It isn't turkey season, Poppa.”  Oh,  Right.

“Daddy's taking us to a movie, and then we're coming home.”

“Ok, then.”  I suddenly remembered: “Oh, if you're looking for your new skirt, it's on the floor in my music room.”

“I know.  I left it for you.”

What!?  There is no way I heard that right.  She LEFT it for ME?  How did she know?  How could she know the effect that little skirt and those polka-dotted panties would have on me?  It was impossible.

“Poppa?  Are you still there?”  I realized I had been holding my breath, struck dumb by the revelation that had issued from the earpiece.

“Oh, yeah.  Still here.”

“Well, see you when we get home then.  Bye!”

 

I stumbled around for the next hour, a confusion of thoughts battling each other inside my skull.  She's an innocent child, I thought. She has no idea what she is doing,  It isn't possible.  But my research had told me it WAS possible.  Janie was entering sexual maturity.  The signs were all there.  I knew it wasn't unheard of for girls to experience sex when they were as young as 12, but Janie was...well, when I thought about it, a year wasn't really that much of a difference.  But there was no way she could have sexual feelings for me.  I was her grandfather.  I was old.  Not much older than some dads, but still – it was a HUGE gap in our ages.  I had to look gross to her, with my farmer's tan and balding pate.  But I had read that young children do not attach much importance to physical appearance – it was the emotional bond they craved.  And that component was definitely in place, for I loved both girls fiercely and took care to remind them of it, both in words and deeds.  But it wasn't just my age.  I was her GRANDFATHER, for Christ's sake! … And so it went, back and forth.  I wanted desperately to believe what my heart was telling me, but my mind refused to accept it.  I tortured myself  for almost half the day, at which point I terminated the conflict by invoking the time-honored nuclear option:  “Well, Fuck It, Then!”  I went outside to trim the boxwoods.  The half-finished biscuit dough, now a soggy mess, lay on the refrigerator shelf forgotten.

 

Chapter 8: Elements

 

The occasion of the much anticipated camping trip finally arrived.  I didn't feel too guilty about pulling Janie out of school for a week, as she had surprised everybody by bringing her grades up to a respectable B average.  Besides, I was a biologist, so it wasn't like her education would totally cease.  The outdoors was where I taught best.  Mesha would be staying with her dad, so that angle was covered.  I had decided on a state park within a stone's throw of the gulf coast.  It would be a good base camp for my collecting activities.  I loved estuaries because they never failed to hold at least one surprise.  I didn't think of it as taking my work with me, it was just what I did – who I was.  Normally my camping outfit was quite spare, but since I had Janie with me I felt a few creature comforts were in order.  Camping chairs, laptop, and of course marshmallows.  I threw in some Indian popcorn kernels for good measure, a relic of a native plant garden I had abandoned.  I didn't know if they would pop but it was worth a try.  Normally I just carried a small candle lantern but I knew Janie would appreciate a real fire.  A roomy cabin tent and a couple of cheap Wal-Mart sleeping bags formed the basis of our accommodations for the next seven days.  A small mess kit and a white gas stove would take care of most meals.  The park had picnic tables and grills, so I would need to do some grocery shopping after we settled in.

 

By 11:00 the Jeep was loaded, my route mapped out, and we were anxious to get on the road.  A four hour drive would put us in camp with plenty of daylight left to pitch the tent and do our shopping. And so we set out for a week of outdoor relaxation.  No buzzers, no bells, just time to enjoy each others company.  It was around 3:30 by the time we rolled into the park.  On the way I had spied a beautiful little blackwater stream that looked very fishy.  I could have spent all day just at that one spot, but I contented myself with a few quick swipes of my net, verifying the presence of the usual suspects, with a small lamprey as a nice bonus.  I stopped at the ranger station to pay my fees and get a park map.  Janie got out of the Jeep but did not go into the ranger station, preferring to check out what looked to be a very nice disc golf course.  I chatted with the ranger (who had good knowledge of the local watershed) and got directions to the primitive campground, which was at the far end of the park, well away from the day use area.  Just how I liked it. I gathered up Janie and we pulled off, but instead of driving directly to our site I stopped at the RV pads and found the campground host (a bearded and bespectacled gentleman who looked like he would be at home under a bridge or in a boxcar) on the first pad.  It is always good to cultivate a relationship with park personnel, and the host always knows where the best tent sites are.  It turned out that we would be the only ones using the primitive area.  This was not at all unusual in my experience, especially on weekdays.  Most peoples' idea of outdoor living involved pulling a 30 foot trailer behind an F350.  I had often wondered what was the point of bringing a house if you wanted to get out of the house.  Oh well, different strokes, and it just meant more privacy for me, although I was sure Janie would have been happy to have some kids her own age to play with.  Turns out I was wrong about that.

 

The spot the campground host had directed me to was exactly as he described it – plenty of shade, conveniently located table and grill, and situated so that I could espy the road without being espied.  I wasn't worried about four-legged critters, but I was always wary of the bipedal variety, especially in an isolated spot like this.  We spent about an hour unpacking the Jeep, clearing away sticks and pinecones, and generally setting up house.  I felt a twinge of guilt for mocking the RV'ers, because this was almost like staying in a hotel.  The cabin tent was big enough to sleep a dozen people (if they were really good friends), and had an attached screen porch.  The only difference was, we had to walk a quarter of a mile to the bathroom.  That didn't much matter to me, as I had the proper “equipment”, but Janie wasn't THAT much of an outdoorsman. 

 

I took care to conceal anything I didn't wish to get stolen, and then we took down the top of the Jeep and drove into town.  I quickly found grocery store and we went in.  I told Janie to stay with the shopping cart and pick out something for supper.  “Keep it simple”, I advised, “Something we can cook on a fire,” before heading toward the diary section for eggs and a couple of other breakfast items.  When I got back I saw that Janie had already finished her own shopping.  Hot dogs.  That figured.

 

We got back to the park just as it was getting dark.  I scrounged around the grounds looking for fallen tree limbs and soon had a small fire going.  “Okay,” I told Janie.  “Now I'm going to show you how to cook hot dogs, just like I did when I was your age.”  I produced a forked stick I had saved from the fire and cut the forked end down until there were two points about 3 inches apart. I handed it to her.  “Here you go! Keep it above the fire or you'll catch the stick on fire and burn your hot dog.”  Janie quickly mastered the fine art of weenie roasting and soon we were enjoying a frankfurter feast.  I couldn't help noticing that when she ate her hot dog it almost looked like she was sucking on it.  Almost.  I suppose it could have been my imagination.

 

Having finished our repast, we were left with nothing much to do until bedtime.  I pulled out a tattered paperback (John MacDonald) and Janie fired up the laptop, quickly becoming engrossed in something that involved a lot of clicks and taps.  I was a good hour into my book when I became distinctly aware of an incipient chill in the air.  It was already cool enough that I wished I had a light jacket, despite my proximity to the fire, and Janie had retreated to the tent, still clicking away on the laptop.  I threw a few more limbs on the fire and decided to tough it out.  After about a half hour of this I surrendered, and got into the tent and crawled into my sleeping bag.  Janie had shut down the laptop and was huddled in her own bag as well.

 

The temperature continued to plunge and now we were really cold.  I hadn't anticipated this and had only packed lightweight summer bags, and no warm clothing.  Especially as we were lying very still, trying to let sleep overtake us.  Janie's small body was losing heat more quickly than mine, so naturally she was the first one to speak up.  “Poppa, I'm cold!  It's freezing out here!”  I answered, hesitant, “Well...we could kind of open our sleeping bags up like blankets, put them together, and then you could get under the covers with me...”  Instead of answering, she merely sat up, crawled out of her bag, and dragged it over to where I lay.  “Okay, let me get things situated here,” I told her.  I unzipped both bags and spread them out, one on top of the other.  “Okay, all set.”

 

Janie snuggled under the covers with her Poppa.  He's so warm and he smells so yummy!  Her 11 year old brain did not know how to process these sensations, but it felt good.  Really good.  It felt...it felt...Right.  It felt like... Is this what love feels like?  She didn't know.  All she knew was that she wanted more of that feeling, and she wanted it to last forever.

 

I propped up on one elbow, studying her sweet face, bathed in the gentle moonlight which filtered through the canopy.

“Poppa?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I love you.”

“I know, sweetheart.  I love you too.”

She was silent for a moment.  Then, “Poppa?”

“Yes?”

“I missed you.”

I frowned, confused.  “I didn't go anywhere, baby.”

“You didn't, but you did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I missed...I miss...” she struggled for the right words.  And then my sweet Janie, this dear CHILD, reached her hand behind my head, pulled my face down to hers, and kissed me.  I was stunned by the directness of her action, yet it was the tenderest moment I have ever experienced.  She pressed her lips to mine in an almost little girl, almost woman kiss – long enough to let me know she meant it, but not long enough by far, no, not at all, not nearly long enough.  I raised up and looked down at her, gazed at those precious lips, so small; searched her eyes, her eyes asking but not daring to ask. 

I whispered, “My turn now?” 

Unable, or unwilling to speak, she gave a little nod of her head.

“Like this,” I said, and bent slowly towards her, letting her see what was coming, letting her anticipate, her mouth unconsciously parted ever so slightly.  She met me halfway, leaning into me, as my lips slowly, slowly settled on hers, sucking her upper lip between mine, then her lower lip, then holding the kiss, holding it, holding it...there.  I backed off a few inches and studied her eyes again.  They were filled with wonder, love, and a little bit of – what?  Apprehension?

“Again?”  I asked softly.

Her reply, the barest of whispers, half question, half command: “Please!?”  This time when we connected she took control, mimicking what I had done, sucking my lips into hers.  Lost in the moment  I shut down all of my senses except the taste and feel of her little mouth.  It was exquisite.  She was so tender, so loving.  Unbidden, my free hand moved over her body – down her side, starting at her chest, slowly caressing her under my palm until it rested on her hip, my thumb just below her hipbone, my fingers curling around her panty-clad rear, encompassing almost half of her small body.  Ever so reluctantly I disengaged.  Eyes fastened shut, I inhaled deeply of her little girl fragrance, clean and intoxicating, her breath sweet – not minty sweet, just fresh and delightful.

 

Janie shivered.  Poppa's hand feels so good on me!  And his man-smell, so good, so ...Mmmm! Do more, Poppa!  More, more, Poppa! I want more!  She half whispered, half begged, “Kiss my tummy, Poppa?” and slowly pulled her (my) shirt up to just below her little breasts.  I looked down at her nearly naked body, my hand on her hip – close, so close to her pelvic mound.  I kissed my way down to her belly button, taking a short detour to inhale THERE, a deep, full intake of, not little girl scent, but a darker, richer aroma, the one I remembered from her panties.  Pussy smell.  Little girl pussy, but womanly too.  I could have stayed there forever bathing in her pheromones, nature's cocktail designed to signal readiness, invisible little “fuck me's”, tendrils of desire curling around my forebrain where my most primitive thoughts resided.  Instead I moved back up, planted a kiss right at the top edge of her panties, and kissed my way back up – light, tickling kisses, just enough for her to know I was there, stopping when I got to the rucked-up hem of her (my) shirt.

 

At that point I became acutely aware of my surroundings, for in my passion I had flung back the covers and we were both exposed to the cold night air.  “Oops!” I grinned, and pulled the covers back over our heads so that we were completely underneath them, our body heat quickly warming the small space.  Turning on our sides, Janie wiggled her little rear into my groin, spooning into me.  This was about to get – what?  Embarrassing?  Interesting??  No, no, don't think about it, don't think about...but part of me WAS thinking about, oh yes, he was thinking about it really HARD, and he was clamoring for attention.  Here I am! It's my turn now, my turn!! 

 

Janie tugged my arm across her body, not letting go of my hand, and said in her little girl voice, “Hold me.”  She pulled my hand to the center of her chest and held it there, wiggling her rear some more (Oh God, there's no way she doesn't feel that) and molded herself into my body.  I absently stroked her chest, little reassuring caresses, as I basked in her warmth, my raging erection pressed firmly between us.  If she felt it, she didn't either didn't know what it was, or didn't say anything.

 

Janie sighed and melted into Poppa's warm embrace.  So good.  So safe.  So loved.  But – more.  I want more.  There should be more, somehow.  Poppa's hand touching her chest, stroking, small strokes, but close, close to...YES!  THAT's what I want, touch me THERE, please please let him touch me there, oh please!  Without conscious thought, unaware of anything except that she wanted, needed his touch, she took her Poppa's hand in both of hers and placed it directly over the teacup swelling of her breast.  Oh yes, Poppa!  Yes!  GOOD!

 

My mind froze.  No, no, nooo... but before I realized what I was doing I was massaging her small boob, her little nipple hard beneath the fabric of her shirt.  Surely she doesn't want...I edged my hand back towards its former, neutral spot.  But Janie was having none of that.  Her hands still on top of mine, she pressed down hard, trapping me in place.  She does!  She does want!  My little man was now screaming for attention, begging for – something.  Anything.  Hmm, if she likes that, then maybe...I brushed my fingers across her nipple – once, twice...three times, before taking it between my thumb and finger, squeezing it just so, then massaging her breast with my open hand.  “Mmmm!” she purred, arching into me, never taking her hands off mine.   This has gone far enough!  Think what you are doing.  Think...think...STOP!  I lay still, heart pounding like a kickdrum in my ears.  My body was taught with desire, like a crossbow ready for release.  Underneath my hand Janie gradually stilled, her breaths deepening, lulled to sleep by my soothing touch.  Slowly I relaxed, unknitting my muscles one at a time, using a yoga technique my father had taught me. The pressure of my erection against her tight bottom gradually eased, then faded entirely.  Clean little girl hair tickled my nose as sleep crept in and finally pulled me under.

 

Chapter 9:  A New Day

 

Through half-lidded eyes I gradually became aware that the night had passed and soft morning light was now seeping into the tent.  The worst of the cold had passed but there was still a sharp chill in the air.  I detected soft little snores coming from close by my head.  During the night we must have tossed and turned a bit, because we now lay face to face, foreheads almost touching, legs intertwined.  Like lovers, I thought.  Did last night really happen?  I gently stroked Janie's face, not wanting to wake her, enjoying her in peaceful repose.  Those plump little lips were right in front of me.  I longed to taste them again, to taste her.  Would she still feel the same when she woke up, or would she hate me for taking unfair advantage of her loving nature?  I couldn't resist – I had to kiss those lips again.  She was asleep, she would never know.  I leaned in and kissed her, lightly at first, but more insistently when the full force of her hit me, unable to stop myself, not wanting to stop.  When I sensed a change in her breathing pattern I broke the kiss and rolled onto my back.  I felt a little hand snake across my chest, searching for, and finding, my face, fingering my unshaven stubble.  Janie turned and laid her head on my shoulder, snugged up close beside me, peering through sleepy eyes. 

“Hold me.”

My heart bounded.  It really happened ! It wasn't a mistake!  She doesn't hate me!  Oh God, I am so in love with this girl.  I crossed my right arm over my body and pulled her tightly into me, savoring the feel of her warm body next to mine.  She's mine. Really mine.  Thank you God, for giving me this gift, for letting me feel this way.  I could have lain there with her for hours, but a call of nature began to make its demands more urgent.  I gave her a little squeeze and said, “Wake up, sleepyhead! Your old Poppa needs to get up.”

 

While Janie was still fumbling about in the tent, I located a tree that appeared to need watering.  I took my time about it, signing my name on the rough oak bark.  Hmm, my penmanship left something to be desired.  I turned back toward the tent to find Janie watching me with great interest. 

“No fair! You get to pee anytime you want to, and I have to wait for a bathroom!”

I considered for a moment.  “You know, girls can do the same thing, you just have to know how to aim.”

Janie screwed up her face.  “But you don't even have to take your pants off.  It's still not fair.”

I conceded the point.  “I need to get my shower anyway – I'll walk to the bathroom with you.”  I gathered up my SSS kit (shave, shit, and shower) and Janie's, and we headed for the bath house. 

“Have you thought about what you want to do today?” I asked as we trundled down the path.

“Can we play Frisbee golf?”

“Disc golf?  Sure!  That sounds like fun!  You know, back in my day we didn't have Frisbees.  Our mom would sometimes buy a pie from the store, and when the pie was all gone we would take the pan and throw it to each other.  That was what WE called a Frisbee!”

Janie mulled this over for a few seconds.  “You're just kidding.”

“No, really!” I improvised: “The trick was, you had to make sure all the pie was out of the pan, or else the dog would catch it and tear up the pan trying to lick the pie out.  That's why dogs like to catch Frisbees to this day!”

Exasperated: “Poppa. Frisbees were invented in 1948.  That was way before you were even born.”

Oh.  I forgot who I was dealing with.  “We didn't have real Frisbees  'cuz we were too poor.  A Frisbee cost real money back then, and we didn't have any.”

“Then how come you had money to buy a whole pie?”

“Um...” think fast! “How would I know?  I was just a little kid.”

By that time we had arrived at the bath house.

Janie sounded even more exasperated, as if I were some kind of simpleton. “You're just making things up.  Here, give me my stuff.” 

Are you smarter than a 5^th grader?  The thought gave me pause.  I was getting horny over a 5^th grader.  Seriously? How fucked up was that??

I separated our belongings and we entered our respective sides of the bath house.  I called to her through the door, “When you get done, I'll have breakfast started back at the camp.”

“Okay.  Can we have french toast?”

“Um, I don't think I have the stuff for french toast.  I'll get it next time we go shopping.”

“Okay.”

 

Within 10 minutes I was out of the shower, shaved, and ready for the day.  Janie hadn't even turned on the water yet.  Yup, all girl, that one.  By the time she made it back to camp I had the link sausages nicely sizzling, grits cooked to perfection, and eggs scrambled and ready for the pan. 

“Hurry up, pokey little puppy!”  I pretended to scold her.  “Last one finished gets to wash the pans!”  That turned out to be a bad idea.  I seriously underestimated how fast a hungry little girl could scarf down a breakfast plate.   I had just finished my eggs and was chewing on a sausage when Janie announced that she was done by setting her tin plate down with a loud clatter.  “I win! Hurry up with the dishes so we can play Frisbee!”

“I could be done a lot quicker if you did the pans while I finished my breakfast,” I offered feebly.

“Nuh uh, you lost, those are the rules!”

“Well, the rules are stupid,” I grumbled.

“You ought to know, you made them!”

“Throw me a bone here, Jeez!”

“I'd rather throw a Frisbee if you would just come ON!”

 

I scrubbed the pans in the utility sink back at the bath house.  I made a great show of inspecting each pan minutely, washing it all over again at some perceived speck of food that was overlooked, while silently laughing at Janie's exaggerated sighs, eye rolls, and nervous energy.  It was hard not to smile but I managed to finish the task with the appropriate air of gravity.  After dragging it out as long as possible I finally stowed the mess kit and teased, “OK, ready to go fishing?”

“FRISBEE GOLF!”

“Oh Yeah.  All right then, what are we waiting for?”

“Auuggghhhhhh!”

 

At the ranger station I paid the course fee and rented us each a disk.  To my surprise these were not regular Frisbees, but somewhat smaller.   What's that all about?  The girl behind the counter, a petite blond who looked way too young to even be working, gave us a course map and showed us how to get to the first “tee”, or whatever it was called.  When we got there I was surprised again to see that there were several games already under way.  The players had not just one disk, but special bags full of them, 10 or twelve disks of different colors sorted in some cryptic order.  They are taking this shit WAY too serious!  A yuppie-looking guy in a striped warm-up suit spared us a glance, our pathetic rental disks earning a look of unmasked scorn.  Yeah, well fuck you too, and your stupid little Frisbee game.  When our turn came up I looked in vain for the “cup”, or whatever you called that contraption that trapped the disks.  Consulting the map, I realized from the scale that the first hole was 400 yards long, mostly though a heavily wooded area.  Wow.  This was starting to look an awful lot like real golf.  I hated golf.  Undaunted, Janie hurled her disk in a perfect flight down the path.  It touched down about 75 yards away.  I can beat that!  Full of confidence that only the truly uninitiated can muster, I threw my disk as hard as I could, immediately hitting a pine tree and  sending my “Frisbee” careening off into the underbrush.  I sighed.  36 holes.  This was gonna be a lonnngggg day.

 

Chapter 10:  Gifted

 

We dragged back into camp around 4:00 in the afternoon.  Well, OK, I dragged.  Janie was still a bundle of crackling energy.  I was also thoroughly humiliated by an 11 year old disc throwing prodigy.  I stopped keeping score around the 3^rd hole.  It was hopeless.  I endured her gleeful taunts until we arrived back at the tent, whereupon I steered the conversation towards dinner.  After a bit of haggling I conceded french toast for breakfast in exchange for steak that evening.  Another open-air trip to the grocery store, where I picked up a loaf of bread, a jar of cinnamon, a couple of strip steaks and two large spuds.   A six pack of Guinness Stout as a consolation prize for losing my golf game so badly was only fair.  On our return to the campground I fiddled with a fire until I got a good bed of coals, and showed Janie how to bake a potato by burying it in the coals.  It would be while before it was time to put the steak on so I cracked open a Guinness and sat in the camping chair and chilled, thinking of nothing in particular – just enjoying the outdoors.  Peaceful.  Relaxing.  Good beer.  Soothing.  Drifting.  I had managed to put Janie completely out of my mind until she suddenly spoke up.

“Poppa, why do people want sex?”

Guinness burned in my nostrils as it spewed from every facial aperture, brown foam splattering the ground and my clothes.  Coughing and choking, I leaped out of my chair and grabbed at a camp towel to dry the front of my shirt. 

“Shit!  Janie, what kind of question is that?”

“B-but y-you always said I could ask you anything, anything at all, and you would try to answer.  'To the best of my ability', you said.”

I sighed mentally.  I owed her an honest answer.  For all her fierce intelligence, she was after all a child,  emotionally and developmentally.  She didn't have a lifetime of experiences to draw from; had no way of relating certain kinds of information to anything she was familiar with.  I gathered my thoughts and began, somewhat hesitantly,

 

“What we did last night, did you like doing that?”
“Y-yes...”

“Why?”

“Um, I dunno...it just felt really good...it made me happy.  It made me feel all squishy and tingly inside.  It was like, I dunno...like, right, like how things are supposed to be...with someone.  I guess.”

“Well, that's one reason right there.  People want sex because it feels really good, even better than what you were talking about, if you do it right, and with the right person.”

“Oh.” Janie was silent for a few moments, digesting this.

Then, “What are some other reasons?”

“Well, when you really love someone, sex is like a gift you give each other.  Sometimes only one person does the giving, and sometimes they take turns.  But mostly they give to each other at the same time, like when you exchange gifts at Christmas.  Except you can give this one as much as you want, and it doesn't cost anything.  And it's WAY better than a Christmas present.  But for a girl, the first time she gives it to someone, it is special.  It is the most precious thing you can give a man – that first time.  You can only ever do it once, and it needs to be for somebody you really love, because you can't take it back.”

 

That appeared to satisfy her, for she didn't answer – just sat there swinging her legs, watching silently while I cooked the steaks.  When it was time to eat we fell into an easy conversation about movies, mostly how Divergent didn't end in the right place, and how the third Hunger Games movie was really only half of the last book, and how Maze Runner totally sucked, especially at the end, while we chewed on animal flesh and buttery starch.  When we were done, Janie unceremoniously gathered up all of the cooking utensils and picked her way to the bath house through the gathering darkness.  I broke out my Voyage Air, a guitar with a hinged neck that allowed me to fit it into small spaces.  It wasn't a cheap guitar, but not so expensive that it would break my heart if some misfortune should befall it, which is why I carried it on excursions such as this.  I don't play bad guitars – life is too short.  I let my fingers find their own way – ah yes, Ed Gerhardt's version of “The Water is Wide”, in drop D tuning.  I briefly reflected on the fact that Janie had volunteered to clean the dishes – that was a first.  She didn't even make a big production of it.  Far be it from me to complain.  When she returned I barely noticed – I was engrossed in an arrangement I was working on.  It was coming together slowly but surely – one of the few tunes I felt I could call my own.  Not original, but a fresh take on a good tune.  I was never a real musician, but I did have my moments.  Only when I noticed it was getting difficult to see, did I stop and take notice of my surroundings.  Unlike the previous night, the weather was pleasant.  Janie was slumped in the other chair, apparently engrossed in Facebook. 

I spoke: “Do you wanna try this popcorn?”

She looked up at me, a smile appearing.  “Goody!  Yes!”

Good enough.  I refueled the fire and poured a judicious amount of cooking oil into a shallow pan.  I didn't know how the Indians did it – or did they even know about popcorn?  Anyway, this seemed like the way to go about it.  I measured a half cup of kernels into the pan and set it on a grate over the fire, instructing Janie to watch it carefully and shake the pan occasionally.  Nothing happened for several minutes, and I was about to conclude the the popcorn idea was a bust.  Then all Hell broke loose.  It started with one kernel.  Pop.  YES!  Pop pop.  Cool!  Before I knew it, popcorn was flying everywhere, popping out of the pan and directly into the fire, hitting us in the face, hot kernels landing on our arms and in our hair, flying into the grass.  Janie had her hands up in front of her face, trying in vain to swat down hot popcorn before it lodged in her hair, all the while screaming “Make it stop!  Oww... STOP IT!”  My well-placed kick sent the pan flying, scattering corn kernels and hot cooking oil everywhere.  I heard a couple of muted pops from the grass before the spectacle spent itself.  

“Good idea, Poppa,” Janie accused.  “Great popcorn!” I nursed my wounded pride.  I was supposed to be the outdoors expert, capable of handling anything.  First I get trounced at disk golf, and now this.  Some mentor I was turning out to be.

“You don't have to sound so smug about it!”  I retorted. 

“I'm going to bed.”

I didn't reply.  I cleaned up the mess as best I could, puttered around the campsite for a bit, and decided to call it a day myself.  A quick trip to the bath house to brush my teeth and change into my sleeping clothes (boxers and clean t-shirt), and then I turned in.  This time there was no discussion about the sleeping arrangements.  Janie was snugged up under the covers right beside my spot, on her side, facing the back of the tent.  One of the sleeping bags now served as a ground pad, the other one being sufficient as a blanket.  I eased down beside her trying not to make any noise, but she moved her head so I knew she was still awake.  I kissed her on the one ear that was available, and said, “Good night, baby.  I'm sorry about your popcorn.”  She was silent for a moment, then,

“If you're really, really sorry, then you have to kiss me and make it better.”

I propped up on one elbow.  How could I refuse an offer like that?  I kissed her again, then gently bit her earlobe and breathed heavily into her ear.  She giggled, “Stop that, it tickles!” and showed me the back of her neck.  That was all the encouragement I needed.  I tickled the fine hairs on the back of her neck with my nose, taking rapid breathes in and out of my nose, like a dog when it's trying to identify an unfamiliar scent.  More giggles.  “I said quit it!”  She raised her arm to protect her neck.  Oops. Bad mistake.  I attacked the ticklish area under her arm, sending her into spasms of laughter.  “I'm trying to sleep!” she protested, rolling on her back, face inches away from mine.  Then she gradually got serious. 

“You still haven't made up for the popcorn.”

“Oh,” I said, cupping her face with my hand, “Like this?”  I planted a sensual kiss on her lips.  She responded with a little moan and wrapped both arms around my neck, pulling into me, kissing me back, giving as good as she got.  Breaking the kiss, I said “Or like this?” and pressed my lips to hers again, this time gently probing with my tongue.  She opened her mouth and I felt her little tongue snake out, probing,  gently dancing with mine.  Oh my God!  I was as hard as Krupp Steel.  The little vixen was setting me on fire!  She moaned into my mouth again – or was that me?  I pulled her body tightly against mine, our lips still locked together, wanting to crawl inside her skin, so good, so damn sexy.  I couldn't breathe – I had to back off, had to catch my breath, not wanting to stop, afraid I would   completely lose myself if I didn't.  Gah! I had time for a quick inhale, and then she was all over me, lips hungry, tongue seeking, greedily devouring...this woman from a child, thirst unquenchable, hunger insatiable...How can this be happening?  How can this little girl be so...so...passionate?  No, not passionate – horny as fuck!  And then it no longer mattered how, or why.  My hand found her little breast.  Of course it did, it was the most natural thing in the world.  Not even a handful, but it felt so...so...right, like it was made for me and only me, fitting perfectly in my palm as she arched her back, pressing her breast into my hand (more Poppa, good, yes, oh!  More!  Mmm!  Don't stop, kiss me, love me, touch me!  Like that, yessss...yesyesyesyesyes!).  With a gasp I came up for air, but continued my exploration of that perfect little globe, tweaking her hard little nipple, watching her squirm with pleasure.  Yes, baby girl!  For you...for you, yes.  Let me please you!  Take your pleasure, yes, take it, God, yes! 

 

I finally released her and she held my head against her chest, fingers wrapped in my hair.  I could hear her little heart pounding, threatening to burst. 

 

“Was that good enough, baby?  Do you forgive me yet?”

Her breath came in heaves.  “I,..uh...,yes...,uh...,OK...,um,...wait,...OK?...uh,...I have to...um,... ask you some...um...thing...

“What is it, love?  What do you want to ask me?”

“Can I...uh,...I mean,...um,” she sucked in her lower lip before finishing, “Do you,...maybe,...want your present now?

My present??   Oh.  Oh!   Oh baby, you're so young.  So so young.  There's so much time. 

“Janie, look at me.”  I raised up and gazed into her eyes.  “Yes baby, I would love my present.  But your Poppa isn't a young man any more.  Is it OK if we go really slow?” 

Janie considered. “Okay Poppa,  we can go slow.  But not real, real slow, Okay?”

“Okay.  Just slow, slow, not really really slow.”

“How about just kinda slow, but not slow slow?”

I was never much good at haggling, and sensed that I was losing ground.  Best to cut my losses before I got in even more trouble.

“Okay then, KINDA slow.”

“Good.  That's all right, then.”

My hand drifted up and down her flank, lover's touches, finally resting on her hip.  Gentle caresses on her thigh, under her nightshirt, searching for soft cotton, feeling, searching...nothing but bare skin.  Her panties!  She's not wearing them!!

She seemed to understand what my fingers were seeking.  In a small voice, almost a whisper, she breathed, “Your present...I, uh,...kind of, um...,unwrapped it for you...a little bit.”

 

 

Chapter 11: Over the Cliff

 

Realization dawned: “Wait a minute!  You were planning this all along!  The bit about the popcorn was just an act!”

Janie giggled.  “You should see your face!  I gotcha!  Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha!  Besides, I knew you wouldn't...” her face sobered, “...if I just asked.” 

“Janie, are you sure this is what you want?  Because this is a big thing we're doing.  Really big.  If people found out that we loved each other...that way...they would get really mad.  They wouldn't understand.  They might try make it where we couldn't be together any more.”

Janie didn't speak.  She just looked directly into my eyes, reached down the the bottom of her shirt, and tugged it slowly upward.  Upward.  Over her thighs.  Over my hand.  Over her hipbones.  Over her belly button.  I watched in a trance, mesmerized by the slow advance of the t-shirt up her body, until it finally stopped halfway up her chest.  This time the heart that pounded was mine.  This is happening, it's really happening!  My God!  Don't let me fuck this up!  Please don't let me fuck it up.

I heard a husky, ragged version my own voice; it seemed to be coming from the general vicinity of my mouth: “Can I touch you, baby?  Can I touch you there?” 

Again, Janie didn't speak.  Instead she merely spooned her naked bottom into my crotch, raised her upper leg, hooked it over and behind mine, and guided my hand toward the warm center of her being.  Not yet, not yet.  I wanted to savor the moment, knowing there would only be one first time.  Once I touched her little pussy I would never be able to experience that sacred moment again.  I was dying to touch her, to explore her, to taste her, but just – I just wanted to take a little time.  Not too much, just a little.  I brushed the top of her puffy mons with my fingers, not trying to stimulate her, not seeking her lips, just feeling her shape and texture.  Soft, resilient; fatty tissue under her skin.  The beginning of her little cleft.  Not yet.  I moved down and traced little circles on the inside of her thigh with my fingertip.  Close, so close...Not YET!  I gave her other thigh the same treatment.  This time I “accidentally” let the side of my hand move lightly, ever so lightly, over her pussy lips.  I raised my head and looked down at her face.  Eyes closed, lips parted, breathing through her mouth.  Okay...YET!  She made a little gasping sound when, with the flats of my fingers, I  pressed carefully on her vulva, making slow circles, gently massaging her.  I didn't know how much pressure she needed, but I knew not to be heavy handed, not directly on her clit.  I would let her body be my guide.  I laid my head back down and concentrated all my being into my fingers, savoring the feel of her, increasing the pressure just a little bit more, to see if she could take it, measuring her reactions.  Slow circles, not too fast...seeking to draw out her pleasure, to make it special.  Little squishy sounds coming from her pussy...God, she's WET!  My little girl is soaking!  My cock couldn't take it any more – I began humping against her small ass, not hard, just giving my little guy something, anything, to keep him from throwing her legs open and fucking the shit out of her then and there with no further introduction.  More finger pressure, faster circles, harder, she likes it, she LIKES it, not too much, get it baby, you can do it cum for Poppa cum for me baby!

 

Janie's brain shut down.  Her entire universe was concentrated into the bundle of nerve endings between her tender young thighs.  Poppa's touch THERE, light, gentle.  Nice...that's nice.  Slow circles, stimulating her still immature clitoris.  Mmmmm, NICE!  The circles gradually got faster, bigger, her Poppa's touch firmer.  Oh!  Oh!   NIIIIICE!  She was vaguely aware that Poppa was doing something to her butt, and then all external awareness ceased completely. Don't stop, Oh Poppa!   Fast circles.  MMMMMM!  OHHH!  POPPADon't stop don't stop dontstopdontstopdontSTOP too much too much oh somethings wrong itswrong itsweirditfeelsreallyreallyweird somethingshappeningsomethingshappening Sooome...Thinnngggggsaa... HAP– and then the universe exploded.

 

I heard Janie's breath catch. and felt her entire body go stiff.  YES!  Touchdown!  I was inordinately pleased with myself.  It had been a long time since...well, it had just been a long time.  I needed to know I hadn't lost my touch.  I sometimes wondered if I ever HAD it.  Thank you, baby girl.  Thank you.  I love you so much.  You make me feel like a man again, like a young man.   I held my granddaughter and stroked her hair as she melted.  There were no words.   Holding her.  Loving her.  This is why I was born.  To feel this.  I felt a shudder run through her body, from her toes to her head.  Aftershock?  I didn't know, but it was wonderful.

 

Janie slowly recovered her senses, became aware of her Poppa holding her, his fingers in her hair.  The thing that had happened – she had never felt anything like it.  Not even close.  It was like...like puppies and ice cream and movies and birthdays, like a thousand of all these things, all at once, except not like that at all, it was just...just...wow.  “What WAS that?  What just happened?” she squeaked out.  I kissed her eyelids. 

“THAT was MY gift to YOU.”

“I want lots of those. Lots and LOTS.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“But...I didn't do anything for you.  I wanted it to be YOUR gift.”

“It was, little lover.  Believe me, it was.”

“Poppa?”

“Yes?”

“What do we do next?”

“I have this problem, see, and I was hoping maybe you could help me with it?”

“I dunno, what kind of problem?” She asked coyly.

“There's this friend of mine, and he doesn't get out much any more, and he would like to meet you.”

“What is your friend's name?” she said through her smile.

“Mr. Happy.”
“So, what is Mr Happy's problem?”

“He needs a delicious little girl to play with.”

“Can he come out and play now?”

“Yes, he really wants to.”

“Let me talk to him first; then we'll see...”

“Ok.  Let me see your hand.”

 

Janie sat up next to me and put her right hand in mine.  I took the proffered hand and rested it on my boxers over my straining hard-on. 

“Mr. Happy, this is Janie.”

Janie traced the length of my cock with her fingers, exploring the size and shape of it, gently wrapping her fingers around it and giving a light squeeze here and there, getting a feel for it.  I flexed my cock and made it swell and jump in her hand. 

“Ooh, he really DOES want to come out!” Janie giggled. 

“Would you like to see him?”

“Yes,” she replied shyly. 

I shimmied out of my boxers and let my little man stand tall and proud.  Janie just looked.

“Wow!  That's...neat!”

“He wants to know if you will play with him now?”

Janie wrapped her and around me, more gingerly this time.  I gave her a little anatomy lesson (the biologist in me never quit.) 

“This big part at the top, that's the head.  Around the edges is called the corona, and that's where it's most sensitive.”

I drew a circle around my corona with one finger.  Janie copied my action, making me pulse with desire.

“This part is called the frenum, and it's very sensitive too.”

Janie explored that part with her fingertips too, peering at it intently.

“You can play with my balls too if you want, you just have to be very gentle.  The correct name for them is testicles, and the sack is called the scrotum.”

Janie's little hand went to my nutsack, outlining each testicle with a feather touch, feeling the size and shape of each one.  After completing her examination, Janie asked, “Okay what do I do?”

“Wrap your hand around it and pump it up and down, slowly.”

Janie made a fist at the base of my cock, but her little hand couldn't go all the way around the shaft.  She started pumping – slow strokes, just like I had told her.  Mmm, that's good.

“A little higher, baby.”

She repositioned her grip and resumed pumping, just touching the sensitive corona on the upstroke.

“Like this?”

Mmm Hmm!

“Um, yes...that's um...just right...”

She continued pumping, watching my cock with all her attention.

“A little faster now, baby.”

Her strokes got faster and harder, pulling the skin of my circumcised cock up and over the corona and onto the head.

“Baby, when I get that feeling, the sperm is going to come out, Okay?  So I'll let you know, or else it will get all over you.”

“Okay...is it going to happen soon?  My arm is getting tired.”

“Try your other one, baby, I'm really close!”

She moved, knelt between between my knees switched hands.  I was in agony – close, so close, but I couldn't tip over the edge.  My body was taught with desire, pumping my hips up into her little fist – almost there... almost there...but I was still denied release – another reminder that I wasn't a young man any more.  I could tell her other arm was getting tired too – she strokes were slowing and she was beginning to get restless.  I had to do something.

“Janie, um, do you think maybe you could give Mr. Happy a little kiss, you know, to show him you like him?”

A mischievous look appeared in her eye. 

“You mean, like this?”  And she settled her lips over the head of my cock, engulfing me, taking me into her warm little mouth, barely able to fit me inside.  She raised her eyes to my face, questioning.

That look.  Those lips around my cock, so perfect, so small.  It was the image that had swum in my head at the computer that day, etched indelibly in my mind forever.  Incredible.  Her tongue began to move, circling my crown.  That was all it took.  Two days of constant sexual tension demanded release.  Without warning, the first wave of ecstasy crashed over me.  I was powerless to stop it, powerless to speak...to let her know it was coming.  As I tipped over the cliff, the first spurt of semen filled her mouth.  I rode the crest, experiencing a soul-jarring flood of pleasure.  Oh Janie, back off, back off, It's going to get all over you, I'm messing this up, oh, OH, God, I haven't cum this hard since I was a teenager...and then all conscious thought ceased. As the next spurt hit I was vaguely aware of Janie making a little coughing sound, backing off, her mouth still open.  I heard a jet of cum hit the back of her throat with an audible “Pop!”, and then all I could do was ride the wave, cumming, spurting, ropes of thick cum splashing Janie's face, her hands, her chest, landing in her hair, my back arched in an agony of delight, all completely beyond my control or desire to control it. 

 

When I regained my senses I became aware of Janie looking at her hands, semen dripping off them, her eyes wide, mouth open in an “O” of surprise.  Shit.  I've totally grossed her out.  She looked at me, her expression uncertain, and then exclaimed excitedly,

“Neat!  That was so neat!!  I did it, I really did it!  That was so AWESOME!  Poppa, that was AWESOME!!”

Yes it was, baby.  You have NO idea.  “Janie, I'm afraid I made a mess all over you.  I'm sorry.  I wanted to warn you but it just...happened.”

“I don't care, Poppa, it was so NEAT! I love you I LOVE you I LOVE YOU!”

She straddled my chest and bent down to my face and kissed me.  I could taste my own fluid on her lips.  Hmm, not as bad as I thought.

“I love you too, but Janie, how did you know to do that?”

“Do what?”

“That thing with your tongue.”

“Oh, Duh!?  Google!”

“Um, what else did you Google?”

“There was this website called 'Cosmo', and...”

“Oh God, Janie, not Cosmo...we gotta talk about this stuff first, OK?”

“I just wanted to be good for you...I mean, not like I don't know anything.”

“Janie, I don't expect you to know anything.  I kind of wanted to teach you myself, you know?  Besides, you were doing just fine.”

“Well...” she considered, “OK, but you have to teach me everything!”

“It will be my pleasure to teach you, but right now we need to get cleaned up.”

I wiped the worst of the mess off her with a camp towel, and then we headed for the showers.  I suggested that we take a shower together, but a shy side of Janie emerged.

“Um, I have to get ready...see, and I'm not really ready...now.  In the light.”

To be fair, she had not yet been completely naked in front of me.  I accepted the fact that she would have to get used to the idea, and we cleaned up on our own sides, and trundled back to camp. It was very late and I was aware that we were both very tired.  We got back under the cover and fell into an easy slumber.

 

Chapter 12: Shadows

 

Poppa, I heard dimly.  Wake up.  Poppa.  I awoke to a tangle of Brunette hair cascading around my face.  Janie.  Is it morning already?  Was she talking to me?  What did she say?”

“Poppa!  Come ON!”

“What's wrong, Janie?  It's early,” I complained.

“You said we were having french toast.”

“Umm...” I closed my eyes again.

Little fingers prized my eyelids open.

“Jesus, Janie, give me a break!”

“French.  Toast.”

“We don't have the stuff for french toast,” I attempted feebly.

“Yes we do.  I got it out of the cooler and it's ready for you.”

Why the hell did she have to be so smart?  For once I wished she was just a regular little girl.

“Come on, Poppa. Let's eat!”

My hands moved up to cradle two tight little buttocks.  Hmm, I was ready to eat too.  But I didn't have food in mind.

“Ok, but kiss me first!”

“Eww, no!  Morning breath!”

So much for morning sex. That's definitely got to be part of the lesson plan.

I stirred myself, took time to water the tree again, and got out the camp stove and mess kit.  Before long we were munching french toast, with real maple syrup.  Coffee for me, OJ for Janie.  When we were done with breakfast, Janie again gathered up all the dishes and headed for the bath house.  I guess she had decided that scrubbing pans was her part of camp duty.  Or maybe I just took too long.  I grinned at myself.  You are sooo devious, Marlon! I needed to get myself ready for the day, so I grabbed my kit, a change of clothes, a large towel and headed for the shower.  When I got back to the tent, Janie was gathering her stuff in preparation to do the same.  The dishes were already upside-down on top of the picnic table, drying. That left me with some time to kill, so out came the Voyage-Air.   My hands hadn't really come to life yet, so the noise that issued from the wooden box wasn't particularly inspiring.  While I was trying to coax out some good sounds I spotted a dark green park pickup turning down our road, making the daily rounds.  As the only occupied campsite was mine, I anticipated a visit.  I wasn't disappointed.  The pickup pulled behind my Jeep and the engine shut off.  I had a vague sense of motion behind the windshield but I couldn't really see due to the glare of the morning sun.  After a minute of doing who-knows-what, the door squeaked open and an attractive girl wearing a park uniform and a big smile hopped out.  She looked to be in her mid-20's, maybe 5'4”, with short-cropped straw colored hair and nicely tanned legs. 

 

“You must be Mr. Perkins?”

I raised my hand.  “Guilty as charged!”  I vaguely wondered how she knew my name before realizing that I was the only registered tent camper in the entire park.

“Don't stop playing on my account, I just came by to check on things.”

“Well, I don't exactly play this thing, but it helps me pass the time.”

“You sounded pretty good to me.  Really good!”

“You were listening?”

“Yeah.  I didn't want to interrupt you but I've never seen a Voyage-Air up close before.  Do you like it?”

I couldn't conceal my surprise.  “You play?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Well, it's a decent guitar for the money and it comes in really handy sometimes.  Would you like to try?”

“Can I?  I mean, some people are picky about having their instrument handled.  But yeah, I've been wanting to get my hands on one for a long time.”

I handed it over.  “It's not a museum piece, so don't worry about dinging it.  You can dig in if you want.”

“Thanks!” she beamed.  She played a few random chords, checking out the tone and action.  Then she settled in and started playing an ascending bass line which was unmistakable.  The girl had my full attention.  She repeated the line and started in with the trebles.  Hot Damn!  “Blue Finger”, by Jerry Reed!  I loved that tune!  She played with confident ease, keeping me riveted until the end, by which time I was wearing a smile to match hers.  The girl was good.  Damn good.

She finally handed the guitar back over.  “That's nice.  I wish I cold afford one.”

“They're not really that expensive.  What do you play now?”

“A Yamaha.”

“You could do a lot worse.  I've always liked Yamaha's.”

“It's OK, it's just...I want a really nice guitar some day.”

“So, you like Jerry Reed?”

“I love Jerry!  He's amazing, and really under-rated.”

“I know what you mean.  Do you know this one?”  I started in on “Struttin'”

She clapped her hands in glee.  “I LOVE that song!  And you do it so well!”

 

Janie chose this moment to return from the shower.

“Is this your daughter?”

I stopped playing. “My granddaughter.”

“Wow, I never would have guessed.  You don't look old enough to be her grandfather.”

I was pleased by the compliment.  “We get started early in my family.  Besides, she's younger than she looks.”

The ranger addressed Janie: “Hi, granddaughter!  I'm Kim.  What's your name?”

Janie addressed the ground and mumbled something incomprehensible.  Kim looked at me for clarification.  “January,” I explained.  “But we call her Janie.”

“January – how interesting!  I bet there's a good story behind that one!”

“I don't know – her mother named her, not me.”  I did in fact know the story, but it wasn't something I cared to repeat.  I generally preferred to avoid thinking about my daughter's misadventures.  It reminded me too much of how I had failed as a father.

“Oh.  Well, what do you two have planned for today, Mr. Perkins?”

“It's Marlon.  And I don't know.  I was going to let Janie decide.” As long as it isn't disc golf.

“You two should paddle out to the island.  Canoe rentals are very cheap, and I can set you up with the off-season rate.  The RV'ers never go out there – you would probably have the whole island to yourself.  And there are a couple of picnic tables where you can enjoy a nice quiet lunch.”

I liked the way this girl thought.  The park had a nice big lake and I had noticed the island near the center.  I knew how to handle a canoe and I thought Janie would enjoy it.

“That sounds like an excellent idea.  I'll run it by the boss.”

Kim smiled knowingly.  “It sounds like you've got her just where you want her, Marlon!”

“You have no idea...”

 

We swapped a few more tunes and enjoyed the kind of lively conversation that only two kindred spirits can carry on, with much laughter and complimentary language on both sides.  But behind the tent flap...unseen and, for a time, forgotten...soft brown eyes shed silent tears.

 

Chapter 13:  Troubled Waters

 

Janie's heart felt like an orb of hollow glass, ready to shatter at any moment.  Poppa doesn't love me.  How could I be so stupid.  So stupid to think that he...that he could ever...ever love a little kid like me.  That's all I am to him, a little kid.  She's a grown woman, and she's smart, and she's beautiful, and she plays guitar...and Poppa likes her.  Not me.  Her.  How could I have ever thought...”  Janie's thoughts dissolved, replaced with nothing but grief and hurt.

 

It was mid-morning when Kim left to finish her rounds.  I called to Janie through the tent.

“So, would you like to go canoeing today?”

No answer.

“Janie?  Do you want to get a canoe and go out to the island?”

No answer. 

I stuck my head through the tent flap.  “Well?  Yes or no?”

Janie simply shrugged her shoulders, refusing to meet my eyes.

“I'm gonna take that as a 'Yes', then.”

“Whatever.”

 

I sighed inwardly.  So, it was gonna be THAT kind of day.  I fixed a pack lunch for us and we drove out to the canoe dock.  Kim had been as good as her word and we received a rental at an astonishing discount.  I put Janie up  front where I could watch her and steer accordingly.  I showed her the basic J stroke and, after wobbling off in a few random directions, we established a decent rhythm and steered toward the island.  It was really a short trip but I took my time, making it last, enjoying the peace of being the only boat on the lake.  Janie dutifully paddled but I couldn't tell if she was enjoying herself.  She hadn't spoken a single word the whole time.  She can really be a brat sometimes, I thought.

 

To be continued....

Last update:  05/21/15 (minor edits, html formatting)

 

 

 

 

 

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