Message-ID: <54703asstr$1160719801@assm.asstr.org>
From: "Russell Hoisington" <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} {ASSD} A Prickly Situation (Hoisington) {Mf oral pett inc cons humor}
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Date: Fri, 13 Oct 2006 02:10:01 -0400
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                       A PRICKLY SITUATION
                        Russell Hoisington
 
This is an erotic fantasy.  The characters and the situation
are purely imaginary, and this story is NOT intended to be a
guide for actual behavior.  Any similarities between this
story and actual people or actual events you should be
ashamed of are purely coincidental.  If it is illegal in
your part of the world to access and read erotic fiction, or
if you are underage, or if you don't like underage sex
stories, then stop now.
 
This story is copyright 2006 by Russell Hoisington.  Please
do not remove the author information or make any changes to
this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free)
sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.  That does
NOT mean that these stories are in the public domain, nor
does it mean that I give permission for you to use them in
spam advertising.  I reserve the right to determine what is
"spam advertising" by MY definition, not yours or anyone
else's.
 
Thank you for your consideration.
 
My sincerest thanks to Denny Wheeler for editing this story
and to Wizard, the Night Hawk, and Old Man Ted for their
input.
 
   ************************************************************
 
     "It is SO not fair!  You and Mom and the squirt got to,
like, take a vacation on the way to Ohio and I don't," Caysi
said with a quivering, pouty lower lip.  I'm still getting
used to that name.  It's what happens when you leave your
older daughter alone in San Diego for four months.  When the
rest of us moved to Columbus in February, the name was
Casey.
 
     Okay, she wasn't exactly alone.  She had stayed with my
cousin and his wife, who were first generation Californians. 
At the time it had seemed like a good idea.
 
     "Well, you're the one who wanted to stay here to avoid
the snow," I replied as I tried to lift another suitcase
into the back of the SUV without ripping off its handle.  An
equivalent volume of lead would have been lighter.  I
realized with sudden clarity that I was about to learn what
a hernia felt like.
 
     Her mother had needed twenty-three years of single life
plus nine or ten years of marriage to cultivate the same
indignant look that Casey, I mean Caysi, had developed in
only fifteen.  "Oh, please!  Like, it was SO not the
weather, Dad.  Like, I didn't want to leave in the middle of
classes, you know."
 
     I pushed the suitcase forward until it hit the back of
the middle seat.  I'd folded down the rear seats, not
because I needed the extra room but because I didn't want
all that weight concentrated at the rear of the vehicle. 
The middle would give a more stable ride and better control. 
If the engine was strong enough to move the load.  I gasped
for air, amazed that I could do so without emitting a
scream.  Nothing left but cosmetic cases, gym bags, and
other small items weighing not more than a quarter-ton each.
 
     "Sure.  You didn't want to leave Angie, Brittany, and
Amy," I said, wondering how she managed to squeeze an entire
set of barbells in the cosmetic case.  A man my age didn't
need this much outdoor exercise at ten on a San Diego June
morning.
 
     Her green eyes seemed to roll up and vanish under her
coppery eyebrows.  "Angi, Brytni, and Aymi."
 
     I scooted the case forward and gasped for air.  "What?" 
She repeated it.  "That's what I said."
 
     Abby no longer could do the 'How stupid can you get?'
look better than Casey.  Caysi.  "No, you went, like, 'Angie
and Brittany and Amy,' but it's like 'Angi, Brytni, and
Aymi,' you know."
 
     I shook my head.  Maybe the strain had busted a blood
vessel in the hearing part of my brain.  "What's the
difference?"
 
     She pronounced them both ways again, tilted her head
acutely to one side, and arched her eyebrows in
anticipation.  "So, do you, like, see now?"
 
     No way in hell.  "Sounds exactly the same to me."
 
     This time it was the look of vexation that's about
equal to Abby's, accompanied by the arm-lifting by which
Abby signified I was too thick-headed to ever understand.
 
     I blinked.  I remembered that sleeveless striped red
blouse having short sleeves when I left.  She turned her
back to me in frustration, and I blinked again.  "You forgot
your bra."
 
     "Daaaaaaaad!"  She dropped her arms and spun to face
me.  "Like, you're not supposed to be looking at my tits,
you know."
 
     It seems we had some alterations to our vocabulary
while I was gone.  "Then why did you rip off your sleeves
and forget to put on a bra if you don't want people looking
at your boo... your, uh, breasts?"
 
     She did it again, this time mumbling, "Men!"
 
     "Okay," I said to her back.  I wanted to say my piece
now, in case I didn't survive lifting the gym bag.  "You'll
just have to translate what I say into..."  I didn't know
what to call it.  "Californese.  Aren't you going to put a
bra on before we leave?"
 
     She dropped her arms and her head and spoke slowly. 
"Like, do you wanna call MOM and, like, have HER explain it
to you?"  The implication was that maybe an old fogy female
might be able to explain it to an old fogy male in terms he
could understand.
 
     Me call Abby?  No way in hell.  Abby was the one who
argued for Casey... Caysi... Casey-at-the-time to go with us
in February.  I was the one who argued to leave her here.
 
     I loaded the rest of her things into the back, the
silence broken only by several strained grunts, three
whimpers, a whine, two "Oh, shit!"s and one "God DAMN!"
 
     I had to lean against the door to close it.  I didn't
have the arm strength to pull.  "Come on.  Let's go say
goodbye to Phoenix."  She sidled away from my reaching arm. 
Gravity took over as the last muscle died, and it flopped to
my side.  She moped around the side of the house ahead of
me.
 
     That was odd.  She'd apparently grown during that four
month stretch.  I didn't remember the bottoms of her butt
cheeks peeking out of those cut-offs four months earlier.
 
     Phoenix was sunning himself next to his pool.  He was
the quintessential graying hippie surfer, clasping a cold
beer in a frozen gel holder.  He was wearing a pair of
Speedos that were about as wide as a strip of lasagna and
looked like they were smuggling a cannoli.   "Hey, man,
like, I'm totally sorry I couldn't help with the bags, you
know, but my back is, like, killing me.  It's like all I can
do to stand up, you know."
 
     Phoenix and I go way back, all the way to when he and
Rainbow were my cousin Calvin Donatello and my neighbor
Isabella Epstein growing up with me in Philadelphia.  Maybe
I should rephrase that, since only I grew up.  Anyway,
that's how I knew he was lying.
 
     Not that I wouldn't have gotten out of hoisting Cas...
I mean, Caysi's bags myself if I could have.  "Don't sweat
it, cuz.  I wouldn't want you to put yourself out of work
any longer than necessary, especially since Rainbow has to
work two jobs now to augment your meager unemployment.  So,
uh, when do you think you'll be able to manage a job this
time?"
 
     "I expect about another week, dude.  Maybe two."  He
reached up a hand, and I shook it.  Then he jiggled an index
finger at Caysi.  "You hang ten, there, Cayse.  Don't take
any plastic surfboards."  He managed to lift his head and
then his mirrored sunglasses to peer down at her right foot. 
"How's that ankle?"
 
     Miss Mopey exploded out of her funk.  "Oh, it's like
WOW! now.  It's, like, SO not hurting or burning or itching
or ANYTHING, you know?"
 
     "Like, I told you so, babe.  The Inkster's totally
chillin'.  Got that, like, magic touch.  Totally fine
artist, too."
 
     Ever have somebody throw a bucket of ice water at you
on a hot day?  That's how I suddenly felt.  "Wait one
minute!"  I looked at the red rose above her right ankle. 
"Are you saying that's not one of your decals?  That it's a
tattoo?  A real tattoo?"
 
     She looked at the graffiti marring her ankle and then
gave me a huge smile.  "Chillin', isn't it?"  She seemed
rather upset that I didn't immediately agree with her.
 
     "CALVIN!"
 
     He grinned up at me.  "Phoenix, dude."
 
     He wanted pseudonyms, so I gave him one from high
school.  "QUICK DRAW!"
 
     He glanced around.  "Dude!  Somebody might, like, hear
that!  I, like, got my studly image to maintain, you know."
 
     "How could you let her get an ankle tattoo!"
 
     "The Inkster's a friend, man.  Did them totally free. 
Didn't cost her a penny, or you either."
 
     "I don't care if they were free, how could..."
 
     _Uh oh._
 
     "Them?"
 
     Phoenix beamed like a new father showing off his first
kid.  "Yeah, dude!  Two totally righteous pieces of work. 
He knows how to blend his colors, like, real subtle-like,
you know.  And both of them for free.  Well, I, like, bought
the margaritas, but The Inkster's, like, a total
professional, dude.  He won't take a drop until the job's
done.  Like, he calls it 'pride of workmanship.'  Dude
thinks he made that up himself."  Phoenix shook his head. 
"He ain't too bright, even if he is, like, a totally
righteous artist, you know."
 
     "Neither is somebody who would let another man's
fifteen-year-old daughter get a tattoo."  I circled around
Caysi.  "I don't see another tattoo.  Where is it?"
 
     She looked like a toad being strangled.  A pretty toad
with copper-colored hair down to the armpits.  "Daaaaaaaad! 
Like, there are some things a girl just doesn't show her
FATHER, you know."
 
     I frowned.  "There's a law against showing me a
tattoo?"
 
     I got the 'How stupid can you get?' look again.  "Like,
not the tattoo.  The location, you know?"
 
     "Location?  What location?"
 
     "Daaaaaaaad!"
 
     "Calvin?"
 
     "Phoe... uuuuh... hey, dude, it's totally her body, you
know?  You don't own a copyright on it or anything.  And
slavery totally ended in, like, eighteen... uh, something or
other, with Lincoln winning the Revolutionary War.  Or maybe
it was World War One when he righteously beat the not
happenin' French pirates?  But, like, she's got a
fundamental right to privacy totally guaranteed by the
Constitution..."
 
     He was receding into babble, as he always did when he
had no legitimate retort in an argument, so I ignored him. 
"It's somewhere I'm not supposed to see, yet you exposed it
to this Inkstain and Calvin?"
 
     "That's Inkster, dude."
 
     "Shut up, Quick Draw."
 
     "Pauly!" he whined, looking around again to see if
anyone was in earshot of the nickname.  When he found no
one, he went back to nursing his beer, recognizing his
defeat.
 
     Caysi, however, continued alone.  "It's like the
Inkster is, like, a doctor, you know?  You wouldn't, like,
go to a doctor and expect him to, like, treat you for the
clap without dropping your pants, would you, Dad?"
 
     "You dropped your pants in front of this Inkstain and
Calvin?"
 
     "Daaaaaaaad!  Phoenix was, like, the nurse assisting
the surgeon, you know?  Besides, it's not like Rainbow could
because she was, like, working, you know."
 
     I didn't bother pointing out the incongruity of a
surgeon treating gonorrhea.  On the other hand, if it were
an advanced case and antibiotics were useless...
 
     No.  I was distracting myself from the issue at hand.
 
     I recognized defeat, too.  "Fine!  You can show your
mother, then."  We made our goodbyes with the reclining
Phoenix, whose back was too sore for him to stand up, and
left.  As I reached the front corner of the house I heard
the rattle of the diving board and a loud splash.
 
                              ~ ~ ~
 
     I learned a couple of things those first few days.  The
Grand Canyon, for instance, was "A radical example of the
consequences of environmental disinterest."  Yes, I did ask
for a translation of that, and the translation needed a
subsequent translation.  Recognize defeat and quit time. 
And I learned that Carlsbad Caverns was "A major hole," but
one with apparently no environmental deficiencies attached. 
Whereas White Sands was "Just like snow but without that
cold weather aching your fingers out."
 
     I also learned that wherever this tattoo was, it didn't
show when Caysi wore her shorty top and matching panties to
bed.  That is, it didn't show during a cursory visual
inspection for owner modifications.  The first night at a
motel I scanned for it and got a, "Daaaaaaaad!  Are you
checking me out?" while I was looking for the tattoo.  I
don't think she bought the truthful answer of "No" as I
rolled over in my bed and waited for her to turn out the
light over hers.
 
     Lights out didn't occur for several minutes because she
sat on her bed in a lotus position, her back to me and
chanted her mantra, "Ommmmmmmm."  Which would have been
okay, I guess, if she hadn't chanted it loud enough to keep
me awake.
 
     The next couple of days went well.  For some reason she
thought the Alamo was "Chillin'!" and didn't involve any
environmental impact analysis.  The oil wells we saw were "A
stain on the fundamental testament of man", though she
didn't mind riding past them in a large, air-conditioned SUV
with semi-reclining seats that let her put her feet on the
dash.
 
     And then we had our usual picnic-style lunch at an
interstate rest stop.  As usual, we parked at a table near
the back of the area, as far away from the restrooms and
vending machines as possible.  Something to do with how
their layout disturbed the feng shui of the little park.
 
     We put away the picnic materials and closed the back
doors of the SUV.  As usual, I carried the trash to the feng
shui-disturbing, but environmentally necessary, metal bins
designed for its receipt.  She clambered over the fence and
onto the adjoining property to grab something off the
ground.  Whether she was trying to beat a magpie to
something shiny or to rescue an endangered species that was
responsible for global warming or merely to rectify the feng
shui of that corner of the universe, I didn't know.  And I
knew better than to ask.  She snatched it up and attempted
to climb back over the fence with one hand, the other
holding whatever it was.
 
     And lost her balance.  Arms windmilling she fell
backward and sat down hard.  Whatever it was went sailing
off to her right rear, and she let out a shriek that I could
have recorded and sold to a Halloween spook house for good
money.
 
     She sprang up and began dusting the seat of her shorts,
only to cry out again, this time more quietly as she jerked
her hands around to look at them.
 
     "DADDY!"
 
     She had landed on a small, low bush containing a cross
between peppercorns and porcupines.  The seat of her shorts
was covered with them, except where her left hand had pulled
a swath away when she tried to brush them off.  Those had
become imbedded in her hand.  Apparently it had happened
quickly enough to keep her from also brushing with her right
hand.
 
     I lifted her over the fence and used a stick to scrape
away the dried fruit from her palm.  Somehow she'd avoided
getting any stuck in her fingers.  Several barbs detached
and remained in her hand.  She danced around and whimpered
and chanted her new mantra, "My butt hurts!"  The little
spines were long enough to penetrate the thin cloth.
 
     I looked around and thought for a moment.  "Okay.  The
way we're parked, nobody can see the back of the vehicle
from the service building or the main parking lot.  Nobody
can drive up without us seeing them coming because it's
one-way traffic.
 
     "I'll get the first aid kit from under your front seat
while you stand behind the vehicle and remove your shorts. 
Pull them down slowly, and that will remove most of the
stickers.  I'll use tweezers to remove the few that are left
and get those out of your hand.  I think there's some
anti-itch goo in the kit, too.  Then you can put on some
other shorts.
 
     "Pull them down slowly, understand?  If you jerk, the
prickles will break off and stay in you, and well be here
the rest of the day trying to get them out.  Okay?"
 
     She was trying to hold back tears.  "I can't!"
 
     "Okay.  Do you need help pulling off your shorts?"
 
     "No, Daddy!  I mean I can't take them off!  I'm not
wearing underwear!"
 
     I blinked at her.  What was the right thing to say?
Better yet, what was NOT the wrong thing?  Should I mention
that I would be more like a surgeon than Inkstain with his
tattoo gun?
 
     "Look, honey, you have a choice:  you can remove your
shorts and pull most of those prickles out of your rear, or
you can ride face down on the back seat for two days and
nights and let your mother pull them out.  Better not drink
any liquids for those two days, though, or you'll be pulling
them down soon enough."
 
     "Daaaaaaaad!"
 
     I threw up my hands in frustration.  "Hey, I'm
flexible.  I'm willing to go with Plan C.  What is it?"
 
     She squinted at me, wrinkling her nose with the
movement.  "Huh?"
 
     "I thought so.  Look, there are multiple stickers on
almost every one, and the barbs on the stickers won't let me
pull them out by pulling on the... uh, the... fruit?  Berry? 
Burr?  The main part where the prickles grow out from. 
They'll hang in the cloth and break off, and then you may
not be able to get them out of your skin after you remove
the shorts, no matter how carefully you try.  So, choose: 
Plan A or Plan B."
 
     She stood there, looking decidedly undecided.  I wasn't
helping by standing there waiting expectantly, so I excused
myself to get the first aid kit.  She opened the rear doors
again as I pulled the kit from under the front passenger
seat.
 
     I opened it to check the contents and almost threw them
everywhere when I jumped.  I jumped because of the screech
from behind the vehicle.  The screech from behind the
vehicle was caused by the shorts around her ankles.  More
precisely, it was caused by jerking down the shorts now
lying around her ankles.  Pulling slowly had hurt, so she'd
panicked and jerked them down instead.  While the sharp pain
was more much intense, it was over almost immediately,
leaving behind the nagging, itching, burning of a couple of
hundred tiny dark points imbedded in tanned skin.
 
     Completely tanned skin, I noticed.  She stood between
the open rear doors, her back to me, one hand cupped for
privacy in front and the other fighting, and about to lose,
a skirmish with her willpower that was telling it not to rub
the places that hurt with the right hand that didn't hurt.
 
     "Don't touch it!" I said.  "You'll force them in
deeper.  If you do that, I don't know how I'll get them
out."  Duct tape, maybe, except we didn't have any.
 
     Reluctantly, that hand joined its injured counterpart
in its mission to provide lower cover and concealment in
front.
 
     I didn't see any skin that was untanned.  Had she been
sunbathing nude, holding her butt crack open to make sure
everything tanned evenly?  And I didn't see any tattoo,
either.
 
     "Uh, do you want me to get the thorns out of your hand
or your tail first."
 
     Her only response was to move her left hand around to
her side, then swing her arm back and up, and whimper
softly.
 
     I bent forward, stretched the skin taut with my left
thumb and forefinger, and used the tweezers to remove one
short black barb from her thumb near her wrist.  This wasn't
going to work.  I needed a better angle to attack the
problem. My choices were to kneel or to dislocate her
shoulder.  The latter wouldn't make her mother happy, so I
knelt.
 
     The asphalt wasn't kind to bare knees, even if it was
in a shaded spot.  I asked her to hand me the folded plastic
tablecloth we'd spread over the picnic table.  She hesitated
and began to reach for it with alternate hands, finally
deciding it would be less painful to risk humiliation and
use the hand currently providing cover and concealment.  Not
that it mattered:  I couldn't see around the wide, tanned
globes in front of me.
 
     That's not to say that she was turning into a
big-butted woman.  Until puberty she'd been like a wooden
pencil.  Now she was developing curves and bumps and dips
that indicated she would turn into a clone of her mother. 
And there was nothing wrong with her mother's butt.  Except,
maybe, that Abby's had tan lines.  Abby's tan lines were no
more than two inches apart at the narrowest approach, but
her butt had them.
 
     I placed the folded plastic under my legs and took her
hand to resume surgery.  She complained when I pulled the
next prickle out.
 
     "If I stop to put the anti-itch cream on after every
one I remove, we'll be here until breakfast."
 
     "Well, do... uh, something.  Make it BETTER!"
 
     That was what she used to say when she was six and
hurt.  It was interesting the way she switched between the
near-woman and the little girl.  I couldn't think of
anything else, so I did what I did for the little girl:  I
kissed the red spot where I'd removed the prickle, being
careful not to press on the others with my lips and drive
them deeper.  "Better?" I asked, as I'd always done.
 
     "Yeah," she said in a small voice.  "Better."  The
near-woman was trying to regain control, though I heard a
faint sniff.
 
     Surgery resumed.  I'd remove a few prickles, and then
I'd kiss and ask if it was better whenever I saw the
discomfort getting the better of her.  I was at the center
of her palm now, and it was especially sensitive.  I
continued, shifting my weight from time to time to adjust
the strain on my knees.  After about fifteen minutes, around
the half-way point, I noticed that her thighs didn't quite
meet before her legs joined her body, which caused me to
notice two things:  no tan lines and no tattoo.  And no
coppery-curly obstructions to the sight line, either.
 
     I supposed that was a good sign under the
circumstances.  It would make finding the fragments of the
stickers easier--I knew there were some because I could see
them--and would make removal easier if there were no razor
stubble.  I didn't see any.
 
     "Dad?"
 
     I looked up.  She was frowning at me over her shoulder. 
"You're checking me out again."
 
     "No!  I was looking at... at the work left to do.  At
where all the stickers are.  It's worse than I thought.  The
stickers, I mean.  They're everywhere. They're all over...
everything."
 
     I realized I was doing a Phoenix-babble and shut up. 
Besides, she knew better than I did that they were all over
'everything' as well as her butt.
 
     To call her look 'skeptical' is to make it sound better
than it actually was.  "Don't you think you should, like,
finish with my hand before you start enjoying the view?"
 
     "Honey, honest!  I was looking at the stickers.  And, I
guess, looking for the other tattoo.  Okay, I noticed that
you'd shaved... everything... but I was thinking about how
that would make the finding and removal easier.  Unless
there's stubble left."
 
     "Uh huh."  She turned her head forward and shook it. 
It was the same tone and attitude I'd use with my dentist
when he'd say we didn't need novocain because it wouldn't
hurt.
 
     "Honest!"  I went after another fragment in her hand
and slowly began removing it.  "If I noticed anything it was
that your butt looks like your mother's, but that's all."
 
     She was silent for a moment, then spoke in a quiet
voice.  "You think it looks like Mom's?"
 
     "Well, uh, yeah.  You know.  It's the same shape and
size as hers at your age."
 
     She whimpered when I removed the next fragment.  I
kissed it and asked if it was better.
 
     "Uh huh.  Better."  She was quiet for the next couple
of thorn fragments, so I foolishly thought she'd dropped the
subject.  "So," she said in the soft voice and the exact
tone that Abby used when I was about to lose an argument,
"you, like, saw Mom's butt when she was fifteen, did you?"
 
     Despite the warning I said, "Yes," because I was
distracted by the difficulty in getting a grip on a very
short fragment.  In fact, I didn't realize I'd heard the
warning until she said, "So if it's, like, okay for you to
look at Mom's butt when she's fifteen, then what's wrong
with the Inkster seeing where he tattooed me?  Like, he was
doing his job, you know, and not being pervy getting his
jollies checking me out like you with Mom."
 
     I mentally ran through every expletive I knew.  Twice. 
"Honey, I... I don't know how to answer that.  I can't think
of the words.  It's just different."  I have to admit that I
couldn't even convince myself that I wasn't lying.  "Look, I
think we're in the area where men and women don't
communicate effectively.  I can't translate it into
girl-talk, and you don't understand man-speak yet.  Maybe we
should just wait and let your mother explain it."
 
     "Uh huh."  That downbeat tone again.
 
     She was quiet until I said, "Only three more to go in
your hand."
 
     I expected anything except, "So, who has the better
butt, me or Mom?"
 
     Once again I had to wonder whether anything was not the
wrong thing to say.  I knew how competitive daughters were
at this age.  I was born between two sisters.  If I said
Abby did, then it would be an insult and maybe an injury to
her self-esteem.  If I said she did, then I was saying that
I had been 'checking her out.'
 
     "Well, if it looks like your Mother's at your age, then
neither one looks better than the other."
 
     "That is SO not an answer."
 
     No, but I was hoping that she'd think it was.  Stupid
me.  That trick never worked with Abby, either.  Maybe I
should try an honest approach.  "Honey, I don't know how to
answer that without getting myself in trouble either way
because you can misinterpret whatever I say."
 
     "You're saying it's, like, Mom, then."  Disappointment.
 
     Okay, then Abby was the worst of the bad choices, and
honesty wasn't the best policy.
 
     "I didn't say that.  See?  You misinterpreted that,
too."
 
     "So you think mine is better?"  Neutrality.
 
     "Two to go.  That's not what I said either.  If I say
it's yours, then you'll accuse me of checking you out
again."
 
     She said nothing.
 
     I flicked a fragment from the tweezers.  "Last one."
 
     "Dad?  I promise I won't get mad or, like, accuse you
of being pervy or whatever."
 
     "Well," I said, as she twitched her hand and I lost the
grip on the spine fragment, "guess I'd have to say that
since your mother's wasn't full of thorns, hers looked
better."
 
     "Uh huh.  But, what if I, like, didn't have the
thorns?"  Hopefulness.
 
     Okay, she was fishing for a compliment.  "Maybe yours
is just a teensy bit better."
 
     "Uh huh."  This time it was an upbeat sound.  "Like,
thanks."
 
     "Done," I said, kissing her hand.  "Better?"
 
     "Yeah.  Better.  Except it, like, really itches."
 
     I fished the tube of anesthetic goo out of the first
aid kit and held it up for her.  "If you rub this in
yourself, I can get to work on the rest of them sooner. 
They have to be burning and itching pretty bad, too."
 
     "Yeah.  Um, Dad?  I guess it's okay if you see my other
tattoo."
 
     She turned before I could reply.  She hadn't completely
shaved.  She'd left a coppery postage-stamp-sized patch at
the top of her crease.  It was notched in one corner, and
the notch held a tattoo of a small stick-figure man pushing
a stick-figure lawn mower.
 
     "Whose idea was the design?" I asked.
 
     "Uh..."  She had suddenly turned bashful.  "Phoenix
went, 'There's, like,  room to cut a notch and have Inkster
tattoo in this design I saw.'  He'd seen the design on some
website.  So, when he did my ankle, I, like, had him do that
one, too."
 
     Phoenix.  I suspected as much, since I saw no tan lines
here, either.
 
     "So, like, do you like it?"  Hopefulness again.
 
     "Honey, I don't like any tattoos, okay?  It's just... 
Look, can we talk about this later?  Unless you like having
those stickers in your skin?"
 
     "Oh!  Okay.  Like, later."  She turned around, and I
pondered where to begin while she smeared the anti-itch goo
in her hand and rubbed it in.  Every place seemed like a
worse place to start than the others.
 
     "Dad, are you checking out my butt again?"
 
     I glanced up.  She was frowning over shoulder at me. 
"Honey, I told you.  Well, actually, I guess maybe in this
case I am.  I'm checking out the best place to start.  I'm
not sure where to begin because everywhere looks like I
might make it worse if my hands move wrong."
 
     "Well," she said in Abby's patient 'It's a good thing
you have a woman to think for you' voice, "then just start
anywhere.  Just hurry.  It hurts, you know, and it's
itching, too."
 
     I shrugged.  Out of the mouths of babes.  "Okay.  Here
we go."  I decided I'd just work my way from left to right. 
"You know I need to use one hand to stretch the skin while I
pull, the way I did with your hand?"
 
     "Daaaaaaaad!  Hurry uuuuuuuup!"  A tear crept out of
one eye.  I finally realized that she'd been hiding pain
behind her brave voice.
 
     "Okay," I said as I isolated one sticker between
fingertip and thumb, spreading them slightly and grasping
the dry invader with the tweezer tips.  "I was trying to
make sure I didn't get accused of feeling up your butt."
 
     "No," she said in a small voice.  "Not if you make it
feel better.  I promise."
 
                              ~ ~ ~
 
     The second time I adjusted the plastic tablecloth she
again looked over her shoulder at me.  "I'm sorry.  I so
forgot about your bad knees," she said.  "I can, like, put
those pillows on the back floor of the car here and kneel on
them.  Then you can stand up and work."
 
     "That's a great idea," I said, thinking only about my
knees.  A minute later I saw the problem with her idea. 
With her on her hands and knees in the back of the SUV, butt
facing outward, the problem was winking at me.  However,
there was a plus side of sorts:  I finally found tan lines.
 
     I placed my little fingers to steady my hands and
stretched the skin for the next prickle.
 
     "Dad?"  I barely heard the quiet word.
 
     "Yes, honey?"
 
     "It hurts," she whined.  "Make it better."
 
     Great.  This one was so short I could barely get a grip
on it.  "I'm working as fast as I can without making it
worse, sweetie."  Fortunately these were good tweezers.  I
had others that wouldn't be able to get any grip on the tiny
piece remaining above the surface.
 
     "No!  Make it better like you did my haaaaaaaand."
 
     "That's what I'm..." The tiny fragment came out as I
realized what she meant.  "Uh... honey, I don't think Mom
would like it if I kissed it."
 
     "You kissed my hand."
 
     "Sweetie, your hand isn't your butt.  There's a
difference."
 
     "Wouldn't you kiss Mom's?"
 
     I caught another prickle and slowly pulled.  "Yes, but
she's my wife."
 
     "But I'm your daughter."
 
     "That's the problem."
 
     "Well..."  She thought for a moment.  "Mom's not here. 
You don't have to tell her.  Daaaaaaaad!  It hurts!  Make it
better?"
 
     For a second I thought this one had broken off and left
some under the tanned skin.  I checked closely.  No, I'd
gotten it all.  'What the hell?' I thought and gave the
cleared spot a drive-by kissing.
 
     "See?  That, like, didn't kill you, and it, like, made
it better."  It was that combination 'Thank you' and 'I was
right all along' sound that I once thought was unique to
Abby.  I know now that it's something all women can do. 
Casey used it by age four.  Caysi had perfected it and could
give her mother lessons.
 
     "Just don't tell your mother. Or anyone else.  I mean
it.  Anyone."
 
     "I won't even tell Phoenix and Rainbow."
 
     "Especially Phoenix and Rainbow."
 
     By the time I'd cleared half of the left cheek, I
discovered that I was looking forward to 'making it better.' 
And instead of answering "Better," she was now saying, "Much
better."  I reminded myself that it might look like Abby's
butt, but it was Casey's.  Caysi's.  My daughter's.
 
     By the time I reached the last inch on the left I was
having to hold my breath when I 'made it better.'  Caysi was
definitely female, and breathing in not only reminded me of
that, it stirred feelings I'd best leave unstirred with
anyone except Abby.  Which meant I was close to passing out
from oxygen loss, because she was now asking me to 'make it
better' after I removed no more than three or four more of
the prickly barbs.
 
     However, I realized my own emotional discomfort was
nothing compared to her physical one.  If the distraction
helped her cope with the burning pain and itch, then it was
a small price to pay to help.  I had been thinking about
myself and not about her.  That was how Calvin the Phoenix
acted.  I was better than that.  Whenever she asked, I 'made
it better.'
 
                              ~ ~ ~
 
     The wind died.  Not that there was much to begin with,
but it had been enough, assisted by the shade from the
trees, to provide a little cooling.  Caysi's sweating made
it more difficult to get a grip on the fragments, but I'd
managed to avoid leaving any pieces imbedded.
 
     "Last six on this side," I said.
 
     "Make it better?"  She sounded as if she were holding
back tears.
 
     I didn't bother holding my breath.  In the still air it
was impossible to ignore that she was female, no matter how
tightly I focused my vision.  Although, seven barbs from
that point, no amount of focus would allow me to ignore that
fact.  I was already at the line where the tan lines should
have been.  There wouldn't be any 'making it better' for the
next... I counted them as I braced my hands with my little
fingers... eighteen prickles.
 
     "Dad?  My hand's starting to burn again."
 
     "Use more of the goop."  Five to go.
 
     "What if we run out?"
 
     "We buy another tube."
 
     "You don't have to buy a whole new first aid kit to get
more?"  I figured her tone was the same one Einstein used
when he got down to 'E equals M C-squared' on the blackboard
and said, "You mean that's it?"  Apparently her
environmentalism education didn't cover buying replacement
parts instead of buying a new assemblage and discarding the
remaining useful components of the old one.
 
     "It's the environmentally responsible thing to do," I
said.
 
     "Oh!  Like, wow!  That's a chillin' idea!"
 
     Yeah, groovy.  But that plus smearing more of the
anti-itch goo on her hand had taken her mind off the pain in
her butt for a few moments.
 
                              ~ ~ ~
 
     Technically speaking, the last two prickles weren't in
her butt.  They were right on the dividing line, and there
was no way I could get them out without using either an
unsteady grip on the tweezers or touching Forbidden
Territory.  That was what my father called it.  You could
hear the capital letters in his voice, building a fence
around areas where men should not venture without the
sanction of marriage.
 
     I would have to touch it anyway, because her butt
wasn't the only thing that was like her mother's.  Abby's
outer lips were broad and soft, unlike those of... well,
let's not talk about who or how I knew about the way she was
built.  But Caysi's were just like her mother's.
 
     I cleared my throat.  "Honey, I guess you know that I'm
going to have to touch more than just your butt to get the
stickers out."
 
     "I know."
 
     "I just want to be sure you don't think..."
 
     "You aren't being pervy, you're making it better!  I
know.  I don't care what you touch, just hurry!  It's
getting worse."
 
     As I pulled the second one free, she said, "Someone's
coming."
 
     If it had been Abby instead of Caysi, I'd have made a
crude joke.  But a car was approaching along the one-way
loop.  One with a red-and-blue light bar across the top and
a nice young man in a state patrol uniform behind the wheel.
 
     He stopped and rolled down his window.  "I noticed
y'all been here a while," he said in a warm western accent. 
"Y'all got a problem?"  This was a 'no camping' picnic area,
and the obviously thought we were about to set up camp.
 
     "Unfortunately," I said, taking her shorts with me to
his car.  I explained what had happened.
 
     "Maybe next time she'll observe them 'No Trespassing'
signs.  You know, when I was growing up on a farm 'bout
sixty mile from here, we called them thangs 'little devils'
'cause they hurt like hell.  I got into 'em bad three times. 
I kin understand her yankin' them off, but I know from
experience that it's the wrong thang to do.  Leastwise,
you're using tweezers.  My father tried duct tape once,
unfortunately on me, not himself.  Now, you know to pull
slowly and not break off any?"
 
     When I assured him that I did, he raised his voice and
asked Caysi if she was okay.
 
     Caysi straightened and rose to look at him over the top
of a rear door.  "No!  My butt hurts!"
 
     He gave me an odd grin.  "Don't break any off, but you
go as fast as you kin.  The pain gets worse with time until
you get 'em out, and then it's going to be uncomfortable for
three, four days.  I recommend Caladryl lotion for that--any
supermarket or drug store will have it--but have her sit on
a towel.  If she sweats it through her shorts, it'll
permanently stain some seat covers.  Good luck.  Good bye,
Miss!"
 
     He drove off.  I turned around and understood his grin. 
He could see through the side window.  I wondered if he
could make out the details of the second tattoo.
 
     "Daddy, can you put some goop on the left side now?"
 
     "Sure."
 
     She began unscrewing the cap herself.  "Make it all
better first?"
 
     I thought of two arguments, but I'd already made it
better as I went.  I'd lose the arguments and waste the
time.  So, I made all of it better and asked for the
anti-itch goo.
 
     Instead of handing the tube to me she said, "You missed
those last ones."
 
     "Casey!  You know where those were located."
 
     "It's Caysi."  I pronounce them the same, no matter now
I spell it in my head, but somehow she recognized what
spelling I thought.  "You kissed the others and made them
better."
 
     "Yeah, well, it's bad enough that I kissed your butt,
but now we're talking about... about a place next to your...
your..."
 
     She frowned over shoulder at me.  "My what?  My vagina? 
My vulva?  My box?  My pussy?  My cunt?  My bearded clam? 
My fertile crescent?  My temple of love?  Daaaaaaaad!  It's,
like, you know, all me.  It's not, like, some stranger's. 
And it hurts!  Please?  Make it better?  And then, like, put
some goop on it for me?"  Her voice shifted into a whine. 
"You'd do it if you loved me!"
 
     That argument.  That was a surprise.  Always before it
had been used when she wanted me to spend more than what I
thought was a prudent amount on some object she had to have
right then, but would discard before the week was out.  It
was a main weapon in that arsenal, so she didn't waste it on
lesser wants.  I started to speak, then noticed the tears in
her eyes.
 
     "Pleeeeeeeease?"
 
     As I made it better I received a sudden reminder that
it had been a week since Abby gave me that 'one for the
road' quickie sitting on a kitchen cabinet while our younger
daughter watched television in the den.
 
     I forced the thought out of my mind and Pauly Junior
back to his normal size, then began spreading the goop on
her left butt cheek.  The thought forced its way back in
long before I finished.  Something strange was going on.  I
found it more intimate to rub slippery cream over her
smooth, firm butt cheek than to kiss it.  Well, almost
smooth.  The prickles had caused a rash at the points of
entry.
 
     And that is what temporarily distracted me from
realizing that the last three descriptive terms she'd used
for her box, as Abby calls it, were Calvin the Phoenix's
terms.  Maybe I needed to have a talk with Isabella. 
Rainbow.  His wife.
 
                              ~ ~ ~
 
     While the anti-itch goo was a relief for Caysi, it was
a problem for me.  Even after wiping my left hand thoroughly
with environmentally unfriendly disposable wipes and paper
towels--I'd had better sense than to spread it with the
fingers that hold the tweezers--what remained on her butt
cheek made it too slippery to serve as a brace for my left
hand's little finger.  That hand would have to hover until I
could clear a spot out of the slippery zone.  I had enough
trouble finding a place to put the tip of my right little
finger for stability, and even then I had to remove two
prickles.
 
     "What are you doing?"  From the tone I knew she thought
I'd chickened out and decided to move on to the other butt
cheek.
 
     "Your... uh... you aren't as firm there as your butt
is.  I need a place to brace my hand, but  I have to clear
one."
 
     "Oh."
 
     Two minutes later I had a place to brace my right
little finger.  For the left I decided I could use the
little finger and thumb above and below the fold of the lip
and use the index finger to provide some tension for the
loose flesh.
 
     Okay, it wasn't as loose as I'd expected.  Hers were
firmer than Abby's.  Abby's outer lips only got like that
when...  when...   No!
 
     But I was pulling just right.  The two lips suddenly
parted, showing me the smaller, thinner inner lips hidden in
the wet pink interior.  The very wet pink interior.  I drew
my head back and took a good look at 'everything.'  I
finally noticed the tautness of the skin over the swelling. 
It wasn't swelling caused by a reaction to the little devils
prickles.  _Now what?_
 
     Maybe she thought the patrolman was cute.  Maybe she
deliberately exposed herself to him and got excited knowing
that she'd turned him on.  Maybe she wasn't really into
pain--hadn't been turned on to S&M by Calvin and some...
some... Whips-and-Chainster.
 
     Discretion being the better part of valor, and it's
incredibly hard to be discreet when you're looking into your
daughter's Hole-of-Holys, I didn't ask.  Besides, it was
making my job easier.  And, if she was lucky, it was keeping
her from noticing some of the discomfort.
 
     "Uh oh."
 
     "Like, what?"  She sounded suspicious.
 
     "There's one stuck in you, just inside," I said without
thinking.  I was opening myself up to comments about
checking her out all pervy-like, or whatever the phrase
would be.  At least I didn't note that it was right beside
her vaginal tunnel.  Or Abby's phrase, her "gold mine."
 
     But instead she muttered, "That must be the damned
thing that burns like hell."
 
     "We've had some changes in our vocabulary," I mumbled
while looking for the best way to attack that problem.
 
     Her voice turned snippy as she glared over her
shoulder.  "Well, do you want to, like, trade places and see
if you have a nicer description of how it feels?"
 
     "Honey, I would if it would make you feel better."
 
     "Oh.  Uh, yeah.  Thanks, Dad.  I'm sorry.  Just be glad
that it's not you."
 
     "I wish it weren't either of us.  I'm not sure how to
get it without clearing a path first."
 
     "Just get it as soon as you can.  The others hurt, too,
so, like, everything helps."  She turned her upper body to
the front and rested her head on her forearms.  I heard the
sniff she tried to muffle.
 
     When I got to it I discovered I had a problem.  It was
short, and it was slippery.  I had to be damned careful not
to catch her in the tweezers.  And her right butt cheek had
prickles inside where the tan lines should have been, too. 
"Honey, this one's a problem.  I'm trying my best, but it
may take longer.  I just wanted you to know that I'm
honestly trying and not being... you know.  I'm really,
uh... not stalling so I can, uh..."
 
     "I know.  Just do what you have to and don't worry,
okay?"  Her voice was quiet and soft, but still it had a
little-girl-whine quality that revealed her discomfort.  The
officer had said that they got worse with time.  And I was
wasting time.
 
     A fingertip brace for my tweezer hand wasn't enough for
this one.  I needed to brace the side of my hand, and there
was only one place that was clear enough for that.  And it
was slippery from anus to clitoris.  It was as slippery as
Abby's, and hers sometimes made me think Little Pauly was
wearing silicone spray and ball bearings.
 
     Little Pauly interpreted the signals as being from Abby
and prepared himself to go prospecting in the gold mine.  He
ignored my attempts to tell him otherwise.  And that
distracted me from my task.
 
     "OW!"
 
     "Sorry, honey.  There's barely enough to grab with the
tweezers.  I'm trying not to pinch you, too."
 
     She whimpered something.
 
     Having no magnifying glass meant that I had to work
close to see what I was doing.  That was all Little Pauly
needed.  I wondered how I was going to surreptitiously
arrange him into a more comfortable position when I was
finished with this prickle.  That was assuming he didn't
explode and solve that particular problem while creating a
new one.
 
     The fragment slid out of the tweezer tips twice.  On
the third attempt it pulled away as if it had been lying on
the surface.  "Got it," I sighed, relaxing slightly.
 
     My hand slid a little.  I felt the throbbing erupt,
realized where it still rested, and pulled it away.  The
faint grunts and the continuing throbbing were obvious
indicators even to someone as clueless as me.
 
     Well, somebody once told me that orgasms were effective
ways to reduce pain because they released something into the
bloodstream that acted on pain centers in the brain.  I
hoped that whoever told me wasn't Calvin.
 
     _Little Pauly!_  I used the distraction to adjust him
and almost released those chemicals into my own bloodstream. 
Then I held the tweezers up and looked closely at the tip,
as if the fragment were still in it.  "Hard to believe some
this tiny could be such a major pain," I said, pretending I
hadn't realized what had happened.  Her fragrance on my hand
caused my head to spin.
 
     "Honey, I'm thirsty.  Let's take a quick break while I
get some feeling back in my tweezer fingers."  I'd give her
a few moments to regain her composure while I fetched a Dr.
Pepper from the cooler in the seat behind Caysi's.  This
might be her first orgasm, and she'd need time to get her
emotions or body functions or whatever under control.  I
waited as long as I could before I asked if she wanted
anything, expecting her to ask for the hand-squeezed
naturally-organic salt-free mango-blended non-polluting
feng-shui-correct coconut juice, or whatever she called that
greenish crap in those environmentally-correct reusable
glass containers.
 
     "Yeah," she said, lifting a glowing face to peer at me
over the seatback.  "I'll take one of those, too, please."
 
     I was momentarily startled.  'Please'?  That was even
more of a shock.  Was this Caysi or Casey?  "You got it." 
As I fished it out I realized that I needed to get back to
work immediately because the pain and discomfort would soon
settle in again.
 
     I chugged half the can and placed it on the floor of
the luggage compartment, next to the side.  "Ready?"
 
     "Yeah.  As soon as you make it better."
 
     Oops.  I'd never expected her to ask that, especially
since she'd just climaxed.
 
     "Honey, you know I can't."
 
     She frowned at me over her shoulder.  Ever notice how a
frown can't erase afterglow completely?  "Daaaaaaaad! 
You've made it better all afternoon.  It's not something you
haven't done before."
 
     "But that was off to the side.  This is right in the
middle of... I mean, well, it would be like... well, like,
uh... cunnilingus."
 
     She gave me the 'How stupid can you get?' look again. 
"So?  It's not like it's sex or anything.  And that one
hurts as much as all the others together."
 
     'It's not like it's sex'?  Cunnilingus is 'NOT LIKE
IT'S SEX'?  Calvin the Phoenix at work again?  What had he
done with my daughter?  "Honey..."
 
     Almost five minutes later I gave up.  She was whining
and complaining about the pain.  We could be there until
midnight, if necessary, and I'd still lose the argument.
 
     I'd have done better afterward if I hadn't reflexively
licked my lips before I thought about it.  All I could do
was hope that she didn't notice Little Pauly's renewed
struggle against my zipper.
 
     "Better?"
 
     "Muuuuuuuuch better," she sighed.  "But the others
aren't.  Hurry?"
 
     I hurried, worried about what I'd done.  What would
Abby say?  That is, if Caysi told her.  I didn't think she
would, but I suddenly realized she now had a blackmail hold
over me.  Nothing I could do now would change that.  Casey
wouldn't blackmail me.  Would Caysi, who had been exposed to
the influence of Phoenix?  Calvin wouldn't hesitate to stoop
to blackmail.  I half-suspected that was how he'd managed to
convince Isabella... Rainbow... to take that second job to
support him, though I had no idea what form that blackmail
would take.
 
     I'd removed so many prickles by this point that it was
easy to let my fingers operate on automatic and disengage my
brain from what I was doing.  Little Pauly shrank back to
his usual size as I worried about Abby and fantasized
castrating Calvin slowly with piano wire, a thought I'd
first had back in high school when he... well, that's not
important now.
 
     It was the soft moan that alerted me.  I thought maybe
I'd pinched her again, but no, I was flicking the tweezers
to dislodge the removed fragment.
 
     I opened my mouth to speak, but then I saw it.  I had
relaxed my right hand, letting it curl into the middle of
the long, wet, pink slash of her box.  The base of my little
finger was pressed against the small, hard knob.  No, the
finger was wiggling against it as I shook the tweezers to
dislodge the fragment.
 
     For some reason, I didn't jerk my hand away.  I suppose
the reason was that I didn't want to.  In fact, I know it
was, because I  really didn't want to, even though I knew I
should.  She was hot and wet and slippery and oh-so-pleasant
to touch.  It was easy to rationalize that she'd have asked
me to move my hand if she'd wanted me to.
 
     But would she, really?  Did she want me to touch her,
accept that I was touching her, or think that it was
necessary that I touch her?
 
     I took my hand away in as natural a manner as I could
fake and reached for the drink can.
 
     Everything was again swollen and very wet.
 
     "Two more on this side," I said in what I hoped was a
normal voice.
 
     Her voice was anything but.  "Make it better?"
 
     I didn't even pretend to argue.  I pulled the long fold
toward the left side, so that I wouldn't contact the
stickers in the right cheek, and slowly, gently, kissed its
length until I came to the two remaining spines.
 
     "And the other one again.  It was a bad one.  It
burns."
 
     I released the right lip and pulled the left one to the
side so that I could reach the inner surface.  I kissed
where I'd removed the sticker.  That was the worst one.  I
made it better twice.
 
     "Better?"
 
     "Uh huh.  Muuuuuuuuch better."
 
     I had to repeat the process when the final two were
removed.  I again made the bad one better twice.  "Hand me
the goop."
 
     "Not yet," she said.  Her voice was husky, and she
seemed to be panting as she spoke.  I looked at her sides,
between her ribs and hips.  She was panting.  "Like, get the
others out of my butt."
 
     How do you interpret that one?  Seemed pretty obvious
to me, but I could be wrong.  I might  only be layering my
fantasies onto the situation.
 
     _My fantasies?_
 
     Well, yeah.  I was having trouble remembering that this
was Casey... Caysi... displayed in front of me.  My mind was
quietly arguing that it was my daughter, but my senses were
screaming that it was an aroused female.  And my body was
telling me that it had been a long time.  I was now old
enough that 'a long time' no longer meant 'five minutes,'
but I was still young enough that a week was close to an
eternity.
 
     A shred of common sense told me to get back to pulling
prickles.  I again braced my left hand between the outer lip
and her thigh and removed six more.
 
     "Make it better?" she panted.
 
     "Sure." I bent forward and halted.  My left hand was
again in the hot, wet, slippery trough.  How did it get in
there?  With great reluctance I removed it and then kissed
the area of the recently removed prickles.  Without waiting
for her to ask, I also made the others better, too, again
making the last one better twice.  It looked worse.  I made
it better two more times.
 
     Caysi shuddered and moaned softly.
 
     "Back to work," I said.  My cheery voice wasn't nearly
as steady as I pretended it was as I surveyed the right butt
cheek.  It had at least half again more prickles as the left
had before I cleared it.
 
     My hesitation could have been measured in microseconds,
and then I lowered the edge of my left hand into the
glistening pink slit.  I had been working generally from
bottom to top in a long, narrow strip, clearing a place to
brace my hand.  I moved to my right, rested my right hand
above the thicket of tiny spikes, and began clearing from
left to right, working my way downward across the entire
cheek.
 
     The side of my hand was pressed against a small hot
spot.  It was her brown rosebud.  Without thinking I wiggled
my hand slightly, putting pressure on it the way Abby liked
for me to do.  Caysi tensed and moaned again, still softly,
but this time not really as quietly as before.  I thought
about cursing myself, but I didn't have time.
 
     The skin didn't need much tightening.  I quickly
discovered that I could create enough tension by pulling
anywhere with the fingertips of my left hand and moving my
resting right hand away in the opposite direction.  Which
meant I didn't need my left hand where it rested.  I argued
with myself for a good tenth of a second, maybe even
two-tenths, before letting my arm relax, pulling my hand
downward.  I continued the gentle pressure as I slid across
her rosebud, across the entrance to the gold mine, and
stopped when the lower end of my palm edge rested on her
erect little clitoris.
 
     With two tiny movements I almost missed, she humped her
clit against my hand, groaned deep in her throat, and came
again.
 
     I stopped pulling prickles until she finished. 
Although I again said nothing, I left my hand on her box and
felt the throbbing.  Bad move.  Pauly Junior almost throbbed
in sympathetic harmony.  When she came down from it, I made
the cleared areas better, working my way from where I
currently extracted to the central canyon.  I again made the
bad one better four times, the last two gently massaging the
injury with the tip of my tongue.
 
     It was infinitely better tasting her directly from her
lips instead of by proxy from my own.  It was also enough to
cause a faint moan from Caysi and a major tremor in Pauly
Junior.
 
                              ~ ~ ~
 
     I was down to the final dozen when I made it better for
the... who knew?  I had long since lost count of which time
this was.  I didn't care.  By this time each of the injuries
between her cheeks was getting a tongue-tip massage.  Well,
that was the most sensitive area, and the state patrolman
did say that the pain grew worse with time.  It was, I kept
reminding myself, for her own good.
 
     I don't think I believed me.
 
     "Twelve left," I said.  I replaced my hands and went to
work again.  At this point in the clearing process the base
of my little finger was atop her clit.  Without thinking
about what I was doing, probably because there was barely
enough blood for my big head to remind me to keep breathing,
I rotated my hand more palm downward.  The tip of my curled
little finger came to rest at the entrance to the gold mine. 
Or, in Caysi's case, the copper mine.  It was open.  Because
of the late afternoon sun and the shadows, I couldn't see
more than a half-inch inside her, but I had the overwhelming
feeling that if she opened her mouth, I'd see light at the
end of the tunnel.
 
     My fingertip rested against the opening of the vagina
itself.  It swirled around it once and then slid in to the
first knuckle.  Caysi, her forearms flat on the floor of the
luggage compartment and her forehead resting atop them,
humped her clit against the edge of my hand and came again.
 
     There was no pretense of not knowing what she was
doing.  I held the tweezers away from her butt cheek and
rubbed the cleared area gently with the remaining three
fingers, enjoying the thrill from the spasms around the end
of my finger.  When it was over and she gasped for air, I
kissed the cheek.
 
     I paused when I realized that her body convulsions,
which she also no longer felt the need to hide, had caused
her shirt to slide down her torso toward her lowered head,
exposing the tanned mounds of her breasts.  The view in San
Diego through the torn-off sleeve didn't really allow me to
appreciate just how exquisite they were in form, firmness,
and appeal.
 
     Caysi wiggled her butt and grunted softly.
 
     "Sorry," I said.  "I just discovered that you'd
forgotten your bra again."
 
     She giggled and wiggled as I placed my tweezer hand on
her butt and returned to work.
 
     I removed six and made it better.  I had to do
something with my left hand so that my lips could reach the
bad one.  When I removed my little finger, she grunted, "Unh
uh!"  I put it back in.  She moaned softly once, and then
again when I pivoted my hand around and used my tongue as I
kissed the bad one.
 
     "Last six," I said, feeling a bit of disappointment as
she grunted happily.
 
     I had done it again.  I was concentrating on what I
wanted instead of what was best for her.  I wanted her to
have more painful sticklers remaining in her butt so I could
have the thrill of playing with her butt and cunt for a
while longer.  What kind of a father was I?
 
     I was playing with my daughter's butt and cunt.  Maybe
that, in and of itself, was my answer.
 
     I removed the last six prickles.  Before I could make
it better she lifted her upper body to the level position,
with only her hands on the floor of the luggage compartment. 
 
     "Make it all better?" she asked.  I was startled twice. 
First, because those were her first words in over an hour,
and again because of the sound of distress in her voice. 
She looked at me over her shoulder.  Her eyes were red from
crying.  The state patrolman had been right about the pain
increasing.  "Please?  Make it all better everywhere?"
 
     "Of course, honey," I said, placing the tweezers beside
the pillow cushioning her right knee and pushing the rest of
my little finger into her copper mine.  I started with the
most recently cleared area and worked my way back and forth
and upward.  At the top I started to switch to the other
cheek, then halted.  "Caysi, there's goop all over this
side."
 
     "You don't have to make those better," she said with a
whimper.  "Just the rest."
 
     I kissed between the lips and thighs and then worked my
way down the injured labia, shifting back and forth as
necessary as my head moved downward.  I rotated my hand away
and gave special treatment to the bad injury, bathing it
with my tongue, then, without breaking contact, slid my
mouth across the slick interior until it was wrapped around
her clit.  I rolled it between my lips before applying
suction and attacking it with my tongue.
 
     The ring finger joined the little finger inside her
molten chamber when she began cumming.  It took all my
willpower to keep Pauly Junior from cumming, too.  When she
finished, I moved to the last cleared patch on her right
cheek and quickly kissed each individual bump, massaging
each very briefly with my tongue.  When I got the ones on
her labia and in her box, I again kissed each individually,
caressing the injuries for a longer period with my tongue
and causing Caysi to jump.  I withdrew my fingers before
kissing the worst one, causing her to moan and wriggle her
butt in frustration.
 
     I massaged the puncture wound vigorously with my tongue
before sliding it sideways and plunging it into her,
withdrawing and ramming it again and again into the hot,
tasty fountain.  I squirmed my face against her, trying to
shove it in to join my tongue.  I felt her clit hump against
my chin and wiggled my jaw to help.  She began
simultaneously panting and grunting with a slowly rising
pitch and a rapidly increasing rate.
 
     I pulled back for a second and put my tongue on the
front side of her clit, then shook it from side to side as I
slowly moved it up the hot, wet, aromatic gash.  Her clit
swelled even more, and then I was beyond it, teasing the
small flaps of her inner lips, moving on to the gaping
depth.  I circled its rim with my tongue and then plunged it
back inside, circling as if licking the frosting out of a
can.  My head continued to rise, pulling the tongue out of
her and across the thick section that divided her pussy from
her butt, and then my tongue felt the rough texture of the
crinkled opening.
 
     Caysi shuddered and gasped. "Oh, my God!" she moaned
with only her breath, her vocal cords pausing for their
second wind. She resumed panting, mixed with occasional
puffing, as my intruder danced around the opening and
occasionally forced its tip into the tightness for a quarter
of an inch.
 
     I suddenly dropped my head, causing her vocal cords to
return to work with a long, low, frustrated moan that was
replaced with a gasp when my tongue reached under and
scratched its surface against the coppery postage stamp.  My
tongue wiggled and slid backward, from the rough, grassy
plain into the smooth, wet valley of her box.
 
     Again I encircled her clit with my lips and pummeled it
with my tongue, driving her over the edge.  She became
rigid, moaning tightly through her nose until the massive
release overwhelmed her.  She shuddered and gasped in what I
was certain was the most massive orgasm yet.  When she was
done I pulled my face back.  This time it was the index and
middle fingers that sank into the slippery wet cauldron.
 
     "Better?"
 
     She looked over her shoulder in that dreamy, satiated
look that I love so much on Abby's face.  "Muuuuuuuuch
better," she gasped, wiggling her butt and squeezing my
fingers.
 
     "Then hand me the goop when you're ready."
 
     "No!" she gasped.  "You've... you've had... that
boner... for over... three hours." She wiggled her butt and
panted for a few breaths.  "It's... your turn... to feel
better."
 
     "Caysi..."
 
     "Daaaaaaaad!  We both need it.  And... I know you've...
been fixed.  Come on!  You're, like... going to anyway."
 
     The realization that she was right felt like a cold
bucket of water in my face.
 
     "Daaaaaaaad!  After all you've done... it's my turn to
make... YOU feel better!"
 
     Pauly Junior sent me a clear warning that he was
planning to 'feel better' with or without Caysi in the next
few moments.  'What the hell,' I thought, 'I can't get in
any deeper trouble than I'm already in.'  And that was all
the argument I needed as I fumbled my shorts down with one
hand.
 
     Caysi looked over her shoulder, then moved her upper
body slightly to the side and looked under her armpit. 
"That's a nice one, Dad."
 
     I had no idea how she could make that comparison--look,
maybe she learned from browsing the internet--and I didn't
care.  I slid my fingers out of her.
 
     She spread her knees apart, yelping when the right knee
moved off the pillow and landed on the tweezers.  I tossed
them against the side wall of the compartment while she
lowered her butt until she was at the right height.  I
curled around her, my head and shoulders pressed against the
ceiling of the SUV.  She reached between her legs and
positioned Pauly Junior's nose at the entrance to the copper
mine.  "Hurry!"
 
     I hurried, plunging him into her hot, liquid depth in
one smooth move.  I'd like to tell you how long I spent
plunging and re-plunging into her tender body, bringing her
to more climaxes before I had my own, but the truth is that
I had just enough time to saw into her three times, realize
that she'd beat Abby if I had to judge both tastiness and
tightness, and cup each hand around one of the firm spheres
affixed to her chest.  I vaguely recall thinking about how
they fit my hands perfectly just before the world became
reduced to Pauly Junior and the slippery heat surrounding
him.
 
     A week's celibacy can help trigger an emotionally
massive release, but I don't think that had anything to do
with it.  I gave total credit to the eager sexiness of the
fifteen-year-old impaled around my spewing dick.  It was so
intense I didn't know whether to hope that it went on
forever or that it would end before I died.  Fortunately--I
think--the second one happened first.
 
     It was my turn to gasp for air, the need intensified by
the fact that I was still standing and curled around her.  I
did not want to release her happy handfuls so that I could
support part of my weight on my arms.
 
     I opened my eyes to see where the sweat dripping off my
chin was landing.  I forgot about the sweat when I saw her
bright eyes smiling up at me over her shoulder.  "Better?"
she asked.
 
     "Muuuuuuuuch better," I said.  I made a note to feel
guilty after we were back on the road.  I planned to enjoy
this moment for all it was worth.
 
     "Me, too, Dad."  She sighed.  "Me, too."
 
     I have no idea how long I stood there before I slid out
of her copper mine.  "Dad?" she asked  after moaning
disappointment at her loss.
 
     "Yeah?"
 
     "Unless you can do that again, you'd better spread the
goop soon, both sides.  Sorry."  From the sound of the last
word, I wasn't sure if she was sorry that I had to re-treat
the left cheek, sorry for herself, or sorry for me.  It took
me until the end of the goo-smearing that I realized she was
sorry for both of us.
 
     She handed me another paper towel.  She'd already
handed me a couple as my load trickled out of her.  I
checked to see if any more was trickling out before I wiped
my hands.
 
     "Now what?" I asked.
 
     She backed out of the SUV and stood before me, making
no effort to hide the tattoo or anything else.  I know that
I shouldn't have expected her to cover herself after all
that, but Caysi was far more weird than Casey.  She wasn't
exactly the same daughter I'd left behind.  I began to
reflect on what we'd just done and knew that she most
certainly wasn't the same daughter.
 
     "I'll get a skirt out and wear it, with a towel wrapped
around me underneath so that the medicine-goop doesn't stain
the cloth.  We can stop at the bathrooms," she pointed
vaguely in their direction, "and I'll clean up.  With a
skirt on, it'll be easier for you to make it better if it
starts bothering me again before we get to the motel."  The
last was delivered with a lecherous grin that made my knees
quiver.
 
     She looked around as I began to try again.  "What I
meant..."
 
     "And it's getting late, you know.  Maybe we should find
a motel, like, really soon?  That will be a lot more
comfortable for making it better.  For both of us."  She
flashed a charming smile with just a hint of sassy tease in
it.  She scrambled back into the luggage compartment, looked
over her shoulder, and wiggled her butt at me. 
"Fortunately, what I need is right on top of the pile."
 
     I still didn't have my answer, but I had learned that
another hernia wasn't in the offering while I dug out the
bottom-most suitcase.  That was something.
 
     She found what she wanted and backed out.  It was a
white skirt that looked short enough to let the Jolly Green
Giant see that tattoo if they stood facing each other at a
foot's distance.
 
     As she stepped into the skirt, I tried yet again. 
"Honey, what I want to know is what's going to happen when
we get home?"
 
     She paused with the skirt almost to the top of her
smooth, tanned thighs.  The lawnmower and the postage stamp
peered at me over the edge of the material, and I could just
see the beginning of the valley below the copper curls. 
"Well, I think we can, like, get all our answers ourselves,
without having to get Mom involved, you know.  I think we
can, like, work out anything."
 
     "Are you sure?"
 
     She left the skirt at half-mast and gently cupped my
face in her hands.  She pulled me down to her level and gave
me a soft kiss.  "I'm sure."
 
     I couldn't speak until she'd wrapped a motel towel,
obviously one she'd accidentally packed two days earlier,
around her and tugged the skirt into place.  I'd busied
myself repacking the first aid kit after the view vanished. 
"Well," I said, suddenly at a loss for words that had been
there moments earlier, "let's go get you cleaned up."
 
     "Okay," she giggled in a bright voice.  If not for the
red eyes, you'd never know she'd been crying.  She carried
the first aid kit with her while I closed the back doors and
climbed into my seat.
 
     She turned toward me and opened her legs, giving me a
wonderful view of the tattoo and everything else.  "This is
a more comfortable way to sit," she said with a grin.  "And
you aren't going to see anything you haven't seen before."
 
     "Caysi..."
 
     "Dad?  It's just Casey."
 
     I nodded.  Still sounded the same to me.  "Casey, I'm
sorry you got hurt."
 
     She shrugged.  "Maybe I am too, a little.  But mostly,
I think it was SO worth it."  She blew me a kiss, something
else from the age of 'make it better.'
 
     I started the engine and headed for the restroom
building.
 
     I came out of the men's side while she was still
cleaning up.  I connected the laptop to my cell phone and
checked for motels.  The closest one with a vacancy was five
miles back the way we'd come.  One mile to the next exit,
where we could flip over to the other side and backtrack.
 
     That was okay.  We were in no hurry.  I called Abby and
informed her that we would be a few days late returning
because Casey was getting her own vacation to make up for
the one she'd missed during the move.  I reassured her that
we were having a good time.
 
     One that we would make better when we reached the
motel.
 
Copyright Russell Hoisington 2006
 
   ************************************************************
 
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Russell Hoisington
State of Confusion

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