On a hot, Saturday afternoon in June, Jim Benson stood in his driveway, washing his car. As he was spraying off the suds, he noticed a familiar figure walking down his street, towards her house. Towards him. He tried not to look at her, to keep his attention focused on the car, but his gaze kept straying as she came closer, her lush body bouncing and swaying with each step.
Her long, honey-blonde hair danced in the summer breeze. Sunglasses covered her eyes, but the rest of her lovely features, including her full, bow-shaped lips, were clearly visible. Her breasts almost overflowed out of her tight tube top, and her cut-off denim shorts lovingly cupped the swells of her hips and thighs.
He felt two emotions, which had become familiar to him in recent months: desire, and self-disgust. She was sixteen years old; he was forty-two.
He concentrated on his work, wanting to give the appearance of being engrossed, unaware of her approach, but she was not at all deterred. She strode up the driveway, stepping carefully around the coils of hose, and lightly brushed her lips against his cheek.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, smiling.
“Hi, hon,” he croaked.
The hose nozzle, rigid in his fist, jerked and sputtered out a jet of urgent fluid, oozed a trickle, then hacked out damp air.
"Goddamn literary symbolism," Jim muttered, as the hose drooped limply.
Opening: Wil E Quixote.....Continuation: Batgirl