A Swiftly Changing World

"Huh?"

"One."

That wizened the kid up a bit. He quickly jumped to his feet and began a frantic search for his clothes. He found his shirt and started to put it on. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he kept muttering to himself.

"Two. You did that already," I told him as I leaned back against my desk as calmly and ruthlessly as I could. My eyes never left him as he reached for his jeans. "If I were you, I wouldn't waste what little time you have left with getting dressed. You can do that in the car, a few miles from here... if you live long enough to get to your car, that is. Three."

"Oh! Oh, yeah! Do me like you mean it! I want you to fuck me hard!" some girl on the TV demanded. I paid it no mind and focused all of my attention on the boy.

He glanced up at me and his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. Good. Arrogant shit. He got just a touch smarter, snatched his shoes and ran out of my office like his ass was on fire (as well, it soon would be if he didn't move more quickly). Seconds later I heard his souped-up Honda scream to life, a sound that reminded me of a toy car on cocaine, and then the very pleasant sound of tires squealing as he left my home, hopefully never to return again.

I returned the family photo back to its place on my desk and opened a window to let out the very pungent odor of sex. With that done, I made a beeline for Emily's bedroom. I didn't even bother to knock and just flung the door open forcefully, which caused it to rattle on its hinges. I saw my daughter sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed in a robe and with a look of stark horror writ large upon her features. I just stared at her for a long moment in total silence, almost willing her to dare to speak first. Fortunately for her sake, she knew better.

"You are so unbelievably fucked, young lady, that they will one day in the far future be only barely evolved enough to come up with a term to describe it. You can bet your well-fucked ass that I will most certainly be talking with your mother about this, but first I have some questions and you had better damn well tell me the absolute truth because this shit is serious. And, a word to the wise, keep your answers as short as humanly possible. Here's the first question: do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Emily answered meekly.

"Good. Next question: are you using birth control?"

"Kind of."

"Explain, quickly."

"I have a morning-after pill," she said quickly. "I was planning on taking that."

I grunted. I've done research on those things. Fairly effective, but still somewhat risky over the long-term. "Plan-B or Preven?"

She grabbed her lockbox off her nightstand, opened it up and glanced inside at what I presumed was the pill in question. "Plan-B," she answered.

"Is he a boyfriend?"

"No."

"What's his name?"

"Rick."

"Have you fucked Rick before?"

"No."

"Do you know him well?"

"Yes."

"How well?"

"I've known him since kindergarten. We're good friends."

I didn't recognize him, but that meant very little. Emily always kept her friends away from us for all kinds of reasons, one of them being that we were a little weird what with me being a professional writer and Jessica being a nurse. At least, that was Emily's excuse. "So he IS a boyfriend," I stated plainly.

Emily blinked at that. "He IS a boy," she said guardedly, "and he IS a friend. So, yes, I guess he is *A* boyfriend, but not my BOY-FRIEND."

"You aren't romantically involved with him?"

"No."

"Why were you fucking him, then?"

"His ex-girlfriend said that he had a big dick and I was curious, so I asked him. One thing led to another." The casual way she said that bothered me quite a lot more than I expected. I also got the feeling that I was getting only part of the story, but it seemed like that was the relevant part.

I narrowed my eyes at her cautiously, not sure what my next question would be. On the one hand, I wanted to ask her if her curiosity had been sufficiently satisfied. On the other, I wanted to ask her if it was worth it. I decided to go with the latter, since it had a more menacing tone to it. "Was it worth it?"

"That depends," she answered quickly. She still held the lockbox in her hands, but looked fairly calm for a young woman in her position.

"On what?"

"On what I'm going to lose."

Again I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously. I know my daughter extremely well and she can be a very devious little minx if given half a chance. She's very smart and doesn't hesitate to use her intelligence when she thinks it'll keep her out of trouble. She inherited that trait from me, I'm sad to say, but the up-shot is that I can spot it a mile away and know better than to play into her traps. "What you will and will not lose, Emily, remains to be determined. Once I have a talk with your mother, we'll see how the lay of the land looks. For now, you're glued to this room. I'll bring you your meals. Give me your cell phone." I held out my hand expectantly.

"It's in your office," she told me. "In my knapsack."

"Very well. It stays with me until your mother gets home- at the very least. We might decide to keep it longer or just have it shut off permanently. As of now, you are in a communications black-out with the rest of the world. No friends, no boyfriends, nothing and nobody. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Nyet. Capiche?"

"Oui, mon pare," she answered in French.

I blinked at her in surprise, but rolled with it and responded in kind. "Vous etes idiot. One, for disobeying us, and two, for getting so blatantly caught. To say nothing of the room you chose do to it in. If you ever set foot in my office again without my permission, I'll chain you to your fucking bed. Comprenez-vous?"

"Yes."

"Good." I turned around and started to leave her room.

"Can I ask a question?" she blurted out.

I turned to face her for a moment and then nodded. "One question. One. You'd better make it a good one."

She was quiet for a moment as she thought it over. Doubtless she had lots of questions on her mind, but she had to figure out which was the most important one for her to ask. Her choice surprised me. "Are you really that angry or are you just being a parent right now?"

"Technically, that's two questions, but I'll let it slide," I said. "Yes, I'm really that angry- you violated my private space, my personal haven. If it was anyone else, I'd have done physical damage. That kid got off lucky because I didn't know if you thought ahead enough to worry about birth control and, therefore, he might end up being the father of my first grand-child, so he had to survive if only to fulfill his potential obligation as a father. There was also the fact that you were on top of him, which means that you were there by choice. If he'd been on top, I wouldn't have known if it was rape or not and would have assumed the worst, which would've prompted me to split his head wide open. As for the second question, yes, I am most definitely being a parent right now."

"Are you jealous?" she quickly asked.

I almost answered that, but stopped myself. She wanted to take the focus off of her and put it back on me. "Bzzt! You've reached your limit. I will suffer your questions no more. Zip it. I'll bring your dinner in a few hours." Without another word, I left and closed the door behind me. With a quick second thought, I said through the door, "I will come back periodically to check and see if you haven't hopped out of your window. If I find you gone, your belongings will be scattered out on the lawn and you will be invited to find somewhere else to live. Consider yourself forewarned. I am most definitely not fucking around on this one. STAY in your room. You're my daughter and even though I'm pissed at you right now, I really don't wanna kick you out of the house just yet because, believe it or not, I do love you."

I didn't wait for an answer and went straight back to my office, back to the scene of the crime. The TV was still on and, now that I had more time to survey the damage, I saw that Emily's clothes were strewn all over the floor. I glanced at the sofa where I had cat-napped so many times before, where Emily had just fucked some teenage boy, and saw a very prominent wet spot. I stared at the spot for several long seconds in silent thought, not sure what to do about it, and tuned out the distinct sounds of sex coming from the television. Cleaning the wet spot up would mean getting close to it and I wasn't sure that I wanted to get a nose-full of my daughter's and some strange boy's most intimate aromas right then. I decided that Emily would pay with her own money to have it cleaned by a professional. Suddenly I heard the soft tones of her cell phone as it started to ring.

I looked down at the floor and quickly found her knapsack. Within seconds, the phone was in my hand and the caller ID announced that Rick was calling. Feeling particularly evil, I answered the phone. "Riiiiick. How good to hear from you so soon. Did my daughter ever tell you about her Uncle Sam? He works for the CIA. I've got your number now. And that means, within a few minutes, I'll have your address, too, as well as a lot more information about you."

"But, sir-!" the boy squeaked into the phone from the other end.

"But nothing, *Rick*. Tell me something, Ricky, are you a father? Are you aware of the fact that my daughter isn't taking birth control? You came inside her. Do you WANT to be a father?"

"WHAT? But she said-!"

"Women say all kinds of things in order to get what they want, just like us men, Ricky-boy. I should know. I'm a father myself and I've been there. I'm telling you, Richard, you've got a hard road ahead of you. Diapers, late nights, teething, jobs you hate just to pay the bills and keep the kid in clothes. Damn, Dick, you've got yourself in quite a pickle here."

"But I-!"

"But-but-but. What's with you, Richie? Afraid to take responsibility, hmm?"

"No, sir! I just-!"

"Well, I'll tell you how it is, *Rick*. My brother Sam, remember him? The one who works for the CIA? My brother Sam has a sister-in-law who had a guy run out on her once, left her high and dry with two kids and all the bills. Sammy found that shit-heel a week later in Tijuana and you know what? That guy is STILL in Tijuana. You know what he's doing there? Well, I'll tell you, Ricky, old friend. He's rotting away in a graveyard, just like all the other corpses down there. Now, I'm just telling you this so that you'll have something to think about until we can find out if you knocked my daughter up today. Remember, *Rick*: I have now, officially, got your number. Comprende, mi amigo?"

There was a very long pause on the other end and I could have sworn that I heard the kid gulp. I could just imagine him stopped on the side of the road somewhere not far away, trying to get his pants around his ankles, and frozen in fear from what I'd just told him. Finally, he said, "Yes. Yes, sir. I understand completely. Sir."

I smiled wolfishly. "That's very good, Rick. I'm glad to hear that. I'm glad that we understand one another. I'd hate to have to say, one day, that I've got a stupid, dead son-in-law. That'd just suck. But, hey, listen... nothing's written in stone just yet, is it? You might get lucky. Well, luckier than you already did today with my daughter, you fucking scum-bag. Emily might not get pregnant after all. Which would get you off the hook pretty nicely. But let's not mince words here, hmm? I'm a man who prefers to speak plainly. If, IF you're very, very lucky, Rick, and my daughter doesn't end up pregnant, I just want to make it absolutely clear that if you get within ten feet of her ever again... well... Sam's a nice guy until he finds that his niece might be in some sort of trouble. And you, my boy, officially qualify as trouble in my book."

"Sir? Can I say something?"

"Sure, Rick, but make it fast. You guys left quite a mess in my office here and I'd like to clean it up before it gets too late. I've had a long, long day."

"Yes, sir. Uhm. Listen, sir, your daughter is a good friend of mine. I wouldn't do anything to-"

"Stop right there," I interrupted. "You're going to say that you'd never do anything to hurt her. But the fact of the matter is, you shit-head, you popped your rock into my little girl's womb. You didn't even give any consideration to the possible exchange of STD's- and let's NOT call my daughter's integrity into question on that score, shall we? I'm thinking about you here. If Emily DOES get pregnant, her whole life falls apart pretty damn quick and, so help me God, if she gets left holding the proverbial short end of the stick, you'll be lucky to walk again. What you've done here, Ricky-boy, is you have put yourself and my daughter at risk, on two different fronts. And that's a damn crying shame. If you're a man who believes in God, I'd say that you had better start praying like the world is about to end. Because if my little girl ends up pregnant or sick, it'll take an act of God Himself to keep you safe from me." With that I hung up the phone and then shut the damn thing off. I was through talking to that idiot.

That was when I heard a very familiar voice, a voice I'd heard not twenty minutes before, coming from the TV. "Fuck! Fuck me like you did my mom!" the voice cried out.

I looked up at the screen and saw, much to my horror, that the owner of that voice was none other than Polly, my brother's daughter, my niece. A picture of Sam and his family, Polly at age sixteen, was on a bookshelf, right behind the TV. I occurred to me that Ricky-boy had probably recognized Polly in that picture when he was looking up at me while searching for his clothes. That was probably why he hauled ass out of the house- he didn't want to wait around for my discovery of this fact. There she was, my beautiful niece, decked out like a porn star. Wait. No. She IS a porn star. The actor fucking her was extremely well-hung and he was fucking her like mad. I just stared at the screen with my jaw hanging open.

Sweet little Polly, who bounced on my knee countless times when she was an innocent little girl, was bent over on her hands and knees, taking it doggy-style from her partner while she watched him from over her shoulder. Auburn hair, steel-blue eyes, young athletic body, soft face with elfin features- Polly. The camera moved from her face to her pussy without a break, making it unquestionable that she was truly and honestly getting fucked.

"RAM IT IN!" she cheered the porn actor on gleefully.

The look of pure, unadulterated sexual abandon on her face was so alien to me, but it so dearly resembled how she looked just before cracking up from laughter. I recognized that look because she loved me to make her laugh every year at Thanksgiving with one of my funny stories that never saw the light of publishing day. The camera moved away from her face and back to her cock-filled pussy, where the guy's pole was gripped tightly by the inner-folds and glistened wetly with her juices. As her hips rolled from the pounding he was giving her, I could see that she shaved her pussy down to a landing strip and when her asshole came into view it was clearly a hole that had seen some action more than once.

Polly Ann Goddard, a young lady not much older than Emily, was a porn star. A fuck-slut. A cum whore. A cock knocker. My mind processed this fact, but I still couldn't seem to warm up to it, like being told that your goldfish set the house on fire. I just stared dumbly at the screen in a weird combination of horror and intrigue. I didn't even register the fact that I was developing an erection.

"Oh, fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum!" the guy groaned.

"Yes!" my niece crowed. "Yes, Daddy! Do it! CUM INSIDE ME!"

I forced my eyes away from the screen when the actor began to deposit a rather healthy quantity of sperm into my niece's cunt for the video camera and I began to look for the box that the video came in. Laying on the desk next to the DVD player was the case proudly titled "Cum Drippers #18: Taboo Fantasies of Porn Stars." I picked the case up and looked at the back. Whoever had designed it had been kind enough to place small thumb-nail pictures next to each of the starlets featured in the video. My eyes fell upon the pic of Polly, who lewdly held her ample breasts up for the camera and was licking one of her nipples, and I found her stage name: "Miss Begotten." How quaint. She named herself after a fictional email address in one of my first books.

"Ooooh, yeah," Polly told the video camera, "I just love it when my pussy drips cum like this. Thank you, Daddy." I didn't even look up when I heard the off-screen director ask her how it tasted and she said, "Oh, it's, mmmm, fantastic. I can't wait to try some from my sister's pussy next time."

I suddenly, absurdly felt compelled to invent a time machine, go back in time and prevent myself from writing that damned story. In some strange way I was responsible for giving my niece her porn-star name. Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck.

Then, out of nowhere, another thought rolled into my brain like a thunderclap: my daughter had been fucking her friend while watching this video. My attention was pulled away from the DVD clamshell box when I heard my niece's voice once again. Apparently, her scene had been put on a continuous loop and it was starting over again. My mind rocked and reeled with the realization that not only was my daughter probably aware of the fact that her cousin was featured on this video, but she had been fucking right along with her cousin's featured scene!

I turned off the DVD player with a jab of my thumb and marched back to Emily's room with the clamshell in my hand. Once again, I didn't even bother to knock as I opened her door. Emily was still on her bed, but this time she was laying on top of it and filing her nails.

I tossed the clamshell to her like a frisbee and said, "What the hell is this?"

She put down her nail file and picked up the DVD case casually. She glanced at both sides and saw her cousin's face on the back. "It's a porn video," she said.

"You're not so young that I can't put you over my knee and beat that ass of yours till it's black and blue, Emily. Do NOT get coy with me! Answer the fucking question!"

Emily rolled her eyes as she sat up and placed the DVD case to her side. "Well, what do you expect me to say? You asked what it is. That's obvious: it's a porn video. But what you want me to acknowledge is that cousin Polly is starring in it, right?"

"Bingo."

She shrugged indifferently. "Okay. I acknowledge it. So what?"

By that point, I'd had it and cut loose. "YOU WERE FUCKING A BOY ALONG WITH YOUR COUSIN AND YOU ASK ME SO WHAT?!?!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.

Emily never lost her cool, though. "I was not fucking Polly. I was fucking Rick."

I looked upward and counted down from ten. By the time I got down to one, I had regained most of my equilibrium, though I still dearly wanted to throttle my little girl for being such a superb smart-ass. "Let's start over here, from the top."

"Okay," my daughter agreed amiably.

"My niece, your cousin, Polly Goddard is on this video. True?"

"True."

"You were watching her scene while you were fucking some boy in my office without my permission and after your mother and I had made it expressly clear that you were not to have any guests over at the house while we were out of town. True?"

"Yes," she answered promptly.

"Okay. What we have here is this: premarital sex, unprotected sex, breaking explicit rules, invasion of my privacy, using my personal property as a sexual aid, and now the sexual aid in question is bordering closely on incestuous."

"Wait! What? Incestuous how?" Emily demanded, as though I had somehow affronted her with a false claim.

I took a step closer into her room and pointed at the DVD case. "You saw that she was on that video, yes?"