Father and Daughter

All I recall is falling down on the floor, Peter stumbling, and me trying to cling on to his feet, bring him down on his ass in any way I could; then, a vicious kick across my face, rattling my head and brain.

Darkness.

* * * * *

"Hey, dad," I heard Elizabeth's voice as if coming from a faraway dream from which I was slowly emerging. I blinked, trying to remove the blurriness and heaviness of my eyesight; I smiled, when I noticed her beautiful face mere inches away from me.

However, the look of anguish she sported caused a tremendous pain to shatter my heart.

"Hi," I coughed; when I tried to sit up properly on the bed, my whole body was thundered by violent jolts of pain.

"Take it easy," she held me down, her soft, gentle hand on my shoulder.

Was it the beating that caused the pain, or the hangover? Probably the combination; the cold fact was, I was nearly petrified, stranded on the bed, hardly able to breathe.

"Peter told me to say he's sorry," she said. The mere mention of his name was enough to get my blood boiling all over again. "He said he had no choice but to incapacitate you; otherwise, you might have done something you'd regret.

"And, at any rate, he told me to give you this, as a token of his sincere apology." Her smile soothed me a little, and she showed me a bottle of Four Roses.

"How nice of him," I whispered scornfully; however, seeing the bottle woke up my thirst and shortly I did not even care about Peter, nor for any of the reasons for which I had wanted to murder him the previous night.

"Here," she brought the neck of the bottle to my lips and let me have a little nip. "It'll make you feel better."

And it did! The glorious elixir went smoothly down my throat and warmth expanded from my gut throughout my body.

"You only get this much for now," she scolded me, playfully, when I smacked my lips, demanding another sip. "Look, dad," she finally said after a while of silence, where she stroked my hair while gazing at me lovingly, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my job.

"I knew you wouldn't approve, but...I'm making good money, it's why we've been a bit more comfortable lately. Besides, I didn't want you to worry about me, I..." She paused, heavily sighing. "It's not easy, us living together, but..."

"It's alright," I took her hand into mine, and showered it in weak kisses. "I might have overreacted...it's just...I don't like the idea of all these bums and petty thieves ogling all over you, you know?

"Whether you like it or not, you're still my baby girl."

"Yeah," she frowned. "Only, I'm a grown woman too."

"All too grown," I agreed; my eyesight began to clear up and I could see her body once again, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and hot pants. For a moment there, when I could still hardly see from the hangover (and the bruise decorating my left eye, as I later found out), she was my little girl, the one that demanded to sit on my lap, while I fooled around with the typewriter, desperate to write something worthwhile.

But, now, the fantasy had gone away; she wasn't just my little girl anymore. She was an insanely attractive young woman, who had taken a few wrong turns in her life, apparently (yet, not surprisingly, considering the role models she had for parents), and who had figured out what she wanted out of life, as well as the means by which to get it.

Whether I approved or not was irrelevant; it was her life, her choices. And as I lay there, helpless, I was overwhelmed with dread, when the realization finally hit me that I had no right to try and impose my beliefs on her.

"Are you okay?" She asked me.

'Yeah, I'm...just tired," I tried to smile at her; the worrisome look I noticed in her eyes told me that my attempt to smile had been unsuccessful.

"You sure?" She blew a soft kiss on my forehead, then, when I nodded, she fixed the blanket around my neck and left the room, closing the door behind her.

I closed my eyes, wishing to sleep the pain and hangover away; yet, suddenly, I realized my nakedness. However, I was absolutely certain I had worn some pants, when Peter came around.

I recalled how Elizabeth had eyed my crotch, when she caught me with Gina; the strange glint that had appeared in her eyes, when she saw me in all my long, thick glory, but...

Unwilling further to pursue the thought, fairly horrified of where it could lead, I shut my eyes tight and in a few minutes my exhaustion won and I was soundly asleep once more.

* * * * *

I stumbled my way out of the bar; not nearly as drunk as I'd like to be, but, I had drunk all I could afford. Thankfully, there was a half-empty bottle of Four Roses still waiting for me upstairs.

Panting heavily from hurrying up the stairs, I opened the door, fervently licking my lips, eager to quench my never-ending thirst; and yet, I simply froze at the doorway, when I noticed the heavy, deep moans coming from my bedroom.

I knew I had to get out; return to the bar and beg and plea with Peter to reopen my tab. He wouldn't, but, I might have been able to bum a couple of drinks off my acquaintances; they were all fairly drunk, thus more willing to spend a couple extra bucks.

But, I didn't; for a few moments, that in my head seemed to have lasted an eternity, I simply stood at the doorway, listening to the moans. Then, I took a few hesitant steps into the apartment.

I grabbed the bottle from my desk and tiptoed my way to my room; I only wanted to lock myself in there, drink myself deaf, and to eventually blackout. However, when I noticed the bedroom's door being half-open, I just...couldn't stop myself from stealing one brief glimpse.

And I nearly dropped the bottle, when I saw Elizabeth on all fours on the double bed, getting savagely pounded by a tall, muscular black guy; I bit my hand, in order to drown the oncoming gasp. Suddenly, I recognized the man fucking my daughter; it was Dave, one of the local wannabe pimps and a pot-dealer.

To be fair, Dave was quite a cool guy; I never had any quarrels with him and he was, admittedly, one of the nicest guys around (always in comparison to the cesspool of humanity we lived amongst).

Elizabeth had buried her face in the pillow and I could see her biting the cover hard, while Dave went hard on her, his long dick slamming her pussy. I wished I could convince myself he had assaulted her, that he was raping her; that might have made the cold realization that my baby girl was all grown up easier to swallow.

But, it was consensual sex between two adults and there was nothing I could do; Elizabeth had caught me getting a titjob by Gina, maybe her leaving the door half-open was a payback of sorts. Or, more plausibly, she had just thought I'd stay at the bar till last call, which would have given her plenty of time to enjoy herself and throw Dave out before my arrival.

At any rate, I was standing right there by the doorway, helplessly staring at my daughter getting plowed. And even though I wanted to lock myself in my room and drink the images away, I physically couldn't; moreover, and even more disturbingly, I felt my blood rushing down south.

I was hard; watching Dave pull my daughter's hair, as his big, swollen balls slammed hard against her wet pussy—the splashing noise ringing loudly in my head—had me all hot and horny.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna..." I heard Dave's rusty voice proclaim; in fascination, I watched Elizabeth expertly turn around, when he pulled out of her, and take him in her mouth, stroking his admittedly impressive prick with both hands.

"Shit...drink my fucking cum, you little slut," Dave told her, when he unloaded all over her face, Elizabeth's mouth wide open eager to receive his spunk, while she rubbed her dripping pussy hard.

And it was right then, I decided I'd had enough; besides, I feared they'd soon come out, to get cleaned up or whatever, and being caught standing at the door, like the degenerate old man I'd clearly become, wasn't exactly what I wanted.

I threw myself on the couch and drank long from the bottle; I lit a joint, the last one remaining in my box, and I chuckled to myself rather humorlessly, when I realized that one of the few guys I could buy quality pot from was right there in my home.

"Fuck...dad?" I heard Elizabeth's befuddled voice and I turned around, trying to look as inconspicuous as I possibly could.

"Hey, Elizabeth," I waved at her, exaggerating my drunkenness.

"How long have you been..." She paused mid-sentence; she was naked, naked and drenched in jism.

I sighed heavily, when she rushed into the bathroom, without saying another word. Shortly, Dave appeared from the bedroom and sat next to me on the couch—thankfully, all dressed up in one of his hideously colorful outfits.

"Hi, man," he patted me on the back. "Mine?" He pointed at the joint.

"Probably," I said; he accepted the blunt and dragged long.

"It's good shit, so...hopefully, it's mine," he grinned, albeit somewhat embarrassed.

"My last one, so...will probably give you a call soon enough."

"Sure, man, sure. Whenever you want. As a matter of fact," he began searching his jacket, "here; it's on me." He handed me a bag of approximately 3 grams of pot.

"Thanks, but...why?" I stuffed the bag in my pocket.

"Just...consider it a gift to one of my best customers," he shrugged.

"Thanks," I clapped him on the shoulder; I couldn't exactly remove the image of him mounting my daughter, but, the joint and the bourbon helped, a bit, and, more importantly, I was determined not to let them know of how much I'd heard, and seen.

Elizabeth soon joined us—dressed in tight hot pants and a sports bra—and sat between us; I couldn't help but stare at her messy hair, as well as her bizarrely shining eyes.

"You're home early," she said to me, in an almost accusatory tone.

"Drank my wallet dry," I replied.

"You'll never change, man," Dave burst into a short laughter.

"Yeah," I frowned at him; instantly, he stopped laughing and his expression turned somber.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I should probably get going...too much to do, and...yeah, I'll be heading out now."

"We'll talk tomorrow, right?" Elizabeth said to him, without getting up.

"Yes. And," he looked at me, "you take care, man. All right? And...whatever you need..."

"I know where to find you," I cut him off coldly.

"All right, bye," he said and hurried out of the door; the moment he was out, I slammed the door shut.

"Did you...um, hear...?" Elizabeth asked timidly, when I returned to the couch.

"Hear what?" I asked, still keeping up my oblivious act—inwardly, I was smiling, enjoying the mellower and more timid side of Elizabeth, which was apparently brought out by the thrashing Peter had given me.

"Nothing, I just...nothing," she shook her head; her face turned scarlet.

"Are you alright?" I put my arm around her shoulders. "You look a bit...flushed."

"Yes, I'm fine, I'm..." She tried to dismiss me; but, she took hold of my hand, holding it tight.

Of course, she knew I knew; she was, after all, a smart girl. She was just afraid of letting it out in the open; and it was all right, because, I wasn't really fond of the idea of openly speaking about the incident, either.

However, as we sat there on the couch, in a tight embrace, her head resting on my shoulder, sharing the bourbon and the blunt, I felt better than I had in a very long time.

It might have been the booze and pot flooding my bloodstream, but, I was able to forget the image of my daughter getting ravished by Dave on the bed I used to sleep in and, for a short while, she was nothing but my daughter; an innocent girl, who wasn't hustling, drinking, stripping, and fucking.

I wasn't able to escape reality for long, but, for while it lasted, it was absolutely glorious.

* * * * *

At the barroom I sat at the counter, swilling down green beer, while I watched Jerry and Elizabeth shooting pool—just for practice, no bets this time.

"Hey, man," Richard embraced me hard from behind, almost causing me to lose balance.

My first reaction was to turn viciously around, my fist in the air; suddenly, I froze in an overly dramatic position, with my fist midway through the punch. Somehow, I managed to turn the intended punch into an embrace to my oldest friend in this dumpster of a neighborhood.

"Always up for a fight, uh?" Richard shook his head and sat his heavy frame on the stool.

"You just surprised me, man," I explained. "How have you been doing? It's been a long time..."

"Made it out, man!" He said, proudly. "You're now talking to a marketing executive of a big pharmaceutical company!"

"No shit," I gasped. "That's...wonderful," I convinced myself to add, unsuccessful at hiding my disbelief.

"Yeah," he smirked. "It took me a while to believe it myself, trust me. Get us two glasses of your oldest Jack," he told Peter stoically. "Anyway, how have you been holding up?"

"Same old shit," I responded truthfully; I was, admittedly, tempted to brag about some imaginary success, but, in the end, I realized the pointlessness of it all.

"Nothing changes, huh?" He clapped me sympathetically on the shoulder, rocking me forth. "You need to get out of this place, man. Live up to your potential! I mean," he opened his arms wide in the air with an all too wide grin, "look at me!

"Who would have thought I'd have a well-paying job, huh? Drinking expensive whiskey, wearing these fancy suits, living in a lovely suburban home?"

"Still single?" I asked him.

"Hell, yeah!" He barked laughingly. "Do you know how much young pussy I get nowadays? All those young things working as pharmaceutical representatives in their tight, short dresses, making old doctors salivating over their thighs and ordering drugs just so they can see them again...

"Man, most of them would kill to get into the tv-ads I'm running; and most are more than willing to sleep with me for a small part. It's the age of vanity, man; they think a few seconds of airtime will get them the attention they so much covet and probably believe they're entitled to too.

"Fuck, man, the weeks before we shoot a new commercial, I sometimes feel like I'm actually gonna die from too much sex."

"Well, then," I raised the Jack with a heavy heart, "here's to your new life, man!"

We toasted and drank; it was the way he swilled Jack that made me see a faint glimpse of the old Richard. The constantly drunk middle-age man, who had once upon a long time directed a film that was shown nowhere and made a living by shooting amateur pornography—though, too niche to become a monetary success.

And here he was, apparently in charge of a company's marketing department, shooting advertisements. Turning the talent he thought he had into a successful enterprise.

As I motioned to Peter for another round of Jack—on Richard's tab, whether he intended to or not—I remembered the poems in The New Yorker, which I had read and found insanely good. The poet-bartender filled our glasses; with my heart in my stomach I drained it, in a desperate effort once and for all to drown it.

"See that perky little thing over there?" Richard, in a whisper, pointed at Elizabeth. "God, I wish I still made those other movies, man. She'd have made me a rich man."

"She's..." I stopped myself—cartoonish as it may sound, I did see wheels turn faster in my brain. "Definitely, man," I added, when he gave me a queer look. "But, let me tell you something else," I pulled him closer so that I could whisper directly into his ear. "She's horrible at pool, but, she doesn't know it; when she owes too much money, she offers her body as payment.

"And, trust me, no one's ever complained about not getting paid in cash."

"Is that so?" He arched his eyebrow, scanning me thoroughly. "You're not fucking with your old buddy, are you now?"

"Would I ever do that?" I asked, feigning taking offence. "I'm just giving you a tip, man; given you've been away for a while."

"I could certainly use some fresh pussy," he said, mostly to himself.

I reached for my beer; my heart palpitated, when he approached the pool table. He greeted Jerry heartily. But, while Richard's back was turned to me, I was able to gesture to Elizabeth.

In a few moments, and after Richard and Jerry exchanged a few pleasantries as old acquaintances (Richard probably bragged about his new place in life), Jerry took the seat next to me.

"Nicely played, man," he said to me in a steady, unemotional voice, while we both looked on as Elizabeth, in her short, sparkling dress, set up the table. "Since when do you help your daughter hustle your old buddies?"

"Fuck him," I said coldly.

"Too much bragging, huh?"

"Yeah," I lifted my glass towards Richard, who gave me an acknowledging nod.

"Poor motherfucker," Jerry sighed, as he sipped his gin and tonic. "He's completely forgotten how the game's played."

"And, as the good friends we are," I added, "we are just reminding him how it's done."

"What's your problem, man? You used to worship the fucker."

"I don't know," I shrugged and drained my beer.

"Right," Jerry rolled his eyes; we both knew what my problem was, there was no reason to bring it out in the open.

"On the house," Peter said, slamming a new glass of draft beer. "Say, are they playing for fun, or..."

"Nope," Jerry said.

"I kinda feel bad about it, man," Peter shook his head with a heavy sigh. "Swindling our own...there's supposed to be solidarity between friends and brothers, man."

"He left this place behind and completely forgotten us, right?"

"He's back, isn't he?" Peter continued.

"To brag," I fired back.

"To feel better," Peter corrected me. "Take a better look at the poor fuck; his suit, fancy as it may at first seem, is second-hand. And a bit torn on the inside. His nails are dirty as fuck; his hair's all messy.

"Come on, man. If he did have the position he's bragging about, he wouldn't look like that. If he had come here just to brag, he'd be on his best and not looking like a bum trying to land a job.

"Now, he's just ridiculous and quite pathetic."

I inspected Richard closely, as he moved around the table, grinning from ear to ear whenever Elizabeth missed an easy shot; and Peter was right. After a closer inspection, Richard did not look the successful man he was portraying to be.

"You think he's lying?" I asked both men, suddenly feeling confused.

"Nah," Peter shrugged. "Only partly; he probably did have the job he's talking about, and did make some good money. But, being a chronic drunk and a by nature bum, he probably drank it all up.

"Drank himself out of his job and his new life. Maybe, he even fucked the wrong girl, pissed the wrong person off...I don't know. He did something, though, and lost it all."

"And he's now trying to come back to the one place he always felt welcome," Jerry said, with a faint note of melancholy in his voice, "and we're ripping him off."

Elizabeth was already moving to the last part of the hustle, ready for the kill; she briefly flashed Richard, whose jaw dropped all the way down to the floor. They were talking stakes—I didn't hear how much money they were talking about, but, it was probably more than anyone in the barroom at that time could afford.

"Too late," Jerry sighed, then ordered another round of drinks. "Here's to being assholes, man," we touched glasses, then drank long.

"And...game over," I said, without the excitement I thought I'd have, when Elizabeth cleared up the table in one go, leaving Richard completely aghast—suddenly, his face turned crimson and threw a wild glance at both Jerry and I.

"You cocksucking motherfuckers!" He screamed at the top of his lungs; infuriated, he smashed his cue on the pool table and walked toward us pointing the sharp edge of the broken cue directly, and homicidally, at us.