Problem Child

John Martin was in big trouble. His 20-year-old daughter was in jail and was expecting a baby, and he knew who the father was.He was! He had tried to arrange an abortion before his wife could find out, but Cindy had just gotten arrested by the highway patrol for speeding, drunk driving and resisting arrest.

Cindy had always been the wild one, the very opposite of her sister Clara, who was wise, mature and responsible, even though Clara was two years younger than Cindy. Cindy had always been a problem child from the very beginning. John just didn't know what he should do with Cindy. Ground her? It hadn't worked during her teenage years, and certainly not now as Cindy was an adult who was unafraid of her parents, or anyone else for that matter. Talking to her? It hadn't worked either. She was belligerent, defensive and sometimes violent. John had tried his best to show her the right path, but Cindy enjoyed pushing his buttons, taunting him into violence, something he had vowed not to do to his kids like his father had done to him. Cindy would come home drunk at 3 am. She would constantly break curfew as if the concept was foreign to her. She would ride on motorbikes with her friends after being told not to come near the rough, leather-clad bikers of the neighborhood. He had thrown her out of his house, but his wife had begged for her return. And he had conceded, as he was sick of fighting with Marcie, his wife. After all, at that time, Cindy was just 17 – a born-to-be-wild-child, as she called herself. When she turned 18, she left the house, seemingly for good.

With Cindy gone, John's existence became peaceful and even pleasant. He'd still worry about his eldest daughter, but it was her own life to live and he knew parents had to let go of their children sooner or later. It was the way of the world and there was no way around it. Anyway, he still had his younger daughter. Clara had been accepted in an Ivy League college and after the summer she would leave home toward her new, very promising, bright future. However, the peace John enjoyed for about a year vanished in a fateful summer evening.

John hit the brakes and the metallic screeching made him return to the present. He heaved a sigh of relief when he managed to stop his car in time. The near accident made him sober up and focus on what he was doing. He was driving to the highway patrol station where Cindy had be taken to. He had also to post bail to secure her release as quickly as possible. And knowing how big-mouthed his daughter was, he was terrified at the thought of Cindy telling them that she was pregnant with her father's child.

With a lump in his throat he parked the car and strode in the station, painfully aware of the cops' movements. He waited for a while before the cop behind the desk could attend him. When the old lady before him left, he said, "I'm here for my daughter, Cindy Martin."

"Cindy Martin?" the cop asked.

"Yes..." John stammered, clearing his throat.

"Hey, Harold," the cop called out. "We have a Cindy Martin in here?"

"Yes, we do. It's the wild cat we put in jail this morning."

"Okay," the cop said, turning to John. "Wait a minute, sir. I need to talk to my superior about this." And the cop left the desk and disappeared behind a door with a stained glass window.

John took a handkerchief out of the pocket of his pants and dried off his temples and forehead with it. He was perspiring like a pig. It was the heat, he told himself, but he knew it wasn't. He just didn't know what to do. Should he go and avoid arrest?... Or should he stay because Cindy hadn't told a thing? Why the cop had to talk to his superior? Why Cindy was so special that he had to talk to his superior? His heart hammered on his chest and his blood was full of adrenaline. "What am I supposed to do?" he thought. I wanted to be a good father... But she didn't let me. She didn't.

Suddenly the door with the stained glass window came open and the cop returned to his desk. "The captain is going to receive you. Please go and knock on that door." The trooper pointed to a door with a sign that readHighway Patrol Captain,C. Oakes. "Are you okay, sir?"

"Yes, yes, why?" John managed to say.

"You are shaking, sir. And you're pale, but I guess... if I had a daughter like yours... Well, please go see the captain. That's important."

John knocked on the door and to his surprise he heard a female voice, not his daughter's, ordering him to come in.

"Oh, there you are, Mr. Martin," said the woman, standing up and shaking his hand. "I am Carol Oakes. Please sit down."

"Where is Cindy?" he asked, still trying to curb his nervousness.

"We'll come to that. But first I will have to ask you some questions."

"What... questions?" John stuttered, fidgeting in his seat.

"Are you aware of the charges against your daughter?"

"Yes, I think we spoke on the phone a little earlier."

"Are you aware that your daughter is pregnant?"

"Yes...? Is she?"

"Yes, she is, and she was drunk... and driving at 100 mph on the highway when she was intercepted. Not really the proper behavior of someone who is going to be a mother within seven months. Do you have any idea why she did that?"

"No, ma'am. I—"

"Well, that's a shame. We called our psychologist just in case. This kind of behavior is very rare in women, unless..."

"Unless what?"

"They suffered some kind of abuse. Are you aware of any abuse perpetrated on your daughter?"

"Abuse?" said he, blinking his eyes, clasping his hands together to prevent them from shaking.

"Yes, abuse. We know she's been involved with drugs and a bike club nearby, sir. Perhaps you could tell us what she told you. That may help our investigation."

"Oh," John said, feeling some tension dissipate. He told her the little he knew about his daughter's life with the rogue that seduced her away from home and had beaten her up because of a drug deal gone bad. Captain Oakes took down everything he told her and finally she rose to her feet and said, "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Martin. Please pay the bond at the desk and take your daughter home. And please talk to her, and enroll her for counseling. She needs urgent professional help before she does something she will truly regret later. Bye, Mr. Martin." And with that, Captain Oakes shook John's hand with vigor and showed him the door.

Nervously, John waited at the station's desk for Cindy. He had already paid the bail bond and filled in all the paperwork. Shock came over him when he saw the state his daughter was in. She had some bruises on her face and arms; her lustrous, long, pitch-black hair was matted as if with sweat. Cindy's tall, slender yet sinuous frame was still intact, though. It was her daughter's body that made her so attractive and sexy...

"Dad, I am sorry," she said as soon as she saw him. "I am so sorry," she continued, tears going down her cheek. "Please forgive me."

John held his daughter close and let her shed the tears. He was embarrassed, on tenterhooks, because he really didn't want to show his affection for his daughter in front of so many cops who could arrest him if they understood what was really going on. When he was about to leave the station, with his daughter crying on his shoulder, he turned and saw that Captain Oakes and the guy at the desk were watching them.

They drove home in silence. He had wanted to say so many things to his daughter but nothing sounded appropriate. His daughter was 10 weeks pregnant with his child and he had to find a clinic as fast as possible. He had repeated that advice countless times, but she wanted to keep her baby...Their baby. And that was the reason why they had fought and she had run away from home once more.

When he parked the car at the driveway, he remained motionless, waiting for her to speak. Still, she didn't say a thing, as though she was waiting for him to take the initiative. Eventually, with a raucous voice, she said, "Dad?"

"Yes, honey."

"I want to keep the baby."

"You can't. People will ask questions. Your mother will ask questions. Your sister will ask question. The cops..."

"I didn't tell them anything," she suddenly said, facing him for the first time that evening. "I swear. You've got to believe me. And I won't tell anyone. I swear!"

"But why do you want to keep the baby so bad, honey? It will ruin your life. And mine too."

"Dad, don't you understand?" John looked at her child's face, the eyeliner mostly gone, streaking her lovely, attractive face of a young woman with blackened lines. Her disheveled hair gave her the look of a wild child, dressed in a black leather mini-skirt and a tight jacket also made of leather. Her slightly tan long legs made him return to the past, to the moment he desired her for the first time. "Dad?" She shook him awake. "Don't you understand? I want this child because it's yours, it'sours. This baby is the only good thing that has happened to me since a long time. I'd rather have your child than any guy's. I hate them. I hate what they did to me. They're rapists. You were the only man who showed me some respect."

"Cindy, please... You're not making any—"

All of a sudden, the front door came open and Marcie, Clara, and her boyfriend Brad were in the front lawn.

"Baby," cried John's wife, "baby, you're back. We were worried sick about you. We didn't know where you were." John left the car and sighed as his wife and younger daughter embraced Cindy.

"Mr. Martin," greeted Brad shyly, with a curt nod, his hands buried in his pockets, seemingly embarrassed to be there.

"Hi, Brad." John was too worried with Cindy and what she might say to his wife and younger daughter for him to hold a light conversation with Clara's boyfriend, as he usually would.

Feeling helpless and distraught he retired to his study, breathing deeply. He flopped himself down on his chair and sighed, combing his attractive chestnut hair back with his trembling fingers. "Why my daughter?" he thought. Why? Why? Why?

John Martin knew why. Because Cindy was every man's dream. She was an attractive, assertive, dangerous, wild cat. She was a rush of adrenaline personified. She had a great body and her face was lively, with big blue gray eyes, and pouting, sensual lips. Her provocative way of walking was accentuated by the way she dressed. Black leather was always a must. Black boots were usually a must too. Tiny mini skirts revealing most of her long legs and tight tank tops with no visible bra were also usual items during summer. John and his wife had tried everything to control their daughter but Cindy would not let up. She was a human hurricane, an indomitable wild horse that could not be tamed. It seemed as though Cindy was following her grandmother's footsteps, Marisabel Garcia Evans, a Mexican-born matriarch who had ruled her family with an iron fist. There had been lots of rumors about Marisabel and no one, not even her children — Marcie, for one — knew whether they were true.

Yes, Cindy was a wild girl. Her wild ways had almost cost her life, though, when her biker boyfriend almost beat her to death. John recalled how horrified he was when he saw her at their front door, bruised, bleeding and crying. He had wanted to find the bastard and kill him with his own bare hands, but he knew better than that. He called 911 and the cops escorting an ambulance came just in time. The bastard was later caught and thrown in prison.

For a while, Cindy seemed to have calmed down. She became the dutiful daughter he and Marcie had wanted her to be. Even Cindy and Clara became best friends, the sisters they had never been. Clara took good care of her elder sister, and for once Cindy appeared to accept Clara's proximity. But that peace did not last long. Three months after the beating Cindy had returned to her wild ways, going to parties after parties, and getting drunk. The only thing she now avoided like the plague were the bikers of the neighborhood, and for good reason.

One fateful night John remained awake. He was worried and mad at Cindy. He was going to talk to her and give her another piece of his mind. He had doubts about the effectiveness of one more talking-to to a rebellious 19-year-old, but he had to try, even if it meant to throw her out of the house again. And so he waited in the living room, but he eventually fell asleep. He woke up when the lights went on.

"Dad, what the hell are you doing in the living room?"

"Cindy?" said he, still sliding out of the lethargy of a bad night of sleep on the couch. "What's the time?"

"Five am."

"Cindy, I want to talk to you."

"Oh no, you don't."

"Oh yes, I do," said John, getting to his feet.

"I know what you're going to say to me, so forget it." Cindy kept staring at her father with defiance, pouting her lips in a satisfied smile.

"Cindy," said he, raising his voice, but not enough, as he didn't want to wake up his wife and Clara.

"Yes, Dad," she said, turning to face her father in a husky, blasé voice. She shouldered off her leather jacket and threw it to the couch. As usual, she was dressed in a very revealing mini-skirt and a tight black halter mini top. The black, sexy clothing set off her tan skin, and the huskiness, with a slight alcoholic slur, was embarrassing him. John realized his sudden, unexpected erection. The long legs and the amazing sensuality her daughter was exuding had made him speechless, confused and angry at himself. What the hell was happening to him?

"Cindy..." he stammered. "You can't..."

"Dad," she uttered almost in a whisper. "What can't I? I'm 19. You can't say anything. I do what I want and you can't do anything about it."

"Cindy, please," he pleaded, still embarrassed by his growing hard-on. "You can't go on like that. You can't."

"Why not?" Cindy waited, letting her hair down by removing a few hairpins and an elastic band. Her pitch-black, long hair flowed down her tank top and bare midriff. For the first time, John noticed that Cindy wore a sparkling belly button piercing, and his erection grew even more if that was possible. Then he knew... that she knew... about his erection. At first she seemed surprised, even repulsed by it, but then her pretty face smiled. "Dad, is that what I think?"

"Cindy, what..."

Cindy came near him and said, "Dad, you old bastard. You want me."

"No, Cindy, it's not like that."

"Oh no? What is this then?" Her hand touched on his groin and John almost moaned because of the unexpected surge of pleasure he had experienced.

"Cindy!" he tried to rebuke her, but she giggled. "You're drunk."

"Oh yeah?" she said with delight, her face approaching John's dangerously. "So why don't you remove my hand from your... penis? Or should I say... cock?" And John quivered as he felt his daughters' fingers sliding up and down his erection through the fabric of his pajama pants. "Oh man, you really like it, don't you?"

"Cindy, stop it!" John whispered, making a strenuous effort to sound assertive, holding his daughter's arm, preventing it from moving but unable to remove it from his erection. It just felt too good, so good that he already felt some pre-cum wetting his trunks. He couldn't remember to be this excited, ever, not even when he was a teenager.

"Dad, you're not convincing. All you have to do is push me away."

"Cindy, please."

"Dad," she whispered into his half open mouth, her lips so close to his, "you want me. If you say otherwise I'll leave and we'll forget about this." Even though John held his daughter's hand the fingers kept caressing his manhood through his pants. "Dad, are you listening? All you have to say is 'go' and I will."

"Go," he murmured weakly and she stopped the caresses.

"Okay, let go of my arm or I can't leave."

Discomfited he let her go, and in a haze John saw her retrieve her leather jacket and climb up the stairs, turning twice to send him her mischievous, triumphant grin. With Cindy gone, John almost cried in frustration. He just couldn't believe what had just happened. His 19-year-old daughter had just humiliated him in the worst way and he had a raging erection he had to dispose of. Either he would masturbate or wake up Marcie... but none of the options seemed fitting. Slowly he went upstairs and realized, with relief, the coast was clear. What Marcie would think of the kind of "talking-to" he had just had with their older daughter? She would certainly report him... wouldn't she?

Sighing and still feeling his hard-on under his pants, John once again considered masturbating in the bathroom, but then he decided against it. The house was too silent and the women of the house would surely hear him do it if for some reason they were awaken. And Cindy certainly was. And speaking of the devil, he looked at his daughter's bedroom door and had the shock of his life. The door was ajar as though she was inviting him in, so that they could consummate... His train of thought halted. Consummate what? You're not going to consummate anything with Cindy. She's your daughter! Grow up! It was the voice of his conscience, which battled with his hedonistic side... Yes, she's your daughter, but who cares? She wants you, she wants her daddy to fill her up, to fill and fuck her good, until she cannot stand it anymore. Don't you know that's what little girls want from their daddies? Don't YOU KNOW THAT?

John shook his head, driving temptation away, feeling the perspiration going down his hot, throbbing temples. He touched his manhood under his pants and then he screamed.

"John, what are you doing here in the dark? And why are you screaming? Is Cindy back from the party?"

Dumbfounded he didn't know what to say to his sleepy wife, who had just opened the door of their bedroom. He had tried to give a reply every time she uttered a question but John just couldn't say a word. He blinked his eyes when Marcie turned on the lights of the hall where they stood.

"Dad, are you okay?" said Cindy, showing up in the hall with a long black Harley Davidson T-shirt, which covered her body but revealed the curves of her C-cup breasts and her exquisite, sculptural, long legs.

"Yes, I am okay. I just didn't expect your mother to be here... That's all."

"Oh, okay." There was a knowing grin on Cindy's face. "I thought you'd fallen down the stairs or something."

"Okay, people," Marcie said, "let's all go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

"Goodnight, Dad," Cindy said, holding her father by the neck and giving him a peck on his lips. "I loved our conversation downstairs. You were great, for once." And then she left and returned to her room, this time closing her door.

Marcie looked at his husband and batted her bleary eyes, yawning. "What was that all about?"

"Don't ask," John replied. "Your daughter is a certified lunatic." And he scampered in his bedroom before his wife could see his major hard-on, which had been resurrected by his daughter's cheeky peck on his lips right in front of her mother.

That night John couldn't sleep. His wife snoring prevented him from falling asleep and the knowledge that her daughter, the reason of his excitement, was just next door wasn't helping either. He had considered going to her room and... talk. But he knew he was kidding himself... For the first time in his life he was attracted to his wild child. Yes, it was true that Cindy could be a sexpot — he had seen her in other skimpy outfits as sexy as the one of that very night —, but he had always managed to keep his parental sense of duty above anything else. However, everything had changed. Cindy had broken the thin barrier that separates what's proper and what's not. She tried to seduce him, her own father, and he had succumbed to her charms, like he was a virgin boy and she was his first date.

Finally, slumber came and took him to dreamland where he heard his daughter call him from afar, "Dad, Daddy... You want me, don't you?" Footsteps followed in the mist surrounding him, preventing him from seeing Cindy. "Daddy? You want me, don't you?" And then more footsteps, and then giggles... Endless giggles... Until deep sleep took over.