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Thursday: 6’2”

I woke the next morning to the sound of my daughter’s voice.  “Daddy, wake up, wake up!”

What time was it?  I looked at the clock and saw 6:45 am.  “Christ, Kyra, what are you waking me up for?  My alarm won’t go off for another hour.”

She giggled.  “Because, silly, I want to see if I’m taller than you yet.”  Worst possible way to start my day. I slowly pulled myself out of bed.  Realizing I was only wearing boxers, I felt embarrassed.  But Kyra didn’t seem to notice – she squealed with delight as I stood to my full height and looked my daughter straight in the eye.  Then she stood shoulder to shoulder to me to compare arm lengths – hers might have been slightly longer?  She grabbed my hand and held it up to hers – at least my hand was still bigger.

As she started to compare legs, I noticed she was still in her night wear.  She had nothing but a pair of blue mini-shorts and a white tank top that was much too small for her.  And then I couldn’t help but notice that there was no bra to hide her more-than-ample assets.  I blushed, quickly averting my eyes.  When I made a move for the bed she grabbed my arm lightly and asked, “Daddy, would you please make me breakfast?”  Feeling more awkward by the minute, I agreed and told her to wait downstairs while I take a shower.  “Yay!” she exclaimed, bounding down the stairs.  I sluggishly headed for the shower and got ready for my day.

Breakfast was agreeable since Kyra was as ebullient as I can ever remember seeing her.  She chatted up a storm as I ate my pancakes happily, glad to hear her in such a good mood.  It was times like these that reminded me she was still a young girl, only in high school, even if her body and attitude said otherwise.  When she asked, I even agreed to drive her to school on this rare day.  I realized that she was only happy because I had shrunk, but I didn’t let that dampen the mood.  On the way there, she also asked if I would sit in at the end of her practice that afternoon.  Seeing me hesitating, she said, “Don’t worry, I promise not to bring my teammates to you; they won’t even notice the difference from far away.”  I reluctantly agreed, mostly since I was curious to see her progress in practice.  I was proud that she had chosen to take up basketball, it being my favorite sport,

After school I came inside as promised and made sure to avoid sitting near any other parents who happened to be waiting as well.  As I watched Kyra, I was very impressed indeed.  In less than a week of practice she was an entirely different player.  Sure, she wasn’t going to be dribbling between her legs anytime soon, and her shot needed quite a bit of work, but she clearly was starting to get a strong court sense and made a lot of hustle plays.  When she came by after practice, I congratulated her on her improvement and asked her how the coaches felt.  “They made me a starter on the junior varsity team!” she exclaimed.

“That’s terrific, honey,” I replied, genuinely impressed.  “Now, you know, I’m not so bad myself, so if you’re serious about this sport then I’d love to play with you and teach you a few things.”

“Really?  Sounds great, Dad,” she said merrily.

That night, after dinner, she wanted to play on our hoop in the driveway.  “Are your finished with your chores and homework?” I asked.

“Well, no, but I can do those later,” she replied.  Looking forward to playing with her, I agreed anyway.

After changing clothes, we met on the driveway.  She had the ball and threw a quick chest pass at me.  “Let’s see what you got, pops,” she challenged.

“Listen, Kyra, I didn’t mean for this to be a competition.  Let’s just run some drills and I can show you some post moves and stuff.”

“OK, suit yourself.”  I found her confidence amusing.  I showed her some of the basic moves, like the up-and-under, drop step, hook shot, etc.  I was actually quite amazed at how well she picked them up; most of her shots missed badly, but after a few attempts her form was spot-on.  “Just keep practicing those and you’ll get it in no time,” I said with pride in my daughter.  After a bit more drills, she turned to me and said, “OK, that’s enough practicing.  How about some one-on-one?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What, you scared you’ll lose to a girl?” she chided.

“Honestly, Kyra, it wouldn’t be fair; I’ve been playing for decades and you’ve only just started.”

“Chicken! Bawk bawk bawk!”  She made a flapping motion.

“That’s it, you asked for it!” I said, half-playfully, but half-annoyed.  I was really looking forward to putting her in her place; she was starting to get on my nerve.

“Play to 11.  Check ball.”  She started with a drive to the hoop which I cut off, forcing a tough jump shot.  Airball.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” I goaded.

“Bring it on,” she shot back.  I made a fake right and drove left for an easy layup.  “1-0,” I graciously reminded her.  As the game wore on, I continued my dominance, leading 8-1.  I was getting pretty winded though, and started making some mistakes.  She stole the ball and beat me to the basket for a layup.  On the next possession I faked right again and went left, but she saw it coming.  “Seen that one before,” Kyra quipped.  I used up my dribble and was stuck with my daughter leaning over me, arms outstretched.  Up until then, I hadn’t quite realized how unusual it was for me to play someone my own height.  Being (formerly) 6’6”, I had almost always been able to shoot over someone in a pinch.  But as I looked up at Kyra standing over me, her hands outstretched well over my head, her good positioning left me no choice but to contort my body and toss up an awkward shot from the side.  Airball.

“Nice try, Dad.”  She patted my butt as teammates usually do (which I always thought was an odd tradition, but anyway…).  The game got tougher as it went.  I was gassed, but Kyra seemed hardly even winded -- in fact, she wasn’t even breathing hard.  Without that extra jump to my step, I had to scrape out the last 3 points, but it wasn’t easy.  On her last possession, she backed me down to the post and executed a perfect up and under move which I completely bit on.  Even though she missed, she easily grabbed the rebound, missed again, grabbed another rebound, and put it in.  With her on level footing with me height-wise, and as fatigued as I was, I had no way to stop it.  She was learning fast, and her stamina was far better than mine.  I was happy to sink a ten-foot jumper over her outstretched hands to close the game out.  Final score, 11-6.

She walked up to me with a smile and folded her arms across her chest.  “Not bad, old man.  How about a rematch?”

“What, right now?” I said, bent over and practically gasping for air. 

“Sure, why not?” she asked casually, pretending not to realize that I was in no condition to keep playing.

“Not now, Honey.”

“OK, sure Dad.  I’ll see you inside,” she said as she strolled into the house.  A couple minutes later I had cooled down enough and followed her inside.

As I was walking in, I noticed her pinning up a piece of paper with the numbers 11 and 6, next to the wall with her height marks on it.  Jesus, she was competitive.  “Just recording the score so we can track my progress.  I’m getting better, don’t you think?”  I mumbled in reluctant agreement and mused to myself that it sure didn’t feel like a win for me.  I mean, I had trouble holding off my own daughter who’s been playing the sport for less than a week, but if we had gone to 21 instead of 11, the outcome might have been far different …

“Tomorrow night maybe we can play to 21?”  It was as if she read my mind.

“Honey, I don’t know.  I don’t think we should do this every night.  I want you to keep on top of your schoolwork and chores.”

She walked up to me.  “Oh, that’s not a problem, the math homework is a piece of cake.  Speaking of which … when I’m done with that tonight can I go to my friend Trish’s house?”

“Um, I guess … wait, no, you’re grounded remember?”

“What, you’re still hung up on that?  I didn’t think you were serious.  So, anyways, can I go or what?”

“I SAID NO!” I practically screamed.  It was louder than I meant to yell, but with my exhaustion and growing annoyance at her casual demeanor, the words just suddenly popped out.

“That was uncalled for, Dad,” she stated matter-of-factly, arms folded across her chest again.

She was right, but I didn’t want to back down.  Besides, she really wasn’t taking me seriously.  “Young lady, if I hear one more word from you I’ll --”

“You should rest, Daddy; you’re just tired after our game.”

“THAT’S IT! YOU’RE MARCHING TO YOUR BEDROOM RIGHT NOW!!!” I said, yanking her arm with me up the stairs.  It felt odd dragging someone every inch as tall as me – usually naughty children were much smaller than this.  She didn’t resist, though.  As we entered her room, I unplugged her laptop and grabbed it as well as her phone.  “You won’t be using these tonight.  You are going to sit in your room and figure out how to show some respect around here.”

“That’s not fair!” she exclaimed.

“And lights out at 9:00.”  Her normal curfew was 10:00.

She looked me straight in the eye.  Normally her eyes would be welling up by now, but not this time.  With a steely resolve, she said quietly, “Fine.”  I returned the stare with equal resolve (hopefully?) and carried her laptop and phone with me out the door.

I did not sleep well that night.  It was all very unsettling.  The game of 1-on-1 seemed to give her an extra boost of confidence and … rebelliousness, making it awfully hard to control her afterwards.  I figured I’d wait a while to play her again, to give her time to cool down.  Hopefully things will be better tomorrow…

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Friday: 6’0”

I was relieved that Kyra wasn’t standing over me waking me up this morning.  My first thought upon sitting up was that, my God, she was now taller than me.  At least, I assume so.  It was hard to tell now that I haven’t been able to reach the ceiling in 2 days.  But things did seem a bit bigger, as usual.  Although, one doesn’t ever really get used to waking up with your entire world around you bigger.  Anyways, as I was dressing it was clear that I needed new clothes ASAP.  They were just so darn baggy.  I had to roll up more of the pant legs to keep from tripping over them, and I resorted to a short sleeve shirt.  Thankfully my belt had a tighter notch that I could use to keep the pants from falling off, or at least sliding down way too far.  I would definitely have to go clothes shopping tomorrow; I’m starting to look ridiculous.

I realized the easiest way to track my actual height was to compare with the wall in the kitchen.  Now that Kyra was taller than me, I could measure my height and compare with her recent markings.  Approaching the wall, I glanced up at the latest marking: too high up.  I tried not to envision Kyra standing before me at that height.  Hastily, I retrieved the ruler and held it on top of my head.  Keeping it steady, I turned and looked.  Yes, indeed, I was now about 6’1” – wait, no, I looked again.  I was only 6’0”.  Oh no … I shrank 2 inches last night!?  Not only was I now shorter than Kyra (and dreading our next encounter), but on top of that now my shrinking was accelerating!?  I called the doctor’s office immediately.  No times were available today, but they could get me in first thing Monday morning.  I was now starting to get extremely worried.

Kyra evidently went off to school as usual, so I wouldn’t have to confront her until after her practice.  I wasn’t looking forward to it.  People at work had definitely noticed; there was no way to hide a 6-inch drop in height.  After receiving more and more funny stares, I decided to talk to my boss about my situation.  Soon it was announced to the entire office, and while people would no doubt still be talking behind my back, hopefully it would at least help to reduce the awkward stares.

Finally, the hour came when I had to head to Kyra’s basketball practice.  As I drove up to her gym, my pulse started to elevate.  I don’t know why I was so apprehensive.  She’s still my daughter, after all, and only two inches taller than me.  Yeah, we had a little fight yesterday, so what?  But my attempts to calm myself failed.  As I got out and walked into the gym, my heart began pounding.  I sat on the same bench as yesterday, only it felt slightly higher this time around.

Watching her play, I was again impressed by her improvement.  I saw her go to work in the low post, using some of the very same moves that I taught her last night.  She even made some here and there.  What’s more, she seemed to move around the floor with added confidence, knowing where to be at all times.  She’s smart, like her old man.  But these pleasant reminisces were drowned out by the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears as she walked toward me.  ‘Calm down, everything’s fine,’ I told myself.  But as she walked up to me, I found I didn’t want to get up.  She sure wasn’t making this easy, standing directly in front of me with her hands on her hips.

“Come on,” she said flatly.  I hesitated.  “Do you need me to help you up?” she added quickly.  It was more of a threat than a question.  Reluctantly, I rose to my feet and looked up into her glare, less than a foot in front of me.  For the first time in my life, I had to look up into my daughter’s eyes.  She stood silently looking down at me for an excruciating 5 seconds.  I would have had to sidestep to get away, she was so close. 

“U … uh … I’m ready,” I stuttered, as a bead of sweat dripped down my face.  Kyra noticed the sweat and paused for a second more.  “The keys,” she said simply.  I didn’t understand what she wanted at first.  She peered down with an impatient look on her face and held out her hand.

“Oh, I see.”  Almost on impulse, I relented and fumbled in my pocket to pull out the car keys.  But at the last second, I recovered my senses.  I tried to sound stern, telling her, “Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea--“

But she cut me off by yanking the keys from my hands and strutting towards the car as I just stared after her.  Jesus, what the hell was that?  Why did I let her push me around like that?  I followed after her, determined to set things straight, but her longs legs had already carried her to the car and into the driver’s seat.  I opened the passenger’s side door, hoping to change her mind.

I declared with as much authority as I could muster, “Kyra, you shouldn’t be driving right now.  You’re tired from practice, plus it’s still rush hour.  Now please give me the keys.”  Ignoring me, she started pulling out.  I was only partway in the car, with one knee on the seat.  “Kyra!” I said, more surprised than anything.  She just kept backing up so I had little choice but to jump inside and shut the door.  “Young lady, we are going to have a talk when we get home.”  She glanced at me icily but said nothing and continued driving.

I was shocked with how she was behaving.  But there was nothing I could do about it until we got home.  So, I decided to make the best of the situation and give some pointers on her driving.  She didn’t have much experience, as I usually only let her drive on weekends around some neighborhoods.  I didn’t think she was ready for busy roads and traffic, especially at this time of day.  “Honey, slow down, you’re going 10 over the speed limit.”  She put on the brakes, and I was pleasantly surprised until I saw the light ahead of us had turned red.  Well, maybe she would have slowed down anyway … I hoped.  At the next light, she cut someone off to get into the turn lane.

“Drive more cautiously, honey, that’s how accidents happen.”  She didn’t acknowledge me the entire ride and drove much more recklessly than I would have liked.  As we approached home I tried to decide what her punishment would be.  I wasn’t sure what to do; I mean, she was already grounded until next week.  I guess I could take away her laptop and phone again.

Once home, we both went into the house without a word.  “Keys,” I said simply.  She dropped them in my hand.  I suppose I said that in the same manner she had said it to me to get even and regain some control, but it just came off kind of petty and immature.  As usual, she went upstairs and I made dinner – frozen pizza and frozen vegetables.  Mmm.  I called her down when it was ready and started slicing the pizza.

She lightly bumped into me as she went to the fridge.  Then, after she closed the refrigerator door, I could feel her standing right behind me.  She must have just showered; the scent of her perfume and shampoo wafted to my nose.  I tried to ignore her, even as my hand started shaking as I finished slicing the pizza.  As soon as I had finished, she reached around me, grabbed two slices, and sat down.  Relieved, I took some myself and got a drink.

I sat down and pondered for a few minutes as I ate.  Then I cleared my throat and said deliberately, “Kyra, I have been deeply disappointed by your behavior lately.  That is not how a young lady should behave.  You will continue to be grounded and have your phone and laptop privileges revoked until I see some improvement from you.”  As an afterthought, I added, “And your allowance will be suspended as well.”  She stared right into my eyes the entire time I was speaking and remained silent.  Disquieted, I averted my eyes and finished eating.  God, she was unnerving.  But at least I feel like she was under control now; she wasn’t even complaining about the punishment.  Good.

She finished her dinner first so I decided to wait until she was out of the kitchen to get up.  It was easier that way.  But she didn’t move, she just sat there with an empty plate.  She always left as soon as possible; what gives?  I finished my food and was debating whether to get up or not.  I waited a couple minutes, feeling a great tension in the air.  She was nonchalantly gazing off somewhere.  Does she know what she’s doing?  I wondered.

Finally, the situation having grown unbearably awkward, I told myself, ‘to hell with it,’ and went to the sink.  After I was done rinsing, I turned and nearly ran into her.  She kept advancing to the sink, making me lean back against the counter.  She reached over and put down her dishes, then stood to her full height, two inches above me.  I was basically wedged into the corner between the sink and the fridge.

Pausing for a few unnerving seconds, she said, “So, Daddy, there’s a huge party tonight, and everyone’s gonna be there.  Do you mind driving me there?”

I was flabbergasted.  “Wh –what? Are you serious?  You’re grounded.  Plus you are way too young for any parties.  Absolutely not!”

She clearly expected that response and replied, “Hmm, OK, how about a game of 1-on-1 then?”

“I don’t think that’s … uh … a good idea.”

“Why not?” she asked.  Was she leaning forward?

“Uh … it’s getting late.  And … well, I just don’t feel like it.  Maybe tomorrow.”

Here face suddenly turned sweet.  “Aw, c’mon Daddy, I just really enjoy playing with you, and I want to get better.  If you play with me I promise I’ll be on my best behavior all night.”  She looked sincere.

I couldn’t argue with that deal.  “Alright, honey, I’ll meet you outside in 5.”  Her expression changed to a sly smirk as she turned and went upstairs.

As I warmed up outside, I realized how sore I was from the day before.  Warming up helped, though.  I tried a dunk but got yoked, hitting the front of the rim.  Maybe if I loosen up more, I thought hopefully.  I was looking forward to a fun game with my daughter.  It was rewarding to see her improvement and her love of the game, and her promise to behave tonight was a good sign.  Then she sauntered over in gym shorts and a tight tank top, with her hair done up in a ponytail.  She looked quite the athlete.

“How about some more drills first,” I offered.

“Nope, let’s just start.”

“I’ll let you warm up first.”

“No need; I’m ready for you,” she said confidently.

I scoffed at her –hopefully—misplaced confidence.  “Alright then, it’s your funeral.  You get ball first, since you lost yesterday.”  I’ll take these small victories when I can.

“Hmph,” she replied.  “So we’re playing to 21, right?” she asked innocently.

“Oh, uh, no let’s just do to 11 like usual,” I replied, remembering how tired I got yesterday.  She started out with a strong move to the basket but it rimmed out.  Boxing her out, I grabbed the rebound.  I took it back and then backed her down.  She seemed to be resisting more than yesterday, though.  I definitely still outweigh her, at least, considering how skinny she is.  As I went up for a hook shot, though, I was caught completely off guard by how high her outstretched hands were.  I certainly hadn’t faced anyone 2 inches taller than me for a long time – even in basketball, 6’8” players are rare.  In midair I saw that she would be able to block my shot, so I had to adjust and put up an awkward scoop shot from the side.  Luckily, it went in.  “Wow, nice shot, Dad,” she complimented.  I was ill at ease, though.  Since getting my shot blocked was normally not a problem I had to deal with, I typically didn’t jump as high as possible to shoot.  But now I’ll have to remember to, although it may throw my shot off and wear me out even faster.

Fortunately, I still had a strong advantage in dribbling, allowing for sharper cuts and a better variety in my moves.  And I did a decent job of shooting over her.  I pulled out to a big lead again, 7-2, almost as good as yesterday.  But, damn it, I was getting winded again and, of course, she wasn’t.  It’s hard enough to win when getting out-hustled by someone your height, but when she’s taller than you it becomes way more difficult.  That little extra ups I needed to shoot over her was becoming more elusive.  Several times, I found myself at a bad angle and had to use up my dribble and force some wild shots with her leaning over me.  Fortunately, one or two went in, but I wondered if I could remain this lucky.  Meanwhile, on the defensive end, she continued to use the same basic moves I had taught her yesterday, so I had a good idea what to expect.  The problem was it was almost impossible for me to block her shot, and the best I could do was keep her away from the hoop and box her out.  Even still, she had a rebounding edge with her size and hustle, yielding too many easy put-backs.  And she was starting to make more of her shots from the post.  I was possibly even more worn out than yesterday.  She was just so big.

The score was 10-9; I was up and had the ball.  Post moves were becoming more and more difficult.  I tried an in and out dribble to get her off balance and drove to the hoop.  She caught up quicker than I hoped, though, and as I laid it up she came from behind and got a piece of it on the backboard.  Shit.  On her next possession, she backed me down close to the basket since I was too tired to fully push back.  She simply turned and dropped in a baby hook from 3 feet away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  10-10.  The next play, I backed her down as far as I could then, too far away for a hook shot, I turned and faded away.  It was a tough 8-footer, but to my surprise it went in.

I basically collapsed onto the pavement from exhaustion.  I had done it, but man was it tough.  “Are you OK, Dad?  Can you finish the game?”

“Huh?  I have 11.  I won,” I said between breaths.

“I thought we were playing win by 2,” she said, standing over me.

“Oh.  Uh … we never specified,” I returned.  I was in no condition, mentally or physically, to continue playing.  I thought I had won!  And, to be perfectly honest, I doubted I could stop her at this point.

“OK, you didn’t know; that’s fine, Daddy.  But next time you have to win by 2, because that’s how it’s normally played,” she stated.

“Yeah, sure, OK,” I said, still catching my breath.

As usual, she wasn’t even winded.  “Here, Dad,” she said, offering her hands to pull me up.

I hesitated, not wanting to get up yet, but then I grabbed her hands and let her pull me up.  I was surprised that she seemed to do so without much exertion, even though she did most of the work.  Not backing up, she looked down into my eyes from 6 inches away and said, “Good game, Daddy.  I’m surprised you did so well.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

She gave me a gentle peck on the forehead.  At least she still had to go up on her toes for that; my eyes were pretty much level with her mouth now.  But then, to my surprise, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and said, perkily, “So whatcha wanna do now?  Let’s watch a movie.”

Geez, her body was close to mine.  I was uncomfortable but too tired to complain.  “Kyra, no.  You’re still grounded.  And that includes all electronics.  Do your chores instead.”

“Aw, Daddy, are you sure?  We could snuggle up in front of the TV and eat popcorn, just like old times!” she said, with a glint in her eye.

“Uh … I don’t know, Kyra.”  I’ll admit, it was very tempting.

Seeing me wavering, she replied, “I’ll tell you what.  I’ll take a shower, finish all my chores, and then we can watch something.”

I know I had expressly forbidden her to watch TV while grounded, but … well, it just sounded too good to pass up.  “Well, OK then, but I’m going to inspect all your chores to make sure you did a good job.”

“Daddy!  You’re the best!” she exclaimed, giving me a tight hug and then bending slightly to kiss me on the cheek.  She bounded inside to take a shower.  Things were turning out well indeed.  Still exhausted, I trudged upstairs to the master bathroom for my own shower.

10 minutes later, I came downstairs to find her bouncing around the house, diligently completing her chores.  ‘Isn’t she something,’ I thought to myself.  ‘Just look at her, she’s like a young, sweet girl again.’  I had almost forgotten how young she was, the way she had been acting lately.  Plus, it was hard to avoid seeing her as older and more mature now that I had to look up to match her gaze.  It was wonderful to see her acting so young right now, and I felt like a normal father again for the first time all day.

It was almost 8:00.  Looking up from the TV, I saw Kyra was still finishing her chores.  She had quite a bit to do; the whole house, in fact, as I rarely did any myself.  I figure I work too hard all day to have to work at home; and, besides, doing chores is good for her.  “Kyra, dear, are you almost done?  You should hurry up if you want to have time to watch the whole movie.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she said as she bounded over, “I still have a few to do.  Maybe you could do some for me?” she pleaded.

“No, they’re your responsibility, Kyra.”

“Pretty please?  I’m just so looking forward to watching something with you.”  The light behind her head gave a halo-like appearance -- she looked almost angelic standing over me.

“OK, dear, I’ll take out the garbage.”

“And vacuum the living room too?” she asked.

“Well, OK.”  I was getting up slowly, still sore from the game, when she grabbed my wrists and pulled me the rest of the way.  I don’t think she could have lifted me by herself, but she was still surprisingly strong.  As she bounced away, I sluggishly pulled out the vacuum.

Once finished, I saw her coming back in from the garage.  “I finished my chores faster than you so I took out the garbage too,” she beamed. 

“Oh, thanks honey.”

“No problem, Dad, now go inspect the house while I put the movie in.”

I didn’t necessarily like her telling me what to do, but I was in such a good mood I let it slide.  “OK,” I replied.  Everything was spotless; surprisingly so, considering how quickly she did them.  As I came back to the living room, I met her going upstairs.  “I’m gonna go change into something more comfortable.”

“Sure.  I’ll pick some movies to choose from,” I replied.  I was in the mood for action, and I pulled out some that I thought Kyra would like as well.

Whe I saw Kyra coming down the stairs, I had to pick up my jaw after it dropped.  Oh, no.  She was wearing the same blue shorts that barely covered her butt, and the white tank top that didn’t even cover her belly button and showed WAY too much cleavage for my liking.  “Kyra, dear, could you wear something else, please?”

“Why, Daddy?” she inquired, innocently.  “This is what I always wear to bed, and I thought I might fall asleep on the couch.”

I didn’t want to come out and say she looked too sexy in it.  Plus, I figured, it’s not like she’s going out in public like that; it’s just at home.  That was one thing I was very strict about, her dressing modestly in public.  She was far too young to show off her, admittedly, impressive features.  “Uh, nothing dear.”

I immediately regretted my decision, though; as she got closer I couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing a bra again.  I gulped – hopefully she didn’t hear it.  She stood over me as I was sitting on the couch, fully in view, and I averted my eyes as much as possible.

“What did you pick, Daddy?”

I listed the action movies.  I looked up, unable to avoid her bare legs, taut stomach, firm breasts – God, they were unbelievably high and firm – did she really not have a bra on?  I couldn’t help but confirm that, indeed, she wasn’t wearing one, even though her breasts weren’t sagging one bit …

Shit!  My eyes had lingered too long, and as I looked up into her eyes, I saw that she was looking down at me the whole time.  Did she realize?  I prayed that my facial expression hadn’t given anything away.  Hopefully the thought that her father was checking her out didn’t even cross her mind.  “Well?” she inquired.

I stammered, reading out the names of the movies on my lap, keeping my eyes up on hers.  Crap, I couldn’t remember one of the titles.  I decided to close my eyes and look down as quickly as possible, trying not to be obvious about it.  I read the last one and moved my eyes up again –Damn it!  I forgot to close my eyes.  I saw way too much.

She looked down disapprovingly.  Oh God, did she know?  My hand started to shake.  “I don’t want to watch those,” she said.  I realized with relief that her disapproving look was for the movie selections.  She walked over to the cabinet and perused a bit, eventually pulling out The Notebook.

I hated chick flicks.  “Honey, I really don’t want to watch that.”

“Have you seen it?” she asked innocently.

“Well, no, but—“

“Then how do you know?  Come on, Dad I think you’ll like it.”  She opened the DVD tray and put it in.

“But what about the ones I wanted.”  Did I sound too whiny?

She came over to where I was sitting, bent over, and gathered up the movies in my lap.  Looking down, I felt her hand brush my inner thigh.  Trying to sound stern, I said, “Kyra, you can’t just …”  Gulp.  I had looked up to see her face, but found myself staring at the most gut-wrenching display of cleavage I had ever seen as she bent way over right in front of me.  Her face was right next to mine, so there was no way she didn’t hear my loud gulp.  I was rendered completely speechless as she stood up and put the movies away.  “Were you saying something?” she asked as she sat down next to me.  I shook my head.  Boy, was I in a pickle.  She reached across me to grab the remote from the armrest, and I tried not to notice her boob pressing into my shoulder in the process.  She skipped through the previews.  “Oh, I almost forgot.  Daddy, could you go make some popcorn for us, please?”  I was about to object and have her do it, but I thought getting away from her for a minute would be a good thing.  I stood up and – oh boy.  I had a full hard-on.  With the sweatpants I was wearing, there were no pleats or anything to hide it.  I quickly turned away from Kyra and headed to the kitchen, praying she hadn’t noticed.  I tried to maneuver around the kitchen in such a way so as to keep my back to her the whole time in case she looked over.  It was an awkward 2 minutes of microwave time, during which I pretended to look out the window above the sink.  Fortunately, ‘things’ had calmed down by the time the popcorn was ready, and I was emptying the bag into one big bowl when I thought twice and got out two smaller bowls instead.  I came over and sat down on the couch leaving a gap between me and Kyra.  I would probably have left a whole seat between us, except that it was only a 2-seater and she was even encroaching on my half of the couch as it was.  I handed her bowl to her.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, starting the movie.  We munched our popcorn in silence.  When she was younger we always snuggled up together on the couch, but I certainly didn’t like the thought of that now.

‘This movie sucks,’ I said to myself.  ‘Why did she get to pick the movie?’  I was about to complain, but I looked over and saw that Kyra was clearly enjoying herself.  No way I could convince her to change it now.  Besides, it was nice to see her happy.  Soon after, I was still munching slowly on my popcorn while Kyra had finished hers.  I always prefer to take my time eating the popcorn, otherwise you finish 10 minutes in and have nothing for the next 90.

I felt the cushions shift, and before I knew it, Kyra had slid over next to me and began munching on my own popcorn.  “Kyra, I can make more if you want.”  Not only did I not want her so close, but it was my popcorn, damn it, and she was taking it without asking.

“No, that’s OK.”  She apparently didn’t get the hint.  I couldn’t think of a nice way to handle this, so I just sat there watching the movie and eating my popcorn a bit faster while it was still there.  Kyra, sitting to my right, readjusted herself again to get closer, and she rotated her body towards me so that her right hand could reach across and grab the popcorn.  As the movie dragged on, I couldn’t help but notice she was pressing more and more into me.  She was nice and warm, and soft, and – gah!  I realized it was her left boob pressing into my arm.  I tried my best to focus on the movie, but being such a boring movie, and her being so close, I could hardly focus on anything else but her.  It didn’t help that she had taken a shower 30 minutes earlier, and she smelled so … fresh.  My heart was starting to pick up the tempo, and I realized Mr. Johnson was back for another visit.  Yikes.  I had moved the bowl more between me and Kyra, but I decided to move it back to the center of my lap to cover things up.  Oh God, that might have been a bad idea, because Kyra’s hand was now groping around directly above my member.  We were getting down to the kernels and small bits of popcorn, which only increased the groping.  This was certainly not helping matters down there.  My whole body was starting to quiver from the tension, and there was no way I could avoid it.  “Aww, is Daddy cold?  I’ll get you a blanket when the popcorn’s finished,” she said gently.  She put her hand to mine.  “Wow, your hand really is cold.”  I recalled from Biology class that vasoconstriction causes blood to rush to the body’s interior when one is experiencing high tension situations, causing the extremities to be colder.  But I wasn’t about to tell her that.  I stopped eating the popcorn since my hands were shaking too much.  Mercifully, she finally finished the rest of the popcorn in my lap.  Getting up, she kissed me on the cheek and rubbed my head as she reached down and picked up the bowl.  All I could do was hope she didn’t look at my lap too closely.  She went and put the bowls in the sink.  Coming back, I saw she had a damp towel in her hands.  Before I knew what she was doing, she wrapped it around my own hands and started to rub them.  “Let’s get those buttery hands clean,” she cooed.  As she was doing this, I looked up.  I tried to look away, I really did.  But I found my eyes transfixed on another astounding display of cleavage, but this time her breasts were swaying back and forth as she rubbed my hands.  My mind froze, shut down, then did a hard reboot as she stood up, said “There we go, all better,” and walked away.

Coming to, I had to think quickly.  “Kyra, honey, I’m not feeling well.  I think I’ll head to bed now.”

“Aww, poor thing,” she said, approaching the couch.  She leaned over and put her head to my forehead.  Jesus, why did she have to keep leaning over like that.  “I don’t think you have a fever.  You must just be cold.”  I was about to get up but before I could she came back with a blanket and put it over us while sitting down.  “Feel better, Daddy,” she said as she pecked my cheek again.

‘OK,’ I thought to myself, ‘this could be worse.’  Now my boner wasn’t exposed, nor was her half-naked body.  She was sitting next to me, but thankfully she wasn’t leaning over like before.  But after grabbing the remote and resuming the movie, she came over and draped her right arm across my stomach.  I was still sitting up, so things weren’t so … visible down below.  This wasn’t as bad as before at least.  But 5 minutes later she kept fidgeting and readjusting herself.  I, meanwhile, remained completely motionless, not wanting to encourage anything.  But it was to no avail.  Soon, she sat up, nudged me, and said in a soft, sweet voice, “Move over.”  I didn’t move.  “C’mon, this will be more comfortable,” she said as she pushed a little harder.  Not seeing any way out of this, I let her reposition me with my head at an angle between the armrest and headrest, practically lying down with my feet up on the ottoman.  ‘Not good, not good,’ I thought.  She lifted my right arm up, lay down next to me, draped my arm across her back, and pulled up the blanket.  Nestling herself in, the entire length of her body was pressed into mine, and her head was on my shoulder, turned towards the TV.

The sweet scent of her shampoo filled my nostrils.  I could feel her breathing: in, out, in, out, in, out…  Again, I tried not to think of her boobs pressed against my chest, but to no avail.  God, if only she knew what she was doing to me.  I realized that, laying down as I was, my still-full erection was plainly visible.  With my free hand I tried rearranging the blanket, putting some in some folds to hide things better.  Hopefully she just thought I was getting comfortable.

I wanted nothing more than to finish this crappy movie and get away from her.  “Um, Kyra?” my voice cracked.

“Hmm?” she said softly.

“How much longer is it?”

“Oh, we’re about halfway through.  It’s 2 hours long.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.  It felt like we’d been there 3 hours already.

An idea occurred to me.  “Um, honey, I think you should finish this tomorrow.  It’s 9:20, and since you’re grounded your bedtime is still 9:00.”

She lifter her head and stared straight at me, our noses almost touching.  “I don’t think that’s fair,” she stated.

Unable to move my head back and feeling penned in, I told her, “Kyra, honey, those are my rules, and—“

She interrupted, “I’ve been on my best behavior as I promised, I did all my chores, and I deserve a break.  Just for tonight.”  She continued to stare directly into my eyes, waiting for a response.

I looked away.  Her gaze was too intense.  Then I had an idea which I thought would please both parties.  “OK, Kyra, you have been a good girl tonight.  So you may finish your movie, but I’m going to bed.”

“Aww, that’s sweet, Daddy, but you can sleep right here, where it’s so comfy and warm!  I just love snuggling with you.  I promise I won’t move around, and I’ll turn the sound down so it won’t bother you.”  She grabbed the remote, turned down the volume, and nestled against me again.

I couldn’t think of anything to say that would get me out of this without hurting her feelings.  I decided to lay there until something came to mind.  But gradually I forgot all about the movie, and even about trying to leave.  I was utterly absorbed by the overwhelming scent of her hair, and I thought about how warm and comfy I was, with the blanket over me and her body pressing into me.  Without thinking, I slowly brought over my left arm and slid my hand up her right arm which was draped across my chest.  Her skin was so soft and smooth.  “That’s better, Daddy,” she purred.  She brought her right leg up and laid it across my own legs, and her right arm reached around me fully as she pulled herself in for an embrace.  “Good night, Daddy,” she whispered as she kissed me on the mouth.  A faint moan escaped my lips as I rolled into her, burying my face into her neck.  I was in a trance, not consciously aware of what I was doing.  Very quickly, I sank into a deep sleep.