Diddle


Rachel and I were on her living room couch, half-naked when my cellphone rang. I reached over and tapped ‘dismiss,’ sending the call to voicemail.

Curious, Rachael asked, “Who was that?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I replied as I slipped my hand back inside her panties.

Then my phone started chirping again, demanding my attention. This time I decided to answer it.

“Who is this?” I demanded, not recognizing the number.

“Rachael’s dad,” a voice on the other end announced.

“Why are you calling me?” I asked in astonishment.

“To tell you to use your tongue and not your finger. She responds better to that.”

Before I could say respond, the line went dead.

“Well,” Rachel asked, “Who was that?”

“Your father,” I answered.

“Can’t be! My father’s been dead since I was seven.”

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