As I steered my wife to a table by the window, I tried to simultaneously keep an eye on Spike, watch Mary’s face, and act as though everything was normal.
Which, in a sense, it was. I was just out for dinner with my wife. The fact that our daughter’s ex-boyfriend was here was of no consequence.
At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.
Belle, for her part, did a terrible job of acting nonchalant. I guided her by the arm (preventing her from spilling an entire family’s meals onto the floor) and pretended everything was normal. When we sat, she made sure to position herself so she could see Spike and his new tart.
I did my best to make conversation throughout dinner, but it was obvious that her attention was barely on me. More than once, I caught her absentmindedly shaking salt into her coca cola. And once we’d finished one of the most delicious meals I’d ever had at the 556, she did her best to avoid leaving.
“I want dessert,” she demanded. I tried to hide my smile at the teenage whine that had crept into her voice.
“A…second dessert?” I said, pointing at the remains of the crème brûlée sitting in front of her. She blinked twice, as if seeing it for the first time.
“How about coffee?” she smiled, trying to turn on the charm. But charm is a learned skill—one that my wife had mastered, and my daughter had not.
“You know you can’t drink coffee at this hour,” I said. “You’ll never sleep again.”
I could practically hear her mind ticking.
“Why don’t we just sit and chat for a while? You said it yourself; we never go out like this.”
I sighed, feigning frustration. “Mary, you’ve barely said two words to me all night.”
A thoughtful look crossed my wife’s face, as my daughter processed what I was saying. After a moment, she nodded.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Reaching out and grabbing my hand, she looked directly into my eyes.
“What do you want to talk about?”
The sudden attention took me by surprise, and I said the first thing that came to my head.
“Yes,” I said, trying to recover. “Belle’s peers. I’m worried that she doesn’t have any friends.”
A hint of sadness flickered across Mary’s face, but my daughter quickly did what she could to quash it.
“I’m sure she has plenty of friends.”
“Mmm,” I replied nonchalantly. “…does she?”
To my surprise, I spent the next twenty minutes having a real, honest conversation with my daughter about her social situation. It was all in the third person, of course—always ‘our daughter’, never ‘you’, but I learned a lot. She reiterated a few things we’d already discussed—her loneliness, the isolation she’d been feeling. She’d only really connected with two people at her school:
Spike, and his new girlfriend Lacey.
“Of course,” I said, crossing my fingers under the table. “That Spank kid was only interested in her for sex.”
“Spike,” my daughter corrected, before wrinkling Mary’s nose. “And…do you think so?”
“Of course. I bet that when she wouldn’t put out, he immediately left her for someone who would.”
My wife’s head nodded as my daughter chewed on what I’d just said. For the first time in almost half an hour, I caught her looking over to the snide-looking teenager.
This time, her expression was different. Thoughtful. Determined.
“Let’s go,” she said abruptly.
“Yeah,” she said with a nod. I left cash on the table and followed my wife as she marched out of the restaurant, not giving Spike or Lacey another glance.
“I think it helped,” I finished with a shrug.
We were sitting on my bed. As soon as we’d gotten home, Belle had claimed exhaustion, and taken my wife’s body straight to the couch. Almost as soon as the spare room’s door had closed, Mary—in my daughter’s body—had slipped into my room.
Before she could say anything—or do anything—I’d given her a summary of the evening’s events.
I’d never before had to distract my wife from sex, but it worked.
“That’s fantastic,” my wife said, a huge smile on Belle’s face. “Great work, honey.”
We both laughed, and I threw my head back on the bed in exhaustion.
“I think it helped,” I repeated.
My wife lay Belle’s body down beside me, and reached out to hold my hand. For the next few minutes, we lay in silence, and I reflected on the conversation I’d had with my daughter.
It becomes so normal, being a parent. I mean—not recently, of course. But over the years of raising a child, it’s easy to forget—you made a human. There’s a whole new person in the world, and you’re responsible for them. For their health, for their happiness.
For their life.
“Did you like seeing me all dressed up like that?”
I turned to face my daughter, my eyebrows furrowed.
“You mean…in my office?”
“No,” Mary said, a slight purr entering our daughter’s voice. “When you went out for dinner.”
“Oh! You mean…you.”
“Yeah. Did you like seeing me all dressed up like that?”
Belle’s hand moved down my neck, down my chest, and rested on my crotch.
God help me, I was hard.
“Yeah,” I said.
I’d gotten better at navigating weird situations, but my wife seemed determined to keep on raising the bar. If there’s a correct response to your wife in your daughter’s body, asking if you enjoyed the sight of her body dressed up by your daughter, I wasn’t able to work it out.
“It’s okay,” Mary said, our daughter’s hand gently massaging my crotch. “I like knowing that you still find me attractive.”
“Of course I do,” I said. “I just…”
“I like knowing that after this is all over, after we switch back…you’ll still want me.”
“Of course I will,” I replied firmly. “Mary, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“Mmm,” she replied, undoing my fly and pulling my cock out. I was too distracted to even think about stopping her.
“…even more attractive than our daughter?”