On Friday, Valentine’s Day, I went out with Tommy. I
felt bad about Daddy, home alone. The last woman he’d
slept with that I know of (besides me), was Mrs.
Trefethen, who was married anyway. He said it didn’t
matter, that Valentine’s didn’t mean anything to him,
but I think he was just encouraging me to have a good
time. We agreed we’d make up for it on Saturday.

The night with Tommy was pleasant enough, but nothing
really to write home – or you – about. We had dinner
at an Italian place near the University, then went to
see Star Wars which was still completely sold out. I’d
never seen it before, even on TV, and while it was
pretty good it seemed kind of childish to be the all-
time biggest movie ever. The wookie was pretty cool,
though.

Afterwards, back at Tommy’s house, the sex was good.
It’s always more difficult there, because his parents
always seem to be hovering. I mean, his door is
closed, but it feels like they’re right outside
listening and I have to work at being really quiet.

I wonder, sometimes, what would really happen if I
made a lot of noise. “Oh, Tommy, fuck me, that’s it,
baby!” kinds of things. I think his parents would be
too embarrassed to do anything and it would be lots
more fun for me. But Tommy would be really angry and
it’s possible his parents would try to break us up or
something. So I was quiet and the orgasm wasn’t quite
as good as when we’re at my house and it took a lot
longer to come. It’s always easier in my room.

I got home around one in the morning. Daddy sat
upright in bed, watching some Steven Segal movie he’d
rented, mostly asleep. I kissed him goodnight and
reached under the covers for his cock, but he really
was tired. I knew that he knew (that I knew that he
knew…) that Tommy had already softened my sexual
urges. Although it would have been nice, a more
perfect Valentine’s, I thought, Daddy was just too
tired. Tomorrow night, he said.

***

We exchanged gifts after dinner at home. I gave Daddy
a card and a small box of chocolate covered cherries.
He doesn’t really eat a lot of chocolate, but it’s
traditional, you know? We both had one for dessert.

He gave me a card and said the present was in the
card. Money, I figured, or maybe lottery tickets. But
it wasn’t that at all. Inside, he’d written:

THIS CARD is good for one massage. Your masseuse will
be Erica, who learned her skills in Australia and
refined them in California before coming here. She has
mastered several forms, including deep tissue and
reiki, but specializes in holistic erotic massage.
Erica will be here at eight pm.

Actually, I was a little disappointed at that moment.
I wanted to cuddle with Daddy for Valentine’s, but
eight o’clock was only a half hour away. I hardly had
time to take a bath.