His name is Nathan: hers is Chantelle. They both share drinks, hers being vodka cranberries, his beer or a scotch and coke. They fall, drunk and dishe...elled, into a hotel room. They are kissing each other, he is realising something he has fantasised sober and drunk, millions of times, she is revelling in the fact that she finally admits he is sexy, good-looking. The one she wants, for now. The next day is awkward. He is twenty five, she is twenty seven. She thinks he is a regression, something. "Get dressed," he said, harshly. "Hurry up!" He slammed the door shut and I leaned back, my pussy aching and unfulfilled. Two weeks went by. Dad stopped coming home on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He avoided me at home. He went to bed earlier and stayed in his study with the door closed. I got the hint. He was officially trying to forget anything had ever happened. You would think I'd have given up. Thrown in the towel. Admitted defeat. And maybe I should have because I knew, even then, that what I. More

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