Dads guest

Acting on a comment xxx hope i did wellxxxx

The comment from my story — “Show it to your dad” — had been tapping at my mind all day. I dismissed it straight away, not because I was shy exactly, but because it felt wrong in a way I didn’t like. His friend, though… that was different.

When Dad mentioned that Colin, the neighbour from four doors down, would be popping round that evening, a strange heat coiled low in my stomach. I didn’t like him, not really, but that almost made it easier. No danger of feelings — just the thrill of being looked at.

I found myself planning without meaning to. A longer shower. Skin still damp when I moisturised, my palms gliding over warm curves. Choosing the jersey dress that clung in the right places and shifted dangerously when I moved. Panties so thin they were almost useless — flimsy enough that if anyone looked too long, they’d see the suggestion of skin beneath.

Colin’s knock was as solid as his voice, loud enough to carry down the hall. I perched on the arm of the sofa, phone in hand, one leg tucked high so the hem of my dress edged up my thigh.

They came in together, Dad’s voice easy, Colin’s a touch too booming in the small room. I smiled at him — just enough — then looked back at my phone, feeling his eyes skate over me before landing somewhere safer.

Dad settled into his usual spot beside me, remote in hand, flicking on some old comedy with a laugh track. Colin took the armchair opposite. The TV’s glow threw soft shadows, the air warm with the faint scent of aftershave and the sharper tang of whatever beer he’d had earlier.

I pretended to watch the screen, but my thumb flicked through my phone until I found one of my own stories — one of the hotter scenes. I read slowly, eyes tracing the lines I’d written weeks ago, the words lighting my chest and belly in a slow burn.

My knees shifted, letting my dress ride a little higher. I could feel him over there, in the space between glances, like a weight on my skin.

I stood, my bare feet silent on the carpet. “I’ll get a drink,” I murmured, setting my phone down on the coffee table — unlocked, glowing, open to the most explicit part of the page.

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, I turned back. Colin had leaned forward, elbows to knees, and the phone was already in his hand. The glow lit his face, eyes moving quickly across the screen. The corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, more like he was caught between wanting to grin and wanting to hide it. He glanced toward the kitchen once, twice, before bending back to the words.

My pulse drummed. I hooked my thumbs into the soft elastic of my panties and slid them down in one slow motion, the cool air rushing between my legs. I stepped out of them, the warmth of my skin still clinging to the fabric, and tucked them into my pocket before padding back in.

I sank onto the sofa like nothing had changed. When Dad left for a snack, I lifted my arms over my head, stretching until my back arched and the hem of my dress pulled high over my thighs. My knees eased apart, and I caught Colin’s gaze flicker and dart away too late. The cool air against bare skin made my pulse race harder.

Later, when Dad asked about his phone charger, I sprang up to help. I crouched beside his chair, leaning close to his lap to reach behind the side table. My head tilted toward Dad, but my hips angled toward Colin. I knew exactly what he could see.

My fingers pretended to fumble with a cable that wasn’t there, my back arching just slightly, every slow movement of my hips deliberate.

The rest of the evening carried that quiet electricity, the unspoken awareness between glances. When I finally escaped to my bedroom, I barely shut the door before grabbing my pillow. Every image from the night looped in my mind — his eyes, the moment he realised there was nothing under my dress, the thought of him reading my words without knowing they were mine — until I pressed myself hard against the pillow, reckless and unguarded in the safety of my own room.