Alex: A Summer of Sexual Discovery

Hello, ScottGreen here. I'll keep this short, because Dani's story deserves your full-focus. Vacationing with Daughter's Friends was a complicated story for me to write, taking more than a year to complete as my interest/creativity waxed and waned. But I fell in love with the finished product, and to-date, it remains one of my favorites.

When Dani approached me for a sequel, I was excited for two reasons. One, I'd have a chance to see where things went post-Jamaica. Two, Dani is a skilled writer and has written one of my favorite stories in the genre, All About Ashton (amongst others! Check them out!). I couldn't wait to see the story develop in their hands.

I think Dani has done a terrific job with the sequel, and they have my full support in publishing it. For those who care about such things, consider this a VwDF-canon story.

My only complaint, as I've shared with Dani, is that I now want even more of Alex's story.

Happy reading.

Hi, it's Dani. I just want to thank ScottGreen for trusting me to write Alex's story. I hope I have done her justice with this first chapter. If you haven't read Vacationing with Daughter's Friends yet, I would encourage you to do so. It is exceptional erotica and is of course foundational for this story. Alternatively, you could read Alex first and then VwDF as a backstory. Either way works!

Enjoy!

--Dani

All characters are fictional and over the age of eighteen.

Part 1: Sunday Morning

Pastel fingers of dawn slipped between the blinds in Alex's bedroom and painted parallel lines on her comforter. But the first light which appeared just before 5:30 a.m. in early June would not dare make her stir. The flight home from Jamaica with her dad and her four best friends, along with the shocking revelation that proceeded the flight, made her first few hours of sleep fitful at best. Eventually, her young body's need for rest overcame her racing mind and brought on a deep slumber.

It was 9:30 on Sunday morning when her heavy eyelids fluttered open. For a minute or two, she thought it was all dream: the trip to paradise with the most important people in her life, the pristine Jamaican beaches, sweet yet potent cocktails, the seemingly random but not so random disappearances of one or two of her friends...and her dad....

As her brain unwound the spool of experiences and began to sort out what was real and what was fantasy, the gravity of what happened on the trip loomed over her bed and canopied her.

At first, as she shook off sleep and began to stretch her limbs, she tried to downplay, even dismiss, what took place over the past week. She was too discerning for that. Mere thoughts of the act--acts--that occurred were overwhelming. She tried again to compartmentalize as she sat up in bed.

Her slender athletic legs dangled over her mattress as she spread her arms wide. She admired her fresh tan. Though her complexion was relatively light, her skin turned a rich, golden brown against a background of faint freckles when exposed to the sun. Her white jersey knit pajama shorts contrasted nicely with her new summer skin tone. She wrangled her light brown loose curls into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, and headed down to the kitchen.

Her father was sitting motionless at the kitchen table. A cup of coffee sat before him. There was no steam emanating from the cup, so he must have been sitting there for some time. He turned as he heard her soft footsteps enter the room. The silence between father and daughter was both deafening and paralyzing.

"Good morning, Alex," he said, his intonation almost sounding like a question.

"Hey," she replied sitting down opposite him at the table, the spot where her mother would sit. She always sat next to him, leaving her mom's seat empty. But this morning, a bit of distance between the two of them seemed fitting.

There was no eye contact for minutes that felt like hours for both. Finally, her father spoke up.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Ok. You?" She finally made fleeting eye contact.

"Ok," he replied.

They resumed staring at the kitchen table where they shared countless meals together both before her mother died and since her passing. They weathered many storms. At this moment, the current storm brewing between them felt insurmountable.

After several more minutes of crushing silence, Alex finally spoke up.

"Just tell me that wasn't why we went. Tell me it wasn't whyyouwent."

Her dad pretended to not know what she was inquiring about, though it was obvious to him. At the airport, he made it clear that everything just happened in Jamaica organically and spontaneously. But she needed to hear it again.

"I'm sorry, Alex?"

She cleared her throat, straightened her posture, and looked her father in the eye.

"Tell me you didn't take us there--take them there--just....to..." She couldn't speak the words. She paused, breathed deeply, closed her eyes, and just let the words erupt.

"Tell me you didn't take my four best friends to a Jamaican resort just to fuck esch of them behind my back." The words felt both cathartic and toxic as they escaped her lips. Tears began streaming down her freckled cheeks.

Her father said nothing at first. He sat motionless across from Alex, staving off his own tears and chastising himself silently for his decisions--which now seemed reckless and utterly selfish-- to have sex with each of his daughter's best friends.

An encounter with just one would have been inexcusable--though maybe, when viewed through a very specific lens, remotely understandable--forgivable even--given his widower status and the singularity of the situation. A middle aged man on a Caribbean vacation with his 18 year-old daughter and her four 18 year-old best friends, each beautiful in her own way. Oh, and one of whom (Rachel) happened to be fresh off a break-up.

He broke the silence, which seemed to be the only constant in this tense interaction, with a simple "No."

She looked up at him across the table. Their bleary eyes met. She believed him. She knew her own father. She knew he would never in either of their lifetimes stage this elaborate journey only to prey upon the beautiful young women.

His one word answer did not absolve him, but it did provide clarity--even hinting at understanding. Since Alex's mother died, he bore the yoke of their mutual grief largely on his own. Yes, she suffered and continued to suffer, but he was steadfast in his support as she clawed through each stage of grief, sometimes in parallel with him but often at her own glacial pace.

He buffeted her anger, her spite, her confusion, and her profound melancholy while she asked her father over and over, "Why?" Why was she left to live, to exist, with her father alone? No one could understand her, love her, or comfort her like her own mother. And now, she was left abandoned without her mother's tender love not for a day, a week, a month, or a year, but forever.

Through all of this, he minimized his own despair--at least on the surface--to buoy Alex through hers while his own desolation tightened its grip, leaving him bereft of essentially all peer companionship, emotional, physical, and otherwise.

For that fleeting moment, she had sympathy for her father. The amalgam of an exotic locale, sun kissed, beautiful female bodies, potent cocktails and plain old lust swirled together to create opportunities that would never exist again for him or Alex's friends.

Eventually, he got up from the table, planted a kiss on her tanned forehead, and began to prepare breakfast. They ate in silence.

Part 2: Rachel's Graduation Party

Alex returned to her room to continue to process the events of the past week and to prepare to see Rachel, Cari, Jasmine, and Macy. A few days off from seeing the girls--women--that were intimate with her father behind her back would have been welcomed. However, today began the season of graduation parties, or "Grad Parties" as they were now known. In the course of the next month, Alex and her father would attend more than 20 such gatherings. Peppered in were parties for each of her four best friends. The first of the parties was today. Rachel's party would start in just a few hours.

The party would take place at the upscale, modern home of her father, Bryce, a tech entrepreneur who had founded and sold too many startups to list in his over two decade career. Neither Alex nor Rachel knew exactly what he did. They just knew he was highly intelligent and took risks, calculated ones at least, that paid off for him and his family financially. However, eighteen hour days, seven days a week took its toll on his marriage, and despite the financial rewards, their family unit disintegrated a couple years ago.

Rachel, an only child, was devastated by the separation of her parents and their impending divorce. Her mom moved across town, and Rachel went with her since her dad was rarely home. Bryce, trying his best to make her want to stay with him on weekends, moved her bedroom into a large suite that occupied the opposite end of the house from his room. He painted the walls light pink, installed the largest flatscreen available, and lavishly appointed the bathroom. The room was large enough for Rachel, Alex, Jasmine, Cari, and Macy to stretch out and sleep comfortably--and they did. Every weekend Rachel was at her father's turned into a sleepover for the girls.

Yes, it meant less bonding time for the now-divorced Bryce and his daughter, but he didn't seem to mind. He knew Rachel was most content with her friends, and if she was happy, he was happy. Plus, he seemed to feed off the buzz of excitement that permeated the house on sleepover weekends. It was a welcomed respite from the silence that pervaded the home during the work week. He refused to work while the girls were there, a hard lesson learned from years of putting his career first. He did not hover but was always at the girls' beck and call.

The sleepover weekends were filled with movies, midnight snacks, sleeping late, and always ended with Sunday breakfast, cooked by Bryce. He whipped up golden, fluffy pancakes, omelettes, and homemade muffins while also serving as barista, doling out lattes and every imaginable caffeinated drink the girls desired.

Though Alex practically lived in Bryce's home for at least two weekends a month, there was never any sign of a love interest for him. He was careful, perhaps to a fault, not to threaten his healing relationship with Rachel. The divorce had taken its toll. He was now determined to repair the damage, and introducing a new female companion would undermine his efforts. As a wealthy, fit new bachelor in his early forties, he likely would not have to search long for companionship. In fact, there would be a line of potential girlfriends down the street.

Alex took a long shower as she contemplated how she would handle seeing Rachel, Jasmine, Cari, and Macy today. Eventually, she settled on the fact that the past could not be changed. She resolved to act (to them at least) as if nothing had happened, She would move on. Neither her friends nor her dad were perfect. Decisions were made. Things were done--intimate things. But that was all in the past, albeit recent past.

She toweled off and did her hair. She wore it down, her light brown curls, now with fresh natural highlights from the Caribbean sun, rested softly on her tanned shoulders. She wore a strapless white dress that went to her mid thigh with matching sandals. She looked at herself in the mirror. Though she would never admit it to herself, she was gorgeous--a perfect blend of mom and dad.

The graduation party was an all out affair. A large white tent graced the backyard of Bryce's home. There were passed hors d'oeuvres, slider stations, walking tacos, a sundae bar, and of course, the guest of honor, Rachel. Bryce and Rachel's mom, Sarah, were on good terms now and though the party was at Bryce's house, Rachel made it clear that both parents were hosting the celebration.

Alex hugged her friend while her dad placed the graduation card into the gift box. He then slipped away after giving Rachel an awkward congratulatory handshake. Alex and Rachel couldn't help but giggle as "Mr. K.," as Alex's dad was known amongst her friends, seemed to not want to be visible to Rachel. They looked at each other and smiled. No words were necessary. The two friends were going to be OK.

The party carried on for a few hours. When the DJ started to play some louder dance music, Alex's dad excused himself from the party, saying he was tired from the trip. Alex assured him that she could get a ride home safely with a friend and let him go. He kissed her on the forehead, thanked Bryce and Sarah for a lovely party and departed swiftly.

Later in the evening, Alex was sitting at a table under the tent checking her phone when Bryce sat down next to her.

"Everything OK with your dad?" he asked. "Too much fun in the sun in Jamaica?" He pronounced "Jamaica" with a hint of an island accent and gave Alex a subtle wink, as if he knew what happened, hut she was sure he did not.

Too much 18 year-old pussy.was what she wanted to say to Bryce, but she held her tongue.

"He's OK," Alex answered. It's a lot of work wrangling five girls on the beach all week. He's just a bit worn out." She smiled at Bryce. Alex thought he would get up at the moment and return to the rest of his guests, but he stayed where he was, sitting next to her.

"You know, Alex, I never thanked you, and I'm sorry." His tone was remorseful.

"Thanked me?" Alex asked.

"Thanked you for your support--for Rachel--during the divorce, and not just that--for supporting her 24/7. She can be a handful. You're solid gold, Alex. You buoyed her through our divorce. You were unwavering,"

"I know what loss is like," she answered. "I know no one died, but it's still a devastating loss. I did what any good friend would do. I listened."

"Thank you, Alex. I am forever in your debt for your friendship to Rachel, and in turn, to me."

He briefly touched her hand and stood up. Before walking away, he looked at Alex, paused and smiled. It was a warm, welcoming smile that lingered in her mind moments after he left her and tended to his other guests.

Bryce was a formidable figure. At about 6'4", he towered over most everyone at the party. He had wavy jet black hair with grey flecks beginning to appear at his temples and sideburns. His eyes were a combination of blue and green that transitioned in hue ever so slightly depending on the natural light and his clothing choices, which were always impeccable. Today he wore dark khaki linen shorts with a pristine white collared resort style shirt that surely was tailored to hug the contours of his chest and upper arms. His angular jaw line accentuated his imposing physique. But all of these features were softened by his kind smile which curled his lips nearly every time he spoke.

The party went on for a couple more hours, but being a Sunday evening, wrapped up fairly early. Alex mingled with Rachel, Jasmine, Cari, and Macy intermittently but steered clear of engaging them with anything other than superficial banter. She had just been with them for a full week, so a break would have been well deserved under normal circumstances. The current circumstances made some distance even more appropriate.

As the crowds thinned and the early summer sun set over Bryce's beautiful backyard, Alex said her goodbyes to Bryce and Rachel and departed with a friend.

Alex went to bed that evening feeling a glint of hope for the summer. Though she still needed to fully wrap her head around what happened on the trip between her dad and her best friends, for now she was resolved to deal with it in pieces. She did not want to overwhelm herself with specifics, though questions about the details swirled in her brain as she struggled to find slumber.

She assumed Rachel was the first of her friends to fuck her dad. She was on the prowl, eager to erase her former boyfriend, James, from her memory. Plus, she frequently would observe Rachel's stare lingering on her dad. Rachel was always sexually precocious. She was the first to lose her virginity, though Jasmine and Cari followed soon after.

But how did it happen in Jamaica? Rachel likely initiated, but when? Where? How often? When did the other girls hook up with her dad? A few questions turned into many and soon overwhelmed Alex. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to stifle them at first but there was no stopping the deluge coming forth from her blue eyes.

She cried into her pillow until she fell into a fitful sleep, during which images of Rachel, Jasmine, Cari, Macy and her father weaved in and out of her dream state. There were no graphic visions, but just a meandering of scenarios during the trip with one or more girls missing, along her with father.

Eventually, she descended into a deep slumber that allowed her brain to reset and give her mind and body the rejuvenation it needed. It would be a busy summer. It was time to relish every moment.

Part 3: Bryce

Bryce awoke early the next morning. His room was cool, dark and silent. Rachel spent the night at her mother Sarah's house so they could head out early on their long anticipated girls' road trip to Sarah's sister's lakeside home. Though, she more likely decided to stay with her mom to get out of the post party clean up. Crafty was the word that described both Rachel and her mother best.

He arose from his large comfortable bed and glanced briefly at the other side. The duvet and pillows remained undisturbed, as they had for over two years since the divorce. He did not dwell on that. He stayed true to his mission of staying away from relationships with women so as not to disturb the very fragile relationship that now existed with his daughter.

Bryce opened the shades to his room and took in the landscape that was his backyard oasis, now littered with the remnants of Rachel's graduation party the night before. He resolved to get to work cleaning the mess up, after a cup of coffee.

He began with clearing the tables under the massive white tent that shielded the guests from the hot afternoon sun. Amongst the half empty bottles and cans were a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer glass. He knew they belonged to none other than Alex. He recalled admiring how perfect the frame was for her young face and how the tortoise shell complimented her fresh tan from Jamaica--a summer look worthy for a magazine cover, he thought. He wasn't sure why, but when she placed the glasses on top of her head as a makeshift headband, he almost couldn't look away.

He saw her in a totally different light last night. Though to be honest, he had been seeing her differently for a while now.

Gradually over the past few months, as she neared her 19th birthday, he couldn't help but notice her athletic figure, the way her thigh muscles curved to a slim hour glass shape just above her knees, the way her upper thighs transitioned to the firm round domes of her ass. The freckles on her chest never failed to catch his eye each time she wore a V-neck t-shirt in his presence. Imagery of her body persisted in his memory long after she disappeared from his cautious gaze.

Fantasies began to emerge in his mind, fantasies that he had repressed about Alex, who spent many a weekend night in Rachel's bedroom since her 18th birthday, footsteps away from his own bedroom. Images of fictional encounters materialized, tantalizing him. She would tip toe away from Rachel's room in the stillness of the night to meet him outside her room. He couldn't wait to see her--feel her. In the darkness of the hallway, his hands would feast on her young curves while she fished out his cock. Pajama shorts would slide down Alex's smooth legs. They would explore each other a few feet from slumbering Rachel, Cari, Jasmine, and Macy. Sometimes, he would take her on the floor right outside Rachel's room or up against the wall. Sometimes they would be bold and steal away to his bedroom all night until she snuck back into Rachel's room in the morning before the girls woke up...