Standalone Stories featuring Belle

Author's Note: MySummer Lovin' Contestentry is a sentimental father-daughter story with servings of playful spice. Hope you enjoy! =)

DAD & DAUGHTER REBUILD A BOND

DAD & DAUGHTER REBUILD A BOND

What better feeling for my achy joints, my middle-aged potato brain, than to spend my scheduled Friday off in my den, where I could lounge stress-free on my leather couch in front of my 75" TV.

I entered my den, locked its door, and got comfortable. With a private space to myself, a naughty notion entered my mind, a kinky way to kick off my afternoon. Determined, I grabbed my secret tray that held a bottle of coconut oil for the act, and a rag for the aftermath. Flipped open my laptop and went with my go-to search terms on the hub: tall blonde, big tits.

My eyes were drawn to a juicy thumbnail, featuring one of my favorite pornstars, Rhea Rainz. I gleefully unzipped and deployed my right arm for hand-to-cock combat...

Ten minutes in, I was sunk into my couch, deep in the thick of it, when my digital blonde rearranged herself for a blowjob. The camera switched to a first-person point of view, treating the viewer (me!) as the lucky recipient of Ms. Rainz's talented mouth. Rhea then dove lips first, and I hurried my hand, wanting to blast my load to her oral prowess. I leered intently at her, imagining she was telepathing some raunchy words to get me off.

"Come on, Phil," she'd say to me. "I know you love when I suck you like a Dyson. Gimme your cum, baby! I need it!"

I made the most of my coconut oil, whipping warm friction, able to see the finish line in sight. Then something unexpected happened on the video... Rhea withdrew her mouth and sat up. Took a second to tie her long blonde hair into a high ponytail. She smiled at the camera, blew me a kiss, then returned to her blowjob.

I resumed masturbating, but my mind had suddenly twisted into a pretzel. With her new hairstyle, Rhea eerily resembled my firstborn, Belle. Something about her ponytail reminded me of how my daughter had sported the same look not long ago, when she and I had gotten into an explosive argument that we hadn't quite recovered from.

Cock still in hand, I continued jerking myself, but now I was getting softer, drifting further away from a climax. I tightened my eyes shut to better focus, but it didn't help; the imagery from my quarrel with Belle only bloomed larger in my mind. Before I knew it, a sea swell of shame and disappointment crashed on my mental shore, getting me to uncouple my oily palm.

I remained on my couch, panting like an idiot, ashamed that I'd allowed my daughter to even infiltrate my fantasy. All I could think about now was the cold war we were currently engaged in, our frosty greetings in the hall, her nightly silence at the dinner table...

CHAPTER 1ISSUES

A knocking sound on my den door got my attention. I hurriedly wiped my hand clean and zipped up my cargo shorts, then walked to the door and opened it.

"Hey Dad," Noah said. He sniffed the air. "Hmm, new air freshener? Smells tropical."

"...Yeah," I said. "What's going on, Son?"

"Johnny told me to tell you he's got plans. Movie night in the den's a no-go for him."

"Why isn't your brother telling me that himself?" I asked.

"I dunno," Noah said. "Peak teenage angst?"

I laughed at my youngest's humor. "Well, glad you're neither a teen nor angsty, not yet at least. Guess it's just you and me tonight, bud. So, what movie should we watch? A New Hope or Empire? Those prequels or sequels aren't an option."

"Sorry Dad... I'll have to pass too."

My shoulders drooped in disappointment. "Gee, so much for a Friday with my boys."

"Um, by the way," Noah said, "Belle's in the driveway right now. She told me she needs your help with the SUV..."

"Serious? I just got the thing serviced. What'd she say was wrong with it?"

"Not sure," he said. "You might want to go outside and ask her yourself."

I grunted my annoyance as I slipped on my shoes, then trudged past my son, playfully mussing his hair on my way out.

When I landed in the driveway, I saw the SUV parked, with my daughter in the driver's seat. She waved to me to come in. I proceeded with caution, noting this was the first time in a while she'd even sought out an interaction with me.

I entered the car on the passenger side. "What's wrong with it, Belle?"

"Close the door, please," she said. "I'll show you on the road. You need to hear it."

A minute later, Belle was driving us, beyond the subdivision and strangely toward the freeway.

"I don't hear anything funky," I said. "What's the issue?"

"I'm trying to figure it out too," Belle said, which only served to confuse me more.

"The car does feel heavy." I contorted my body to check the backseat, only to find stacks of items peeking up from the trunk. "Wait, what's all that in the back?"

She steered us onto the freeway on-ramp. "It's equipment and supplies," she said. "We'll need it for the weekend."

"Explain," I said bluntly, my blood pressure starting to climb.

"Me and you, we're going camping."

I shot her a look of shock, realizing I'd been duped. "Belle, what are you doing? Take us home right now."

"Why?" she asked calmly.

I scoffed, almost offended by her response. "Belle, just take us home."

"Dad, are we really gonna fight about a two-day camping trip?"

The memory of our previous argument shot to mind again. My forehead tightened, and a sour taste swamped my tongue. I didn't want to spark another verbal spat with my daughter, especially in a moving vehicle.

"Belle, I don't have my things packed," I argued.

"I've packed your essentials for you," she said.

"Okay, but you need a reservation for a campsite. You can't just show up."

"Booked one already," she replied.

"Your mom's gonna worry about us. Your brothers might be expecting me back."

"Mom signed off on the trip," Belle said. "Noah and Johnny know too. They helped me pack the trunk."

I looked out my passenger-side window, searching for any viable reason to get my daughter to turn this vehicle around. A humid weekend outdoors wasn't exactly how I envisioned spending my free time.

"Do you really not want to go?" she asked, this time with tenderness in her tone.

I glanced at her, but I couldn't see her blue eyes behind the thick band of her sunglasses. She faced the road, the sheen of her blonde hair reflecting the sun.

I let out a heavy breath, asking myself whether I was handling this well as a parent. Did I really have a good counterargument fornotspending time with my daughter? Considering the amount of sand left in her domestic hourglass, would a better parent be making better use of the time?

"Okay, some logistics first," I said, signaling my resignation. "We'd be back on Sunday, right? You know I've got work the next day."

"I know, Dad." Her lips curled with optimism, surely sensing my dwindling willpower.

"So back on Sunday, yes?" I asked, wanting confirmation.

"We'll be back," she said. "I promise."

CHAPTER 2FEARS & CAREERS

This car ride was going to be a long one.

I turned on the radio, which served as a shield of sorts, drowning out the conditions for conversation. It gave me an opportunity to reflect on the shaky ground Belle and I were on—the same ground that, a week from now, we'd no longer have to worry about sharing.

Seven days was all I had left with my daughter before she flew the nest. In seven days, she'd be on a flight she'd booked and paid for herself, off to chase a pipe dream. She'd graduated from high school a month ago, and claimed she was now ready to start her career at eighteen.

Start.

Career.

Eighteen.

Those three words didn't belong in the same sentence, if you asked me. The plan was always for Belle to go to college. My wife and I had set aside a savings fund nearly two decades ago for exactly that purpose.

Imagine my reaction when Belle told me she'd turned down all her offers of admission, in favor of pursuing a career as a model...A model? Really, Belle?It sounded as preposterous to me now as it did then.

I didn't care that my daughter had the so-calledlook: striking facial features and a slim body profile. Success wasn't a given for every woman with blue eyes, blonde hair, and nice boobs. To me, the modeling profession was a risky dice roll not worth rolling. I didn't want to see Belle chewed up and spat out by that industry, or by the exploitative men that kept it alive.

My daughter was worth more than her looks. Her high school report cards proved as much. She could thrive in any normal field. She didn't have to stoop down to superficiality to validate herself to society. I'd told her that, but the words didn't stick. Belle obviously disagreed with me.

The topic was what had sparked our heated shouting match, where fingers were pointed and tempers were lost. At the end of the day, my job as a father was to guide my kids, help them make smart decisions. And college was the smartest, most logical route Belle could take. Every realist knows that beauty fades; the fruits of higher education don't.

"Dad, let's play a car game," she said, lowering the radio volume. "20 Questions. I've thought of a word. Now you ask yes-or-no questions, to try and figure it out."

"What's the category?" I asked.

"Food."

"It's spaghetti," I said confidently.

She chortled. "Are you serious? You're supposed to ask questions that lead to a guess."

"No need for me to ask questions," I said. "Spaghetti's your favorite food."

"Yeah, back when I was like, nine. I don't eat much pasta nowadays. Too many carbs. Not the best for keeping a model figure."

Model.The trigger word instantly tightened the cords in my neck, teased a new headache I wanted to avoid on this lengthy drive.

"I'm going to take a nap," I said, turning my chin toward the passenger window. "Wake me up when we're close to the campground."

I heard her sigh, a long exhale that I filtered through one ear and out the other.

CHAPTER 3CAMPSITE CONFUSION

We arrived at the campsite at Holder's Peak, a place not unfamiliar to our family. The forested campground was where my wife and I had brought the kids a few times when they were younger.

Belle parked the car, and we started unloading the trunk. I was astonished by everything she'd packed. It was comprehensive. She'd clearly put some thought into this trip.

I followed her as we rolled our belongings on a wagon. As she approached our plot, she stopped. There were two men relaxing in portable chairs, their tents and equipment already set up. The guys looked to be in their late twenties, their built physiques and sleeveless shirts suggesting an overflow of testosterone.

I whispered to Belle, "Who are these men? Do you know them?"

She shook her head no. "They're on our plot, Dad. We're supposed to have #4." She showed me the email reservation on her phone.

My paternal instincts kicked in. I walked over to the two men, both of them sporting backward baseball caps, colored red and blue, respectively.

"Hey," I said to them. "I'm Phil. You fellas have the wrong spot."

"We do?" Red Cap said. "What makes you say that?"

"My daughter has the confirmation email," I said.

Red Cap looked beyond me, sights locking onto Belle. A smile filled his face, and I knew exactly what thoughts were filling his head. I'd have the same ones if I were in his shoes, seeing a skinny blonde in summer shorts, a white tank tight to her curves.

"Hey Phil, can she show us the email?" Red Cap asked. "We'd love to see it."

No chance in hell was I going to let these sunburned beer bros get close to my daughter.

"Listen up," I said to them, "I don't want to get the rangers involved. Just move your gear one plot over. It's not brain surgery."

The Cap Bros simultaneously stood up from their camp chairs, hostile glares aimed my way.

"Hey, wait!" Belle said, walking over to address the men. "We'll let you two keep the spot, but in exchange, my dad and I get to eat dinner with you. I see you guys brought a grill."

Red Cap relaxed his stance. "Shoot, that's an easy yes from me. It'd be our pleasure to have you and Pops for some steak and beers. What's your name?"

I stepped in. "Her name'stoo-young-to-drink-alcohol."

Blue Cap had his hands up in surrender. "Hey, no problem at all, Papa Phil. My buddy and I respect the law. Swing by at dinner time, after you're all set up."

***

Belle and I unloaded our supplies onto the neighboring plot. As we began pitching our tent, I wanted to understand my daughter's approach to the Cap Bros.

"Belle, why'd you give up our reservation? They were in the wrong."

She shrugged her shoulders. "It wasn't a big deal, Dad. It would've taken them forever to move their stuff. Plus, you could tell they'd been drinking a bit. Probably not the best idea to strong-arm them in that situation. It wouldn't have killed us to be flexible."

"Hmm, yeah maybe," I said. "As long as those two burnouts don't give us any more issues, then I reckon it's fine."

She chuckled. "I dunno if I'd call them burnouts. That's a little presumptuous, don't ya think? Didn't you teach me not to judge a book by its cover?"

"Their cover's made of Budweiser cans and red meat. Speaks for itself."

"Well, in any case, I got us steak dinners out of it," she said. "So this is a win for us, as far as I'm concerned."

I guess Belle wasn't wrong. If I were being fair to her, I'd acknowledge that she'd navigated that negotiation pretty shrewdly, with more diplomacy than I would've thought to bring. She was perhaps wiser than I'd given her credit for. But 18 years old was 18 years old. Still too young to know everything.

CHAPTER 4FIRESIDE CINDERS

After we'd set up camp, my stomach started to growl. I'd grown quite an appetite.

Our campground neighbors waved us over. They'd started their grill, and the smoky scent of steak was heaven to my nostrils. Belle and I eagerly walked over and joined them.

"Okay Papa Phil," Blue Cap said, "fancy a turn at grillmaster?" He offered me the tongs and I gladly took them.

"Belle, come here, please," I said. "I wanna teach you."

My daughter joined my side.

"So listen," I said, "You don't need a full-blown setup to make a great steak. You can do this on a pan too."

"Gotcha, okay," she said, listening intently.

"Gotta cook the meat an appropriate amount of time on each side. You don't wanna call it done too early. Not until it's ready."

At the right moment, I let her know that now was the ideal time to flip the meat.

"Can I try flipping it?" she asked.

"Watch me first," I said. "Then you'll know the next time."

"I can do it, Dad. Let me flip it."

"Belle, you're not ready. Just watch first."

I half-expected my daughter to pout, but she didn't. I flipped the steaks a few more times to get the sear just right. Plated the final outcome and paraded it for Belle, hoping she'd learned a valuable lesson.

***

The sun had gone, and the four of us sat around the fire pit, having enjoyed a delicious dinner. The Cap Bros and I had beers in hand. Belle had flavored sparkling water in hers.

"Perfect grill job, Papa Phil!" Red Cap said to me.

"Saw you teaching your daughter," Blue Cap said. "Passing down the life lessons, nice."

I smiled at Belle, but she avoided eye contact.

"So fellas," I said, turning back to them. "You two camp a lot?"

"Every year. Nice to get away from our girlfriends and jobs for a weekend," Red Cap said. "Camping's a best friend tradition we've had since college."

"Interesting, so you two went to college?" I asked, glancing at Belle in my peripheral vision, hoping she'd heard me. "What do you fellas do now?"

"I'm a doctor," Blue Cap said, before pointing to his buddy. "He's a real estate lawyer."

"No kidding?" I said, surprised by their occupations.

Blue Cap spoke, "We get it. We probably look like a couple of dopey frat brothers living off a trust fund... But no, I like to think we're real contributors to society. If you ever need a cardiologist, and hopefully you don't, then I'm your guy."

Red Cap added, "And if you find yourself dealing with any zoning hiccups, land disputes, give me a call."

"Good to know," I said. "So... you two'd say that college was worth the experience, right?"

"Definitely," they said in unison.

I looked at Belle, hoping I could work an eleventh-hour swoop to get her to change her mind. She continued looking down at her plate, not willing to engage. I decided to be more explicit.

"See Belle," I said, "higher education can open so many more doors for you. It's where you'll make long-lasting friendships, like these two gentlemen. College is where I met your mother. Imagine if I hadn't gone? You wouldn't be born. Neither would your brothers. What a travesty that'd be... Something to think about, sweetie..."

Belle gently placed her plate down, stood up, and began back toward our plot.

"Where are you going?" I asked her.

"I'm tired," she said, her voice trailing.

I stood up as well, thanked our hosts for the dinner and company, then followed my daughter.

***

"Belle!" I said, watching her enter our tent.

She ignored my voice. I followed her inside and saw her sullen posture. She was face down on her sleeping pad, forehead resting on her forearms, not eager to make eye contact with me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"This was exactlynotwhat I wanted for this trip," she said.

"Belle, look at me, please."

She sat up begrudgingly, and the frustration on her face was evident. "I'm sorry I'm such a headache for you! If only you'd gotten your wish when I was born."

"What are you even talking about?" I asked.

"I heard you, Dad! Last month, late night on the porch with Uncle Will. You told him you wished I were a boy. Then you wouldn't have had to deal with all the headaches I've caused you aboutmylife,mychoices."

I gulped loudly in my throat, remembering said chat with my younger brother. We'd been three, four beers down at that point. It was the same day I'd gotten into that argument with Belle. My emotions were high, my filter flimsy.

"Belle... I was drunk."

"You said the words though!" she said, tone doused in dismay. "I know part of you believes it."

I sighed. Realized I couldn't talk my way out of this hole.

"You're right," I admitted. "I did say those things. I'm sorry you heard that."

She squeezed her eyes shut at my words, like she'd swallowed a lemon. I dropped my head, hating the idea of one of my kids thinking of themself as less.

"Dad, I'm not going to change my mind. I'm not going to college. Why can't you just accept that?"

"Belle, I want what's best for you. What kind of father would I be if I didn't?"

"In this case, you'd be a supportive one," she said.

Though her words stung, I held my ground.

"You're just not ready," I said. "Eighteen is too young to throw your future away on a dice roll. You've gotta understand that."

"God, Dad, my passion isn't a dice roll. Do you realize you've never even asked mewhyI wanna be a model?"

I subtly shrugged. Did I really need to ask? It was obvious, no? The potential for fame. The attention. The exclusive parties and whatever glamorous lifestyle it engendered.

"It's my way of expressing myself," she said. "I don't feel like a creative person when I wake up every day. But when I get in front of a camera, I get my chance to tell a story, to convey my emotions, with every pose, every piece of wardrobe. It's when I feel most alive, the most confident version of myself. I genuinely love doing it."