Paul Tate: Camping with daddy

Blonde hair sweeping through the air reflected the fire's glow as Sally strode toward her father, digging her toes in the still warm earth.

She unscrewed the cap on a half gallon jug and poured out a paper cupful. "Here you go, Daddy. Drink up!"

She poured another cupful and was joining him, mesmerically staring into the fire.

"Hey, I thought you didn't drink. Miss Chastity and all that," he teasingly berated.

"I'm so thirsty from the sun I'd drink swamp water if I had to," laughed Sally, taking a long pull on her wine. She swallowed, not enjoying the taste, yet savoring the wetness. "You think we're the only people camping down here?" she asked, surveying the tree-darkened horizon where the phosphorescent-tipped cypresses gleamed under the moon's shimmer. Craning her neck, she looked behind them, a sudden shiver shooting up her spine. "You don't think we're too close to the water, do you? I mean I'm not afraid or anything, but I'd hate to wake up under water," she chuckled half heartedly.

"Naw, just means you're gonna have to go potty in front or me if you can't get to the trees."

Sally rounded her shoulders and made finger prints in the soft earth, looking up only when her father patted her on her knee. She'd always been shy.

"Come on, honey. This is called communing with mother nature, enjoy it!" That little girl, scared look in her blue eyes had not eluded him. Jesus, she was voluptuous even when she looked twelve years old – like now. Suddenly, he wished he'd met her hitchhiking or in a bar, that she was a total stranger. Then he could lay her down and fuck her the way his cock screamed for him to do. Again, he wondered if she was really a virgin. Waiting for her to speak, he pulled a strand of golden silk away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. He wanted to see that uptilted nose and high cheekbones in the heated glow of the fire.

Sensing his heated gaze, Sally built tiny mounds of moss, smoothing it with trembling fingers before poking holes in the miniature hills and finally smoothing them flat again.

"You're thinking about something, what is it?"

"It's spooky here being alone, don't you think?" He loved the way she wrinkled up her nose when she talked and wanted to take her picture as she was now, bathing in oranges and reds.

"It was either camping down here on our own, or pulling into one of those state park campsites. That's not what I call fun. This is Bayou country, honey, the most beautiful spot in Louisiana. Only problem is, everybody knows it and fill those campsites with their screaming kids."

Sally sniffed, wiped her nose on her sweat shirt sleeve and nodded in acquiescence. Something ominous about the dark trees, the moon and the spooky lapping of the tide made her quiver. Ah, probably just because I've never camped, out before, nothing to worry about.

"Tell you what, tomorrow night we'll see if we can get rooms at a motel close by. Give you a chance to…"

"Oh, Daddy, that costs a lot of money. You don't have to do that," she countered with an angelic smile, showing off her perfect white teeth.

"Okay, a deal. We'll go have dinner at that place that serves Shrimp Creole." Unexpectedly he rose to his feet, brushed off his sand-covered pants and offered a hand. "Let's get the beds laid out. I'm bushed… too much rowing and sun today." Reaching up to touch his sun charred nose, he winced.

Reaching for his hand, she strained to her feet and once near the camping gear, unzipped the side pouch of her backpack and delved within for, the Vaseline. "Here, use some of this. Doesn't smell so good, but it'll help your sunburn. Your nose looks like a cherry tomato."

He accepted the blue two-toned plastic jar, wondering again why in hell with those hot tits she had to be his daughter, and twisted the cap.

A sound of yokes, not the water this time, alerted him to the fact that they were not alone. In the far distance, he could see two, three, or was it four figures rowing in a boat in their direction. He raised his hand to shade his eyes from the glow of the fire.

Sally noticed his sudden watchfulness. "What is it?" she asked.

"Your prayers are answered, my sweet. We have company."

With mixed relief and fear at the sudden intrusion, Sally joined him in his vigilance. Suddenly stories of campers in the swamps, grizzly alligator hunters with knives, and bodies dumped into the bayous reeled through her mind. Impetuously, she grabbed her father's arm and held tight, a tit pressing into him.

"Come on, honey, nothing to worry about. It's just a bunch of people like us trying to get away from the crowded campsites." Brad drained his wine and threw the paper cup in the small garbage pile accumulating near their camper.

"Hey!" boomed a voice from the rapidly approaching boat. "Want some company?" The voice was less muffled with each approaching slap of the oars, hardly leaving time for consideration, not to mention choice. What could he say, no?

Brad could sense his daughter tensing at his side.

The four shadows revealed themselves to be three men, all between the ages of 35 and 70 from what Sally could approximate. All were sun-weathered and very rough looking, as if they spent a great deal of their time outdoors. The fourth figure was a female, a few years older than Sally's age. The knowledge that she was not the only female seemed to encourage Sally into being more friendly and accepting the uninvited guests.

"Sure is getting cold," shivered one man, holding his hands, palms-up to the warming fire, when they had slipped from the boat and tied it to a tree. "You been camping here long?"

"Nah, tonight's the first night. We're from New Orleans," offered Brad. "Parked in the woods because the camper sites are too crowded and noisy."

"Good thinking," chime the wizened 70 year old. "They get real loud sometimes. Not like being out in the bayous at all."

Sally suppressed a gasp of uneasiness as the thin, red-haired man who'd introduced himself as Pete took a step in her direction.

"That's my daughter," smiled Brad freely.

"Campin' with you daughter?" guffawed Pete. He had a dull and not-too-bright expression on his face that leered when his eyes came to meet Sally's tits. She flinched as he continued to gape at her huge tits. His mouth hanging open in curiosity and his eyes flickering lewdly. Sally glanced at her father, and saw a startled and confused look cross his usually relaxed face.

"My name is Brad and this is Sally." Sally noticed a slightly guarded intonation in her father's voice, unusual for his husky relaxed nature.

Obviously, he too felt uneasy.

"Glad to meet ya," the weathery, gray-haired one nodded, offering a callused hand. "I'm Sam. You met Pete, that's Luke back there and Sissy beside him."

Sally tried to focus on the two shadows lingering near the trees ten yards away.

Sam, the older of the three, wasted no time making himself comfortable on a stump beside the fire. Burly headed and weather leathered skin, his eyes glistened in the flames. "Good fire you got here," he complimented. Then, turning, he waved toward Luke and Sissy who stood embracing, leaning against a tree in a lifeless silhouette.

"Them two's at it again," chortled Sam. "Fuck, fight and make up, fuck… all they do. Betcha my bottle of moonshine," he said, delving into his red-checked flannel shirt chest pocket, "they'll be fightin' like alley cats in a second."

Turning, he gestured toward the couple who'd separated now, arms flying in the air. "Say, what'd I tell ya?" Grinding a secure hole in the ground with the butt of the re-used whiskey bottle, Sam cupped his hands and bellowed. "Hey, come on and meet some nice folks! Quit fightin'!" And then in apology to Sally and Brad: "Ain't too many pussies in these woods. Man's gotta put up with a lot to get a good fuck in now and then."