At Home.

Ah, quiet time. Or are you hoping I'll fuck my dad? Perv! Regardless, I'll get us home.

The sounds of passing car engines can't muffle the scraping of my boots as they drag across the sidewalk. My knocking head is just barely held off the ground anymore. And my vision's blurred to the point of seeing triple. I have to admit it: I'm pooped.

I'm not totally sure why, though. Have I been up long? I look down, hoping to find some sort of answer on my person, and I remember I put this on Friday night. Some friends had tickets to see a local rock band perform at a small venue, so I threw on my typical concert gear: in this case, a black t-shirt of a band from the glory days of punk, a pair of low-rise blue jeans, a pair of black boxer shorts, and some lace-up knee boots modeled after sneakers. I didn't include a bra in case I wanted to flash the band. I'm covering all my best bits, but this works for that atmosphere. Anyway, sometime after that I remember seeing sunrise before I went off to...I'm not really sure after that. But now that the moon's rising, it's probably Saturday night, right?

A quick glance around proved that wrong, among other things. By good fortune, I came across Lindy's, a small diner I like, and found it closed. Lindy's closes at nine o'clock every night except Monday, when they're closed all day. However, the moon is too low to be in a nine o'clock position this time of year, and the roads are too noisy to be early morning traffic. It must be Monday night.

I mumble, "Fuck. I hope I had fun this weekend."

Thankfully, finding Lindy's proves the street I'm on also happens to be the one where my Dad lives, and I could find my way from here if I was blind. A night in my own bed would probably do me some good, anyway. I stagger off, hoping I'll actually make it before I crash in the open again. Good thing it's a short distance.

When I arrive, I make sure to double check it actually is my house. I don't want to explain that one to the police again. Anyway, before me is an ordinary two-story house painted white to make the aluminum siding presentable surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Off to the left of the heavy oak of the front door is small, detachable flagpole in the frame bearing a humorous, seasonal flag. I can't see it from here, but there's little doubt a blue pick-up truck is sitting in the attached garage. Definitely my house.

I trace the familiar walkway to the front door and check the lock. Unlocked, as it usually is this time of day. Love my Dad! Always thinking of me! Anyway, I walk in the front door, letting the chirp of the alarm system announce my presence. It's not like he'll be surprised. He probably heard the gate creek and was watching me from a window. Although, he usually greets me once I'm past the entry hall when he hears me coming. Maybe he's in the bathroom, or sleeping. Eh. I'll leave him a note on the fridge. Just so he doesn't panic. Thankfully the hall leads right into the kitchen.

Before I can even pull out a pen or find our notepad, coming from the cellar is the man himself, cradling a bottle under his arms. Dad...Uh, I should probably mention his name is Harold. Anyway, Dad may be nearing 50, but he doesn't look it. He's managed to keep his hair, keep it dark, and keep it like that naturally. He's also still got his vision, so there's no lenses over his blue eyes. Thanks to the large backyard and being a home owner, he's found no end of fixing projects and gardening tasks, and cultivated significantly more than a beautiful home and inexpensive produce. He's no star athlete, but there are guys at my gym who couldn't have a body sculped like his without steroids. And since I know you're all curious, yes, we have seen each other naked since I developed. Personally, I don't give a damn, as you all should know. On the other hand, he's super shy and always turns away, so I have only the faintest idea of what's between his legs. And when it's been a dual exchange, I have no clue how he reacts.

So that's what he looks like. Back to the story.

Well, right now, his eyes are wide and his mouth agape. The chime doesn't reach to the cellar, so it's no surprise. And while I could ponder why it's apparently especially so surprising this time around, I'd like to remind everyone I'm tired.

"H-Hey, Jessie," he said.

"Hey, Dad! I needed to crash and I was in the neighborhood. Hope you don't mind. I'm headin up to my room. Don't worry about me. I'll take care of food and stuff when I get up. Hey, you doin laundry? This prolly needs to be washed. Just throw this in the next load. Thanks."

If you couldn't guess, in the middle of that speech I started to strip. I left my jeans, shirt, and shorts in a pile next to the fridge, leaving me in my kitchen naked save for a pair of sneaker-like knee boots. I was on my way to the stairs when I stopped at Dad's voice.

"J-Jessie!" he called.

"What? I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"