Strawberry Shortcake

Mal Robinson paused outside the frosted glass door to Crann Bethadh Spa & Studio with the wariness of someone about to undergo an ordeal. It wasn't much of an ordeal - he was going to enjoy himself and get the help he needed. It was just that he was always cautious of the danger of enjoying himself a little too much.

He'd helped his stepdaughter buy in to the co-op of Crann Bethadh two years ago as their newest massage therapist. Ruth was a gorgeous, thoughtful, and talented girl; he was always proud of her, admired her good qualities, enjoyed spending time with her. He'd been in her life for a little over six years now. He loved her.

The problem was, she was the spitting image of her mother. Esther Robinson, previously Esther Athernought, originally Esther O'Mara, was a vivacious, energetic, and wickedly mischievous woman who he'd dated briefly in high school before they drifted apart and started their own families. Mal had been divorced, no kids; Essie had been widowed, teenaged daughter, when they'd both reconnected and forged a family together. Mal had struggled to learn how to be a good father; he'd been distant at first, found his way over time. He was proud of himself for that journey.

But after Ruth had graduated high school (a year early), the resemblance to her mother had begun to torment him. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the confident, passionate woman in her forties - they still loved one another intensely and fucked like bunnies the moment Ruthie was out of the room; as well as enjoying regaling one another with tales of their other current lovers - married or not, they were both far too horny and far too workaholic not to prefer a quietly open marriage. No, things with the current Essie were fine.

But Ruth, an innocent prodigy, physically resembled the amazing sensual hellion college-aged Essie had been, his old flame, the one who got away. She was short, gorgeously chubby, and curvaceous (shorter even than her mother), with flame-red hair that fell past her shoulder in ringlets, pale freckly skin, and wide blue eyes that lacked Essie's spark of mischief but matched her in curiosity.

Every time Mal came to Ruth for a massage, it was the devil itself to hide the way her hands on his shoulders made him tent his shorts. Every time he didn't come to Ruth for a massage, if she found out, it felt like a lack of confidence in her. And working, as he did, very actively outdoors, as he made his way through his forties, he needed massages quite badly, quite often, or he had to delay appointments. Essie was a marvel in bed but she'd never had Ruth's skill at massage, so he couldn't fill the need at home with the one practicioner who wouldn't hurt Ruthie's feelings.

It was his lot in life to suffer, he figured, for a long litany of delicious sins and misdemeanors. He hovered a moment, then his left shoulderblade twinged again, and with a gusty sigh the province of put-upon fathers the world over, he pushed open the door.