I nearly could have cried for the desire I had for this man I'd only met in my dreams.
But with my tension now released, I fell back into a deep, deep slumber. Only to dream yet again about the man in the shadows.
Chapter 3
That day I invited Sandy over. She was an old friend. I needed someone to talk to about the dream I kept having.
I wanted to tell her about the man in the shadows. If anyone had the answer to my problem, it would be her.
And besides, if there was anyone I could trust, it would be her. She knew almost all my deepest secrets.
"Molly, Sandy's here," called Daddy from the entryway.
I quickly went downstairs to greet her. As usual, she stood at the door gawking at Daddy.
I didn't know what she saw in him.
For one thing, Daddy was old. Nearly fifty. True, he was in excellent shape. He worked out and lifted weights. And, true, he was incredibly handsome, his eyes were to die for.
But, well, he was Daddy. Daddies aren't meant to be sexually attractive!
It was just gross the way she gawked at him. She looked at him the way a pit bull looks at a pile of raw beef.
I guess the fact that my Daddy was filthy rich didn't hurt things much either.
But all that aside, the truth was this. My step-dad was just too squeaky clean. I couldn't stand it sometimes!
He never swore. He always spoke in perfect English, and almost always in complete sentences.
If he ever caught me watching some tawdry romance show on TV, he'd balk at it. He'd tell me I shouldn't watch that kind of tripe.
Oh, and he was so punctual, it drove me nuts.
He always got up and went to bed at the exact same time. He ate a healthy breakfast, wheat flakes, and yogurt, and always at the same time.
He always came home from work and followed the same routine. He would read his evening paper, eat the healthy dinner our live-in maid had prepared, then retire to his study to read a novel, almost always something old and outdated.
You could set your watch by his routine.
And he never went anywhere, except his occasional business trips, which I had to admit were often to exotic locations.
When he'd come back from a particularly interesting place, I'd always say to him, "What did you do while you were there?"
"Oh, not much," he'd say. "I was quite busy."
He was the most boring, squeaky clean person you could imagine.
But Sandy just loved him. She had the hots for him something fierce. It was so disgusting.
When I got to the door she was laughing at one of his usual inane jokes.
"Oh, Mr. Bardot, you're so funny!" Sandy screeched.
She actually had the audacity to slap her hands on his chest, and slowly side them down.
As soon as Sandy saw me, I gave her a face, then I rolled my eyes.
"Come on, Sandy, leave my man alone," I said. "We need to go upstairs and talk."