CHAPTER ONE
Daisy
It’s a beautiful day. Of course, pretty much every day is a beautiful day. There’s a whole lot of beauty in the sun, of course, but I think there’s a whole lot of beauty in the rain. If you look at things from the right perspective, you can see that there is a whole lot of beauty in the snow, in storms, or anything else.
I think most people in the world have a hard time seeing beauty. I guess I don’t really understand that. I don’t want to be trite or throw platitudes out there but if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, why not make sure I’m a beholder with eyes that see beauty in everything?
I don’t get why that’s a controversial idea.
People tend to look at me and not understand me at all. I just don’t care about the things they care about. Oh, I certainly care about the most important things. I care about the people I love. I care about smiles, and I feel when other people are in pain.
I just don’t care about so much that causes other people so much pain and worry.
I have my own place. It’s a camper shell on top of an old truck. That’s it. It’s my home and it has been my home from the day I graduated high school. Some people look at me sympathetically and treat me like I’m a poor homeless girl. They’re well-intentioned but I’m neither poor nor homeless. I have my own place, the camper. As for being poor, I make about fifteen hundred dollars a month online. Knock off the two-hundred dollars in mobile data charges that run me, and I net thirteen hundred. Take off another three hundred for taxes. Okay, I’ve got a thousand dollars.
That’s about two-hundred and fifty dollars a month more than I need for food, occasional camper hook-ups, and lollipops. I don’t know any of the people offering me so much sympathy who are able to save twenty-five percent of their take-home pay the way I am.
Okay, look. I know I’m not normal. I know there’s something in my brain that never clicked. I’m just really happy because the something in my brain that never clicked was the part that makes people turn into stress-filled, unhappy bundles of sadness. If I don’t want a nice house and a picket fence, I’m never disappointed that I have an apartment. If I don’t want two-hundred-dollar designer jeans, I’m never disappointed that I wear jeans from a thrift store that set me back six bucks.
This is just how I am. I mean, this isn’t a philosophy developed over time through some kind of rational process. I’m twenty-two years old and I can’t think of a single time in my life that I didn’t feel this way. Things that matter to other people, in this area anyway, just don’t matter to me. I don’t know why. I’m glad for it, though.
I head inside the camper for a shower and when I return outside, I see the beautiful day has become a beautiful night. I go back inside for a sleeping bag and a pillow and bring them to the top of the camper. I lay still and allow my eyes and ears to adjust to the darkness.
I’ve always loved nighttime. Unlike humans, most of the world sleeps during the day and comes out at night, so if you remove yourself from all the noise and distraction of the city and allow your senses to adjust, you become aware of so much more of the world around you. I’ve always preferred the soft light of the moon and stars to the harsh light of the sun anyway.
It’s not nature and beauty that occupy my mind tonight, however. Tonight, my thoughts are filled with Maxwell Weaver.
Max is a businessman and close friends with my friend Gwen’s Daddy. Not Daddy as in father. She calls her boyfriend Daddy.
Apparently, that’s not just a sex thing. I don’t know anything from first-hand experience, but Gwen’s told me a little bit and it turns out the whole Daddy thing is a part of a lifestyle called DDlg, which stands for Daddy Dom/little girl. It’s a type of relationship where the roles are more clearly defined with the Daddy responsible for protecting and caring for his little girl and the little girl is responsible for following her Daddy’s rules.
I’m not too big on following rules, but sex thing or not, the idea of a big, strong man protecting and caring for me is pretty sexy. Actually, I think it’s sexy as hell, and I know just the Daddy to do that for me.
I close my eyes and slide my fingers down my body. I caress my pussy over my panties at first, moaning softly as I tease myself. The vague stimulation wakes my body up and I feel warm tingles spreading slowly through me as I stroke.
“Mmm, that feels good, Daddy.” I moan.
Saying that word out loud intensifies the sensations, and I can now clearly picture Max over me as I slide my hand under my panties, I imagine his hand cupping my pussy and sliding softly over my clit. I gasp and stiffen as the pleasure becomes a dozen times stronger and I’m grateful that tonight I’m camped a few miles outside of town instead of behind the library like normal.
“Oh, Daddy,” I moan again.
My voice gets louder as the sensations intensify and I feel my climax approach. “Oh, Daddy. Oh, Daddy! Oh, Max, yes!”
When my orgasm hits, it hits so powerfully that my shoulders actually lift off the back of the camper and come back down with a dull thud through the sleeping bag. I keep stroking my clit, grabbing a fistful of the sleeping bag with my other hand to keep it from covering my pussy and forcing me to endure as long and intense of an orgasm as I can give myself.
When I finish coming, I sigh with satisfaction and lie back with a soft smile on my face.
Fuck that felt good.
Thinking about Max made my orgasm far more intense than normal. Now that it’s passed and I’ve released the sexual tension my body was carrying, I can wonder for the hundredth time why on Earth Max attracts me so much.
He’s hot, sure, but there are lots of hot guys, especially in this town. There are even some hot guys who fit the free-spirited, dangerous, bad boy type I usually go for.
So why am I so obsessed over a stuffy, regimented, by-the-book businessman like Max?