I didn’t know what sort of cursed luck I kept having, because I’d stumble upon Missy in compromising situations at least once or twice a day, when she was visiting us.
And I knew that the proper thing a father should do in situations like those would be to turn away, but Missy… Jesus, Missy was such a beautiful girl. I couldn’t believe she was my daughter, she seemed so much better and sweeter and kinder and sexier than both me and her mom put together.
And I had to admit, at least to myself, that while I was Missy’s hero, as she liked to call me, I was still a man. I was a weak man, with a soft spot for beautiful women, in this case my own daughter. I was battling an addiction to her not unlike the one my wife had to her wine. But while I never sought out my vice, I still got drunk on the sight of her, when the opportunity presented itself.
And it had presented itself tonight again.