Her Name Is Lana (A Novella) by C.M. Blackwood

Author:C.M. Blackwood [Blackwood, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

Part 3

My name is Maureen. Her name is Lana.

It’s a complicated story.

A while back, I mentioned that I once had a nutcase roommate named Gino. His dad owned a little restaurant, and there was a small apartment over it. Gino paid his dad a pittance to rent it, and once I moved in, the pittance was divided in half.

I met Gino in a loony bin. I’d recently gotten arrested for driving a moped drunk.

The moped belonged to the nineteen-year-old daughter of another author at Harcourt. The author was named Frank Valentine, and his daughter was Daisy.

It’s strange, because you know, she looked a lot like Daisy Duke. She even wore those damned cutoffs. Not usually my type – but I was feeling desperate.

I went to her daddy’s house one night, where she was still living while she went to college. Modern, clean-cut type of place. I wasn’t surprised a boring guy like Frank lived there.

Daisy had a habit of letting me in the back door of Daddy’s house, and ushering me up the stairs to her bedroom, with a wet kiss, and a slap on my ass.

Like I said – not my type. But what the hell. Her bazongas looked great in that tight tank top.

It was early August, and I was sweating like a pig. But Daisy didn’t seem to care. I turned her on, for some reason. Maybe it was because I was an author people were talking about. Maybe it was because I was her daddy’s colleague, of a sort, and that made things a little naughty.

Daisy did like to be naughty. She had a unique assortment of toys in her bedroom – no, not teddy bears and hula hoops – and she was always pestering me to play with them. I usually said no. But just once, on her birthday in July, I consented grudgingly.

I couldn’t walk properly for a week, and the steel handcuffs left bruises on my wrists.

You’d think I would have been afraid to go back. But now it was August, and here I was again.

She opened the back door at the sound of my quiet knock, and dragged me inside. She shoved me up against the wall, and kissed me hungrily, nearly tearing my tongue off at the root.

“We should go upstairs,” I whispered, when I finally broke away for a breath of air.

“I can’t wait that long,” she murmured with a laugh, already working at the zipper of my jeans.

“You’re nuts,” I said. “What if your dad walks in?”

“Then he’ll get a good show,” she muttered bitterly.

Side note – Daisy didn’t like old Frank too much. I think he might have hit her when she was younger. That would explain the strange masochism in the bedroom, I guess, but who the hell knows.

She stood in front of me in the dim glow from the recessed downlight over the stove. She pulled off her tank top, and tossed it at me.

Obviously, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Then she slid off her cutoffs and her underwear.

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