Now that time was spent on my knees, sucking cock.I still spent lunch period with my friends. We were an odd mixture of nerds, skate rats, and freaks....If we had one thing in common it was that we were goody-two-shoes in regards to drugs and drinking, probably since each of us came from a home where a parent or sibling was an abuser. That lead to the silliness of a "drinking contest" one Friday afternoon at lunch.I don't remember who started it but, before I knew it, six of seven of us had juice. Dad did nothing to acknowledge my bare foot resting on his, but he did not move it away, either. Finally, he excused himself and began to clear the table. Tearing his attention away from my breasts, he suggested I get ready for bed while he straightened out the kitchen. He promised he would be right up, which I took to be weighted with innuendo. I dawdled over my toilette as I heard the clatter from the kitchen diminish. Dad appeared at my door and gazed appreciatively at my sleeping costume. We hopped on the MARTA and spent the day sight-seeing. When it grew dark, we went to my favorite Italian restaurant for dinner. In truth – I think – I never gave a thought to the fact that the restaurant basically was lighted only by Candles in Chianti bottles. My cock got up to half-mast because she held my hand throughout dinner, but the conversation was about totally innocent stuff.All in all though, the entire scene led me to re-think my plan to hit on her sometime in the next few days and. He might have picked up on that vibe because he immediately crawled behind his wife before standing up. Well, I was already in enough trouble and I was still barefoot anyway.“What are you waiting for? Call the police, Nora!” I didn’t know why this clown didn’t call the police if he was that anxious. I guess he wanted his wife to take the risk of pulling out her cell phone and punching the panic button.“I’ll do no such thing.”“What! Why not? He wouldn’t hit a woman.” What a fucking.