Swimming With the Dolphins
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Swimming With The Dolphins free porn video
Rest assured - No Dolphins were porpoise-ly abused in the writing of this story. The one Dolphin that was unfortunately injured when she banged her nose on the bottom of my kayak during this stories research phase is now resting comfortably at a Dolphin hospice two miles east of South Beach. She's under the tender care of her Daddy.
"Hello beautiful," was gaily sung out and into my ear when I reluctantly picked up the phone on a dreary and cold, early December, Ohio morning.
'What does he want, why's he calling me anyway?' I thought, recognizing my Daddy's deep baritone voice. "Hi Daddy, I'm pretty busy now," I started rudely, not wanting to waste any more time away from my writing.
"I finally moved into my new house Samantha, just wanted to give you all the details, address, phone number, etc."
"Can't you just e-mail me the details?" I answered gruffly.
"I could sweetie, but then I wouldn't get a chance to talk to my favorite person in the world," Daddy replied with his customary smile in his voice.
At fifty-seven he's still as smooth as ever, I thought, and couldn't help smiling in spite of all the anger, the resentment I still felt for him. A couple of words and I fall under his spell, I muttered to myself, as a flood of perfect memories cascaded through my mind.
"I'm writing a story," I whined, unwilling to let him see how easily he could make me succumb to his charm.
"I saw a school of dolphins this morning hon," he went on.
"What? Where?" I gasped, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice, but then added, in a disbelieving, questioning tone, "You're just making that up, aren't you?"
"Oh you would have loved it Sammi," he started with an enthusiasm that I could remember from a thousand bedtime tales he'd told me in the past, and I suddenly realized from where had sprung my only love, my joy of writing stories.
"Honey?"
"I'm still here Daddy," I whispered, momentarily distraught at the discovery, knowing that my estrangement from my Dad had cut me off from a vital part of myself.
"I was kayaking early this morning sweetie, out on the bay, it's warm down here you know honey," he laughed, the warmth in his voice still able to send a shiver down my spine.
"How warm Daddy?" I asked, now completely unable to keep the interest out of my voice.
"Oh it was about eighty degrees this morning Sam, and the ocean was as smooth as I've ever seen it, like glass. I was alone, paddling across the bay, between the city and the beach, and then all of a sudden, fifteen, maybe twenty dolphins appeared, surrounded me,"
"Was it sunny out Daddy?" I interrupted, wishing to get the picture just right in my mind.
"Oh yes sweetie, the sun was sitting all alone in the sky, and the ocean was a hundred different hues of blue and green, and the dolphins bodies seemed to sparkle as they jumped around me."
"They jumped? What did you do Daddy? Did they make any noises, did you touch them?" I asked, now completely lost in the moment, my imagination filling in every scent, every color, every texture.
"I SWAN WITH THE DOLPHINS honey," Daddy whispered, almost reverentially.
"You swan with them? What? How? Oh Daddy, I wish I'd been there. What was it like Daddy?" I almost cried, while thinking in another part of my mind, 'how come I never have things like this happen to me, why do other people have wonderful things happen to them and not me'.
"You could," Daddy went on, "Its one of the reasons I called."
"What do you mean?"
"What are you doing for Christmas, the holidays Sam?"
"The usual. Not much. I'll probably go visit Mom on Christmas Eve, see my step-sisters," I responded, almost apologizing.
"What about whats-his-name?"
"You know his name Daddy," I hissed, now angry at both of them.
"Sorry honey," he immediately apologized but I knew he wasn't sorry at all.
"He'll be with his children Daddy, you know that."
"Leaving you alone for Christmas again, I suppose," he added acidly, Dad's dislike of my husband a longstanding issue between us, just one of many that had poisoned our relationship.
"It's none of your business Daddy," I replied with ice in my voice, the sultry warmth of Biscayne Bay long forgotten.
"I'm just now e-mailing you a Christmas gift," he finally said after seconds of silence. "And I don't want to hear anything back from you for a week," he ordered.
"What do you mean?" I asked, mystified by his request. "It's too early for Christmas gifts anyway. And I don't have any money to buy you anything," I added petulantly.
"What I mean sweetie is this," he said, "Look at my gift and before you decide anything take one week just to think about it. Just accepting my gift will be all the present I need from you."
"But"
"Gotta go now honey, need to work on my tan, I'll call you in a week," he ended as I heard his receiver drop into its cradle.
"Daddy?" I whined, confused and also stunned, it was I who always hung up on him.
Dolphins, probably just another of his cock and bull stories, I muttered to myself, as I turned to my computer, already on and open to my latest story.
Quickly switching to yahoo I read;
Dear Sam,
Find attached a confirmation for a ticket, Cincinnati-Miami, Dec. 22nd, return Dec 27th. I'd so much like you to spend the holidays with me. I know, I know, but please, think about it. Also, the tickets non-refundable, love ya
Dad
"Screw you!" I said aloud to the empty room. Who's he think he is anyway? Just like him to buy a non-refundable ticket, knowing I'd feel guilty wasting his money like that. He knows I could've used the cash, I fumed.
I typed for the next hour but when I finally quit for lunch knew I'd produced only garbage, and turned off the computer without hitting the save button. My gritty detective story, set on the mean streets of Cincinnati, my latest attempt to produce a 'best seller', didn't mix with the visions of sun-kissed dolphins that were still swimming in my head.
Damn you Daddy, I thought for the thousandth time, why'd you leave your little daughter?
Twenty-six and married for eight years and you're still blaming your father, my conscience argued back. Grow up girl!
That's my bloody problem, I knew, the inability to even decide who was to blame for my life. The thing is, when you get to my age, blaming your father, your mother, your husband, the neighbors, God, even the dogs for all my problems doesn't quite cut it anymore. I had recently began to suspect that I had some responsibility for my life, and that maybe I'd better start doing something about it.
Born twenty-six years ago in a small northern suburb of Cincinnati, I was the only child of a city police detective and a school teacher Mom. I knew now that it been an idyllic existence, a nice home in a good neighborhood, loving parents and great friends.
But somehow it had all fallen apart. Just as I was about to hit sixteen, sweet sixteen as everyone calls it, Mom and Dad separated and within months she moved in her boyfriend plumber, someone she had been secretly seeing for months.
I know now, hell, I even knew then, that it wasn't just a matter of assigning blame, that relationships are so much more complicated, but still I came out of their breakup fixing the blame squarely on Dad.
I knew he loved me, always had and always would, but somehow as the years had passed, as other troubles had arisen, my screwed up marriage, my bad health, my inability to get my stories published, I let the estrangement grow, never letting him help me when he offered. 'I won't go, ' I promised myself, even though at heart I still yearned for his unrelenting love.
"What is this anyway?" my loving husband asked that night at dinner, as he moved his fork through the food on his plate, a look of distaste on his face.
"Screw you," I muttered, not willing to take any of his shit tonight.
"Christ Sam, you've got all day and all you have to do is cook one fucking edible meal for your husband. Is that asking too goddam much?" he snarled, our evening starting in our typical fashion. "I work all day to put this food on the table while you waste your time on your stupid stories."
"Yeah right Mr. Perfect Husband. Which of your little coeds did you fuck today? Blond little Cindy or was it Monnnnniccca?"
"Shut up you bitch!" he screamed as he jumped up from the table, upending his full plate of spaghetti all over the white tablecloth.
Jesus, I thought, recognizing the guilty blush that spread across his face, he did get laid today. Was I ever that fucking naive, I thought, falling in love with this jerk, my community college English professor. He'd been forty-three when I met him, divorced with two children and I, a seventeen year old freshman, becoming a writer my only desire, had fallen hard for the older man who had praised my work.
I married him at eighteen, and even today wondered why he had insisted on it. He certainly didn't love me, not even then. Both Mom and Dad had argued against it, the one thing they'd agreed on after their divorce. "He's a loser," Dad said to me simply after he had met him just once, "He'll never make you happy Sam."
It had taken me three years to realize that every year he'd pick one or two of his students to be his bedmates for the year, the ultimate proof provided when I arrived home early one day to find him fucking a petite, blond, eighteen year old poet doggie style on the living room rug.
We hadn't had sex since that day four years ago, in fact I hadn't had sex, period, for four years. What a jerk I've been, I told myself, as I sobbed softly at the dinner table, the spilled spaghetti oozing silently everywhere.
I sent the e-mail later that night, still fuming about hubby's latest indiscretion, a simple response — 'Dad, I've decided to come. What clothes do I need? Sam' — but the second I hit the send button I regretted it. I went to bed, alone in my own bedroom, cursing myself for my continuing stupidity.
December 22nd Miami
"Sam, Sam, over here," I heard called as I moved through the gate at Miami International, and turning saw Dad running toward me, a huge grin on his face.
"Daddddddy," I squealed as he lifted me high up in the air, holding me effortlessly above him. "Daddy," I said again, firmly this time, trying to show a displeasure I didn't really feel, "Let me down, my back."
Laughing, he let me slide down his body, engulfing me in his long arms the second my feet hit the floor, his lips finding mine in a fatherly kiss.
"Daddy!" I protested, "Daddy, stop now!" As I struggled to evade his warm embrace I couldn't help remembering how I used to welcome Daddy's hug, how the first thing he did every night when he arrived home from work was to lift me up and twirl me and toss me, how with a broad smile on his face he'd ask me how my day had been, how I'd wait at the front door, so eager for this same embrace.
I'm an adult now, no time for foolish games, one side of me argued, while deep inside another voice answered, 'God, you've become a cold bitch Samantha.'
"Oh my God, it's hot," I complained as we passed out of the terminal into the steaming Miami air. "I don't think I'll be able to take this," I added, while my inner voice ordered, 'shut up you fool, its beautiful here.'
"You could be in the sleet and snow of Cincinnati hon," Dad replied.
"I don't have anything to wear," I continued to pout, wincing inside at my rudeness.
"Clothes are easy Sam," Dad chuckled, clearly unwilling to let my bad mood bother him.
"You live here?" I gasped as we turned through a small gate and wound toward a house set in the midst of a tropical garden. "It's so perfect," I couldn't help but add, this beautiful oasis just the end of an almost magical ride we'd taken through the beauty of Miami and across the grandeur of Biscayne Bay. "How'd you ever afford it anyway?" I asked suspiciously.
"Clean living?" Daddy asked rhetorically, but then admitted, "It was really just luck hon. My broker got me into 'Boogle.com' in a big way just before it went through the roof. Then a year later I quadrupled my money in a dot com called 'Andes.com'. I've gone from an old cop with a fifty thousand buck pension and medical benefits to a multimillionaire," he finished laughing.
"You didn't send me any," I pouted, as he lifted my bag and led me into the house.
"What's-his-name makes more than me."
"Yeah sure," I muttered as he dropped my bag in the foyer and led me through the house towards the glass filled wall at the back of the house that looked out on the Bay and Miami beyond.
"Oh my God," I couldn't help but gasp as I stepped through the patio doors and the vista revealed itself. The house was set on a large waterfront lot, facing the opening into Indian Creek and then Biscayne Bay beyond. Miami was visible across the bay, the tall buildings of downtown shimmering in the distance.
The yard, full of palm trees and colorful flowering shrubs, contained a beautiful secluded turquoise pool, and led down to a moorage where a large, sporty fishing boat bobbed. As I stood on the patio, stunned by the tranquil beauty, Dad nudged me and said, "C'mon honey, go get your bathing suit on and we'll have a little drink by the pool."
We spent the afternoon tanning by the pool, swimming occasionally to ease the heat. We weren't comfortable together; our conversation stilted whenever we didn't lapse into silence. But as the afternoon and evening passed, the sun, and the wine and other drinks slowly loosened my tongue, allowing me finally to say some of the things I held inside so long.
"You know I always blamed you, don't you?" I whispered.
"You made it pretty clear honey," an anger I'd never heard before now evident in Daddy's voice.
"When you suddenly left I felt so abandoned," I added, tears forming in both my eyes.
"Christ Sam, your Mother threw me out! It wasn't like I forgot about you. Shit, I called you every day; you both treated me like I was the scum of the earth. Your Mother was living with that plumber within a month. I'm living in some dingy, little rat hole, one room apartment in Cincinnati and you two are living a life of luxury in my house with some asshole plumber," he almost screamed.
"I knew Daddy," I tried to interrupt with.
"God, that little mother fucker pipe-fitter doesn't know how close he came to swallowing some lead," Daddy ranted, "If it hadn't been for you Samantha I think I would have killed them both."
"I KNEW!" I yelled.
"What, you knew what Sam?" he demanded.
"I knew about Mommy. I knew she had a boyfriend, I knew she was cheating on you Daddy. I wanted to tell you but I was so scared, and then she kicked you out and... Oh Daddy I felt so guilty," I spewed out, the urgent words flowing unchecked from my mouth.
"If I had told you, if only I had told you," I sobbed, "Maybe you could have done something, saved the marriage, stayed with me, loved me... Then I blamed you Daddy. I don't know why, but one day I realized it wasn't my fault, it was yours! You'd abandoned me; you'd abandoned your only daughter!"
He held me as I sobbed, simply enveloping me in his strong arms and drawing me into his warm body as my tears rolled onto his shirt. "You probably hate me, don't you?" I finally asked looking up into his forever welcoming eyes.
"I probably should," Daddy agreed, "but I do make some allowances for you, for your"
"For my what?"
"Your hardheadedness sweetie," he said laughing. "Now let's go to bed. We've got all week to talk. Oh, by the way, I'm taking you to the nude beach tomorrow; you won't have to worry about how old or out of style your suit is, you won't need one. It'll give you a chance to get an all-over tan," he ended, his eyes smiling as he went towards his room.
"Whaaaaaaaat?" I shrieked at his retreating back.
December 23rd
"I'm wearing my bathing suit," I insisted as soon as we walked through the wall of seagrass and I saw the hundreds of naked people sprawled everywhere on the sandy beach.
"Probably wise in your case," Daddy agreed as he led me, my mouth agape and my eyes flitting from one exposed body part to the next, down the beach to an open area where he proceeded to drop our stuff.
"What's that mean?" I demanded.
"Nothing sweetie," he replied merrily, as he spread our towels under the umbrella he had just raised. "Make sure you put on lots of sunblock Sammi," he added as he pulled his tee shirt over his head and then lowered his hands to his shorts.
Oh shit, I'm going to see my Father naked, I told myself, as I quickly turned away, only to find myself staring at two flapping penises that were walking towards me. "Oh God," I moaned, turning back to Dad just in time to see his fat cock pop out of his pants. Sweet Jesus, look how big he is, how long, I groaned inwardly.
"What honey?"
"Nothing Dad, nothing," I quickly replied.
"Could you put some sunblock on my back Sam?" he asked, handing me a tube of Hawaiian Tropic 15.
"Sure Dad," I answered, and after taking the tube and squeezing a fat dollop of cream on my hands, tentatively started to spread it over his back. "What, what's so funny?" I finally demanded as I could hear him chuckling merrily.
"You're a little nervous aren't you hon?" he laughed.
"Of course I'm a little fucking nervous Dadddddy! I've got about a thousand naked pricks facing me every where I look. What a goddam nightmare! I'm going for a swim now," I announced, "I'll see you later."
For twenty minutes I stayed in the ocean, watching the comings and goings until I finally got at least a little more comfortable with the bodies around me.
"It's not that bad," I announced when I finally returned and sat down next to Dad.
"What sweetie?"
"Nudity. They're just people after all. Nothing special, I can do this," I said, trying to convince myself, to screw up the courage.
"Don't feel you have to Sam," Dad responded as he closed his eyes.
Quickly stripping the wet bathing suit from my body, I sat, and then rapidly scanned the area, trying to catch just one of these nude perverts watching me. "There! See Dad, it wasn't any problem."
"Good honey," Dad mumbled, not even opening his eyes.
"Don't you want to see? I mean... I'm naked now, no problemo," I finished, flopping down on my stomach.
"Here, let me do your back," Daddy offered as he rose to a kneeling position next to me.
Oh my God, I murmured inaudibly as Dad's two hands moved from my shoulders to my upper back and then circled sideways and back up. 'Stop trembling you idiot, ' I ordered myself, as the first male hands that had touched me in over four years slowly massaged the sticky cream into my back. 'It's just your Dad' I tried to remind myself, still shaking.
'Oh no, he's not going to do my ass is he?' I cried inwardly as his fingers moved down to my waist. Straining my neck backward to see where Daddy was going next, I couldn't help but see it, hanging down between his legs, its large, bulbous head lightly bouncing against my thigh as his hands caressed.
"Daddy!" I squealed as his two warm palms enveloped my rear cheeks, squeezing, and spreading, as they rubbed in the white cream.
"What Sam?"
"I can probably do the rest now Daddy, thanks," I offered.
"I don't mind Sammi, you have very soft skin, honey, just like a baby's bum," he ended laughing, as he ran a finger slowly between my cheeks, teasing the little anal opening as it passed.
We stayed on the beach most of the afternoon, talking and laughing and swimming and just enjoying ourselves, something I knew I hadn't done nearly enough of over the past seven years. But I couldn't stop the continual straying of my eyes, eyes which repeatedly came to rest on Daddy, his incredible maleness so obvious, even among a thousand naked men.
"It's strange Daddy," I started that evening, as we sipped wine on an outdoor couch while our steaks sizzled on the grill.
"Whats that Sam?"
"I was happy today Daddy."
"Is that so strange?"
"For me, yes," I admitted. "I thought I'd be so embarrassed today, without any clothes on and everything, but"
"But you were so excited by all those male bodies that you forget to be angry at me," Dad said laughing, but with a look that nakedly exposed his love for me.
"Ha, ha Daddy," I groaned as I nestled against him. "They do come in all sizes though don't they? And you know Daddy, for an old man you're not so bad, in fact you're quite good-looking, some might even say a hunk. I saw more than one elderly lady looking closely at you Daddy, checking out the equipment so to speak," I teased.
"Old ladies," he huffed, pretending to be hurt. "It was that cute blond, you know, the one just over from you, you know shaven, down below," he leered, "She's the one for me. She was quite interested I think."
"God Daddy, she was, like sixteen," but then remembering, stopped in mid sentence.
"What," Daddy asked as I sat silent.
"I was just remembering. It was the summer before Mom and you, well, you know. Anyway, my friends and I were all out in the backyard sunbathing in our new little bikinis and you came out shirtless. They all thought you were so sexy."
"Who did?"
"Oh, Jean and Chrissie and Annie; all my old buddies from those days. And when you left the yard, Chrissie touched herself, down below you know, and said, 'Ooooooooh Sammi, I wish it was your Daddy's hand inside my panties.' It was gross, so gross," I finished.
"I wish I'd known."
"Daddy, she was only sixteen! You were married."
"Not for much longer," he groused back.
After dinner and a few more drinks, I started again, my lips now more than loosened by the drink I'd swallowed, "Daddy, do you like sex? I mean, do you still do it?"
"Of course honey, Christ, I'm old, but not that old," he protested, clearly insulted by the question.
"But do you have a girlfriend? Where is she?"
"I'm officially playing the field sweetie. Remember I've only been down here six weeks."
"But you've had sex lately?" I pressed, the drink giving me courage.
"Yes, two nights ago," Dad replied grinning.
"WHAT? With who?"
"It s none of your business," Dad began, but as he said it I knew the old bugger was dying to spill the beans, and he finally added, "Actually a barmaid I happened to meet, a very nice, intelligent, young girl"
"A barmaid! How old was she?"
"You're very nosy for someone who's refused to have much to do with me for almost ten years Samantha. She was nineteen if you must know," he finished, a proud grin on his face.
"What! That's younger than me. Christ, she's almost forty years younger than you," I gasped. "Why'd she want to sleep with you?"
"Thank you, my love, for those kind words. In fact sweetie, many young girls are attracted to experienced older men. Many ladies, in fact, find your father quite dashing Sam. And what about you, your hubby is what, fifty-three, four?"
"He's only fifty-two Daddy, and I don't sleep with..."
"You don't what?"
"Nothing."
"C'mon, my little Sam, give," he insisted, his cop senses immediately picking up my nervousness.
"WE DON'T HAVE SEX DADDY!" I finally spat out.
"What do you mean?" he asked, a perplexed look on his face.
"I mean Daddy, I don't sleep with the man you call 'what's his name' any more, in fact I haven't for over four years."
"So who are you having sex with, making love to? Is something wrong with him? Is he sick?"
"Whats wrong with him Daddy is that he sleeps with every little bimbo student he can get his little cock into. And I haven't slept with a man in four years," I finished, burying my tear streaked face in his arm.
"OHH."
"OHH! Is that all you can say," I demanded, as I took another stiff shot from my drink.
"Well, I did try to warn you about him."
"Shut up Daddy," I warned.
"Yes, you're right my little one. I think maybe we should both go to bed now before we get too drunk and maudlin," Daddy agreed.
As I wobbled back into the house, I surprised both him and I when I mumbled, "Thanks Daddy, for today I mean, for everything."
Quickly glancing at me and recognizing I had actually complimented him, the first he'd received from me in years, his face broke into a broad smile as he answered, "My pleasure Sam, it was all my pleasure."
"And Daddy," I added, a mischievous grin on my face, "Do you think we could go back to that beach again tomorrow, maybe at least I'll get to see what I'm missing."
December 24th
We were both nursing hangovers as we sat down to juice and coffee the next morning, and as we faced each other I think we both felt a nervous sheepishness towards the other. Had I really told Daddy I hadn't been laid in four years, I wondered, as I watched him trying to remember exactly what he'd told me.
"C'mon honey," he finally said as he downed the last of his coffee, "Get your suit on and I'll take you for a tour of the bay."
"Aren't we going to the beach Daddy?"
"Sure sweetie. After I've shown you all the highlights we'll stop at Haulover and spend the afternoon there."
"We can go there by boat?"
"Yup," Daddy smiled, "Now go and get your stuff; the boats pulling out in five minutes."
God, he's really handsome, I thought, as I watched Daddy standing proudly at the wheel of his ocean going forty-footer, bare-chested and with the wind blowing his hair wildly, grinning as drops of water from the spray splashed off his golden skin. And then I smiled, remembering what he'd looked like naked, the size of him, and the feel of his fingers as they...
"What are you smiling at?" he suddenly asked as we flashed past Bayside and under the bridge, leaving Biscayne Bay for the wider ocean.
"Nothing. Everything," I mused, understanding now why a pretty barmaid might succumb to his charms.
"What's that?" I yelled, pointing ahead to what seemed like a mirage in the middle of the ocean.
"Just a house," he yelled back, our voices vying to be heard over the deep throaty sound of the 340 horse power inboard.
"But it's in the middle of the bloody ocean," I protested open mouthed as we neared the large wooden structure sitting on its spindly legs miles from shore.
"It's called Stiltsville Sam," he laughed, and then went on to explain the history of this extraordinary group of fishing houses in the middle of nowhere.
"But it makes no sense," I argued, but of course it did, their existence a proof of mankind's incredible adaptability, imagination and skill.
It was while we were eating lunch at a small restaurant on the Miami River, a plate of stone crabs in front of me, that I asked him, "What else are you going to do with your life Daddy? Your still young enough, don't you want to try something else?"
"You mean besides fishing and boating and swimming and nineteen year olds?" he asked, small flecks of light dancing in his dark eyes. Then, after a pause, he added, "Well I am starting at FIU in January."
"FIU?" I asked, confused.
"Florida International University hon, home of the Panthers and a top notch English Department."
"English Department?" And then suddenly remembering blurted out, "They have a great school of creative writing Daddy, I've read about it. It's one of the best in America. What are you going to study there Daddy?"
"Writing, of course," he replied, a wide smile splitting his face. "I'm going for my MFA — master of fine arts, majoring in creative writing."
"But Daddy, you can't write!" I sputtered, astounded at his words. "I mean, you haven't done much writing, I'm sure you might be able... But this is an advanced degree... I mean," I stammered.
"Thanks sweetie," he huffed, a hurt expression on his face.
"Oh, I'm sorry Daddy, but, I don't understand... How did you get accepted?... I mean, was it some sort of senior citizen thing?"
"My little barmaid didn't think it was a little senior citizen thing honey," he complained, but then with a big grin added, "I fooled them Sam."
"Who? How?"
"Well, of course they wanted samples of my work," he said winking. "Now who do I know who could provide me with stories?"
Seeing my blank look, he went on, "Who else but Samantha Danielle Scouries."
"What?" I couldn't help shrieking, and as twenty heads turned towards me, wailed, "You used my stories in your application? Where'd you get them? You can't have, its... its dishonest Daddy."
Holding a finger to his lips, he whispered, a sly leering Groucho Marx smile on his face, "Just don't tell anyone sweetie."
"But Daddy," I started, but the pure audacity, the nerve of his action left me wordless.
"That's it honey," Dad said, pointing towards the shore as we roared north through the bay after lunch.
"That's what Daddy?" I asked listlessly, still not recovered from the jolt produced by his words. 'It should be me, ' I couldn't help thinking, 'I'm the writer, why does Daddy have all the luck. And with my own stories!'
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