Expecting her to admit shyness, she said, "My father doesn't want me to be a poet. He hates that I write. He asks what it's ever done for him. I tell ...im it makes him beautiful. He tells me, 'Don't be stupid.' He thinks the way I dress is stupid. The way I walk is stupid. Having no friends is stupid. He used to call me his princess. He doesn't anymore, but I still am. I'm his dark princess. You should read his poems. You should hear him read. As a poet, he's beautiful. In every other way, well,. She sensuously wrapped her dark brown arms around my waist. “Now?”“Err… that would be perfect.” Her small opened hands moved down onto my hips and then around to the front. “Like me to take care of that, Daddy?” she whispered. And I knew she wasn’t talking about the washing up!~ ~ ~ ~ ~We quickly settled into a weekly routine, with the ‘climax’ to young Ali’s household duties always being to give her aged employer a deliciously sensual hand-job. Though it was unspoken, this was our ‘sexual. More

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