The Camp by kit Crumb

She thrashed her head back and forth and gave an involuntary shiver. Worst of all, he wanted a blowjob and to get down her pants. “Shit. Not going to happen.” She couldn’t even remember how she met him. Then gave a gasp. He’d picked her up after a basketball game.
    She heard Uncle Rye’s motorcycle with the sidecar drive up and knew he was dropping her father off. She walked from her room to the kitchen. The last thing her father did before going to bed was to set the coffee. He was an early bird, so ten was usually his witching hour. It was eleven. She figured he’d beeline it to the coffee maker.
    Paul sauntered into the kitchen with a slight limp. The first half of the day it was hardly noticeable, but by afternoon and evening, it was definitely affecting his gait.
    He stopped when he saw his daughter leaning against the counter.
    “I set up morning coffee for you.”
    He walked over to the counter, turned around, and scuttled over until he was rubbing shoulders with her.
    “Thanks for preparing my caffeine fix. You’re up late. Everything okay?”
    She paused, not sure how much to tell her father. “I’ve broken it off with Ed.”
    She pushed off from the counter and moved over to the kitchen table. She wasn’t sure what response she’d get, but she wanted to be sitting down.
    “You alright?”
    “Yeah, fine. Thanks for asking.”
    “What about Ed?”
    “He doesn’t know yet.”
    She stood up and Paul moved to her side and hugged her.
    “Good night, Daddy.”
    Though he hugged his little girl, a young woman walked from the room.
    He ran a hand across the back of his neck and it came away sweaty. He blinked away moisture. Was she still a virgin? So much had been exchanged in so few words. Trust, respect. He could feel his blood pressure rising. If that—that shit-for-brains had abused her in any way, he’d kill him.  
    Paul sat in one of the kitchen chairs, dropped his head in his hands, drew a ragged breath, and then sat up. A robber, a mugger—he could confront any criminal on the street. Even walk away injured and still feel powerful, in control. But dealing with the raw emotions of a female adolescent and he came away exhausted, whipped, and confused. His role was unclear. She hadn’t told Ed. At least now that the man-boy was on the outs, he wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells every time his name was mentioned.  
    Maybe that was it. Ed had been Amy’s decision and Paul had to bite his tongue, not question her judgment. Now, he could praise her new decision, though in such a way as not to condemn her earlier choice.
    He’d have to let Claire in on the good news.
    Rye gave a toot on the horn and Claire slid the big door open just enough for him to get the sidecar rig in.  
    It was a quiet night, though they were still on call until 6:00 am. In the last hours before their three days off, sleep was fleeting. Tonight was no different.
    One of the first items they’d unpacked and assembled was the bed. It was imperative that they be able to sleep as much as possible between calls. It made all the difference in their level of alertness.
    “Are you asleep?”
    Claire rolled over and looked up at Rye who was propped up on one elbow, a sign that he wanted to talk.
    “I was, but what’s on your mind?” She smiled. “Never mind that.”
    Rye played along for a minute and dropped his gaze to her breasts, then caught himself. “Not what you think.”
    She pulled the covers up to her chin like a virgin on her honeymoon. “Okay?”
    “I can’t get the image of those girls walking around in a daze out of my head. Then Ed’s comment about date rape pills, trafficking, and all that.”
    Claire couldn’t stay up on an elbow like her husband. It bothered her shoulder, so she rolled onto her back.  
    “Speaking of Ed: I made a few phone calls, learned that there is no Casino in Vegas being gutted.”
    He rubbed his foot against hers. “I thought not.”
    She rubbed back until she got a