Rosaline Honeycock

Two consenting adults. One with a fetish for quasi-incestual relationships, the other with a perverse love of words. Nothing weird about that at all. Juliet had her Romeo, and you’ve got the love I need to see me through … Daddy. We could stay up all night tucked between the sheets hours and hours past my curfew. You’d have your way with me in the morning, keeping me from arriving on time for work at the local cafe. But at night, you’d read to me — Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Phelps, Alexander Pushkin — nothing would be off limits. You’d play Humbert Humbert as we dined on Nabokov’s Lolita, savoring each word chapter by chapter; serenading me with that slow, sexy, gruff, husky voice of yours as I rested in the nook of your arm, right up against you; so close I could practically feel the aching desire in your hot breath. Nothing would turn Rosa on more than to have her exposed back caressed by the chest hair of some rugged, burly man. And who’s more rugged than you, Daddy?