Taylor Swift. Why did I make her ringtone Taylor Swift?

I silently curse the night my daughter and I came up with the dance we have for Shake it Off. We had so much fun with it, I set it as her ringtone on my phone right after, not realizing that it would be a rude awakening at 1:54 AM.

Wait, almost 2 AM? Something’s wrong. She never does this, she knows better. We told her to be back from her friend’s party by midnight; we didn’t even want her going there but she inherited her mom’s doe eyes, and I’m a sucker for them and her adorable pout.

We compromised on a time for her to come home instead, earlier than her usual curfew. Even at 18 and about to graduate, we have to enforce the rules.

I hastily grab the glowing rectangle from my nightstand and swipe to answer. I’m assaulted by a cacophony of noise from the speaker. I have to turn the call volume down to even make anything out. Basslines and the incomprehensible sound of dozens of people talking at once overpower my daughter’s voice.

“Amelia, it’s 2 AM honey. Are you ok? Are you still at the party? What’s wrong?” I ask, raising my voice slightly as if that will help her hear me on the other end. My wife Jennifer rolls over and looks at me through heavy lidded eyes, and mouths “She’s gonna get it”. I don’t disagree.


She’s screaming into the phone. I don’t think she’s sure I’m on the other end, the local noise pollution is no match for an iPhone speaker. She’s also clearly drunk, slurring her words.

She starts rambling, I only make out a few words after this, mainly ‘Daddy’, ‘too much’ and ‘get’ in between the boom of the bass and the pace that she is going. It gets quieter after a moment, and I can hear her trying to get my attention again, having not heard me respond.


That’s all I get as I hear the phone chirp indicating the call disconnected. I immediately redial a few times, but it goes to voicemail each time. I turn on the bedroom light, get up, and start pulling on last night’s clothes as I explain the situation to my wife.

“Jen, I need to go get Lia. Something’s wrong. She’s not picking up. She was trying to tell me something when we got cut off. Do you have any of her friends numbers she went with?” I ask, doubtful we do.

Until now we never needed them, she’s been good and hasn’t broken curfew until tonight. I want to try to and find out what she was trying to tell me before I head out there.

“Only Chloe, but she didn’t go. Lacrosse game today. Did she say what was wrong?”

“She was drunk. It was loud. That’s all I know.” I grab my keys, kiss my wife and assure her I’ll make sure our baby girl is OK. I make my way through the house, I hear my wife warning me to be careful on my way through the door to the garage.

As I get in the car and head to the address she gave us before she left, I ponder how I came to be sitting in my car at 2 AM, going to pick up my 18 year old daughter from a party, when just 18 years ago I was in the same situation as her at the same age.

A wild party, some red Solo cups, and Jennifer. She was a year older at 19, so we knew of each other but never really spoke. We did more than speak that night, and then nine months later came Amelia.

We discovered during her pregnancy that Jennifer and I had fallen in love. There was never a question in our minds – we were all in it together, all three of us. It was a rough few years, but luckily Jennifer and I weren’t content with letting things fall apart.

We finished school, we both managed to get college degrees, got married with Amelia as our flower girl, and 3 years ago welcomed a baby boy to the family. Once Amelia got old enough, we wanted to make sure she didn’t make the same mistake we did, and so far so good. My sister’s 20 year old daughter Katelyn though doesn’t abide by the same rules.

Katelyn and Amelia are two years apart, almost to the day. My sister, Lisa, is 12 years older than me, 48 to my 36. Lisa met and married a guy who thought he had the next big dotcom idea, then lost almost all of their money when the bubble burst.

They recovered financially, but never truly recovered emotionally, harboring deep trust issues. Unfortunately, this instability was reflected in Katelyn’s upbringing.

The classical wild child, she acts out to get her parents attention – getting tattoos, dyeing her hair, spending all night at warehouse raves or some random guys bed, you name it. Living in the same town, I have seen a lot of Katelyn over the years and we have grown extremely close.

We were afraid of Katelyn becoming a bad influence once Amelia hit eighteen, but she knows how to say no and Katelyn doesn’t push her. She listens to me and trusts me, but she knows I’m not her father and insists on her own thing most of the time.

As the two girls grew up, they were inseparable, Katelyn was the big sister Amelia didn’t have. I watched them şerifali escort both grow up side by side. Amelia takes after Jennifer’s side of the family, average height, brown hair that falls in waves, and a naturally athletic build that lent her an advantage in whatever sport she wanted to attempt.

She’s truly beautiful, just like her mother. Her mom rubbed off on her the most, and they’re a perfect pair. While I do love her, we can’t get into the things the other one likes -she’s into athletics, whatever she can make with her mom that they discover on Pintrest, and TV shows I have been banned from watching because I can’t keep from making snarky comments. How many real housewives can there be anyway?

Katelyn however is a different story. As she grew up, she transformed into having the most delicious curves. Her face is girl next door cute, with piercing blue-grey eyes and naturally curly light brown hair that is usually dyed a random color.

Now 20, she has a full figure with a hint of belly and thick thighs that you could get lost in once you start staring. I’ve seen her trying to stuff her ass into a pair of jeans, usually it’s an uphill battle and that’s with a pair of jeans that are more generous from one of those stores that sell jeans made for curvier women.

Amelia once told me that kids at their school had made up a rumor Katelyn had gotten breast implants, due to the rate she developed and their end size. I recently stole a glimpse at one of her bras she left lying around when Katelyn was staying over and mentally made a note that it was 38D.

While I loved my wife completely, I always had a strong preference of body type and as Katelyn grew into that I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She knew how to naturally flaunt every asset she was blessed with.

Since Amelia was more into what her mom was, and Lisa and Tyler didn’t seem too interested in her, Katelyn and I bonded as she grew up. When she was a little girl, I insisted Katelyn not call me ‘Uncle Brian’, just Brian. I was young. Amelia was just born, I didn’t want to be an uncle too, I wanted to be her friend.

I gave her my old game systems out of storage. I loaned her my favorite books, which led to an interest in fantasy and sci-fi. I brought her to my local comic shop when she was 11 and helped her pick out a pull list. Sure it was full of girly stuff, but I worked in a few series I thought she would like.

Amelia never minded how close we were, she would just tease us about being nerds together. When Katelyn wanted to get her first tattoo, she came to me for advice. Not to talk her out of it, her mind was made up, but to get my opinion. The choice reflected her interests: ‘Mischief Managed’ surrounded my little footprints, in the same font as the map from the Harry Potter movies.

I thought it was perfect for her but I’m not sure if she ever got it since I never saw it anywhere on her. So yeah, I’ve had an influence on her. Unfortunately she also discovered she has an influence over me. Her body is my Kryptonite. She discovered my weakness through accident.

One night she was staying over and we were up late watching an extended edition movie. Amelia and Jennifer had already went to bed. She was sitting on the couch with her feet in my lap, and I was struggling to keep my hands in check. I had my hand on her leg, trying desperately to not start stroking them lightly. They were soft, and smelled of the flowery lotion she uses.

She hadn’t yet gotten the tattoos that I now can’t stop staring at, even though she was over 18 and old enough to get them. I was stealing glances over at her, her bra visible through her light tank top, struggling to contain the pillowy treasures within. I was hard, I couldn’t help it. I was trying not to be a creepy uncle but failing. The surge of guilt every time I peeked wasn’t enough to keep my cock in check.

All of a sudden the power dropped out, and she jumped, startled. Her feet landed a few inches over from where they were, right on top of my raging erection. I knew she felt it. Just as quickly as it flicked off, the power came back on, lights illuminating us. I was looking right at her, and she at me with a look I had never seen on her face before.

Her nipples were visible through her tank – were they like that before? She looked…contemplative, like she had just found the missing piece to a puzzle that she was working on for years and was mentally working on putting it all together. I jumped up and used the excuse that since the movie was back at the menu we should take an intermission.

When we came back after I calmed down, she changed positions to be leaning on me. She said she was cold, I felt anything but. She laid her hand on my thigh and I could feel the warmth of her hand through my shorts even over the heat of my erection, which she could no doubt sense being that close.

We stayed that way for the rest of the movie, her with her hand inches away from suadiye escort my rock hard cock, and me not being able to control looking down past her straightened and dyed raven blue hair to her cleavage heaving with each breath she took.

Her breathing was shallow and her nipples stayed visible the entire time. I excused myself quickly at the end, desperate to get away and red faced with guilt for having this kind of reaction to my niece.

After that things changed when we saw each other. She looked at me differently and I was constantly trying to avoid her gaze, not wanting to look her in the eye. I would look over and she would quickly turn away like I caught her staring. Her shirts became tighter or the necklines lower. I could swear her jeans hugged her ass better, if that was even possible.

She found new ways to initiate contact, innocent seeming to everyone but me and her. Small touches here and there. She would extend her hugs by a few imperceptible moments, but when I lost myself in her scent time stood still anyway.

She would lean herself into the hugs, her breasts mashed against my chest and her breath warm on my neck. On more than one occasion I could feel her push against my crotch as if she was checking to see what was there. Cuddling became the norm on our movie nights.

I found my heart racing when I was with her. It was a dangerous game; she was straddling the line between innocent and inappropriate and she was doing it exceedingly well. We never spoke of what was happening but we both were well aware. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen her, her family was taking a vacation in an attempt to reconnect.

My mind snaps back to the present as I approached the address of the party Amelia gave us. I didn’t even need the address, I could have followed the source of the music from blocks away. I stop the car and step out in awe of the ludicrous display if front of me.

It was like something out of one of those high school movies, the party that almost never happens in real life. But here it was, bass pulsing from inside and dozens of inebriated teenagers. A few were in various states of undress and entwinement outside on blankets or on the hoods of cars.

I could only imagine what was going on inside. Someone was setting off fireworks in the back yard. The house is illuminated with floodlights that pulse in time to the music, which bathe the house and its neighbors into an otherworldly blue light.

I scan for Amelia but I don’t see her. How are the police not breaking this up, I wondered. Neighbors gawked as well, a few on cell phones. Maybe it just recently got this way and they would be here soon, I rationalized internally. I needed to try and find Amelia before they arrived.

Since she wasn’t out front, I figure I’d try inside but I’m blocked by two guys at the front door, one who held out a cup and the other who obscured the door. The guy blocking the door had to be 200 pounds of muscle. This was probably his college internship, getting extra credit for the bouncer program.

“Ten bucks to get in. First ones on the house,” the kid with the cup says, eyeing me and adding, “Aren’t you a little old to be here? Is this a 21 Jump Street thing?”

“Buddy, I’m just here to pick up my daughter. I need to see if she’s inside,” I said, trying to worm my way past the bigger guy blocking the door.

“There’s lots of guys daughters here. You want in, it’s 10 bucks. Actually, 50, since you’re obviously not a student and you can afford it,” he amended as he was eyeing my car. “Or, Rodney here can show you the way out. You wouldn’t be the first guy we’ve tossed out.”

I internally curse him and pull out my wallet, and hand the little shyster the cover. He hands Rodney the cup who filled it from a keg. “First one is still on the house,” he said as he hands it over to me.

I’m 36, I’m too old to pay a cover for a cup just to get into a party. I chug what’s in the cup out of anger – it tastes different but dismiss it, the keg was probably just too warm for too long before they tapped it. I toss the cup back to the kid who ‘sold’ it to me and force my way past Rodney into the house.

I hear Rodney yell my way in a booming voice, “Good luck finding your ‘daughter’!!” and laugh as he closes the door. That’s the last thing I hear except for the music. If the outside was bad, the inside is worse.

The air is thick with the stink of stale alcohol, sweat, and dozens of different colognes and perfumes intermingling. Almost every light is either off or broken, replaced by string lights in random colors. The furniture is pushed up against the walls in most of the rooms I could see, creating a dance floor in every room.

The DJ is set up at the kitchen island, so that’s where the crowd is heaviest. Personal belongings, family mementos lay strewn about and broken like they meant nothing and hopefully they aren’t irreplaceable to the owners.

I fight the phalanx ümraniye escort in every room, scanning for my daughter. I sigh in frustration when I can’t locate Amelia. I’m about to go upstairs to the bedrooms – hoping that she’s not up there because God help the ones who are with her. That’s when I look into a side room I hadn’t seen before, and I see her. Not my daughter, but Katelyn.

I know she goes to parties often, and I’ve heard rumors of what she does there, but I have never seen it in person. She’s dancing in the middle of a small group of guys who leer like hyenas moving in for a kill. A lamp is knocked over behind her, illuminating her from below. Her hair, there’s some pink or purple in it now, is swinging wildly as she shakes her head to the music.

Her hips are moving in time with the music as she works her hands over her breasts, through her hair, over her head and starts shaking her ass. It’s covered by one of the shortest skirts I’ve seen on her and you can see the curve of her cheeks where her legs meet as she twirls around.

She has on a midriff shirt with a deep neck and her cleavage is pushed up so far it looks like her breasts will spill out at any moment. They sway when she sways, a hypnotic motion that no one can look away from. Her forehead, face, and chest are covered are covered with a sheen of sweat, making her sparkle in the minimal light.

The music goes quiet suddenly and she opens her eyes and I find her looking directly at me. She goes wide-eyed, surprised, but she doesn’t move toward me. She smiles one of her mischievous smiles that I’ve seen a thousand times.

She looks around for something, and finds what she is looking for. She pulls a small table into the middle of the group and climbs up on it. She’s staring at me and waiting for something.

I realize the music has been building, and as soon as the crescendo hits she’s dancing again except this time she’s doing it for me – she is staring at me the entire time. I’m staring back. Not just at her face, but her bare legs, her milky thighs, and under her skirt at her black bikini panties getting waved at me.

I realize this is why she got up on the table, so I would have a front row view. I find myself getting lost in the rhythm of her body. I can’t help it.

I approach when the song starts transitioning to another and she jumps down and practically attacks me, giving me one of those hugs that makes me wish we were not related. People are following her every move, wondering who this older guy is who’s getting all her attention.

I instinctively start to scold her on her behavior but I know it would fall on deaf ears. I lean in close, I have to as the music is deafening. She feels my breath on her neck and ear and shudders.

“Where’s Amelia?” I ask, practically yelling right into her ear. She looks at me, a little confused. She takes my hand and leads me to the back yard, past the people setting off fireworks, to a small wooded area. Surprisingly, the trees make a good noise barrier from the din of the party.

“Katelyn, this is important. Where’s Amelia?” I ask seriously.

“Good to see you too, Brian. Her battery died, she went to a friends house down the street to charge it. You should really get her a new phone. Her battery life stinks out loud. She said she was going to call you before it died.” She looks at me questioningly. “Did she?”

“She did. I couldn’t make out much then cut out. It must have died midcall.”

Katelyn takes out a piece of paper from somewhere in the depths of her cleavage. “It was getting too much for her. She started to head out when the party got all Project X. She wanted me to call you to give you this, but I got a little distracted.” She punctuated that sentence with her ‘I’ve been a bad girl’ look. I bite the inside of my cheek to contain myself.

I shake my head and take the paper. I dial the phone number on it and an older woman answers. I explained who I was and why I was calling. It turns out it was her best friends Chloe’s mom.

While Chloe didn’t go the party, she only lived a few blocks away and Amelia staggered her way there after her phone died. As soon as she got there she passed out. Her phone was in her hand so they assumed she called us to tell us where she was going. A weight lifts off my shoulders and I calm down, relieved that the worst scenarios I could envision did not come true.

She agrees to let Amelia sleep it off there and if I pick her up in the morning, I thank her and we disconnect. I call my wife to explain the situation, I also explain that Katelyn is here and that I was going to take her back to Lisa’s.

Katelyn shakes her head and tries to run off, but I grab her arm. Jennifer starts to say something, but just tells me to be careful. I hang up with Jennifer and turn to Katelyn.

“Katelyn, this party is out of control. The cops will be here any minute, and I can’t have you here when they get here. Wait – why are you even here?” I ask, realizing that she was supposed to be on vacation with her family.

“Because it was gonna be a bitchin’ party from what I heard. There’s nothing like an overactive high school party. They’re so cute when they’re able to express their freedom,” she laughed.



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