That Friday night Elaine had to work late doing inventory. Several years earlier, it seemed, the chief financial officer of her company had successfully embezzled a big hunk of the company's funds, and was now living it up in one of those tropical mosquito-filled paradises that are too backward to have effective extradition treaties. The company, meanwhile, had to go into receivership, and one of the conditions imposed by the court and shareholders was that every year they had to undergo the most strenuous inventory check that had ever been devised. Every box had to be opened, every paper clip counted, every mousetrap in the warehouse classified as to what type of cheese it contained. Granted, it was mainly an exercise in closing the barn door after the livestock had already escaped, but given the scope of what had happened you could kind of sympathize with the creditors and shareholders who had been left holding the bag.
To their credit, the management -- many of whom had been replaced after the scandal -- tried to make the best of an embarrassing and largely useless annual exercise. They dubbed the inventory check the "Annual Paperclip Hunt", encouraged employees to bring dishes for a potluck dinner, and even hid a prize of a hundred dollars in an envelope somewhere in the warehouse for a lucky corporate drone to find each year. And everyone got time and a half overtime for the extra hours they were forced to work that day.
So Elaine was gone that Friday night, with no idea when the Paperclip Hunt would end and she would get to go home.
Katie, meanwhile, had a typical Friday night planned. While other teenage girls primped for dates, Katie and her friend Randi got together as fellow self-imposed outcasts. Friday nights frequently included watching a movie with Elaine and me, but more often the two of them hung out in Katie's room together, cruising internet sites or chatting with each other.
Elaine and I were disappointed, naturally, that Katie never went out on dates, but by this time we were used to it. We were grateful that at least she had such a close friend in Randi.
The two were like sisters. Temperamentally, they were so completely in synch that they occasionally finished each other's sentences when we spoke during the many dinners that Randi shared with our family. Physically, on the other hand, they were quite different. Katie was blonde haired and, as we had recently discovered, had a rack that almost defied belief, especially given her short, lithe dancer's body. Randi, on the other hand, was half Japanese, with the long, silky black hair that Asian women sometimes have. The combination of her Japanese mother and Irish-American father had given her pale white skin that contrasted beautifully with her jet black hair. As for her figure, though, I had no idea, given that she, like my daughter, was given to wearing shapeless, drab oversized clothing designed to hide her figure and help her avoid being noticed. She and Katie were the two shyest people I think I have ever met.
That night, with Elaine gone and me tired from work, I threw together a quick marinara sauce and the three of us ate pasta together. At dinner I allowed both girls to have a glass of wine with dinner. I figured that they were both 18 and adults; given their social inexperience they were more excited by the idea of me allowing them a glass than I think most 18 year olds would be. But I figured that this, too, was a harmless way to carry out Elaine's and my project of gradually bringing our daughter out of her shell and into the world around her.
After dinner, I settled down with a mystery novel while Katie and Randi went off to Katie's room together. Down the hall I could hear them giggling together over some conversation or other. Meanwhile, I immersed myself in my book, one of those English drawing room mysteries in which the butler -- honest to God, the butler! -- was a main suspect.
A half hour into my reading -- by this time I was sure it was the butler -- I heard a crash in Katie's room. It sounded like breaking glass. I put down my book and walked down the hall.
I knocked on the door and, without waiting for a reply, rashly opened the door. Inside, I found Katie and Randi both on their knees picking up broken glass. On the desk by her bed I saw the wine bottle and one glass. It appeared that the two girls had taken the bottle and both their glasses into her room, then had knocked over one of the glasses. It wasn't a big deal, really.
What WAS a big deal was the way that they were dressed. Katie was picking up glass shards while dressed in her old green nightie, the one she'd outgrown but still liked to wear. With her facing away from me while she searched the carpet on her hands and knees, the nightie rose up so high that it revealed the perfect globes of her tight round ass.
Randi was even more striking. For once, I could see she had shed the innumerable layers of clothing that she wore as camouflage, and was instead dressed in a flimsy button-down blouse all of whose buttons were undone except one near the bottom.
And that was it. No bra, no pants or skirt, no underwear.
For the first time in several years, I had a chance to see Randi's figure. It was stunning. Her slim arms and legs looked gorgeous in the golden light of Katie's bed lamp. Her waist and ass were small but tight. Being half Japanese, there was no way she could be as well-endowed as Katie, but her Dad's Irish genes must have had a pretty big influence. I would estimate that her tits were a C-cup size. It was amazing to see an Asian girl with such full tits.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Oh, Mr. J!" cried Randi, using the nickname that she'd adopted for me several years ago. "Katie and I were just. . . ."
"You were drinking wine in your bedroom," I said sternly.
"Yes, Daddy," said Katie sheepishly.
"And what else were you up to?"
"We were talking about boys, Mr. J."
I could tell there was something more to it. "And what else?" I asked.
"We were . . . um. . . ."
"Come on. Out with it."
"We were practicing," said Katie.
"Practicing what?" I asked, mystified.
"Practicing kissing," Katie said.
I looked over at Randi, her nearly bare tits showing through her sheer white blouse, then over at Katie, whose humongous tits were stretching her poor old nightie almost to the point of tearing the threadbare cotton. "Why in the world would you do that?" I asked.
"Well, you know . . ." said Katie.
