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Awakening.

Then he decided to do the trim. Well, it looked like he was going to have the prospect of doing a different sort of trim, mine. I could have chosen to not ruin my sun-suit, but I put myself in harm's way. You might say I knew it was going to be a paint in the ass, literally. Because for my idea to work, I had to be covered, top to . . bottom, front to backside, in white Sherman-Williams' best. Dad straightened from the frosty glass, the whole thing wobbled and down the can came, conking me on the head. It didn't hurt, but the ivory latex went down all over my tits, and washed down the spine to my tush, like a skunk's stripe!

My squeal of surprise was genuine, since I had not expected the liquid to be so cold. My father was off his perch in a flash with apologies and looking abashed at the disaster. I knew I had to disarm the guilt factor for him, so we could move on to the real agenda, which this stunt was designed to facilitate. I smiled at him through the dripping paint, looking like something out of a Max Sennett 1920s slapstick comedy, and said, holding my arms out palm up, "Miss Hap strikes again!" That did the trick, for then both of us burst into sidesplitting laughter. Now I had changed the mood from catastrophe to simple mess, from 'What have I done to my daughter?!' to 'Doesn't Happy look silly, but what a sport she is about it!!'

"Come help me get cleaned up, pop." I suggested; more like instructed the flummoxed male before me. He followed me tamely into the garage. Just inside, I stripped the soaked and ruined sun-suit off. Leaving me in just scanties and a wet tee shirt. My hair was streaked, and both front cleavage and the flesh from shoulders on down to my behind were coated. I told dad to lay some newspapers down, from the door to the bathroom, so I wouldn't drip drops of white on the green carpet. He did so, and I scampered to the shower to begin phase two of my seduction. Without bothering to close the door, dad being attendant to whatever I needed, I took off my shirt and undies right in front of him.

He acted like I was still six and was not outwardly affected by his grown daughter's nudity. However, the eyes widened slightly and he most certainly did not look away. I had him hooked; now I had to reel him in. I told him to throw the clothes in a plastic garbage bag; they were ruined, so I didn't care. Then he should return, in case I had more requests. Dad commented, "Thank God its water washable at this stage, the paint takes an hour to set." He continued, "You ought to be able to wash it off easily, just jump in the shower, Hap, and it'll be fine!" advised my father, as he carted away the painted panties, etc. I got in the spray and did my hair first thing, that was important. I didn't want to be pre-maturely gray, make that white!

As I heard him returning, I called out, "Dad! I need help! Come here!" He came through the still opened door of the bathroom, though the shower-stall glass made my image blurry.

"What do you need, Sweetheart? What can I get you?"

"I can't reach some places, to make sure I got it all, come in here with me." He started to open the stall and enter with all his clothes on, including his boots! "No! You'll get your clothes all wet. And I don't want you stepping on my toes with your big shoes! Take off your clothes, then come in." He stripped down to his boxers and joined me. Progress, but while I was nude, I wanted him to be as well. "DAD! I know what a man looks like, for goodness sake; don't be such an old fuddy-duddy prude!" I yanked his shorts down before he could rationalize an objection. Then they were a swimming swath of material at his feet, so he kicked them into a corner.

I handed him the bottle of liquid soap and my scrub sponge, turning my back to him.

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