Madeline didn't think she had changed that much, but she guessed her father did. He didn't even recognize her when she got off the plane. Her mom never told him and neither had she. Her parents were divorced, and as she grew older, the less she communicated with her father.

It was six months since the big change. It was more her mother's big change than Madeline's. They were beginning to have problems as soon as she graduated from high school. She wanted Madeline to stay her "little girl," but Madeline considered herself a woman. She stayed in South Carolina to attend community college and that was her first mistake. After two years, the relationship was what one would call strained.

Her mother thought it was a deliberate rebellion. Madeline was just changing, fitting in with her new friends. She had always had mousy brown hair for as long as she could remember. She can still remember her mother's face when she walked in the door after class that night. Her mother's eyes opened wide, her mouth trying to get words out.

"What have you done to your hair, Madeline?" She stood up from the chair to stare at Madeline in disbelief.

Madeline had spent the whole afternoon at Sherry's house. Sherry had cut her hair so it was short, far shorter than the shoulder length she had always worn. Then she dyed it jet black. Sherry was a hair stylist, so it's not that she did a bad job. She guessed it was just too radical for her mother. Or could it have been the clothes? She was wearing a black Gothic knee-length skirt with straps and rivets. It felt so good when she put it on, as though she had been wearing it for years. The top was black with lace, sleeveless, and for her, it left a lot of cleavage revealed. What she really wanted to wear was the red corset but figured that was over the top for her mother at this time.

"Isn't it great?" Madeline responded as though her mother should have liked it immediately.

"You look like a witch," she shot back in an angry voice.

"It's the Gothic look," she answered as though she should have known. Most of her friends dressed as she did.

"I think you should change your hair color back." She paused for a moment. "And get some color in your clothes. You're such a beautiful girl." She almost felt sorry for Madeline. Or ashamed.

She ignored her comments, never changing back. And her mother took offense at her defiance. Madeline was finishing her last year at community college and had to go somewhere else to get a bachelor's degree. She's wasn't even sure how it happened. It started when she talked to her father about going on to a four-year school. Her mother couldn't afford her tuition, and Madeline didn't want to graduate with tens of thousands of dollars in student loans. So she was looking for help with tuition.

"Did you ever think about the University of New Orleans?" It came out of the clear blue sky while talking to her father.

Madeline lived in South Carolina. Why would I even think about a Louisiana public university? "I thought it was submerged after Hurricane Katrina?" She should have known he knew the answer.

Part of the reason her parents were divorced was because of her father's job. He worked for FEMA. Whenever there was a major disaster, or in preparation of it, her father was off. Most of her life, he was hopscotching from one crisis to another. Their marriage ended, in reality, a long time ago, finally making it official three years ago as Madeline was about to graduate from high school.

"It was severely damaged, but it reopened. It still isn't up to what it was before the hurricane, but I am going to New Orleans for two years next month for FEMA. Even after four years since Katrina, they are still rebuilding. I will be a resident so I could get you the in-state tuition and probably a scholarship. You're grades aren't too bad."

She was speechless, unable to stammer a word. What was he proposing? He must have understood what her next question was going to be, not even necessary to ask it.

"You could stay with me," he volunteered.

She never even considered such a thing before. She had always lived with her mother, in spite of their differences. It had been almost two years since she had even seen him.

"Are you there, Madeline?"

"Yeah," she finally managed to mutter. "It just kind of shocked me."

"I know we haven't been that close, but you are still my daughter. I know you aren't doing well with your mother. I'm different than she is. I recognize that you are a grown woman, and you need your space. Your mother will always see you as her little girl, needing to protect you. To keep you from making the same mistakes she made."

"I need time to think about it. Let me look at the school online and New Orleans. It's not my first choice, if I had a choice."

"There's no hurry, it's another four months before the fall semester starts. Their enrollment is down, so I don't think that applications are closed or that you would have trouble getting in. But I wouldn't wait too long, or you will limit your options."

Her father was always the levelheaded one, the planner. "Thanks." She still didn't call him dad. His first name was John, but she never had enough nerve to call him that. "Give me a week."

"Okay, Madeline. I love you."

The phone clicked before she could say anything. She didn't say anything to her mother. Not yet. It would just start a big argument that Madeline couldn't win.

The next three months were a blur, moving much faster than she had expected. It was like a big freight train, and Madeline either had to get onboard or get run over by it. She chose to get onboard. Telling her mother was the hardest, especially when she told her that she was going to live with her father. Her mother took it as an affront to her decision to divorce him. She tried to talk Madeline out of it, but she didn't have any better choice than to stay in South Carolina and continually argue with her. Not a good choice by Madeline's standards.

They hugged like they never had an argument before, tears in her eyes as she dropped Madeline off at the airport. Madeline only had two suitcases, not a lot to show for twenty years of life, but she never felt so good about a decision that she had made on her own.

She had said goodbye to her friends last Saturday. They drank until the early morning. Most of them had been friends since high school, the terror of going to a new school where she knew no one beginning to settle in.

She sat on the airplane next to a grandmother, taking out her grandchildren's pictures and showing them to Madeline. Luckily, the flight wasn't that long, about two hours of flying, though they did land in Atlanta, but Madeline didn't have to get off. The grandmother got off and the seat was empty next to her to New Orleans.

Madeline got off the plane, and she could feel the heat when she passed from the de-boarding ramp, into the terminal. There were a lot of people waiting for passengers debarking, but her father stood out, taller than most. She walked over to him, but he kept looking around as though he didn't see her. Madeline was almost on top of him, but he refused to recognize her. It was almost as if she were invisible.

"John," she stammered quietly, finally saying it. "Dad?"

"Madeline, is that you?" There finally was a look of recognition in his eyes.

She hugged him uncomfortably without kissing. It had been too long. They finally pulled back from each other, John as uncomfortable as Madeline was with the brief embrace.

"You certainly have changed." He looked at her.

She wasn't sure if he approved or not. Then he smiled.

"You look good. Such a woman you turned out to be." She could almost see it in his eyes. He was proud of his daughter.

"Thanks." She couldn't help but blush. She did that easily. Her father wasn't doing much better than she was with this awkward moment.

"Let's get your bags," he stammered, helping her with her carryon bag.

They went to the baggage pickup area in silence. They waited patiently as the bags finally began to spit out onto the revolving conveyor belt. Her bags were easy to spot, her mother decorating them both with bright yellow bows. She took the ribbons off as soon as she picked the bags off the conveyor belt. They walked out the door into the bright sunlight. It was over ninety degrees and the humidity was high. She could feel her clothes sticking to her like a second skin. South Carolina gets humid, but she never felt anything like this before. She guessed she should have looked more at the weather before deciding. She hoped August was the worst month, and it only got better.

John's head began to perspire.

"It takes a bit to get used to," he said as he carried the bags to the parking garage.

It was cooler in the garage, but you couldn't escape the humidity no matter where you went. She wasn't surprised that he drove a Hummer, the GSA license plates giving it away as a government vehicle. It was cavernous inside, feeling like she was in a house, not a truck. She was grateful when the air conditioner kicked in with little effort, the cold air blowing out the vents with ease. "Is it always this hot?"

"It'll get better once the winter comes. Downright cold at 60. I heard that it even snowed once in 1989." He laughed as he said it.

"Where do we live?" It sounded funny as she said it.

"I rent a house in the Seventh Ward. It's not far from the University of New Orleans and the Seventh Ward is where I am assigned to help rebuild. We are in the higher part of the ward; Katrina devastated the lower part. Many are still trying to rebuild after so many years. It had a large Creole population, people living in homes that were passed down for generations but had little or no flood insurance. All they have now is a plot of land."

It wasn't long before they pulled in the driveway, Madeline surprised by the house. It looked like it was over fifty-years old but well preserved, the front lawn neat and trimmed with flowers and shrubs in spite of the hot sun. It was very ornate. You could tell that Hurricane Katrina spared this part of the ward. "It's nice."

"It's three bedrooms, two baths, bigger than we need, but housing is still relatively inexpensive." He grabbed the bags, and they almost ran into the house to avoid the oppressive humidity and heat.

It was a lot cooler than expected since it wasn't air conditioned, but ceiling fans hummed in each of the room, circulating the air. The furniture looked as old as the house, maybe older.

"I didn't pick it," John already anticipating my question. "The furniture came with the house. It reminds me of my grandmother's house. Your room is at the top of the steps, first room on the right. My bedroom is downstairs. It should give you more privacy. I sure hope you know how to cook, or we are going to eat out every night."

Her mother was a good cook, so he knew that she had taught Madeline well. "Nothing fancy, but I can do better than fast food. But you have to promise some Creole food. I want to learn some of the culture."

"Voodoo?"

Was he commenting on my dress or just making a statement? "No, I'm still Catholic," kidding him. "But I might be converted if I could find a good-looking vampire to bite my neck."

"I didn't mean anything by it. I think you look good. I'm sure you got more than enough of that from your mother." He quickly responded, not wanting to be judgmental.

"Yes, she took it personally." She went upstairs to her bedroom. It was like the rest of the house, a bedroom set that was probably made a hundred years ago. She decided she would go out tomorrow and find new linens and bedspread to give it some color and life. First, she had to see about getting a car. She sold her car back home so she had a little money. Madeline was a little afraid of buying a car in New Orleans, afraid of getting one that might have been below water at one point. She put her clothes away, taking all of an hour to do it. She never realized how small her wardrobe was. She needed new clothes and a car, but she also needed a part-time job while going to college. Her stomach began to growl so she went downstairs, finding her father in the kitchen.

"You hungry?"

"You must have heard my stomach rumbling. Anything in the fridge?" Madeline was pleasantly surprised that he had gone shopping already. She looked in the meat tray and found cold cuts and cheese. She turned to her father. "I make a great sandwich. Interested?"

"I thought you would never come down." He was already at the table.

It only took a couple of minutes to make the sandwiches, relieved when she saw that the kitchen had a dishwasher. She hated doing dishes. She made her father two sandwiches, positive that one would not be enough. She was correct. He didn't say anything until he had eaten one of them.

"Can you help me find a car to buy? I'm not into public transportation. I have some money from selling my car in South Carolina."

"How much do you have?" He started on the second sandwich, taking a swig from the bottle of beer.

"About two thousand, give or take." She knew she wouldn't get much for that, but she was hoping her father could find her a deal.

He didn't say anything until he finished his sandwich. She put the dishes in the dishwasher, turning around to see him standing up with a shit-eating grin on his face. "What?"

"Let me show you something. Now don't make up your mind right away." He led her out to the garage out back. She didn't even realize that there was one. The door squeaked as it opened as if it hadn't been opened in a decade. "Ms. Stromberg, who owns this house, is in an assisted-living house now. She's 92. This was hers." He turned on the lights, and it illuminated the dark garage.

The lights glistened off it, positive that her father must have just washed and waxed it. It looked almost like the day it came out of the factory. Thirty-four years ago. Madeline didn't say a thing, too taken back.

"I know it's not what you would buy, but I checked it out. It's a 1975 Cadillac limo. It only has twenty thousand miles on it. Ms. Stromberg had a chauffeur since she bought it in 1975." He let it sink in. "She let me have it for two thousand bucks. It's worth at least twice that, maybe more."

It was black, looking more like a hearse or the limo used to carry the family back and forth to the cemetery. She almost broke out laughing. With her Gothic look, it almost looked fitting.

"It runs perfectly, even the air conditioning. It's not great on gas mileage, but your commute isn't much. You don't even have to pay for it. When you graduate, I will sell it. I'm sure I can get my two grand back without a problem." He was almost holding his breath, waiting for her response.

"I love it. I could have a party in it," laughing as she was already opening up the door. Inside it looked brand new, the leather seats in perfect condition. It was big, but she had an SUV in South Carolina, so it would be no problem to drive. "Lock up the house, let me take you for ice cream." He handed her the keys. She put them in, turning the key, expecting to hear it struggle to start. It zoomed to life, the radio coming on, the air conditioner purring away. By the time her father was back, she had it out of the garage.

It had more pickup than she expected, the car moving with just a touch of the gas pedal. The transmission shifted effortlessly. She even got quite a few stares at the lights. Madeline liked being a little bit different, and the car fit that image.

The next few weeks went by quickly. Her father was gone most of the time during the day, and sometimes he worked the weekends, taking off a few days during the week to make up for it. Her room looked a lot brighter, taking some of the money that she had saved for the car to buy decorations for the room. She needed some new clothes, but she hadn't had the time to find a store that sold clothes that would fit her lifestyle. Madeline registered for school, finding a job at the same time; an opening in the school bookstore would give her spending money and not be too much of an imposition on her studying. Her father offered to give her an allowance, in spite of her protests.

She was glad that her bedroom was upstairs and his downstairs, giving her some privacy. It took almost two weeks before she was comfortable enough to masturbate in her bedroom, in spite of the extra lock she put on the door. She took off all of her clothes, lying on the new comforter, the blinds drawn down tightly. The lights were off; the candles she had lit were flickering eerily off the walls.

Her fingers plucked at her nipples until they turned into hard stones, the tips so sensitive when she ran her fingers over them that they caused tingles between her legs. She squeezed harder until she could feel the pain, exciting her as it always did. She knew that once her nipples were hard, her fingers would slide down over her belly and find her pussy wet, her fingers running through her brown bush. Madeline spread her legs wider as if someone's hands were urging her thighs apart. She had erotic dreams of a dark stranger taking her, forcing her to do things that she wouldn't be comfortable doing in real life, which were most things. Her fingers found her clit, rubbing it until the pleasure began to sweep across her body. It had been weeks since she had last masturbated, so it didn't take long before she came, turning over onto her belly, her face pushed into the pillow, her hands under her silently driving the orgasm from her body.

Madeline had one secret. She was still a virgin. Most of her friends didn't even know it. It was easier to conceal it than try to explain it. She was sexually active, or at least she thought she was. She kissed, made out, felt a boy's hands on her breasts, even touching a boy's prick, masturbating him after he became insistent that they have sex. She didn't know why she was still a virgin, telling herself she hadn't found the right man. But she didn't even know what she was looking for in a man. In her dreams, her lover never asked her, taking her and making her perform for his pleasure. His face was always clouded in her dreams; his large, demanding hands were what drove her pleasure. She could hear him instructing her, spreading her legs for him, his fingers plucking back her lips so he could touch her in a place that only her own fingers had visited. Madeline imagined what his prick looked like, her hands sliding over the thick shaft as though she had done it countless times. She could even taste him; his prick rubbed on her lips until she opened her mouth and submissively accepted his prick into her virgin mouth.

Her fingers went back to her slit, finding her pussy wetter, another orgasm already creeping back over her body the more her mind wandered. She tried, but still could not cum again, even though she was on the edge so many times.