Manipulated

             
Could my life be any more fucking cliched?
she thought.

             
It was true, though. Everybody in Emma's life seemed to have walked straight out of central casting – her gold digging whore of a mother, her absurdly wealthy step-father, her sexually inept but ardent boyfriend, her perfect big sister studying abroad in France. It was a fucking joke.

             
And, to make matters worse, when her life did deviate from the cliché, it was in the worst possible way: her absurdly wealthy step-father was also absurdly cheap. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. She'd seen the movies – she knew how it was supposed to be. He was a supposed to be oblivious, and generous to a fault, trying to buy her mother's affection by casual bribery of her children. But Dan, damn him, was a shrewd and careful negotiator, and a penny-pincher of the first degree.

             
Emma sighed. It was only for a few more months, as she kept reminding herself. In the fall, she would be going off to college – on a full scholarship, good luck trying to get Dan to pay for it – and then she wouldn't have to put up with them any more. It was going to be a very good thing.

             
But until then, she was stuck here with no money and no car, holed up in her room avoiding everybody and generally wasting the summer away. Not only that, but it wasn't even as if she could run to her boyfriend for solace – no, of course not. He and his family had gone to Florida for two weeks. Her mother was also gone for two weeks – not that Emma had had a heart-to-heart with her mother since she was thirteen – visiting her perfect big sister in France. It was just her and Dan alone in the big house, casually avoiding each other.

             
“This sucks,” She said to her reflection in the mirror. She'd been brushing her hair, just for something to do. Her mirror image didn't reply. It never did.

             
She was a pretty girl, Emma. She knew that, and staring in the mirror only confirmed it. She was short and fair featured, with a shock of thick dark curls and full, naturally red lips. Trim through the waist and full of breast, she was far too pretty to be trapped in her room for a summer. She should be on the big screen, winning the hearts of a nation.             

             
Emma laughed. “Yeah, right,” she said, even as she stood up and did a Gingers Rogers twirl. “Emma Mares, Hollywood It Girl.”              The thought made her grin. In truth, she had absolutely no interest in theater or film. Still, it would be pretty cool to be rich and famous.

             
Dan was rich, but he wasn't famous. He'd invented some sort of encryption algorithm or a crypto-currency, or some sort of thing that Emma may have actually been interested in if someone else had invented it. He'd become a multimillionaire literally over night. But for all his liquidity, he still wouldn't buy her a car. Not even a used one. And it wasn't like she hadn't asked...

             
Maybe I just haven't been asking the right way
, she thought, followed by a thought she flinched from even within her own head.

             
But... why not?
she thought. After all, she didn't
have
to be a weak and ineffective Hamlet, wasting away under the weight of her own ennui and indecision. She was a modern woman, and if she wanted something, all she had to do was... take it.

             
Suddenly, Emma had a plan.

*    *   *

              Emma put her plan into action that very evening. After taking a long, hot shower and shaving every part of her body bare, she wrapped her hair in a towel and waited. Dan should be coming up the stairs to head to be any minute.

             
As she waited, she stared at herself in the mirror. At eighteen, her body was totally without a blemish. Her breasts stood high and proud, and her nipples tightened at the thought of what she was about to do. Her skin was clear and shiny... though maybe she could use a little mascara.

             
Don't be ridiculous
, she chided herself.
No one gets out of the shower with mascara on.
There was no way it would look like an accident if she made up her face before hand. Besides, all her make-up was in her room.

             
As she was debating with herself, she suddenly realized she'd heard Dan's footsteps on the stairs a moment before. With more speed than grace she threw open the door and casually sauntered into the hallway. She paused for just a moment before turning in the direction that would lead her past Dan's room and into her own. She took a deep breath and turned.

             
Just in time to see Dan's door closing behind him.

             
She'd missed her chance.

             
“Shit,” she muttered. Dan was supposed to “accidentally” catch an eyeful of her casually walking back to her room naked after a shower – something he could hardly do from inside his room. It wasn't as if she could throw the door open and say, “See something ya like, Skipper?”

             
Then again, why not?

             
Emma hesitated. She crept up to his doorway on her tiptoes, laid a hand on the door, took another deep, calming breathe, and did what she did best.

             
Chicken out.

             
Back in her room, Emma's heart was beating a mile a minute. “What am I doing?” she muttered to herself. The answer to that was obvious – sitting on her bed and shivering, from more than just the cold.

             
The real question was: what was she going to do?

             
Even ask Emma asked herself that question, she knew what the answer was. She'd made up her mind already, she just had to talk herself into it. So after a few minutes of pointless and one-sided internal debate, she got up and went to her closet.

             
Now she faced a more serious question: what should she wear? Pajamas would seem natural at this time of night. Casual. Unassuming. But there is nothing casual about seducing your step-father – and she definitely had a plan. A little black dress? But then she'd give away her game before she even got through his door.

             
Maybe she was thinking about it the wrong way, she decided. She didn't need to think of what
she
wanted to wear – what would turn
Dan
on? He'd shown absolutely no interest in her in the past, no matter what she'd worn, so she didn't really have anything to go on. But Dan was a man, and she certainly knew what to highlight to attract the interest of men.

             
At least, men of her own age. Would it be different with someone Dan's age? But no – she'd seen dozens of Lifetime movies where the older man ran with the younger woman. In fact, it was the youth that had attracted him.

             
Emma grinned. She knew just what to do. From her wardrobe she pulled a pair of thigh-high black and white striped socks and rolled them on. From another drawer came an oversized Led Zeppelin shirt. It was too long to be her shirt, but too short to be a dress, and when she bent over whoever was watching got a pretty good peek. Perfect.

             
It
was
perfect. She could play casual, as if this is the sort of thing she wore to bed every night. Not only that, but the whole ensemble – if you can call a pair of socks and an oversized shirt an ensemble – emphasized her youth and made her look delicate. Add in the fact that a moment of cavalier posture could easily flash her freshly shaved pussy and it was the perfect outfit for seducing an older man.

             
Now
, she though,
what do I say?

             
She wasted fifteen minutes contemplating before she decided that she was stalling. She got up and went.

*   *   *

              “It's open,” came Dan's voice form behind the door.

             
Emma took one final deep, reassuring breath. She twisted the handle, and peeked around the door. “Can I come in?”

             
“That's what 'it's open' tends to imply,” Dan said.

             
Normally she'd have had a sarcastic response of her own, but tonight she was trying to play it cool. Demure, or if not demure, than at least non-confrontational. That part would come later. So instead of replying, Emma just let herself in.

             
She took three steps toward the bed and paused. Dan was sitting up against the headboard, watching something on TV, his white satin night shirt hanging open. She was shocked at how good he looked. His face – which she'd always thought of as too rugged for a computer programmer – had none of its characteristic tension, and even sitting down she could see the traceries of abs on his stomach. His skin was tan and smooth, almost entirely hairless. At twenty-five, he must have been stunning.  At forty, he still looked pretty damn good.

             
He must have noticed her pause, because he was speaking again. “Can I help you with something?”

             
“I – I don't know,” Emma managed, and forced herself into motion again. She made her way around to the other side of the bed, and sat down on the edge. “What are you watching?”

             
“Iron Chef,” Dan said. He wasn't looking at her. In fact, now that she was seated, he didn't seem to remember or care that she was in the room at all.

             
Emma shifted on the bed, swinging her feet and propping herself against the headboard in a mirror of his posture. “What's it about?” she said, although she actually knew. She just needed to be saying something.

             
“Do you remember the
Wizard of Oz
?” He said. She nodded, but he was already continuing. “The books I mean, not the movie. The first time Dorthy meets the Tin Woodsman, he's rusted to a standstill, and it's only after she oils him that he turns into the character we all know and love. But, you see, tin doesn't rust  - only iron rusts. Therefore, he must have actually been an Iron Woodsman. Later, in one of the return to Oz books, he gives up the woodsman trade and devotes himself entirely to the culinary arts. Thus is born the Iron Chef.”

             
Emma was staring at him outright, now. That was the most ridiculous lie she'd ever heard – and yet it did make sense in an odd way. Internally consistent, almost plausible, and seemingly created right off the cuff.

             
“Anyway,” Dan said, still seemingly oblivious to her presence save as an audience for his own brilliance, “It's basically nothing like that.”

             
Had that been... a joke? “What?” she said.

             
Dan shrugged. “Cooking,” he said. “It's about cooking. The theme ingredient is squid. Now shut up or get out.”

             
Once again, Emma bit back a retort.
Demure
, she thought to herself,
keep it demure
. They sat in silence for fifteen minutes, him watching the show and her watching him, before she found another opening. The show had nearly run its course, and it was time for the chefs to present their dishes to the judges. The celebrity guest judge was a popular Chinese actress, who'd recently exploded into fame in America as well as her home country. “She's pretty,” Emma said.

             
Dan gave a noncommittal grunt. “A little skinny, for my taste.”

             
Emma frowned. As a relatively skinny girl herself, his response didn't give her much hope. Then again, her mother was skinny too, and Dan had married her. Suddenly, she remembered something her best friend had told her a few years ago: when a man says a woman's too skinny, he means she's got little tits. She'd giggled at the time, but now she wondered if that wasn't true. With 36Cs, Emma seldom worried about being too “skinny”.

             
“Am I too skinny, Dan?” she said.

             
“No,” he said, without bothering to look.

             
That's it? Just “no”?
“Am I fat, then?” she said. She knew how this game was played.

             
“Yes,” Dan said. For a split second Emma's heart dropped to her stomach, before he continued, “You're huge. Massive. A veritable cow. If you stood in front of Rosie O'Donnell at the beach, she wouldn't even need to put on sun screen.”

             
“That is
not
funny,” Emma snapped.

             
Dan sighed. Finally he turned to look at her before he spoke, “How the hell would I know, Emma? Your boyfriend – what's his name? The layabout. He seems to think you look just fine.”

             
Emma sneered. “A woman's body image shouldn't be defined by how it's appreciated by men,” she said. Even as she was saying it, she was cursing herself inside. Not because she didn't believe it, but because she was
reacting
instead of forwarding her plan. She wasn't going to get anywhere that way.