It wasn't until one night after one of the man's wild binges that Carol came to realize that his feelings for her were something other than hate, although just as dangerous.

Carol was sleeping fitfully when she heard the front door slam hard. She knew what that meant.

Her father had had a bad time with one of the women he was always picking up. She wished that her aunt were there to whisk her away to the safety of her house. But her aunt was ill and there, was nothing she could do but hope her father would ignore her. Her hopes were to prove false.

She heard a few gasses breaking downstairs, a habit her father had developed lately after downing a drink, then silence, an uneasy silence that frightened her. She hoped he had passed out, as he often had lately. When she heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs, however, she knew that something terrible was about to happen. Theft was no escape. She huddled up against the wall, her nearly naked body shivering with fear.

She heard the door creak open and saw a bit of light from the hallway pierce the darkness. It was her father all right. He had a terribly wicked look on his face, a look that filled poor Carol with unutterable terror. This man had become a complete stranger to her in recent months, a stranger of dangerous and filthy ways. It was as if a total stranger were moving slowly, stealthily into her bedroom.

Carol wasn't a young woman totally ignorant of sex. She had already begun to grow aware of her own body and the developing femininity that in later life would be her womanly treasure. She had heard all about sex and what men sometimes did to women. She had even heard conversations about sex between her father and his bar girls. On occasion she had heard the groaning and moaning, the grunting and screeching, when her father fucked