CHAPTER SIX
Michael
“So how did you get into ceramics?” I ask. Josie is propped up on her elbow next to me. We’re lying in bed, recovering from possibly the most intense bout of sex we’ve had yet. The delayed gratification of being forced to watch her naked in those stockings combined with the elation we both felt at Josie’s finally sharing her lifelong passion made the sex intensely satisfying for both of us.
With her no longer feeling anxious and neither of us feeling any immediate need to slake our lust, I am eager to discuss some rules that will help Josie overcome her fear of rejection and get started becoming the artist I know she can be.
She giggles and says, “Well, when I was seven, I sneaked out at night to watch TV in the living room. My parents were asleep and I turned the TV on. It happened to be a documentary about pottery. I remember how fascinated I was that the guy on TV could take a lump of mud and make something beautiful out of it. He made a beautiful vase and glazed it in an amazing floral pattern. I thought it was just so wonderful, I decided that’s what I wanted to do.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?”
She shrugs. “Well, my friend, Lena, knows but that’s it. She caught me one day and forced it out of me. She tried to talk me into selling it, but I never did.”
“You’d like to sell your pottery?” I ask.
She nods and a little of the nervousness is back in her expression.
“I don’t know anything about the market for pottery,” I say. “It seems to me some of your items are too good for the average person. They’re high quality, like things you might get in a high end gift shop.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she says. She looks so damned adorable with the praise I just want to stare at her forever!
I force myself to continue. “But, some of your items are more artistic, I think, like things you might see in an art gallery.”
She looks at me and she seems stunned. She swallows hard and says, “Do you . . . No. They aren’t that good.”
I look at her and raise an eyebrow. “We’ve already established that you think you’re not good enough, Little Girl. That means you can’t trust your opinion on the quality of your work.” She just stares at me and I ask, “Do you understand?”
She doesn’t respond right away and I ask the same question, very sternly.
She gasps and says, “Yes, Daddy. I understand.”
I scoot back, to lean against the headboard of the bed and then I lift her up and put her atop me so she’s straddling me. Her eyes grow wide and she kisses me. I end the kiss after a moment and make it clear we’re not starting another delicious round of lovemaking. I cup her cheek in my hand and I say, “You know how to create an inventory, don’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“All right, pumpkin,” I say. “I want you to create an inventory of everything you’re working on. Then, we’re going to make a schedule for you to complete the ones you haven’t finished yet.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she says.
“How much time can you dedicate to your pottery work, without hurting your business?”
She considers this question and she’s almost trembling as she says, “My business is almost on autopilot. I can probably do twenty-five hours a week on pottery, except for right around Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day.”
“All right, Little Girl,” I say. “Then your first step is to do that inventory. I want to know everything you have ready to go and everything in progress. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she looks giddy.
I say, “Once we have that completed, we can decide the next steps.” She nods and I say, “We use words when we answer, Little Girl.”
She takes a breath and says, “Yes, Daddy!” She smiles and says, “When should I start?”
“Right now.”
“Really?”
“Right now, Little Girl.”
She pauses and then nods. “Okay, Daddy.” She climbs off me and reaches for a shirt.