Roger groaned as he sat up in bed. A shot of pain stabbed him in the back, making him want to go back to sleep. Last night, like most other night, he had made sweet love to his android wife after their daughter was fast asleep. They had only gone once, with Roger standing up and his wife holding onto him with her arms and legs. It had been great and ended with them collapsing onto the bed in a sweaty naked heap. Next morning though, Roger felt sore all over, which was nothing new for him lately.

Crawling out of bed, his hand behind his back rubbing the sore spot, Roger put on his robe and went to the dinning room for breakfast. He walked by a mirror and had to stop, his reflection looked back at him wearily. He stared at himself, a man nearing his fifties and in pretty good shape, but still a man whose life was half over. There were more wrinkles on his face and his body was not as chiseled as it had been eighteen years ago. He was soft, no longer able to work out everyday. His hands ran through his hair and came back with grey hairs. He wasn’t showing it yet, but he was going grey too. Roger was no longer a young man, he wasn’t as strong, tough or even clever. He was glad the city was safe now because he didn’t think he could protect it in his state even if he had to. Getting old was never easy, but seeing his wife everyday never made it easier.

“Roger, come to breakfast please,” his wife gently said from the kitchen. Dorothy was not as cold and unemotional as she had been before the wedding, but she was hardly the emotional type. Sighing, Roger walked into the kitchen to start breakfast with his family.

“Paper,” Roger said, a morning tradition he never missed. Dorothy handed him his paper and he took it, not looking at it as his eyes remained focused on his wife. She looked the same as she did the day he met her, same pasty skin, same weight, same hair. Android never age, but their spouses do and it always made Roger think about the day he was decrepit and old, and his wife would be the same as she looked today. If that didn’t bother a man nothing would.

“Father, would you pass the syrup?” Looking across the table, he looked at Dorothy Jr. or Dora or simply his daughter. She was almost exactly like her mother in almost every detail that they could have passed as sisters. Dora had the same pale skin and face of her mother, even wearing her old black dress. Actually, she wore more then the black dress, she also had on black eyeliner, lipstick, nail polish and even socks. Dora loved the cooler black like her dad, but other then that, they had nothing else in common. She was like her mother, cool and calm with a reserved personality. She was very formal, referring to him as ‘father’ always. She smiled sometimes, but those times were few and far between. She was just like her mother except for one thing; she was fat.

Roger would never call his daughter a blimp, but she was a chubby girl. Her dress clung to her body tightly, showing the swell of her breasts and belly. She was just under two hundred pounds and for a girl only five feet tall that was unhealthy. She had a chubby face that Roger had to admit was absolutely adorable. What he didn’t like was her well shaped rump pushing out her dress until it clung skin tight to her rump. Whenever he saw someone look at his daughters rump he thought about getting Big O out of storage and crushing the punk to pulp. No one stared at his baby girl, no matter how much junk she had in her trunk.

“Father, syrup,” Dora said again impatiently; wanting her sugary liquid to pour over her eggs and toast. Roger relived she hadn’t said anything and frowned at his only daughter.

“I think you can do without syrup this morning. can’t have you busting out of that dress, can we?” Dora huffed angrily, knowing her father wouldn’t yield to her need for extra sugar. Roger went back to his paper, feeling a tiny bit guilty for denying his child anything. But he had to be firm, he may be an old man, but he refused to be a pushover to his own daughter. Roger Smith was still the man.