<div align="center"><strong>Dean Miller</strong></div><br/>Mr. Miller sat hunched over over his desk sorting through a stack of W-2 forms newly submitted by the 2 foreman recently picked up by his construction company while Nick Mason drummed the steady beat to "Dark Side of the Moon" on the Bose stero system Miller installed the month prior. Normally reviewing up to a dozen W-2s in one sitting would be a breeze for him but so far all he'd managed to accomplish was to verify the accuracy of a few invioces for material purchases made in the previous month.<br/><br/>Today was only his second official day back at work following the knowledge of his ex-wife's death a week earlier. It was a very strange feeling, the loss of the woman Miller loved. A feeling that should've sunk in 12 years before when she informed him of her desire to file for divorce, but he had never quite accepted it as the final truth. In his mind he somehow convinced himself she'd be back. There was no coming back from the dead though, obviously.<br/><br/>He shifted in his red swivel chair, the jumbled mess of numbers and instructions staring back at him from the W-2s. It seemed every 30 seconds he lost where he'd left off reading. Finally he stood and stretched his unclothed body, thick muscular arms in the air, graying head tilted backward, long lean spine arched, firm knees parting, allowing his meaty fifth appendage to dangle freely between his thighs. He groaned praying silently for a reprieve when Belle yelled for him.<br/><br/>Within seconds he shook himself fully alert and scrambled toward the basement stairs to head up and meet his son, but just before reaching the first step, spun around on his heel, sprinting back toward the swivel chair to grab the towel he'd been sitting on. His ex had scarcely let him see Vay since the divorce, the last time being over 9 years ago. Vay would no doubt be a tad discomforted by greeting his father in his birthday suit, so Miller thought it best to spare his poor son the trauma and wrapped the long faded white towel around his waist, drapped to his ankles, then yanked a gray sweater over his head before hopping up the stairs, hurrying toward the front door. Miller had been a proud nudist for the better part of his adult life but also had the sense (unlike young Belle) to discern between appropriate nudity and inappropriate exposure. People tend to get upset when nakedness---especially<em>male</em>nakedness was thrust in their faces unexpectedly.<br/><br/>He stumbled upon what he knew must've been an awkward scenario for Vay, whose eyes currently roamed over Belle's nearly naked body. Miller had to let out a chuckle at how care free his beautiful daughter could be sometimes.<br/><br/>"Hun, shouldn't you get a shirt on?" he rose his eyebrows, spotting Belle's nipples that had perked up in response to the cold draft from having let Vay in the door. Stepping beside Belle he placed a large hand on her shoulder, rubbing his gruff fingers along her smoothe delicious skin and stared at Vay with a comforting smile for a moment He took a deep breath and said happily "Welcome home son," reaching his free hand toward Vay.