I'm a single father. I have been for a couple of years now since my wife died in a car accident. Rough on me but rougher on the kids and I've tried to make it up to them. I still manage to get out occasionally, having a babysitter in for the night. I always try to get a sitter who's eighteen or older. They tend to have their own cars and I don't need to worry about running them home.
I had a young lass by the name of Cathy, tonight. She was new to me. My regular sitters were both otherwise occupied and they'd suggested I try Cathy. They assured me she was superb with children, twenty, had her own car and would suit me down to the ground.
I'd rung Cathy and given her the names of my other two sitters as references and she'd agreed to sit for me on Friday night which meant I could shoot through for a few hours.
Cathy had fronted up as required and almost from the start I realised something was hinky. I'd introduced myself, telling her to call me Kurt. She'd nodded and still addressed me as Mr Roberts and then asked where my wife was. I explained I was a widower and I'll swear she took two steps away from me. What the hell? Being a widower wasn't something contagious.
The kids were already in bed, just not asleep. I took Cathy around and introduced her so they knew who was in the house, and she was absolutely charming with them. Me, on the other hand, not quite so charming. I could see a whip and a chair being held up between us when-ever I spoke to her.
However, she didn't have to be madly in love with me to look after the kids so I shrugged off her odd manner and faded out of the scene.
I had an enjoyable night out. I had a couple of drinks, but only a couple, and I spun those out. I had to drive home and I was well aware of the cops and their breathalysers.
I finally arrived home and let myself in. The kids were sound asleep, snoring their little heads off. Ditto Cathy. The TV was on and Cathy had zonked off watching it. I turned the TV off and gently shook Cathy's shoulder. Cathy opened her eyes, focused on me and Jesus Christ, she flipped.
I kid you not. As soon as she realised that I was home and standing close to her she squealed, practically did a backflip scrambling behind the couch and if she'd been wearing a cross she'd have been holding it up to fend me off.
"Don't you touch me," she squealed. "I know my rights. You can't touch me if I say you can't."
I blinked. The woman was certifiable.
"Cathy," I said calmly, "all I did was touch your shoulder to wake you up. There's nothing wrong with that."
"That's just the start. Mother had told me about men like you. No woman of your own and preying on girls like me. I won't have it. I just won't."
"Cathy, I'm going to the kitchen to have a cup of coffee. I suggest you have one, too. You can sit on the other side of the table from me where you're out of reach and I can't jump on you."
I walked through to the kitchen and put on the kettle and got down a couple of mugs. While I was making the coffee Cathy came creeping into the kitchen, making sure she stayed on the other side of the table to me. I was horribly tempted to turn and yell 'BOO' just to see if she'd scream and run, but decided that she just might.
I passed Cathy a mug and put the milk and sugar near her so she could help herself and then I settled onto a chair. Cathy sat across the table, sipping her coffee and looking at me dubiously.
"OK, Cathy," I said. "If I'm going to rely on you as a sitter I have to know what your hang-up is. Ever since you found out I'm a widower you've treated me as though I was a contagious disease. Do you treat all fathers this way?"
Cathy bit her lip and shook her head.
"So explain. What is the problem? What did your mother say about men like me?"
"Um, mum warned me that fathers would try to seduce me if I wasn't careful and to be sure I was never alone with them. She said I shouldn't ever sit for single fathers. She says they get desperate and if they can't seduce me they'll try to rape me and I have to be really careful around them."
Figures, I thought, an over-protective mother filling her head with horror stories.
"Tell me, Cathy, how many fathers have made a pass at you?"
She blinked and looked at me reproachfully.
"None, of course," she said. "I've always been careful."
"Of course," I said. "So no seductions by horny fathers."
Cathy blushed, but agreed.
"So, moving right along, how many fathers have raped you, single or with spouse."
"None," she protested. "I'd never permit that."
"Ah, Cathy, it's the lack of permission that makes it rape," I pointed out.
"So I suppose that the only time you've been seduced or raped it's been with your permission and by a boyfriend or someone you know well."
"What are you talking about?" Cathy protested, obviously insulted and highly indignant. "I've never been seduced or raped."
"So you're still a virgin?" I asked.
She nodded, surprised that I would think otherwise.
"Why?" I asked.
"Why?" she said.
"Yes, why?" I repeated. "Understandable at eighteen, an oddity at nineteen but distinctly strange behaviour at age twenty. You are twenty aren't you?"
Cathy was giving me indignant looks now. No-one likes being told that their behaviour is odd. I could see her groping for an answer that would satisfy me.
"Mum warned me about sex," she finally said. "She told me I wouldn't enjoy it. Men are a bit brutal where women are concerned."
"Ah, I see," I said, nodding in understanding. "You're still too immature to make up your own mind."
Cathy looked as though I'd slapped her, and she didn't know what to say. To fill in time I rose, picked up our empty mugs and put them on the sink. Then I reached for my wallet and extracted her agreed wages for the night and passed it over to her.
As I was opening the front door to see her out she finally found her voice.
"I am not immature," she snapped at me.
"Really?" I said, goading her. "Well, the door is open and your car is just there so you'll be free to panic, scream and run. Now I'm going to cup one of your breasts. Tell me what you think, unless, of course, you're running for dear life."
Suiting action to words I did precisely that, reaching for and cupping her breast, lifting it slightly to judge the weight of it, squeezing it slightly as I did so. When she didn't immediately push my hand away and bolt I moved my thumb, seeking and finding the nipple. A gentle movement and I could feel it hardening under my touch.
I took my hand away, and grinned at her. She was still looking at her breast, a slightly stunned expression on her face. She looked up at me, opened her mouth, closed her mouth, turned and walked to her car, got in and drove away. I went to bed, smiling. She had a very nice breast. I wanted to see it.
