I sped home through the Laguna Hills and pulled up to the gate that separated my house from the rest of the world. I reached my hand out of the car window smelled the sweet smell of jasmine, and pressed the code that opened the large iron gate to the entrance of the house I was proud was one of the largest on the street. Maybe I didn't have tennis courts like our neighbors, but I didn't need one. I had a basketball court though, and I had a pool that was featured in several architectural magazines along with the house. I was at home from work early on a Friday, fixing an afternoon snack when I heard the front door open.
"Hi, baby. You're home from school early. I thought you were going to study with your friends at the library today like you usually do?" I said, seeing my teenage daughter walk into the kitchen.
"I decided to do my homework at home, is that ok?" My daughter said, walking past me in an outfit that I was surprised didn't warrant a phone call home or trip to the principal's office.
"Ok baby, is everything ok?" I asked, looking at her bright pink shorts held up by a trendy white belt, half t-shirt that was practically see-through, a few dangly bracelets, and wedge sandals that made her long tan legs seem even longer than I had remembered them. An outfit that was not priced on the amount of fabric but still cost more than most teenager's whole closet of clothes.
"Yes, Daddy." "My friends are just so boring." She replied, obviously holding something back like teenagers often do.
I knew better than to push. She was a not a child anymore, and almost finished with high school. I was lucky she wasn't as rebellious as her friends, and while she just turned eighteen last week, she was always my little girl. I met her mom about twelve years ago when her daughter was just six, and I thought to myself while I washed the dishes. The most rebellious thing she did was how she dressed, and I was lucky for that. Other girls in her class were much worse when it came to doing bad things. It seemed every generation was more at risk than the previous one, and with primetime TV shows about cooking crystal meth, and I was just happy my teenage daughter was safe and happy. Dressing sexy was just her way of getting some attention I thought. Plus times have changed and most high school girls dress that way.
"Can I get you anything to eat baby?" I asked.
"No, that's ok, I don't want to get fat. Then no one will want to go out with me." She said.
I wasn't sure, buy my best guess was that she was having her period. That was my go-to answer for pretty much anything that was wrong. I decided to let it go, and if she wanted to talk to me I would be there for her, but I didn't want to piss her off.
"Ok, baby." I said.
"I'll be in my room." She said, walking upstairs and shutting her door.
She came downstairs after the sun had gone down, and I had finished dinner and was watching TV on the couch.
"I'm hungry." She said, opening up the fridge and grabbing some fresh strawberries.
She sat next to me on the couch and began watching TV with me and eating strawberries out of the basket. All she had on was just a t-shirt, underwear, and fluffy slippers, and she sat down next to me and pulled my blanket off my legs and onto hers.
"Geez," I said, tugging part of the blanket back covering up my legs and boxers.
"Oops, sorry Daddy." She said, giggling.
When she sat down, I could tell she must have just put lotion on because she smelled as sweet as one of those lotion shops in the mall where the sales people wear little white aprons.
"Want some?" She asked holding up a ripe strawberry, dripping with water.
"I'm ok baby." I said, and watched her bite into it, juice running out of her mouth and down her fingers.
"Do you need a napkin?" I asked, which was my way of saying. You're going to make a mess, but she didn't seem to care and just stared at the TV, and licked her fingers clean.
"See Daddy, I don't need napkins." She said.
As usual she took control of the remote and found something more appropriate to her likes and changed the channel numerous times before settling on a dating show. After a few minutes watching teenagers go on dates and talk about what they did and didn't like about each other my daughter turned to me and said.
"Daddy, do you think boys like me?" She said, laying her long legs across my lap, her pink painted toe-nails peeking through the end of the blanket.
"Umm, sure baby, of course, they do," I replied, covering them with the blanket.
"Is there something you want to talk about?" I said, trying to open some sort of father-daughter dialog.
"Not really, it's kinda awkward, ya know. You're like, my dad and everything." She said.
"I see baby. Well, just think of me as a friend. You can talk to me about anything you want." I said.
"I don't know, it's kinda personal, ya know." She said, making a face like I was kinda old and gross. The face every teenage daughter does when talking to their dad about this stuff.
"Some of the girls at school are already having sex and partying a lot." She said.
"Oh, I see, well," I said, trying not to sound too fatherly at this moment, knowing if I wanted her to continue the wrong thing to do was to sound judgmental or unrealistic.
"It's a normal part of growing up." I managed to say, slightly proud of listening to my inner 'right answer Rolodex' of good fatherly responses.
"I guess so." She said.
"Mom would freak out if I told her what I just told you." She said.
"I freak out about other things, but I think it's important for a father and daughter to be able to communicate in a safe zone free of any judgement" I said, wondering where this wisdom was coming from.
She changed the channel and began some romantic comedy about one-night stands. The girl in the movie was young and cute, and I didn't mind watching this cute little thing I thought to myself. In the movie, the twenty-something girl had broken up with her boyfriend and went online to meet a guy for a one-night stand. Man, I had been so horny lately, and it seemed like anything made me want to have sex, especially young girls looking for one-night stands. My wife and I have been working a lot lately, and we haven't seemed to make the time. Our daughter was often home, and things had just not clicked in a week or two, which is a long time for us.
"Today a guy I have been talking to asked if my best friend thought he was cute and I was crushed Daddy. I really liked him and when he wanted my friend it hurt." She said, pulling me into her arms and hugging me.
I could hear her cry and felt her sob in my arms, her breaths short and chopped by her cry. I felt so bad for her. I thought to myself how awful it is to be a teenager, and kids really can be so cruel.
"Why do you think he likes her instead of me?" "She's been sleeping with everyone at school, and she's a slut Daddy." She said.
"Hmm, that's a tough one," I said, holding my tongue, mentally searching through my new Rolodex for a good response.
"Guys like sluts," I said, realizing I was using the opposite Rolodex, the one probably labeled, 'Things to never say out-loud to your daughter.'
"Why?" She said, hungry for information.
"Because having experience is sexy," I told her, rubbing my hand on the smooth skin of her upper thigh under the cover of the blanket.
"I guess your right dad." She said, relaxing her body and adjusting her legs slightly.
"I know I probably shouldn't be asking you this, but did you do anything with this boy?" I said.
"You mean fuck him?" "No." "But I probably should have." She said.
"What did you guys do?" I asked, feeling my heart start to jump, knowing I had little control of what my daughter did and didn't do with boys she met.
"I don't know if I want to talk about it, daddy." She said.
"It's up to you baby, but I think I can help you if you let me," I said.
"Well, we talked on the phone, and then he..."
"Go on.," I said.
"He drove me home from school and..."
"And?" I asked.
"...and parked the car, and we kissed."
"See that's not so bad, you can talk to me. So what was the problem exactly? I asked.
"I don't think I know how to kiss good Daddy." "What makes a girl a good kisser?" She said.
Wow, this was a hard question. I tried to think back what it was like being a teenager and learning how to kiss when suddenly something popped out of my mouth that was not completely thought through.
"Well, have you ever practiced on your hand?" I asked.
"NO, Eww Dad!" She said.
"I think I remember maybe doing it to practice, I'm not even sure...it's been a while." I said trying to think of anything I could remember to be helpful.
"Want don't you give it a try," I said.
"You first." She said.
"Ok fine," I said, holding out my palm and slowly began pressing my tongue up against it and twirling it around feeling my cock growing embarrassingly hard under her legs still resting on my lap.
"Wow." She said. "I don't know if I can do this, but I see what you mean, it looks like you know what your doing and I don't know what else to do." She continued.
"I..." She began to say and tried to open her mouth and stick out her tongue and finished.
"I ... I can't, It's too weird." "A hand doesn't kiss back, its not real, its not going to help." "I guess I need to kiss more boys or watch more porn." She said.
Deciding not to address either of her last comments I said.
"Look kissing your hand might feel weird, because your holding it up and know its your hand, but try kissing mine and see what I mean."
"Ew, that's gross." She said.
"It's up to you baby, but I know it will work." "If you want to be a good kisser and for boys to like you I know I can help you." I insisted.
"I know daddy, but it just seems so weird." "I mean, you're my dad and all, well, my step dad and its just kinda, strange you know." She said.
