I have three children, my daughter Kay and twin boys; Colin and Tony.
Kay is 19, and has lived with me since shortly after turning 16. The boys, at 14, still live with their mother, Karen. As the divorce was 10 years ago, they have very few memories of my time with their mum. Kay, though, has lots of them, and most of them feature her on my side in an increasingly messy marriage.
Kay had always been a bit of a tomboy, and so from an early stage we had shared interests. I'd taken her to rugby matches, and she had sat and watched intently as I tinkered with my bike. Whatever I did, Kay was keen to tag along with me, and she loved nothing more than to walk down the street with me, hand in hand.
When the divorce came through she was heartbroken when the judge told her that at 9 years old she was too young to go and live with her dad, especially as her mum was dead against the idea.
So it was that Kay started her campaign of civil disobedience against her mum. I started to feel sorry for Karen as Kay pushed the boundaries more and more. Towards the end of her GCSE's, she was even skipping classes and starting to hang around with the wrong crowd. God, she looked a sight; white make-up with panda eyes. Hair spiked up and dyed red and black, and all her clothes tight and black. She went Goth, big time, and she didn't care who she upset.
Actually, that wasn't true. When she came to stay with me one weekend each month on her own, then she calmed down and even started wearing more feminine clothes. Well, I suppose that is one way to describe pink crop tops and hipster jeans, but at least she looked more like a normal teenager. And we still got along. Each Friday when she arrived, we would sit down with a coke and plan the weekend. Sometimes we would go shopping, sometimes to the cinema, and sometimes a trip to some funfair. She loved those. She would insist we went on the biggest scariest rides (which terrified the shit out of me), and then cling to me like a limpet as we screamed our way through another 5 minutes of heart stopping stomach losing rides.
Once, when she was 14, we stopped by a shooting gallery at some travelling fair ground, and I struck lucky – winning a large pink teddy bear with a red heart sewn to its stomach. It was so tacky, it was cute. When I gave it to Kay she gave a loud squeal, and proceeded to throw her arms around my neck and give me the most enormous kiss on my lips. For what seemed liked a day and a half I had a very nubile teenager pressing her curves against me while her sweet bubble gum lips mashed my teeth to mine.
When she broke away she looked at me with her impish grin - her eyes dancing with delight, and then acted as if nothing unusual had happened.
Yeah, I was sure that Kay loved me; I just didn't realise how much.
At 16, Kay was ready to go into 6th form. Despite her behaviour she had still found time to study, and so she was predicted some ok results, not as good as she was capable off, but not as bad as I had feared.
With the change came the opportunity for her to move in with me permanently, an idea Kay had been arguing for strongly since 9. Karen had now run out of excuses to block the move. She had to admit that she couldn't cope with Kay, especially as the boys were now proving a handful of their own.
The day she finally moved in, I pulled out all the stops and cooked us a really fancy 3 course meal, all on my own. We ate in the kitchen, at a table with a table cloth and candles. I even put some flowers in a vase in the middle. When Kay saw all the preparations, she really got into the swing of it. She put on some romantic music, and then went off to soak for a while and dress herself up in something special, (well even I was wearing a shirt and tie). When she appeared as I was serving, it took my breath away. She was wearing a deep red off the shoulder number with a short flared skirt. She had a nice figure anyway, but that fabric was clinging to it like a shipwreck on a raft. At 5 ft 5, she was as sexy as they come, and then some.
She was no longer my little girl, she was a young woman, and I have to admit I felt a surge of jealousy for the young men who would introduce her to the world of relationships and sex.
But for this night, she was mine, and so I held her chair for her when she sat down, and poured her wine, and generally treated her like the princess she was. After the washing up we went into the living room and watched a DVD together. She chose "28 Days Later"; not my recommendation for a romantic evening!! Within minutes she was snuggled into me and burying her head in my side whenever the zombies started attacking. I think she also liked the naked shots of the hero!
When the evening was over, and it was time to go to bed, she stood on tip toe to me, and kissed me gently on the lips.
"Thanks dad, for a wonderful time."
And then she paused for a moment as if pondering something.
"I love you Dad," she blurted out, and then turned and ran for her room.
I just assumed that she was a bit overwhelmed with the meal and everything, not to mention half a bottle of red wine, and I felt a surge of fatherly love for my daughter in return.
The next two years were an adventure. With Kay around, I had someone to talk to and help around the house. With that I gained some confidence and even started dating women again, with Kay's encouragement. Funnily enough, though, she would start getting a bit anxious if anything serious appeared to be on the horizon, and so I never moved beyond a few nights in bed but no more thank you.
Kay did her own dating as well, but she seemed to prefer being in a group rather than one-on-one. Guys would home in on her, but when we talked about them (she was as eager to share her adventures as to hear mine), she complained that they were shallow, thick, and only interested in one thing.
"I thought that girls were only interested in one thing too!" I replied. "Looking at the outfits some of them wear."
"Dad!!" Kay gave me a playful thump on the arm. "We only do that to wind the boys up – and to give perverts like you a good eyeful."
Sometimes, when we had been out shopping together, I had commented on some of the more outrageous outfits, and Kay had accused me of being a randy old pervert. But she did it with such humour that I knew she wasn't upset. Still, It rankled a bit that somehow these young female bodies laid out like joints in a butchers shop were somehow off limits even to look at.
Mind you, Kay wasn't averse to showing off her tight body at times. When she was going out she would make a point of parading herself before me first for my "approval." Of course she looked a million dollars, but I kept having to remind myself that incest was wrong, even though there wasn't much left to the imagination.
And I'm sure she knew exactly the effect she was having on me too. There were times when I would be allowed to see more than I should have done, like a thong in full view over the waist of her hipsters, and her goodbye kisses were enough to give me a good eyeful of her perky tits cupped and thrust up for all to see.
Looking back, I suppose all the clues were there, I just was too locked up in my "doing things right" thinking to understand them.
Everything came to a head on Saturday evening. Kay was now 18 ½ and studying at college. She told me that another student had invited her out to a concert at the local where a new band were doing a gig. This guy seemed quite nice, and I entertained some hopes that at last Kay would get properly involved in a relationship with someone her own age.
As the time drew closer for the pick up, she sat in the living room, texting her mates. It was a hot summers evening, and she was wearing a very light cotton strappy dress with some block heel shoes. I had already noticed that she had decided against a bra, and I assumed that the "boyfriend" was in for a real treat tonight. She still had those perky tits I had noticed 2 ½ years before, and as she played a lot of sport, she had the rest of the body to match.
And then, I heard her swear loudly and the crashing noise of a mobile phone being thrown across the room.
I rushed in, all mother hen. There was Kay, curled up on the sofa, just getting up steam for a really good cry.
"Hey darling, what's happened?"
I stood there, confused by this turn of events, not quite sure how to play it.
"That bastard Tony, he's been seen down at a pub with another girl, and they weren't discussing the fucking football."
I winced at the anger and venom in her voice. Tony was the intended for the evening, but had obviously decided that there was more fun in playing around than in being loyal.
I sank down beside Kay on the sofa and drew her into me. As she had done so often in the past when she was upset over something, she turned towards me, rested her head on my chest, and bawled her eyes out. For all her good looks and bubbly personality, she was still a frightened girl who nearly lost her daddy when mum kicked him out. Sometimes I felt like a security blanket, but I loved her too much to ever stop her clinging to me like this.
Eventually, the storm of tears and frustration died down, and her weeping was reduced to sad sniffles.
She sat up and stared at me.
"I hate boys. Why can't they act like you, and treat me like a human being, and not like some toy to be picked up and dumped as they feel like."
I had a lot of sympathy for her, but I also remembered how hard I had found the dating game in my youth.
"They're not all bad love," I responded. "It's just that the confident ones get cocky, and they start to believe they are god's gift to you girls. Maybe you should target a shy boy next time and watch him being grateful for a change?"
I said this with a smile, hoping that a bit of humour would ease the depression.
Kay leaned back into me, and drew a neatly manicured finger over my chest. She looked so vulnerable I was tempted to kiss the top of her head as I had done when she was still my little girl.
And then, looking at her finger intently, she said those words that broke down all the barriers between us, and started turning my world upside down until it was made right.
"But I don't want a shy boy, I want you dad."
I froze; terrified that I had misheard her and more terrified that I would say something to cause her to think that I had misunderstood her.
"But I'm always here for you darling. You know I love you."
And as a Dad I did love her, 110%. I was proud of her, I enjoyed her company, and I was preparing myself for the day when I would be giving her to some spotty faced youth in marriage.
Kay read my mind, and turned the screw.
"But you mean as a Dad. I want you more than that."
At this point, she turned her head up to me, and I was inches away from her tear stained face. In a way I had never fully acknowledged, I was acutely conscious that a very beautiful and sexy 18yr old was nestling in my arms. She was soft, and vulnerable, and I suddenly wanted to kiss her not as a dad, but as a man.
With a supreme effort I stopped myself leaning down and kissing those sweet adorable lips.
