She was Daddy's girl, through and through, and she had him wrapped around her finger just as much as she was around his.
The call from the school came early afternoon. He always took Friday afternoons off, worked from home, so that when she came home they could hang out together. Sometimes it was homemade pizza and a ballgame on TV, sometimes it was take-out Chinese and board games, in warm weather they would fire up the grill outside and eat on the patio, then splash in the pool until the sun set.
She never failed to delight him, his daughter. She was beautiful- although he would admit that he was biased a bit. Kind of a girl-next-door look, the every-woman, and when she had fully matured...not cute, not beautiful... 'arresting' was the word he would go for. Her mouth was a little too wide, her lips a little too full. Her eyes were not that wide-eyed innocence that attracted many, but they twinkled when she laughed and were often full of mischief. Her nose was perfectly straight and even, dusted with golden freckles. Round cheeks, gently curved chin, red-gold hair that was a mass of curls around her shoulders. She had a great sense of humor and a quick wit, she was intelligent and engaging. She was mature for her age- people always mistook her for a senior in college rather than high school. He himself often forgot that she was still just a teenager....which was part of the reason the phone call from the school had surprised him so.
He sat in his chair in his home office, his palms resting lightly on his knees, his head bent as he debated his next course of action. He could ground her, take away her phone and TV privileges, restrict her from the computer. Any number of scenarios popped into his head, but he couldn't decide on any of them- he thought it best to find out her motivation for her behavior first.
Idly he scrubbed his hand along his jaw. He knew he had become too lenient with her, he knew their relationship was no longer father-daughter in the strictest sense. And he couldn't pinpoint exactly when it happened. Lord knew she had tested him in her early teen years. Small rebellions compared to some of the stories he had heard, and he counted himself among the lucky ones. Still, he had ruled with a firm hand when she had toed the line. Oh, he had stopped spanking her about the time she had turned 12...about the time when the privilege of talking to her friends on the phone had become a moral imperative, and the loss of such was apparently a fate worse than death. That had worked for a while. Then grounding her to the house had worked for a year or two, until the thrill of driving privileges was what had kept her from toeing the line too much. Then she had just...settled. Matured a little, he supposed. They rarely had any of the heated arguments she used to provoke him into, he mused. Hell, had it really been a year and a half since that last big fight? Yep, that's when things had really started to change. That big blow out 18 months before about how he had been working so late every evening, weekends too. He had missed almost every volleyball game, her band concert, AND the spring musical. Well, he wasn't really that sorry to have missed the last two, he grinned. But still, it had been so important to her, and he had let her down so many times. She had basically been living by herself all day, every day. Getting herself to school, to work, to the games, to rehearsals, eating alone, falling asleep in an empty house night after night.
She had even taken over the damn grocery shopping and bill paying, keeping up the laundry and cleaning the house. It was no damn wonder she had been desperate to get out, to get some sort of attention. And in had swooped some jerk-off college kid to flirt with her and make her feel good, then left her standing alone one night in the cold with no jacket, no ride, no idea where in the hell she was in some hick-town 45 minutes away. The messages on his voice mail when he had finally checked them at 11:30 that night had scared the shit out of him- he had assumed she was in bed sleeping...the ride to get her had been the longest ride of his life, and the ride home the hardest. She had been so mad, so scared, so upset....and so had he. But now they had a routine that worked, and probably a little too well. She still spent time with her friends, was still active in the extra curriculars at school but...
He stood and headed for the kitchen, for something cool to drink. They were a good team, he mused, taking a glass down from the cabinet. They shared the responsibilities of the house, the chores. They laughed together, argued together, cooked together, folded laundry together. It was natural for her to curl up against him in the oversized recliner, or for him to stretch out and lay his head in her lap while they watched TV. He kissed her in the morning when he went to work, she kissed his cheek at night when she went to bed. Almost like a married couple, only without the sex.
He choked, nearly spit out his tea when that thought crossed his mind. Jesus, when had he become a perv? He grabbed a paper towel and wiped off his chin, the counter where the tea had sloshed. Okay, so he was a man, he thought. And didn't men supposedly think about sex like 3 times a minute or something? He cleared his throat uncomfortably, his face warming slightly. He took another drink, then set the glass down with a purpose when his hand trembled slightly. Okay, okay. Stop and think about this. Analyze. Why does it make you uncomfortable-the thought of sex with her?
Because it's my daughter!
Yeah, but she's a woman. And you like women. Their scent, their hair. Their smaller hands, their delicate skin.
My daughter!
A woman. With curved hips that move just right, with breasts the perfect size, with long legs and soft belly and rounded butt and
shit, SHIT.
He dropped heavily into a chair at the table, his head in his hands. What the hell was wrong with him? He had to reach down and readjust himself slightly, his slacks suddenly tight across the fly. He forced a breath out, inhaled deeply, tried to slow his thoughts just a little. Analyze, analyze. Why are you aroused?
Sex.
Sex with who?
Sex with my daughter.
He gave up and lowered his head to the table with a thunk.
SHIT!
The thrill of the thought was undeniable. His arousal was undeniable. He forced himself to think about sex with another girl, any girl. Her friends, younger girls. He even went to the computer, searched for images. Daddy's girl, slutty babysitter, naughty young coeds, teen sex, anything he could think of. Okay, sigh of relief, it wasn't the idea of random young girls of any particular age. He erased the search string, cleared the browser history, and tipped back in the office chair, spun slightly to the left to look out the window, letting his mind just flow. Okay, so yeah, he was attracted to his girl. And he could admit, in hindsight, that they had a flirtation together. He didn't for a second believe that she was actively lusting after him, any more than he had been actively lusting after her. But was it there? In the back of her head, too, were the same thoughts there? It was way more than lust, that he could say definitively. Was she nearly in love with him, the grown-up man/woman love like he figured he was with her? He'd been around the block a time or two, and could honestly answer himself that judging by her clues, her responses to him, they way they talked and laughed and shared their time and looked at each other....
He scrubbed his hands over his face, then opened his mind and let the thoughts flow. Images poured into him- her laughing up at him, eyes twinkling; the way her lips pursed when she pressed her sweet kisses to his cheek. The way her arms wrapped around him, the way her body curved just right against his when they sat in the recliner together. The way her t-shirts shifted over her chest, the way her shorts curved so sweetly over her rear. The way her lips would look, swollen and damp from his kisses, the way her eyes would cloud when he stroked his hands over her. The way her head would tip back and her eyes close and her body arch up when he levered over her, the way her thighs would part for him, giving him access....
The sound of the key turning in the lock, the door knob rattling slightly made him jump guiltily. He spun back to the desk, grabbed a random file and threw it open on the keyboard in front of him, fumbled a pen into his hand. He was aching, hard, his face flushed, his heart pounding. He kept his head down, his eyes closing briefly. He opened them in time to see her waltz through the door, her backpack hooked casually over one shoulder, her ipod clearly blasting in her ears. She glanced through the doorway at him, smiled and sort of half-waved, then turned and kicked off her shoes near the door, slung her back pack next to them. Her shirt was slightly wrinkled, her hair untidy. And it was the wispy strands working their way out of the pony tail, the drooping hair band in the back that did it. He slammed his chair back from the desk, followed her down the hall to the kitchen. He was mad. No, he was furious. How dare she? He couldn't believe the audacity of her actions. After everything that had happened, after the way she had filled his thoughts this afternoon, and she had behaved that way at school?
He stopped outside the kitchen doorway, forced himself to take a deep breath. He was being irrational, he felt irrational as hell. He had to get himself under control.
A movement just outside the kitchen startled her. She twisted her head, then took a deep breath. Just Dad, she laughed at herself. But she sobered instantly. He knew. She could see it on his face. A hard ball of despair curled in her stomach, and her shoulders suddenly felt heavy. She slowly put back the apple she was holding back into the silver bowl on the counter, then turned to face him. Might as well get it over with.
Now he stood fully in the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, his legs planted. Crap, he looked really mad. She felt her heart kick up a notch, couldn't control the slight tremor that shook her hands. She met his gaze once, then looked at the floor. Her arms felt awkward, so she tucked her hands into the small of her back and waited. She felt her face heat up as the silence stretched on interminably.
"You want to tell me about it?" His voice was rough, huskier than usual, and tight. She felt the tears prick at the back of her eyelids, but she blinked them away. Her throat already started to burn, and she had to swallow a few times to talk around the lump that had lodged there.
"Remember that guy who keeps bothering me? Making fun of me, calling me names and stuff? He started in again. And it was really getting to me. And you know how you said I should just ignore him, and prove him wrong when the time was right? I thought it was the right time." She shrugged one shoulder, her chin still lowered.
