Daddy’s Petite Treat

There’s an REM song out there with the line, “Oh, life! It’s bigger, it’s bigger than you.”

That’s for damned sure.

Life also likes throwing awful curve balls the way it did with the car accident six years ago that killed my wife, the woman I loved since high school. Her death left me feeling horribly alone except for our daughter Susie, who was twelve at the time.

It was hard getting over that disaster, but Susie and I pulled through. It’s said time heals all wounds but I don’t believe it. I think time simply plasters over such deep pain and slops on a fresh coat of paint, so that inadequate haphazard patch can’t be seen unless you look close.

To cope after a long period of grieving, Susie dove into her schoolwork while I immersed myself in my career and taking care of my daughter. I used to travel on occasion but, after Kay died, I was let off the hook for that part of my job. Others of my staff took those trips in my stead, so I could return home every night to Susie. I hated my daughter being a latchkey kid but I had few options. We won a court settlement for Kay’s death, most of which went into a trust fund for Susie to use for a top college or otherwise collect on her twenty-fifth birthday. I paid off our house with the balance, to make sure Susie has no debt or other loss if I die too soon.

My possible demise is a major worry for Susie these many years, so much that sometimes if I come home later than usual I might find her crying. Her fear hurts me to the core, for I still can’t find a way to take it from her. For my part, I constantly fret over my daughter.

Maybe that mutual fear is what binds us so close. Or maybe, lacking anyone else in our home, we hold tighter because it’s only us. Susie became, as she describes herself, “a total geek” and an extreme introvert. I date here and there, also having an occasional one-night stand, but nothing solid or lasting has ever become of those few and far-between engagements. At the end of the day–every day–it’s just me and my precious daughter. After Susie’s on her own, I might aim more to change my life.

Susie always was, and still is, self-conscious about her looks. She reached puberty normally enough, but her breasts never developed even to an A-cup. Her final height reached five feet and one inch so she remains, even on graduating high school last month, looking like she’s twelve. Her interest in boys and curiosity about sex are those of an adult woman, which she is. I didn’t have much worry or concern about that side of her though I had to play the roles of both mom and dad as Susie grew, helping her through things best I could by looking up on the Net what women know by intuition and/or experience.

Note I used the past tense when I wrote above ‘…didn’t have…concern about that side of her…’ And I haven’t for the longest while. Now I do. I feel guilty as hell about it, but fucking Susie tonight was the best sex I ever had. And I want more of her though I’m not going to push it.

“What we gonna watch tonight?” Susie asked, bounding into the den after we ate supper and cleaned up the kitchen together. She went to shower afterward, while I read the paper. It was only 6:30, so nothing on TV at the time seemed worthwhile.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I answered, letting the paper rest in my lap. “It’s just another Friday night with the usual: nonsense sitcoms and reruns of shows that were on before you were born.”

“How about a chick flick?”

“You don’t really want to torture me with one of those, do you?”

“It’s only a couple of hours,” Susie laughed, reaching for the remote. “I’m in the mood for something romantic for once. But not a tear-jerker, I promise.”

“Oh?” I wondered, cocking an eyebrow. “Is there a boy in your life?”

“Not really, though he’s cute. He works checkout at the grocery.”

“So make a move!”

“We’ll see. There are always people around and I don’t want to get shot down in front of a crowd. It’s bad enough I get hit on by thirteen-year-olds. Guys my age all think I’m that young, to look at me. And they never believe when I tell them I’m eighteen. Assholes…”

Finding a movie already started on one of the cable women’s channels, Susie closed the discussion and settled beside me on the couch. After a rather passionate kissing scene, the movie faded to commercial break when the fantasy couple guided each other to the bedroom and closed the door. My daughter rose to go to her own room.

Susie returned with both her bed pillows, dropped them on one side of me, and laid across me with her hips in my lap and her upper body puffed up on the pillows.