Daughter Likes Father

I smoked my last cigarette the day my daughter was born. I said farewell to tobacco, and hello to the greatest achievement of my life. People that have never had a child can only come close to understanding the joy of children. Like, an adorable puppy at the pound that chooses you over everyone else there, but somehow part of you. Even that doesn't do it justice.

Her tiny pink body, complete with chubby rolls along her arms and legs. The smallest little fingers that would grip so tightly onto my finger. The smell. Oh the smell. People say the top of a baby's head smells so good because of the mom's vagina, but that's not true. It's the brain you're smelling, the skull having not fully formed. With that first whiff, I knew her brain, her thoughts, who she would be. Always and forever my favorite little girl.

I like to think I was a good father, going beyond the 3:00 am feedings and diaper changes. I actively participated in every facet of her life, and I wanted to. I taught her to read, hey it may have been Raymond Feist, but I wanted her learning good literature. By nine she was consuming Anne McCaffery and K.A. Applegate. She would curl up on the couch, back leant against me, her waifish frame weightless, and flip through each page.

I taught her to box when she was five. I wish I could say she was a natural, but she wasn't. Which suited me fine as I got to spend more time with her. Ever training, and she was an eager pupil. Dancing across the X's, seamlessly diving under the ropes, eventually, thanks to me. Every bit of progress she made I oversaw. Every time she made me proud, she grew more ecstatic and enthused.

I introduced her to good cinema: Vincent Price, Bela Legosi, Marlon Brando, Humphrey Bogart, Aubrey Hepburn to name a few. Her favorite was horror, which was my favorite. Yes I let her watch slasher flicks and the like before she was nine, and I never regretted a moment. The only mistake was Nightmare on Elm Street. She had nightmares for weeks, and slept in my bed every night, clinging tightly to my hand, little head buried under my shoulder. I felt both bad and good. Bad that she was scared, but grateful I was her safe space.

Every day I would come home from work to the pitter patter of tiny feet and the sweetest, "Daddy, daddy!" Every single waking moment I could, I was there. She was my shadow, my little mini me, and I loved it. There was no prouder father, and no better baby girl. At least for awhile.

I don't know if it was twelve or thirteen that she changed for the worse. Gone was my sweet little girl, replaced by some eye rolling, deep sighing, heinous creature. I tried like Peter Pan to capture my shadow again, but there was no longer any shadow to capture. Broken hearted and lonely, I watched her from afar turn into something. Something I hadn't smelled from that brain. It was as if she were an entirely different creature.

Without her as my hobby I had to search for a new one and settled on movies. I collected every movie I had ever watched with her, and rarely even watched them myself. They sat there, collecting dust and cobwebs. A tomb to what once was.

Like a voyeur I watched from afar as she grew, graduated highschool, got some terrible friends, and eventually went off to college. It pains me that I was grateful she left the house, but it was easier this way. No longer having to see the constant reminder of what I lost. I'm not even sure I viewed her as my daughter anymore, as fucked up as it sounds. No, she was merely a roommate. A horribly selfish and cantankerous roommate.

I went on with my life, or what life I had. It was more akin to a music video for The Statler Brothers, but I persevered. I think I finally accepted the fact that I was no longer anything to her when she went off to college. Either that or I was just tired of fighting with her. At least I didn't have to dread the awkward encounters in the hall anymore. At least, until Fall break.

"Aw sweetie," my wife said into her phone as I entered the kitchen, "I'm going to be away that week." I hated the fact my wife and daughter still had a relationship, but they had been fighting each other since the day she was born. "Of course you can still come home," she continued as I watched her warily from the fridge door. The thing that hammered our torn relationship closed like Elliot's box was when my wife lowered her voice to a nearly inaudible whisper and said, "Yes, your father will be here. It will be fine."

I stayed in the kitchen, my eyes locked on my wife's until she hung up and I finally spoke, "So... she's coming home?"

"Yes, just for Fall Break."

I nodded, a deep pit in my stomach, "And you're going to be gone?"

"Yes," my wife rolled her eyes and for a split second I wanted to smack her. It's as if every bad trait my daughter had acquired, was a direct inheritance from her mom. I released a breath as my wife continued, "It will be fine. Honestly, I don't even know what happened between you two."

"Psh," I scoffed. "You and me both."

"Well, maybe this week will be good for both of you," she said, and I sighed as she stood up to do her famous hands on hip routine, "You know it wouldn't kill you to try and get to know your daughter a little better."

"Wow," I mocked, smacking a hand to my forehead. "Why have I never thought of that?"

"Don't get an attitude with me," she snapped back.

"Ugh," I groaned. "I've tried plenty of times. I used to know her, but now..." I waved my hand in dismissal.

My wife walked up to me, her face right under my chin and she spoke calmly. "She's not a little girl anymore. The sooner you realize that, the better." She kissed me and walked away, "Just try this week, okay?"

I stood there insolently obstinate for a few minutes, my wife's words cycling through my mind. Anger is the best motivator. I had fallen into a depressed cycle of apathy, and anger was the only thing that could bring me back. I missed my little girl immensely. Her laughs and squeals, the way she would look at me and smile. I missed loving her. And as that final thought settled, I decided maybe my wife was right.

I filled a cart at Walmart. Her favorite candies and cakes, with some extras just in case her palate had changed. I grabbed chips and dips galore, ice creams, cheesecakes, and all the accoutrements for charcuterie. I even grabbed some fancy drinks, nonalcoholic of course.

The ride home was an exciting exercise in fantasy. I imagined her coming in smiling at me as I stood there with... "Fuck," I turned the car around. Flowers. Girls love flowers and flowers had gotten me out of the doghouse innumerable times. "Come on magic flowers," I excitedly hummed to myself.

At home I began to prepare. Flowers? Check. Stocked fridge? Check. Entertainment? Uhh... I didn't even know what she liked to do anymore. I wondered if she still liked movies and decided she had to. Who doesn't? Frantically, I cleaned my collection of movies, great globs of dust making me sneeze. I washed the blankets on the couch, more sneezing, and waited, flowers in hand.

I had been pacing for over half an hour when I heard her car pull into the drive and I went stock still. Thoughts swarmed through my head: She's here! Oh no, she's here. Should I help her with her bags? No, just wait with the flowers. Oh god are flowers dumb? She's going to hate this.

I had to call the whole thing off and hide in my room after trashing the flowers. Hips angled toward the kitchen, shoulders tilted, I was about to run when the front door opened. She walked in, almost an entirely different creature from the one she had already changed into. Her hair was shorter and highlighted, her skin was tanned, and her clothes were skimpy at best with blue jean shorts and a tank top. She walked in, bags in hand, and not knowing what else to do I held up the flowers, "Welcome home sw-" My words died on my lips as she scowled.

A fucking scowl? My heart fell and I almost dropped the flowers. She shut the door, saw the flowers and scowled deeper. Oh, the first scowl was just for me, yay. Even her voice was different when she spoke, lower with a husky lilt. "Oh... hey." Her ear buds appeared magically and she strode past me, flowers hanging limply.

I called after her, numbly, "There's food in the fridge," but she gave no indication she heard me.

She didn't come out of her room for the rest of the evening. As crestfallen as I was, and as loathe as I am to admit it, I spent the rest of the evening in the kitchen. Staring at my phone, hoping she would come in to get some food or water. I would scroll, then look up, scroll, then jerk my head up listening for a sound. It was pathetic. By eleven, I had given up hope and slunk to my bedroom, prepared for a sleepless night of heartache and despair.

I must have slept though, as I woke in the middle of the night, and the ache and longing were gone. My daughter, a distant memory. It's due to this negligence that I went to the kitchen for water in my underwear. Rubbing my eyes I stepped into the kitchen, not registering the dim light issuing forth. Bathed in the yellow glow of an open fridge stood my daughter. Large white t-shirt barely reaching her thighs, her hard nipples pressed against the fabric like little pinpricks.

She saw me as I saw her and we both said, "Oh fuck," at the same time. Only she dropped a cup of yogurt on the floor.

"I'm sorry," I yelped, closing my hands over the crotch area of my boxer briefs.

"Oh, ew," she said slamming the fridge door and scurrying away. The moonlight glinting on the tanlines of her ass as the shirt hitched up.

Blushing and awkward I called after her, "You always did like to eat in the middle of the night." And she was gone.

I slept well that night, my dreams consumed with her. Watching movies together, curled up on the couch like when she was little. Only now she was her older self, thin tan thighs, and tiny erect nipples. But it was her smile and the way she said, "I love you, daddy," that comforted me. I woke hard and haggard, filled with guilt and shame.

I dressed quickly, checked the hallway to make sure the coast was clear, and hurried to my truck. I spent the day aimlessly, checking a few thrifts for movies, window shopping at Lowes, and just driving around to kill time until the sun set. It wasn't until I was headed home that the feeling hit. Like an itch you can't scratch that makes you purse your lips and try to inhale. I hadn't had a craving for a cigarette in over a decade, but there it was. I drove to the opposite side of town to some stop-n-shop that I figured no one I knew would ever frequent, and bought a pack.

I spent the rest of the ride with a cigarette in my mouth, unlit, just pretending like I was smoking. The bitter taste of tobacco, glue, and filter filled my mouth and I exhaled. With each exhale I tried to push the image of my daughter out of my mind. Her thin neck and collarbone, her small perky tits with their little erect nipples, her thin thighs that seemed to go all the way up to a tiny ass complete with tanlines. I shivered and crushed the cigarette, tossing it out the window. "Fuck!"

I tried to avoid my daughter but, as if to remind me of my shame, she was digging through the fridge as I came in. This time she had on those little gym shorts that girls liked to roll the waist up on, and a tank top. "Oh," I said awkwardly, "hi."

She slammed the fridge, arms loaded with snacks and rolled her eyes, "At least this time you have clothes on."

"Hey," I said as she strode by me, my eyes shamefully darting to her small cleavage barely visible within the mounds of snacks. "Look, I'm sorry."

"Ugh," she said leaving the kitchen and then stopped. "I'm about to take a shower." She stared me in my eyes, hers hard as the brat she was. "Maybe you can avoid it for awhile, okay?" She didn't give me a chance to answer.

I sat in the kitchen, listening to the sounds of running water as the most vile images swam through my head. Her young frame beaded with water, soap caressing her smooth skin, her nipples- I shook my head, shame hardening my pants, and I felt the itch again. I went out the sliding glass door and stood, back toward the house, unlit cigarette in my mouth. Taboo images flashing through my mind. Just the sight of her face smiling up at me with love saying, "I love you, da-"

"Dad!?" My daughters voice shotgunned through my revelry, and my head snapped to her. A towel wrapped around her slender frame showing the subtle curve of hips. Her hair, soaking wet, plastered to the sides of her face and framing her willowy neck. Her eyes darted over the cigarette in my hand, "The water won't turn off."

"Oh," I flicked the unsmoked cigarette, "okay. I can fix that." I stepped past her, refusing to meet her eyes, which held hints of surprise. She followed me, the slap of her tiny wet feet on hardwood floors shadowing me. "Hot or cold?"

"Cold."

I shut off the water valve to the tub, "Probably just a seal. I can go by Lowes tomorrow and pick up a new one." I used my thumbnail to unscrew the cold water handle, rust smearing my nail, and twisted the bolt to pull out the handle's guts. I looked it over spying the warped seal, "Yep." I held up the black rubber ring, "See? Easy fix." She wasn't looking at the seal, just me. Her face tilted with curiosity and maybe even worry. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"Were you smoking?"

"Uh..." I cleared my throat. "No, just tasting."

She made a sour face, "That's weird."

I shrugged trying to get beyond the conversation but she stood there blocking the exit, soft white towel enfolding tan skin. The white of her tanlines pointed up traingularly from her breasts. "It's just a way to fight the cravings."

"Cravings?" She asked, not moving. "You used to smoke."

I shook my head and smiled at her, "Not since the day you were born." That seemed to be the password as she stepped aside from the door and I left, faucet skeleton in hand. I dumped it on the kitchen counter and then hid away in the living room, not feeling ready to sleep yet. I sat for a few minutes, my mind consumed by tanlines and narrow hips. My neck was going to get whiplash with as many times as I had shaken myself out of those thoughts.

My stomach rumbled and I welcomed the distraction as I remembered all the food I had bought. With thoughts of meats and cheeses, I went to the kitchen. The microwave hummed as my daughter sat at the kitchen table. Hair merely damp now, oversized white t-shirt stretched out over her curled up knees, tan feet with white nail polished toes peeking out. "Hi," I said halfheartedly as I began grabbing things from the fridge.

Her eyes stayed glued to me as I prepared an assortment of meats and cheeses sans crackers, the hum of the microwave ever present. Heat rushed to my face as my eyes, of their own volition, kept glancing at her small huddled form watching me. "What?" I asked after a few moments.

She met my eyes, no fight in her own for once, "I never knew you smoked."

"Well, I did."

She thought for a minute, "Why did you stop?"

I stopped chopping cheese and met her eyes, "Because of you."

"Me?" Her voice was like a blast from the past, a sweet curious girl.

I went back to chopping unable to meet her eyes, "Yeah. I wanted to live as long as possible so I could...." I trailed off, feeling awkward, as if I were speaking to an empty space.

"So you could what?" she asked, surprising me.

"So I could spend as much time as possible with you." The silence filled the air, only broken by the clank of a plate and chop of a knife. The hum of the microwave having faded so far to the background that, when it beeped, I jumped. I looked from the microwave to my daughter, who hadn't moved a muscle, her eyes damp. Neither one of us said anything. I finished making my plate and left her there in the kitchen, huddled in her shirt, white nailed toes clenching and unclenching.

I went to finally watch a movie. One of the first times I had ever actually touched my collection. I don't know why, maybe it was the memories, but I chose Nightmare on Elm Street. Johnny Depp's name hadn't even come up in the opening credits when I felt the pressure from her flopping onto the seat next to me, bag of chips in hand. "Oh god, dad. Not this one."

I smiled like I hadn't in years, "Oh, still too scared?"

"What? No. It's just dumb." She crunched a chip.

"What do you mean it's dumb?"

She held her hand up to her mouth, speaking around the chip, "Freddy Krueger is just dumb. Yeah it scared me when I was little, but when I actually finished it I realized just how dumb it is."

"Excuse me?" I asked, thoroughly enjoying every moment of this.

She held her hand up to the TV, palm flat, "Like, yeah he's got all that dream power. But all you have to do is not believe in him. How lame is that? Ooohhhh, scary."

"You know," I cocked my head to the side as if considering it. "You may be right."

"Of course I am." She got up off the couch and went to the shelves. "Let's watch something else."

"Okay," I chuckled. "You pick. What's a good horror movie to you?" I was entranced as she stood before the bookshelves raised on her tippy toes to view the top shelf. Her arm reached, pulling up the edge of her shirt slightly to reveal the flash of a pastel pink pair of cotton panties. I shivered slightly as heat blossomed.

"Yes!" She grabbed one and twirled around, holding it behind her back. "Guess."

"Guess?"

"Yeah, you get three guesses. If you get it right you get a prize."

"Really?" I arched my eyebrow. "And what's the prize?"

"Ummmm," she put her small finger to her tiny pink lips and rocked back and forth on her feet. "If you get it right I have to do whatever you tell me for the entire movie."

"And if I'm wrong?"

Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous whimsy that set my heart pounding. "Then you have to do whatever I tell you for the entire movie."

"Deal," I replied instantly, devious mind already working. "But you have to at least give me a hint."

"Da-ad," she protested, "That's not the game."

"How about two guesses and one hint."

"Deal. Okay so um..." She cocked her head to the side and closed one eye, hands still behind her back, white shirt stretched taut over her little mounds with their tiny perfectly pointed nipples peeking from under the cloth. "Okay, so it's not typically viewed as a horror movie and has a leading actor most known for comedy."

"Frighteners," I said quickly.

"Nuh-uh," she shook her head and giggled. "One more guess, dad." I frowned and went through my memory scouring for anything. "Tick-tock dad."

"Vampire in Brooklyn!"

"Nope," she squealed excitedly warming me through. She hopped forward like a little bunny, tape coming from behind her back, "Cable Guy."

"Cable Guy?"

"Yes," she nodded and went to the dvd player, "one of the best horror movies ever."

"But it's just all comedy."

"That's what makes it so good." She bent over to swap the discs and I got a full view of her panties. They were small cotton panties, her tanline barely peeking out the seams, with a little baby blue heart on the back. "You don't even know you're watching a horror movie." Her little ass wiggled slightly, I almost moaned. "If anyone else had of played the character it would be obvious. Like," she turned her face back to me, my eyes locked on her small ass, "think about everything he does and imagine someone else. You'll get it." It took effort, but I tore my eyes from her adorable panties and met hers. She giggled and turned back to changing the discs.

I settled into the couch, stiff in more ways than one, comfortably aroused, but spending time with my daughter again. Suddenly her feet landed in my lap, sending liquid magma through my loins. "Huh?" I said with the dumbest tone ever.