“I was literally photographed thousands of times at that con,” I said.
“Yes, but by strangers. It just felt… different. I was making sure you were good.”
“You’re very sweet, daddy, but you can have all the pictures you want of me. And I want lots of the two of us,” I said. “I want to show you off.”
Later we were eating lunch at a nice little restaurant that was quiet for a Saturday. Daddy said they did a lot of their business during the summer, but it wasn’t as busy during the off-season. I was busy eating so it took me a moment to notice he was picking at his food. I could tell he was thinking.
“Is everything ok, dad,” I asked. We’d agreed in the car that out in public today I’d call him dad or Ben, just to be safe.
“Just thinking about Meg. Things are going to come to a head about us sooner or later. Knowing Meg, probably sooner,” he said.
Older guys always reached a point where they worried about what their friends will think about our relationship and it made me sad. For me, and many girls, you start young when it comes to chasing after older guys. When I was 13 I chased after the 17-year-old guys. That’s when many girls discovered that if 13-year-old boys were immature assholes, 17-year-old boys were just a slightly more mature variation of asshole. It took longer, but you figured it out eventually.
The girls I went to school with either backed away and dated guys closer to their own age or took it. I doubled down. Well, maybe 22 was better. No? How about 30? No?
I dated a guy for three months last year and he had been 35, and I found out too late, still married. Ben was the oldest guy I’d been with. He hasn’t asked and I was really hoping he wouldn’t because he might freak out.
I knew a lot of people frowned on the age difference. But I knew what I liked. I wasn’t some wide-eyed naive girl. I liked older men and was often the one convincing them it was ok. I just wanted someone older, kinder, and more experienced who could take care of me and make me feel safe. What was so horrible about that?
The hard thing was finding a man who was all those things and not embarrassed to be with me. I hoped Ben wasn’t about to disappoint me. A lot.
“So what are you going to do?” I asked.
He played with his salad a bit. “The problem, you see, is that I’m a planner. This is what policy wonks do… we plan. Here’s a problem, now research it, read everything you can, talk to people, talk to some more people and then write until your eyes bleed and voila! You create a document, a game plan where you advise everyone what to do.”
“Wow,” I said. I hadn’t realized quite what daddy did before.
He laughed. “Don’t look so impressed. I neglected the part where people ignore you, rewrite your advice, and then do what they wanted to do in the first place.”
“Oh,” I said. “That sounds… frustrating.”
“It used to be, but then I realized I still got paid and they liked the work, even if they ignored it. You make your peace with it. Besides, the schadenfreude you get when they ignore your advice and what they do turns out to be a disaster is pretty amazing,” he said.
I took a sip of my coffee and looked at him and waited for him to get back to his original point.
“But I don’t want to be the guy that plans everything anymore. That guy never would have taken a leap of faith with you. He’d study people that had gone through May-November romances and see what they did right and wrong. He’d plan, analyze and then probably conclude it was madness to get involved with you,” he said.
“That guy sucks, dad,” I said with a hint of brat in my voice.
“Well, he had his good moments too. So I’ve been thinking of what I’m going to do, that doesn’t involve doing everything I just said.”
I must have looked confused, because he laughed.
“Yeah, I know how it sounds. Ride with me for a moment,” he said. I nodded, curious as to where he was going with this.
“I’m greedy so I still want the next month or so just us and not have to share you with anyone else. The holidays are right out because there’s no way I subject you to that kind of horror. Christmas is nothing but unending drama.
“Maybe after Valentine’s Day,” he mused.
“Oh god,” I said. Inner voice outside again. Damn it.
He misunderstood my reaction. “Is that too long? We can do something sooner…”
“No, no,” I said, interrupting him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off, but my birthday is February 14.”
He looked puzzled. “What’s so awful about having a birthday on Valentine’s Day? I figure at least it’s romantic.”
“God no,” I said. “First of all, it’s worse than a Christmas birthday. People will combine gifts at Christmas, but maybe you get something awesome that they spent a little more money on. Valentine’s Day, they combine the gift, but it’s always something cheesy and ‘romantic’. Do you know how much awful lingerie I’ve got on my birthday and then be expected to model it for the guy?”
“Oh god,” he said, looking horrified but also trying not to laugh. “Wait, you’re 19. How many years have you been getting shitty lingerie?”
“Since I was 13,” I said. That got a bit of a look from daddy. I shrugged.
“The first few years it was from dumbasses hoping to wow me with lingerie. They didn’t get anywhere. Besides, most of it was just awful. Not sexy. Not even slutty, which I could handle. Just… trashy and literally cheap. A ‘hey, so I was in Wal-Mart and I thought you would look awesome in this, why don’t you go try it on?’ level of cheap.
“So I get one gift instead of two, it’s crap, I might get supper in a crowded restaurant that everyone in town eats at anyway and then I have to wear said trashy outfit and I’m expected to put out. Bah, humbug.” I said, ending my tirade.
Daddy started laughing so hard I thought he might not be able to breath.
“Ok, actually, I’m glad I know. I promise you’ll get at least two gifts, and no trashy lingerie to be found,” he said.
“You better,” I said, trying to look serious and scary, which is hard when you’re wearing a Disney princess dress. “Or at least make the lingerie trashy and expensive.”
“Ok, so this is what I’m thinking,” he said, wandering back to the main topic while wiping tears from his eyes. “I’ll probably use Christmas to lay some of the groundwork that I met someone in New York, I like her but we’re taking it slow and if things keep going well I’ll start to introduce her to people after Valentine’s Day. Does that sound ok?” he asked.
“You want to introduce me to your friends and family? You don’t want to try and keep me secret? It’s ok if you want to, I understand,” I said.
I was lying, of course. But I was trying to be a brave little girl. Fortunately, daddy didn’t bite.
“Why would I want to do that? Yes, it makes sense to wait for a few months to make sure this is a good thing, although I’m already pretty damn sure of that. But there comes a point where all I’m doing is hiding you from others because I’m behaving like a dick who is embarrassed by the age difference. I don’t want that.
“You went to school for the last two weeks wearing your collar and I know you got crap for it, no matter how much you deflect. But you did it because wearing it means something to you. I mean something to you. How can I not be as brave as my baby girl?”
I wanted to jump across the table and kiss him. If he had said we’re going home to fuck right now, I’d say there was no need, just find a secluded spot and I was good to go. Instead I grabbed his hand, hard.
“Thank you, daddy. That sounds good.” I said, feeling a little teary. “Are you going to get a lot of grief over the age difference?”
He gave me a look I’d seen before in New York.
“As I said before, little girl, after you go through certain things, you learn what’s important and what’s not. Friends giving me shit over your age is not important. And they should know better.”
I nodded. Ok, he might be a keeper. Then I had another thought.
“You’re not waiting for my birthday so when you introduce me, you can say I’m in my 20s and not a teenager, are you?”
He took my hand and kissed it. “Trust me, princess, it’s not going to matter. I can say you’re in your 20s and given how young you look, no one is going to believe me anyway. They’re going to assume I’m a lecherous pervert preying on a young woman.”
“Pfft, like I have a problem with that.”
***
After lunch we drove into Kingston. I ruthlessly grabbed control of his car’s music system with my phone and subjected him to a K-pop playlist I had. Ok, so maybe I was still a little grumpy about the run to the jacuzzi last night. He suffered through it because I’m cute and awesome.
On the way I noticed the time and sent Gillian another text.
“Still alive. Not buried in a back yard.” I hit send.
“You just think you’re funny. Did you get laid?”
For a lesbian, she liked knowing about my sex life. I sent back a lust filled emoji. And then, for added badness.
“I think I saw another dimension for a moment.”
“I fucking hate you. Was I getting laid in this other dimension?”
I sent a sad face emoji. Because I am a bitch sometimes.
“Oh fuck you sideways, bitch.”
Which was fair.
“Today’s phrase?”
“Heather and Lesley are stupid cunts.”
“Yes they are. Go. Try not to spread your legs in the next hour.”
“No promises,” I sent back.
We finally arrived in Kingston and daddy found a place to park. I’d never been there before and other than the weird fetish involving an old rock band called the Tragically Hip (“Never speak ill of The Hip in Kingston, princess,” daddy warned me. “I doubt I’ll be able to save you.”) it was a nice place. There were a couple of comic book stores, which we hit. I was reading a Black Widow graphic novel for several minutes when daddy gently took it from my hand and put it in the pile of things he was buying.
A little while later in another store I saw a giant Stitch plushie and made a squealing noise. Daddy promptly brought it up to the cash and bought it for me, despite my protests.
“You don’t have to buy me all the things,” I said, after we left the store and headed towards his car to put all our purchases in. I had been fairly grown-up at lunch but now I was feeling small again, which made me pouty. And then I added in a quieter voice “I want a daddy, not a sugar daddy.”