“Do you think that we should talk about this, baby?” Daddy asked me, taking a small bite of his food, but neither of us seemed interested in eating.
“What do you want to talk about?” I muttered into my glass of water, not allowing myself to make eye contact with him.
“What were you doing in my room?” he asked me matter of fact, his emotions being tossed aside.
I could not read him. Normally I knew what was going on with him or what he was thinking, but now, I had no idea. Was he angry about what happened and was about to yell at me? Why did he have to turn himself off now?
“I was... I,” I could not give him a straight answer but my flushed face told the story for me. “I am going to bed.”
“Andrea, you sit down right this second,” he called after me, anger and control in his voice, something I had rarely heard from him.
I stopped and turned myself on my heels, making my way back to the table and sitting down across from him. I looked down at my fingers as they twisted together and I could feel my breathing become shallow. I was nervous and scared of what was going to happen.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He asked me, getting up and moving his chair so that he was within an arm's reach of me.
“I used to believe that to be true,” I told him honestly, trying to look up but still unable to make eye contact with him.
There was a time in which I could tell my father anything, no matter what it was. I did not feel that it was the same now. The older I got, the harder it was to share my thoughts with him, because honestly, some of my thoughts were not what I felt my daddy should be hearing from me. Most of them were about boys and sex. How does a teenage girl talk to her father about such things?
“Do you not feel you can tell me anything any more?” He asked me curiously, a sound of hurt echoing out through his voice.
“It's just,” I tried to figure out what the best way to say this was but there was only one way. “You are my father, there are things that a girl should not discuss with her father.”
“Oh yeah?” he questioned. “Name one.”
“Sex,” I answered quickly, but soon regretted it. Did I just say that I could not talk about sex with my father? I should have said boys or feminine issues, anything but sex.
“Sex,” he repeated back, thinking about the word to himself before he moved himself a little closer to me. “What about sex can you not talk about with me?”
“All of it,” I said shocked that he had even asked me that question. It should be obvious why I would not want to talk about sex with him. “It is just weird.”
“And leaving your nightgown on my picture in my room is not weird?” He questioned, causing my face to light up as red snow white lips against snow.
“I can...” I stumbled over my words and wanted to dash for my room, lock myself in and become lost for the rest of my teen years. “I can explain.”
“You don’t have to,” he gave me a soft reassuring smile and placed his hand on my leg. “You can go to bed if you like.”
“Thank you,” I nodded, standing up from the table and heading out of the kitchen, but I couldn’t leave, I was to curious. “Daddy?”
“Yes baby?” he answered looking up at me, big blue eyes burning into me, making my heart race. “What is is?”
“Can I ask you a question?” I could feel my heart racing and my palms were beginning to sweat.
“Of course,” he answered with a sigh, as if I had not learned this about him already. “You can ask me anything you like.”
I walked back over to where he was sitting and stopped a few feet in front of him, my fingers twisting with each other. It took me a minute to let the nerves in my stomach settle before I could ask him my question.
“What is it like?” I asked him, looking down at my fingers, once again unable to make eye contact with him.
“What is what like?” He inquired further into my question.
“Sex,” I whispered, unsure if the words had even left my mouth or not.
“It varies,” he answered quickly and honestly. “Depends on the person you are having sex with and the events leading up to the act.”
“Okay,” I answered, nodding my head. “I guess I will go to bed now.”
I turned around and began to head for my bedroom. I walked slowly, trying to figure out why I had just asked my dad this question I had never even dreamed of asking anyone, more so him.