Jamie smiled at me, the first smile I had seen on her normally bright face today. “Okay.”
We chatted about mindless things as we ate, and then Jamie and I washed the dishes together. She managed to splash a fair amount of water on her shirt. For some reason, I hadn't registered how well-shaped her breasts had become. Sure, I had caught glimpses of her in the tub or getting dressed over the years, but I had never really LOOKED at her. This time, I was.
The task at hand, discussing who knows what questions about human sexual response with my beautiful, shapely young daughter, suddenly seemed like it could be hard. Very hard. Holding-a-throw-pillow-in-my-lap hard.
“Snap out of it, asshole!” my conscience yelled at me, as it delivered an imaginary swift kick to my ass. “That's your daughter! Pull yourself together and deal with it like the good father you are.”
Sound advice. Yes, I can do this. I've potty-trained this k**. I've explained love and loss, happiness and sadness, success and failure. I've done everything all the parenting books tell you to do when it comes to teaching an adolescent, and I think I've done it better than the public school system could ever hope to. Now she wants to know more. Well, better to discuss it with her old man than with a couple of possibly ignorant teenage girls.
I said, “Go take your shower. Let me know when you're out of the bathroom so I can clean up, too. We'll meet in the living room in half an hour for question and answer time. If I don't know something, we'll research it together. I don't want you to be uncomfortable because you don't know about things. Deal?”
“Deal. Thanks, Dad,” Jamie said. “You're the best.” Then she kissed me on the cheek and bounced out of the room.
The feel of her breast against me when she kissed me made me realize again how difficult it might be to get through this part of parenting while still maintaining my composure. When Jamie was done in the bathroom and I got my shower, I shot a huge load into the tub drain. I lied to myself about the identity of the girl I fantasized I was fucking.
I dressed in elastic bicycle shorts (to try to keep things under control), loose sweat pants, and a t-shirt. I went to the living room, and a moment later Jamie appeared, wearing a short skirt and a loose tank top. It looked like she wasn't wearing a bra. She flopped down on the sofa next to me and snuggled up against me. Yeah, this was going to be a challenge.
“Okay, honey, what do you want to know?” I asked.
“Everything, I guess. I mean, I know how people make babies and the process of sexual intercourse and all that, but I don't understand anything about how my body is supposed to react. Like, what am I supposed to feel?” she asked.
“Well, um, it's supposed to feel good. But you should think very long and hard before you have sex with anyone. See, guys have a problem, especially young guys. They tend to want sex all the time, and sometimes they don't make wise choices about it. Sex should be between two people who care about each other, who love each other. After all, there are all the diseases out there, and there's the chance that the girl can get pregnant, so it's a big responsibility. Even if everyone is healthy, a baby should have both a mother and a father there to raise them,” I said.
“I didn't have a mother to raise me, and I think I'm growing up okay,” Jamie said.
“You're growing up fine, honey, but it's been tough for me, sometimes, to do the things for you that a mother is better suited to do.”
“I can't imagine what Mom could have done better than you,” she said.
“She could have taught you things about your body and the changes it's gone through.”
“You mean about my period, and my breasts growing, and getting hair down there and stuff?”
“Exactly.”
“But you explained that to me. I was all prepared when my first period started. Heck, I was the one who had to tell Melody what was going on when she got hers. She thought she was dying or something, 'cuz her mother didn't tell her anything. I was the one who had to take her to the school nurse to get supplies her first time. So I think you've done a really good job,” Jamie said as she hugged my arm.
Damn, I could feel her breasts against me again.
“So, can you tell me what it is you want to know?” I asked.
“I don't know. I guess I just want to know more about why my body feels the way it does sometimes,” Jamie said.
“Can you give me an example?”
“Well, like, why do my nipples get hard?”
Shit. Do I really have to do this?
“I guess there can be a number of reasons. One, which I'm sure you've noticed, is when you're cold. Most people get hard nipples when they're cold. It's sort of like really big goosebumps,” I answered.
“But sometimes they get hard when I'm not cold,” Jamie said. “Why is that?”
“Your nipples can get hard when you're, um, excited, too.”
“You mean like when I'm happy about something? I haven't noticed that.”
“Well, no, I mean when you feel good.”