done
wrong?”
“I do understand,” she said, dropping
the attitude. “You asked me to give myself to you with no reservations, but I
admit I still have some. This is a strange journey for me.”
Bob resisted the urge to go to her and
hold her hands. “I know that. It’s a natural step for me to become your Daddy,
much more difficult for you to give up what you believe to be your rights and
become a child again.” He knew from talking to others that acting out was very
much a part of that acclimating process.
“If you’re asking what would hurt me
the most, the answer is being separated from you. Don’t send me away, please. I
promise to do better.”
Bob rose from his seat. “I think
you’ve just made your own decision. I’m afraid that’s exactly what has to
happen. Not forever, not even for long, but for a while at least you must leave
here. Think about what you want and who you want to be, then maybe you can come
back to me.”
It broke his heart to say it. What if
she didn’t return? But he knew it was in both their best interests to take a
little break. They’d catapulted from one night together into an intense,
full-fledged relationship with scarcely any time for reflection.
“I suggest you take the opportunity to
visit your family,” he added, “although you can do whatever you like. This is
your time out.”
* * * *
I don’t want a time out , she wanted to scream. But when Daddy
made up his mind there was nothing she could do but obey. Candy called her
parents that afternoon to say she was coming for a surprise visit. She packed a
bag and Daddy bought her a plane ticket to Arizona.
It would be nice to see her parents,
she tried to convince herself as she took a taxi to the airport and waited in
line to board. And she needed time alone, away from Bob—not Daddy, Bob—to sort
herself out.
She no longer knew exactly who she
was. She spent so much of her time as Little Girl Candy and occasionally
Teenage Candy that she no longer remembered quite who Grown Up Candy was. Maybe
she’d never known. It felt like her entire life had been a pose.
Her parents were there to greet her at
the airport. Mom and Dad—her “real” Dad. How she’d missed them both. Dad looked
older, his hair whiter. Mom looked exactly the same, her salt and pepper hair
brushed severely back from her forehead and her eyes bright and seeing
everything.
“Darling, you look so good,” her
mother declared, holding her at arm’s length. “So healthy and almost glowing.
You’re not pregnant are you?”
“No, Mom.” She snorted. “Not a chance
of that.”
“Aren’t you seeing someone? You said
you were living with some man.”
“I am, but we take every precaution.
Trust me I am not pregnant nor do I plan to be.” Ever. How could I be
the little girl if I had a baby?
“Oh.” Her mother’s face fell. She had
grandbabies dancing in her mind’s eye.
“How are you guys?” Candy wrapped an
arm around each of their waists and looked from one to the other. “How’s the
golf, Dad?”
“It sucks. Don’t ask. I’ve been
playing for twenty-five years and I never get any better. Why do I do this to
myself? I don’t know.”
She laughed. He was such a doll, her
real Dad. It made her wonder why she felt such a strong need for a substitute
one, for such unusual age play. It wasn’t as if she was the daughter of a
single mom, desperately seeking after the father she’d never met. She came from
the most normal, well-adjusted family possible. Yet she was an anomaly. What
would her parents think if they knew about her crazy living arrangement? Could
she ever share the details of her life?
As much as they loved her, she didn’t
think so. This wasn’t like coming out of the closet as a homosexual, which
wouldn’t bother her liberal parents at all. Her odd lifestyle choice would seem
dark, dangerous and demeaning to them. Her feminist mother would quite simply
have a cow. No. She would have to keep the exact
wrong?”
“I do understand,” she said, dropping
the attitude. “You asked me to give myself to you with no reservations, but I
admit I still have some. This is a strange journey for me.”
Bob resisted the urge to go to her and
hold her hands. “I know that. It’s a natural step for me to become your Daddy,
much more difficult for you to give up what you believe to be your rights and
become a child again.” He knew from talking to others that acting out was very
much a part of that acclimating process.
“If you’re asking what would hurt me
the most, the answer is being separated from you. Don’t send me away, please. I
promise to do better.”
Bob rose from his seat. “I think
you’ve just made your own decision. I’m afraid that’s exactly what has to
happen. Not forever, not even for long, but for a while at least you must leave
here. Think about what you want and who you want to be, then maybe you can come
back to me.”
It broke his heart to say it. What if
she didn’t return? But he knew it was in both their best interests to take a
little break. They’d catapulted from one night together into an intense,
full-fledged relationship with scarcely any time for reflection.
“I suggest you take the opportunity to
visit your family,” he added, “although you can do whatever you like. This is
your time out.”
* * * *
I don’t want a time out , she wanted to scream. But when Daddy
made up his mind there was nothing she could do but obey. Candy called her
parents that afternoon to say she was coming for a surprise visit. She packed a
bag and Daddy bought her a plane ticket to Arizona.
It would be nice to see her parents,
she tried to convince herself as she took a taxi to the airport and waited in
line to board. And she needed time alone, away from Bob—not Daddy, Bob—to sort
herself out.
She no longer knew exactly who she
was. She spent so much of her time as Little Girl Candy and occasionally
Teenage Candy that she no longer remembered quite who Grown Up Candy was. Maybe
she’d never known. It felt like her entire life had been a pose.
Her parents were there to greet her at
the airport. Mom and Dad—her “real” Dad. How she’d missed them both. Dad looked
older, his hair whiter. Mom looked exactly the same, her salt and pepper hair
brushed severely back from her forehead and her eyes bright and seeing
everything.
“Darling, you look so good,” her
mother declared, holding her at arm’s length. “So healthy and almost glowing.
You’re not pregnant are you?”
“No, Mom.” She snorted. “Not a chance
of that.”
“Aren’t you seeing someone? You said
you were living with some man.”
“I am, but we take every precaution.
Trust me I am not pregnant nor do I plan to be.” Ever. How could I be
the little girl if I had a baby?
“Oh.” Her mother’s face fell. She had
grandbabies dancing in her mind’s eye.
“How are you guys?” Candy wrapped an
arm around each of their waists and looked from one to the other. “How’s the
golf, Dad?”
“It sucks. Don’t ask. I’ve been
playing for twenty-five years and I never get any better. Why do I do this to
myself? I don’t know.”
She laughed. He was such a doll, her
real Dad. It made her wonder why she felt such a strong need for a substitute
one, for such unusual age play. It wasn’t as if she was the daughter of a
single mom, desperately seeking after the father she’d never met. She came from
the most normal, well-adjusted family possible. Yet she was an anomaly. What
would her parents think if they knew about her crazy living arrangement? Could
she ever share the details of her life?
As much as they loved her, she didn’t
think so. This wasn’t like coming out of the closet as a homosexual, which
wouldn’t bother her liberal parents at all. Her odd lifestyle choice would seem
dark, dangerous and demeaning to them. Her feminist mother would quite simply
have a cow. No. She would have to keep the exact
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