"We can put it in the middle of the front seat." "I don't think so, son." Mike looked in the car. Maybe we can move some stuff around the back seat." I looked in the back seat. "I don't know, but I don't want to leave it. "Where are you going to put the TV?" I heard his father ask. I turned around and saw him carrying his 42 inch flat screen TV. Mike went back in the house to get to last of his things.
The trunk was already full and the back seat wouldn't fit much more. Mike and my husband, and I were getting pretty sweaty loading up the car. It was morning but already it was 90 degrees outside. Finally, he said “Babygirl, I told you if you peed your pants, you would get in trouble.It was August. He looked back into my eyes, but instead of anger, there was this strange look in his eyes as he stared intensely at me. I looked up at him with a look of shock and dismay in my eyes. My eyes getting wider as it kept flowing from my shorts and onto his lap. I panicked, because I couldn’t make it stop. He pulled me back onto his lap and started to tickle my sides again…and then I started to pee. He tickled me on the underside of my thighs, which was the worst spot. I’m seriously going to pee my pants!” But his answer was the same: “If you pee your pants, you’ll be in trouble.” I was trying to get away from him, but he kept on tickling me. But, then I was giggling and laughing so hard that I realized I really did have to pee. Or you’ll get in trouble.” I laughed as he continued to tickle me, not even trying to fight back. He pounced on top of me and continued to tickle me while I shrieked and giggled and told him “No! No Daddy, stop!” Finally, I said “Daddy, stop or I’m going to pee myself!” I tried to get away from him, but only succeeded in getting off his lap and onto the sofa. He was winning the tickle fight and I was laughing uncontrollably and writhing. Soon, I was laughing and squirming and trying to tickle him back. He continued to tickle me, and wouldn’t stop. I would squirm, and tell him to stop, and he would say okay, but then start doing it again. I just wanted to stay on his lap like this for a little bit longer. At first I protested, even though I loved having tickle fights with Daddy. After a while he started telling me jokes, bad jokes that I called “Dad jokes.” I groaned while he insisted they were funny, and I insisted that he probably got them from Laffy Taffy wrappers or something. I felt so safe, so loved, so protected from the world. I was happy just laying there in my Daddy’s arms. After a while, I just laid against his chest crying, with him rocking and whispering to me.Īfter I stopped crying, I was still on Daddy’s lap and he hadn’t moved me yet. Daddy just held me and rocked me, drying my tears with his hands and cooing to me. I was so relieved, and the words just started pouring out of my mouth about the fight I had with my friend, and how horrible I felt. I moved to climb up on his lap, and he didn’t stop me. “Ohhh, babygirl…don’t cry, what happened?” He hugged me close and guided me over to the leather sofa in his office. Daddy got up from his desk and came towards me. All the pent up emotions of the day were just too much for me. “Hi, babygirl, how was yo–what’s wrong, baby?” I couldn’t help it, I started to cry. I stood in the door and said “Daddy?” He turned around in his chair to look at me. I put my backpack down on the table in the dining room (Mom bitches if I leave it in the hallway), and I made my way to the study. I walked into the house, and called to him: I was relieved because I hate talking to Mom about stuff she always tries to find a solution to my problems, but Daddy knows that I just need someone to listen. When I finally got home, Daddy was already there. I was so pissed the whole day, and I couldn’t wait to get home. Today, I got into a huge argument in class with one of my friends.
My friend Julie said that it’s because I have boobs, plus I’m way too old to sit on his lap, anyway. I love cuddling with him, but in the last year or two, Daddy doesn’t want to cuddle with me, or for me to sit on his lap. We talk about everything, and I feel like he’s the only one who knows me.
My first memory is of him coming home and picking me up, holding me in his arms. Everyone always describes me as a Daddy’s girl, and I could care less.