Reality is Different Ch. 04

The smile that I try to show him is more than slightly thin, uneasy. Chagrin and flustered feeling twisting uncomfortably in my stomach as my gaze evades him, dodging down onto the tablecloth to hide amidst the silverware. I don't want this. Not at all, it's just the opposite of what I've been struggling to get myself to do. For him to send me off with someone else, to separate us when I'm trying to get closer. Certainly it isn't where I hoped tonight would go. And there's an anxious little part of me that wonders if that isn't his intention, if I'm the one that's being blind. If he maybe knows exactly what I'm doing, what I'm trying to do, and this is just his way of gently saying 'no.' Pointing me at someone that I wouldn't be insane to want, to love...

"Hey, I get it." Mild and understanding, a sympathetic smile quirked up wryly on his lips. "Embarrassing as hell to have your father set you up with someone, right? What is this, the middle ages?" He throws up his palms as though exasperated, as though he's making the objection for himself. "But hey, if you think about it, he'll be dealing with that too. You'll have a conversation ready-made, talking about what utter squares your dads are. Or feebs, or - you know, whatever the preferred term is for that these days. I've even got a picture of the guy, if you want to see him. Borrowed it from Frankie..."

All this reassurance doesn't quite address the reason that I'm less than thrilled with the idea. But if there's comfort in the words, it's with the fact that they don't particularly come across as someone subtly dissuading his daughter from an unacceptable attraction. More like what it claims to be, an attempt at helping out, at finding me a date. Something I might have even quietly appreciated, past my immediate humiliation, back before this fantasy of mine began...still. At least my gnawing of unease is slightly settled as my father stands up halfway from the table to pull a little photo from his pocket, pass it off to me. "I'm no expert in the subject, but I wouldn't say he's a bad-looking kid. Probably not going to be a quarterback at college, but..."

He shrugs as he drifts off, as I appraise the little picture. Bidding for more time before I have to speak, if nothing else. There isn't really even all that much to see. A somewhat slender boy with brown, disheveled hair and casually rumpled clothes, standing with the kind of passively resistant pose that's often found when teenagers are asked to pose in their parents' photos. He's standing by what looks to be the welcome sign of a state park, or maybe national, smiling the sort of smile that everybody seems to wear in family photos. I can't make out much else - it isn't big enough. He isn't obvious deformed, at any rate, or coated with acne. But neither do I fall in love at this first sight.

"So, what." There's a tang of faint displeasure to my tone, of discontent. "I guess they're doing the same thing right now? Frank's trying to convince this Andy guy that he should go out with me?"

"Not quite." He speaks it reassuringly, slipping down into the chair that's next to mine. Professional, the tone of voice he uses with his clients, showing them he knows exactly what he's doing, that he's thought of everything. "I told Frankie not to say anything until I got an answer out of you. There's no pressure here, sweetheart. The whole thing's up to you. You won't be letting anybody down."

Except for him, of course. With what he's done to set this up for me, with the concern it shows - it would disappoint my father if refused. Inevitably. Mumbling some flimsy, weak half-truth of an excuse for why I can't, or won't. And if I don't, if I accept... "Then what if I say yes, and he says no?" My voice still faintly sour, ungrateful. Almost whining, searching for the smallest problem in his plan. Trying to derail it, without it being my decision.

"Well." His answer comes out slowly, tinged with quiet irony. "I'd think it would actually be pretty obvious, what would happen then. Or what wouldn't happen, rather." His gaze at me a little askance, questioning, before returning to his normal comforting amusement. "Anyway, I'd be awfully surprised. I gave him a picture, too. I'm pretty sure that that poor kid would be begging Frank to set this up. Probably he'll make him wash the car a couple times or something, just to get a chance to meet you."

Yeah. Right. I don't answer this, just shake my head a trace, impulsive, frustrated. Look back down at the table, wishing I could only snap my fingers to turn everything around. Even the little compliment his words implied doesn't make me feel much better, because I know he didn't mean it. Or at best, he meant it only as father, not as a man. A man doesn't send a woman off with someone else, if he thinks she's attractive...it's a brief assemblage of moments before he speaks again, delicately dry. Inquiring. "You know, princess, I'm getting the oddest feeling that you're not completely thrilled with this idea."

I only shrug at that. Barely, my shoulders feeling leaden, stubborn, unresponsive to my will. Another breath, the passing of a beat before I speak. "Dad, can I tell you something?" My voice emerging quiet now, hesitant, struggling to keep an even keel.

"Mm, I don't know, sweetie. You know how much I hate being told things." There's careful humor in his tone, in the pretense of his disapproval. A doubtful frown upon his lips that swiftly vanishes, quirks up again into a sympathetic smile. Soft as he continues, tender and concerned. "I'd imagine I can let you, just this once. What is it?"

"I'm just...with the whole dating thing, you know? I don't feel like, I'm not - um. I'm not sure I even..." Drifting down to silence, frustration aching in my throat. I'm babbling, not making any sense at all. I don't know even what I want to say. Not really. That suicidal impulse pulsing in my heart, just to tell him how I feel, tell him my desires, even though I know I can't. Not just from what could happen - it's the thing itself, the telling that's impossible, the forcing of the words onto my tongue. I can't. There's a wall that stands before me, an edifice of inhibition, of propriety and terror. Of taboo. Like the way I shy away from cursing anywhere that he could hear, but multiplied a thousandfold, so strong that I can hardly even think to break it. I can't just say it. Even if I thought he felt the same, even if I knew it, I'm not sure that I'd be able to.

But I have to tell him something. I want to tell him something, anything that touches even distantly upon the way I feel, anything that could maybe chip away a little at the barrier that blocks my path...I have to shut my eyes before I speak again, seek out courage in the darkness there behind my eyelids. "The guys I've dated, that I've gone out with." Calm, Sarah. My heart is racing, pounding nervous in my chest, but I can say this. My voice emerging whisper-thin. "I mean, I've done some things with them, but I didn't...I haven't done everything. Everything I could have, you know, what - that a lot of girls do. That most girls do, I think." I open up my eyes again, a crack, a peek. My dad's still there. His bulk, his size, his body leaning slightly forward in the chair. His hand upon the table, close to mine. His expression hesitant, uncertain. "I'm still a virgin."

It takes him a while to respond to this. His turn now to part his lips without a sound, trying once or twice before he actually speaks, a beat that lingers with the tension in my throat. Straining still, as though I haven't truly said the words until I hear his answer.

"Really?"

I'm not even sure that it's a question, how it comes out. A muddled mingling of feeling in the word, careful flatness stamped on top of his reaction, beyond what I can clearly understand...but it's hard to miss at least the intonation of surprise, his eyebrow faintly elevated. The rest of him unmoving, as though frozen into place.

"Yeah." Beyond the queasy, anxious feeling in my stomach, there's actually a certain note of quiet satisfaction. I said it. I told him - and there's warmth enough in that to even strengthen my own tongue, to sound a little more myself as I elaborate, explain. "I mean, not...not in every way, you know. I've - well, I probably shouldn't wear white gloves. Or a..." My right hand gestures briefly towards my mouth, evocative of something that would cover it. Abortive, as the blush burns brighter on my cheeks. Too much, still, for me even to imply so plainly that I've given anyone a blowjob. It's easier to say the things I haven't done than it is to tell him what I have. "But the other ways, the main ways. The thing that people mostly mean...yeah." A moment's pause, before a question of my own. "Did you think I wasn't?"

He lets out his breath before he answer this, almost whistling between pursed lips as he shifts backwards in his chair, retreating. Discomfort in his tone. "Well. Ah, I just didn't know, really." It's his gaze now that slides away from mine, hovering a little to my right. "I suppose I'd mostly come to terms with the idea that you weren't, though. Or that you probably weren't, that I couldn't assume...uh. Not for any particular reason, of course, just - you know how it is. You can be a little shy, but you've had your share of evenings out, of parties, and I know what kids are like these days. It wasn't even that much different when I was young myself." His chuckle comes out weakly, a trifle ill at ease. Not exactly often that we talk about this stuff. About sex. "I guess I did assume you'd likely...been with someone, yes. More or less."

"You didn't think that I'd have told you?" My voice descending to a lower timber, huskier, almost imploring, and I'm not even sure of why. It isn't like I would have, really. If I think about it honestly. Not like I told him of the other things I did. Before all this began, I don't think I'd even have considered it, wouldn't have it cross my mind that I should let my father know if I go all the way. If my innocence is taken in a parked car on some darkened street, or in a boyfriend's room when his family's away. It's only these ideas lodged inside my consciousness that makes it seem like something that's expected, something that I'd think he should demand. That I should tell him everything, hold no secrets from my Daddy.

It isn't sexual, the feeling, not really. Not directly, anyway. Ties more into the sense of adoration that the stories so exalt, that my heart quickens to adopt, the devoted worship of a girl for the man she treasures most. In my imagination, I would come before him every night to give him my confession, offer an accounting of everything that I've done wrong and right. Every action that would earn the benediction of his hand, stroking softly at my cheek, rubbing tenderly behind my neck...and everything that would deserve a punishment as well, that would see me turned across his knee to be corrected of my faults. He would know me perfectly, inside and out. I'd be an open book, a pane of glass, naked and exposed for him to see.

His actual response, of course, is a bit more realistic. "Tell me that?" A single note of startled laughter looses from his throat, almost disbelieving, as I let my gaze drift down again. Tracing slightly guilty at the buttons of his shirt. "No. No, sweetheart, I can't exactly say I did. I mean, granted, we tend to share a lot, but it's...I didn't think it was that much. And you may recall there was a while there when I kinda had to fight to get you to tell me anything that you were up to." His smile still bemused, a touch perplexed. "To be honest, I'm not sure why you're even telling me this now."

That's a question, even for myself. But I think I have an inkling of an answer. The thrill of that confession I imagined - that's a part of it, of course, revealing my secrets to him, the private aspects of my life. But there's more practical considerations, too, a reason why I'd want him to know I haven't been with anyone. I think it matters to him, maybe. The stuff I found on his computer - there was a sign of it even from the very first one that I saw. "Teen gets first cock." Not exactly subtle, the suggestion of the words, even if they probably weren't actually true of what the video depicts. Innocence. Virginity. A girl still unused and undespoiled, at least until the male star comes onscreen to do the honors. Her body shared with no one else, belonging just to him.

There were a few such videos I noticed, names that caught my eye. "Sexy bitch gets cherry popped." "First time virgin caught on cam." "Defloration" - that one especially was memorable, a four-dollar word mixed in with all the piles of 'tits' and 'cock' and 'fuck.' The plucking of a maiden's flower...it might just be coincidence, the handful of such videos he has, a kind of overlap in concept with the younger women that he clearly likes. But there's enough of them to make me wonder, to hope that there could be a benefit to my 'condition.' That my lack of real experience in sex might somehow hold the possibility of tempting him - if only he's aware of it.

Not that I can give that as the reason, clearly. A shrug, instead, my voice a trifle quiet, thick, struggling with half-truths and diversions. "You're my dad. You're supposed to know everything about me, pretty much." Awkward, an empty explanation. The moment hangs there silently between us until I speak again, add to the attempt. "And anyway, I feel like I'm maybe...ready, you know. Not to be one anymore. If it's with the right person, the right guy." With you, daddy. I think the words as forceful, as emphatic as I can, as though to plant them in his head, to awaken him to the suggestion. Plaintive. Has it even crossed your mind? Just the smallest, guilty thought, the briefest flicker of temptation...

He doesn't answer for a while, breathing low and even. Looking halfway at me with an uncertain, thoughtful gaze, struggling to make some sense out of the incoherent mess I've given him. When he does speak, it's only slowly, questioning. "Then...what, you're thinking that you'd only want to go out on a date with this guy if you can see yourself...doing more?"

I just shrug again, noncommittal, a little bit disheartened. Obviously, that has almost nothing to do with what I'm really thinking. But I kind of doubt that something more intelligible could be made to fit to what I've said. Save for the truth, of course. The last thing I could say.

The moment draws out silently again, as he waits perhaps for more response than this. But eventually he shakes his head a trace, lets out his breath through pursed and troubled lips. His voice follows afterward, probing quietly. "I don't know, sweetheart. You ask me, that sounds a little backwards. Usually you take some time to get to know someone before deciding anything like that, if you would or wouldn't want to...well, to be with them." The euphemism emerges faintly tight, uncomfortable. "Making up your mind before you even meet the guy, it seems like a great way to end up doing something you'll regret. Or maybe to avoid doing anything at all."

The last few words of this are spoken slightly firmer, his tone strengthening with sudden revelation. Knowing. He understands - not everything, I'm pretty sure, but he knows it's an excuse, it's an evasion. I half expect for him to call me out on it, to refuse my faint deception. But of course, he doesn't, won't. It's not his way. Or perhaps he wonders just a little bit, perhaps he's not completely sure...either way, he only sits there quiet as the seconds pass, and when he speaks again, it's softer, more abstracted. "I guess we haven't talked about this kind of thing that much. Birds and bees and boys. I was...I mean, your mom gave you the Talk and such, and I suppose I-"

"No she didn't." At last I answer, murmur, interrupt. Sourly. It's small of me, I know it is, but I don't want to give her even just this modicum of credit.

"No?" He sounds surprised. "She said she did. I think. A while ago, of course, but..."

"She tried to." I have to grant her that, reluctantly. Looking up to see the quiet question in my father's eyes. "But I pretty much knew everything she was telling me already from health class, and from the computer and stuff. So it wasn't really anything."

"Ah." He accepts this easily enough, sounding distantly amused. It's true, of course. However many years ago that was now, when my mom came in all serious to tell me things I'd heard before already, to barely hint about the nature of activities that I'd seen for myself in videos online. I wasn't angry at her then, didn't realize what she was really like - it was just embarrassing, and I was glad to see it swiftly end. As was she, I think. Probably I shouldn't be surprised to hear she'd let dad think she'd done more than she really had.

"Anyway," he continues mildly, a careful question in his tone. Subtle hesitation in his words. "I guess I'm a bit...well. I just wonder." His eyes on mine - I can see that, in the brief and fleeting moments that my own gaze flickers to his face. "Is it on purpose, that you haven't? Or is it just how things worked out?"

The smile that flits across my lips is a slight and nervous shadow, driven by the anxious thumping of my heart. As uncomfortable as it might be normally to talk about this with your parents, it's nothing put against the situation I'm in now, facing both the prospect of a father's judgment and of a man's appraisal. Even if the latter part is just a hope, a dream. "Um." I'm not sure what he wants to hear, which answer he'd prefer. That I'm committed to my innocence, virtuous and pure...or that I'm willing, eager, waiting only for an opportunity to indulge my deepest instincts. A man like him, to show me everything that I've been missing.

Neither one of which is even true, of course. Not really, not exactly. "It's kind of both, I guess." My voice is slender, weak, reaching for a quietly self-conscious humor that it can't completely grasp. The nervousness I feel behind it must be all too plain for him to hear. "I mean, I'm...I didn't like decide I definitely wouldn't, or that I'm waiting to get married or anything like that. I just - I've never really felt as though I should. Not yet."

He doesn't answer this. Not quickly, anyway, not in words - but from the corner of my eye I see him slightly nod his head, as though approving, and I can't help the hopeful question that tumbles subtly imploring from my throat. "Are you glad, or...are you proud of me, for waiting?"

"Hah." He laughs abruptly, startled, the sound of it a trace uncomfortable. More than a trace. "Proud might be a little much. I think I'm..." And then a pause, as he realizes how this sounds. "That is, I'm obviously plenty proud of you, sweetheart. For all kinds of reasons. I just wouldn't say that it quite applies to this, so much. I don't want to try to tell you what you should and shouldn't do, as far as...anyway, what I mean is, I wouldn't be any less proud of you if you did have that, ah, experience. Or if you decide to have it in the future."

The answer hangs there for a while, careful, proper. Then he briefly laughs again, softer now, and continues on in tones that taste of faint confession, of relief. "I'll say, though, I'm - I think you've made the right choice, in being careful. Obviously I'm biased, and probably I'm a little bit old-fashioned, too, but...you only get one first time, after all. A lot of women out there, they end up just kind of tossing theirs away, spending it with people they regret. Which - and honestly, it even is about the time for you to try things out, to make mistakes, to have regrets, but some things are worth doing right, I think. Worth waiting for, until you find somebody really special. Maybe not the man you'll end up getting married to, I'm not sure that was ever realistic, but someone who...who you absolutely love, you know? Who doesn't give you any reservations." The smile quirking upward on his lips, slightly rueful, self-aware. "Who appreciates what you'd be giving him, by holding back right now."