Page 44 of Baby Girl

So, Heather…” I said, once again opening the topic.

“Well, Heather is nice. Just like we have talked before, she has been really unfortunate. She has spent her life looking for a guy to love her, and she’s willing to do whatever a guy wants, always hoping to get love in return. She is so eager to get it, she sleeps with about every guy she meets, thinking that he’s going to love her. He doesn’t, and she moves on to the next. Lather, rinse, repeat,” Kelli said, shaking her head.

She looked great today. As she sat across the table from me I admired her. Late summer tan, straight black hair, and piercing blue eyes. She was wearing an orange summer dress, and this was the second time I had seen her in a dress. For the most part, the entire time I have known her, she has worn Chuck’s, shorts, and a tee-shirt. She looked quite beautiful in whatever she chose to wear, but today, in this dress, she looked exceptional.

“Baby girl, you look fabulous today. This is the first time I have seen you in that dress, and I must say, I love it,” I said as I nodded at her.

“Why thank you. That’s nice of you to say,” she responded, nodding back at me in mockery.

“You’re adorable. It pleases me that you’ve become comfortable being yourself around me. Joking around and being yourself. When we first met, you were extremely reserved and quiet. You’re not necessarily a chatterbox now, but your more comfortable being you. I like that.”

“Why thank you, again,” she said, nodding again.

“Baby girl, who owns you,” I asked.

“You do, Big Daddy,” she answered.

A week or so ago, we rented a few movies, and watched them at her loft. One of the movies, Kick Ass, was a kind of cute teen superhero movie. One of the characters was a foul mouthed teen girl who called herself “Hit Girl”. Her Mentor was called “Big Daddy”. As we watched the movie, she began to call me Big Daddy, and so far, it had stuck. She didn’t say it all the time, but jokingly, she used it often.

During sex a few nights ago, she started screaming, “Fuck me Big Daddy. Fuck me Big Daddy” as we were having sex. We both erupted in laughter.

“That’s right, baby girl,” I said, smiling.

Can we talk? Like seriously?” Kelli asked quietly.

“Sure, baby, what’s going on?”

“Well, I mean seriously. I want to ask you some questions,” her hands were on either side of her face, her palms curved, and facing inward, making a little tunnel she was looking through.

“Here? You want to talk here?” I asked.

“Sure, there’s no one here, if you want,” she responded through the tunnel. Her body language indicated she was being an immature girl.

“This is fine. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

“Can I speak freely?” she asked through the tunnel.

“Always, Kelli. You’ll never be criticized by me, ever,” I responded in a reassuring tone.

“Okay. Uhhm. Well. What do you think is wrong with me? With us? What make us the freaks that we are?”

“Well, first of all, we’re not freaks. I suppose you mean sexually?”

“Yeah, sexually. Why am I different than most girls, sexually? Why does it make me happy to have you hold me down? How come I like you to choke me? Why does it make me wet when you call me baby girl? And why do I love calling you Daddy when you fuck me? It isn’t normal,” she asked the questions in a whisper-like tone, as if she was embarrassed.

“Well, let me try to explain. First, we’re not freaks. We’re normal. It gets down to definition, kind of like your book, Broken People said, ‘define normal’. But we are normal, okay?”

She nodded slowly.

“Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung didn’t totally agree on all aspects of these theories, but they agreed on most of them. It gets down to upbringing. How we grew up. Neither of us grew up with a same sex parent in the home, so it makes our upbringing kind of one-sided, and difficult to pinpoint exactly what may have happened, but let me try.”

“There are five stages, according to Freud, of psychosexual development. Oral, anal, phallic, latent, and genital. The phallic stage is between the ages of three and six years old, give or take. At this point, children become curious, and begin to become aware of their bodies, and the differences between boys and girls. When they become aware, during this stage, well…it develops a tremendous amount of jealousy toward the parent of the same sex. That jealousy or perceived jealousy is what caused Freud to dub the complex, the Oedipus complex. Oedipus was, in Greek mythology, someone who killed his father so he could sexually possess his mother,” I offered, surprised how much of this information I recalled from school

“I’m kind of lost,” Kelli said, still speaking through her protective tunnel.

“Let me finish, baby, we’ll see if you understand,” I said softly.

“Believe it or not, at that young age, children become fixated on things, sexually. They notice things - they even subconsciously have an understanding of sex and sexuality. Boys become jealous of their father for sleeping with mother, and vice-versa for girls. The boy becomes fixated sexually on their mothers, and jealous of their father. Think in reverse for girls. The boy wants to eliminate the competition of father from the equation, like Oedipus did, by killing him,” I took a drink of my coffee, and thought.