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Even Daddy Tate said so.
“Okay, questions are very good. That’s right.” He did remember, and he was so proud of himself he smiled as he released my hands. “I would like to understand if you want me to help you change clothes or if you want privacy. I don’t know how to help.”
Oh.
Looking down at my dress, I shrugged. “I have very pretty panties on because that’s important in case you get into a car accident and… so I don’t care?”
Was that a bad answer?
Daddy Tate groaned and looked up at the ceiling, so it might not have been a great answer. “Help. I don’t want to be a bad Daddy.”
Was he talking to God?
Zeus?
The neighbors?
The houses were kind of small and close together, so I could hear when the happy ones started to fight or when the boring ones tried to have game night and ended up fighting too.
No one should ever play Monopoly.
When Daddy Tate finally looked back at me, because maybe Zeus wasn’t very chatty, he took a deep breath. “Good communication. Okay. I’m going to be honest because that’s important.”
He might’ve been trying to be honest but it looked like it was giving him a tummy ache.
But Daddy Tate was too good a Daddy to lie, so he kept being honest. “I would get aroused seeing you in panties and helping to change your clothes. I have no idea if I need to explain that or if it’s assumed. So. Yes. I would like to help you but not if my being aroused would make you uncomfortable.”
Oh.
Daddy Tate was thinking naughty things about me.
No giggling.
No giggling.
Had to look at least mostly big or he was going to worry.
Daddy Tate was the worrier kind of Daddy, too.
“As long as we’re going to have more than one grown-up date and more than one Little-time date, I don’t mind if you see my panties.” No giggling. No giggling. “You’re a very good Daddy and I know I can trust you.”
If I couldn’t trust the man who brought me the best cheesy poofy potato thingies and ice cream cone treats, who could I trust?
Daddy Tate nodded again and looked more confident, so there were no more confused puppy faces. “Alright, then I’m going to help you.”
No giggling.
No giggling.
“Thank you, Daddy Tate.” I decided not to dawdle just in case he found something else to worry about. “I’ll show you where they are.”
Next time he’d be able to do it on his own because he was smart, and I knew he’d remember where they were… as long as I remembered to put them back where they belonged.
Hmm… so maybe he’d need help once in a while.
Daddy Tate paid very good attention when we walked over to my big bedroom, so I knew he’d be able to do it next time. He was very smart. He even walked over to the dresser without me having to tell him.
“Here we go.” Fun stuff at the top and boring stuff at the bottom. “These are my fun pajamas that aren’t Little jammies.”
