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“You needed a loving Daddy. You deserved a loving Daddy. You still need and deserve it. If you want that, consider this me applying for the job.”
“Don’t you mean Mommy?”
She shakes her head. “Mommies are soft and indulgent. They’re more about nurturing. I can be nurturing and indulgent, too, but I’m a disciplinarian, a protector.”
“God…” I put my hand over my face. “Is it weird that this turns me on?”
She smiles. “No. Not at all. And no, I’m not surprised if you were planning to ask. I had the feeling you were Little the night I met you.”
“Little?”
She trails her finger down my chest between my breasts. “Little in here. On the inside. There’s a duality—the little girl who needs limits and cuddles and protection and the woman who needs caring and passion.”
“And you want to give me that?”
“Yes. And let me tell you that having this deep of a conversation this early in a relationship is out of character for me. I’ve had my share of partners. Only one was serious and in retrospect, I really didn’t know a lot about her before jumping the gun. I thought my feelings for her were strong, but baby, you knocked me off my feet. I used to hear people talk about love and first sight and thought it was a bunch of bullshit. You’ve made me a believer and I want...I want…”
I put a finger to her lips. I know what she’s going to say, and I know when she says it, I’ll say yes. I sense she’s been hurt, too. “Tell me about your hot mess phase.”
She smiles sadly, takes a lock of my hair between her fingers. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, she sighs and tells me the story of a failed relationship marked by obsession and jealousy. Tandy pauses at several points in the story, and I can see she’s blamed herself; even though Celeste was manipulative and borderline abusive in her behavior, at the end of the day Tandy feels the need to take responsibility for both their pain.
“I didn’t do due diligence,” she says. “I didn’t know anything about her when she moved in other than we had great sexual chemistry and the same taste in food and music. I saw what I wanted to see. That wasn’t fair to either of us. If I’d gotten to know her…”
“Your relationship failed because you didn’t know your partner. Mine failed because I didn’t know myself.” I lean back on the sofa and look at the spinning fan above us. “I think we have something in common, though. Did either of our partners ask what we wanted?”
“Damn.” Tandy leans back, too. “You’re right. It’s crazy how people can connect in every way except the way it matters.”
I look over at her. “You don’t have to rush things with me, Tandy. You don’t even have to do stuff like you did today. It’s enough to have someone who wants to know me, who wants to be known. As for what you said…the part about being my Daddy…”
She looks over and my heart flutters. She’s so gorgeous. My mouth grows dry. I want to find the right words, but all I can think to say is “I want that. I want it.”
I don’t think Tandy came over with the intent of taking me to bed, but that’s what’s happening. The anxieties I carried between the sheets aren’t there with her. With Tandy I discover my original self, my own honest passion.
She’s so careful, undressing me slowly and almost reverently. She tells me the breasts I’ve always considered too small are perfect and when she leans down to crown the top of each one with a kiss, little surges of pleasure radiate through my core.
She lays me on the bed, asking me about each tattoo—the hyacinth on my shoulder, the rose on my hip, the mermaid on my thigh. When she gets to the lioness on my back, I tell her it’s the only one I regret because of Jack, but she kisses it gently and says I should never regret the story I tell on my skin, not even the most painful chapters.
She has more tattoos, beautiful ones. I trace the lines of the colorful koi on the sleeve covering her toned arm and kiss the little meteor shooting behind her ear. Nakedness usually makes people seem more vulnerable, but not Tandy. She so confident, so strong. Or maybe I’m projecting because she’s so comfortable in her skin, so skilled in exploring mine.
I ask how I can please her. She says she will teach me all I need to know, but tonight is about me. She asks if I’ve ever had an orgasm. I tell her I’m not sure.
“Then you haven’t,” she says, “because you’d know.” She says Daddy’s rules start now. There will be no shame between us, no holding back, no reservations. She expects me to tell her what feels good and what doesn’t. It is the way of skilled lovers, she says, and she will not be offended or angry if I don’t want something.
I’ve never had anyone say these things to me.Did you come?Jack would ask, afterwards. He never asked how what he did made me feel while he was doing it. He never asked where I liked to be touched, not that I can entirely blame him. The fake cries of pleasure were my way of signaling that he could finish, and the question -Did you come?- was his way of pretending to care. Or maybe it was just validation for him.
I’m in the moment with Tandy. Every sensation feels right. Her skin is so soft over her firm muscles, her body taut and warm against mine. We lay belly-to-belly and thigh-to-thigh. Her hand twines in my hair as I tentatively cup her breast and rub my thumb across the nipple. Her groan of pleasure feels like a reward, and I feel wetness surge between my thighs. Pleasing her excites me in a way I never imagined.
She licks and nibbles her way from my collarbone downward; she touches me as she goes, her hands first spanning my ribcage then clasping my waist as she kisses my belly. I giggle. She asks if I’m ticklish and I say yes. Then the giggles turn to moans as she slides between my thighs. I feel the V of her fingers spreading the lips of my pussy, exposing me to her gaze. Her tongue darts out to tease my clit. How can such light, velvety strokes feel this good? I raise my hips, crying out and I discover what it is to truly climax. I arch my hips towards her mouth as waves of pleasure ripple outward from my core. Tandy slides a finger inside me, then two. Her mouth and hands wring a second orgasm from my body.
When she slides back up to kiss me, I taste my own pleasure on her tongue.
“You’re beautiful,” she says. “You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you. I want to see more.”
I want to go down on her. I tell her this. I admit to being nervous. If only I’d known, I could have read an article. The Nervous Girlfriend’s Guide to Cunnilingus. Or maybe I could have watched a video. I tell her I’m nervous because I’ve never done this before.
“Have you ever licked cake batter off of a mixer beater?” she asks.
