Based on The Short Story:
Carol's Growing Pains
Note to the Reader: This is a story about role-playing. No sex occurs involving a minor. All Participants are over the age of 18.
Michael heard his daughter crying as she came in the front door. The door slammed and she stormed upstairs to her bedroom on the second floor and slammed her bedroom door shut. Michael sighed. It hadn't gone well, he guessed. Folding the newspaper, he set it aside and went to stand at the bottom of the stairs.
He heard her sobbing in her bedroom.
"Carol Ann, are you okay?"
More sobbing. Sighing resignedly, Michael climbed the stairs to the second floor and made his way down the hall to his daughter's bedroom door. He tapped on it lightly with his knuckles.
"Go away, Daddy," she sobbed. Michael shook his head. Where was his wife when he needed her? He tapped on the door with the same result.
"Carol Ann. I know you'd rather talk to your mom right now--"
"No!" she interrupted forcefully.
"--but your mom won't be home until Wednesday. Do you really want to go the next four days being miserable?"
"I'll be miserable with or without her!" Carol Ann complained. Michael found it encouraging that she didn't tack "Now go away and leave me alone!" on the end of the sentence.
"Sometimes it just helps to talk," Michael said. "It doesn't matter who it is."
"You're my father!" Carol Ann pointed out, her voice filled with sarcasm. Like a 12 year old-Pardon me, he thought, 13 now-would tell her father anything intimately personal.
"Forget I'm your father. I'm your therapist tonight, okay? I don't pass judgment in my role as a therapist. And I'm not judgmental as a parent either, because I'll leave that responsibility outside here in the hallway. Consider me Dr. Vaugier for the night."
Surprisingly, Carol Ann got off the bed, came to the door and unlocked it. She shambled back to the bed and threw herself down on her side. She immediately tucked herself into a ball. Michael wondered that she didn't stick her thumb in her mouth.
Carol Ann was a pretty blond, slender and tall for her age. Her hair lay in disarray around her head, making her look more like a 6-year old than a 7th Grader. Michael couldn't believe his daughter was in 7th Grade, or that she had breasts (tiny ones, granted) and that she was interested enough in boys to get her heart broken so early.
"I take it things didn't go well at the dance."
Carol Ann turned her face into the comforter and sobbed.
"Turner!" she supplied truculently.
"Bobby Turner wasn't interested in you?"
She sobbed again, this time pressing a small fist to the side of her head.
"Another girl?" Michael guessed.
"Jennifer Pullous!" his daughter spat viperously. Michael had never heard of Jennifer Pullous.
"He asked Jennifer to dance?"
"The whole dance!" she complained bitterly. "I hate boys! They suck! All of them! Every single one of them!" She beat her small fist violently on the mattress beside her head, starting painfully. She had punched too close to her head and caught her own hair. She rubbed at her scalp, pouting.
Michael's eyes were drawn unwillingly to the significant amount of right thigh that his daughter was showing. Her dress had ridden almost up to her panties. The sight made him want to gulp. He tried, not quite successfully, to keep his eyes on her face. What she said next surprised him.
"Why can't I find a guy like you, Dad?" She sniffed loudly. "One who is nice and decent?"
Michael realized his daughter was more upset than he'd supposed. Carol Ann had never said anything like that before. It both pleased him, and bothered him, somehow. On top of that, she was laying in a position that afforded him a splendid view of her brassiere through the open sleeve of her dress. The sight of the beige cups, filled with immature breasts, made his penis stir. He wondered what they looked like bare. He wondered what all of her looked like bare. He shifted uncomfortably, trying, also not quite successfully, to avoid those thoughts. And then he moved forward and sat down on the bed and placed his right hand on her shoulder. She didn't react, didn't shrink away as he'd hoped.
You, he thought distractedly, are close to crossing the line. Very close. He tried to remove his hand and couldn't. Beneath his palm, and under his fingertips, he could feel the outline of her bra strap. His erection grew harder. And to his dismay, Carol chose just that moment to move beneath his hand and rise up to throw her arms around his neck.
"Oh, Daddy!" she complained. "I'm so miserable."
Michael took a shuddering breath. He held his hands away, afraid to let them anywhere near his daughter's flesh, even through her clothing. He felt an answering shudder, and his hands moved closer against his will. No, he thought to himself in a panic. Don't you dare do this! His hands continued to move toward Carol Ann's sobbing back until they made contact. She tightened her hold around his neck, flattening her small breasts against his chest. Michael could barely breathe.
"Carol Ann... ?" he choked out.
Sobbing, Carol Ann choked back: "Yes, Daddy?"
"This isn't a good idea."
Carol Ann continued to sob. "Why not?" ... She wanted to know.
Because what? Because he wasn't strong enough as a man and father to keep his hands off a 13-year old girl? Because he had a hard-on for her the size of the Empire State Building? Because he'd been deprived of sex for the last six months by her shrewish, calculating mother?
"Because why, Daddy?" she asked again.
And he showed her why.
Sometime later, Carol Ann lay sobbing on her bed, covered by the sheet, her face buried in her hands. On his side, Michael watched and tried to comfort her.
"Think of it as a life-lesson," he advised softly.
Carol Ann continued to cry.
"You don't have to worry about some boy stealing your virginity anymore," he continued.
Carol Ann continued to cry. Her sobs, racking her whole body, made Michael feel bad.
Well, you should feel bad, he thought to himself sourly. You just raped your 13-year old daughter.
The truth was, it was not so much rape as piss-poor luck. Michael had been sexually attracted to Carol Ann for as long as she'd been able to talk. Possibly longer. He had laughed uproariously when one of the first words out of her mouth was fuck. Her mother had paddled her bottom good. She had her older brothers to thank for that injustice.
Frankie and Jimmy were 12 and 14 years older than she, both well into their teens by the time Carol Ann could form words of her own. Of course the word fuck had come out of her mouth. The boys used it constantly. Their mother was always on their asses about it. On his ass too, for allowing its use in the house. He had spoken to the boys afterward, telling them Carol Ann deserved better than an ass-whipping due to their foul mouths. For once they had listened to him. It probably had something to do with threatening to kick Jimmy out of the house, and ground Frankie for life. As easy going as Michael usually was, he was nobody to mess around with when annoyed. He had boxed Golden Gloves in college. He'd been good, for a white guy. He stayed in shape, working out three days a week at the gym. And he still pounded a bag on occasion.
Carol Ann continued to cry.
Reconsidering a decision to touch her, Michael withdrew his hand and planted it, fist down on the bed. He wondered what he could say to make it better. Sorry I hurt you, honey? Don't be ridiculous. Being fucked the first time hurt. Sorry I took your virginity, honey? That was a legitimate thought; he was sorry. He was sure Carol Ann was sorry about it too. No doubt she wanted to surrender that precious commodity to someone her own age. Like Bobby Turner, for instance. Bobby Turner didn't deserve her. No 13-year old deserved her. No 14, 15, 16, 17 old, either. 18 years or older was out of the question. That would be statutory rape.
As opposed to aggravated rape, he asked himself. His mistake had been to kiss her in the first place.
"Daddy!" She had jumped like a startled jack-rabbit.
"What?" he had said innocently, as though kissing his daughter on the neck was an everyday occurrence.
She had blinked at him slowly, confused, not sure what he had just done, what he had meant by it. Her face went bright red and he watched her reconsider what he'd done in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry. I think I..."
"What?" he asked again.
She continued to blink, continued to redden. Finally she muttered, "Nothing" and laid back down on the bed and curled up. He rubbed her right shoulder, though now she did stiffen.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
She nodded. It looked--he swore it did--like she wanted to suck her thumb. He rolled her onto her back.
He looked into her eyes. They were jack-rabbit round and frightened now.
"I'll ask you just once. I have to ask, because I'm an adult, and you're a child. I can't just do what I want without your permission."
Now her eyes grew really round, bugging-out round. She inhaled sharply, jaggedly. Michael, already overexcited, kept his eyes away from that expanding chest.
"Nuh-nuh-no!" she protested.
"I haven't asked you yet," he said gently.
.... There is more of this story ...