It was just before midnight on a Friday night and I was still up doing my fatherly duty. Since the kids mom had passed from cancer, I was probably a bit more protective than needed, but I figured better safe than sorry.

Deb was out on a date with a new boy. I’d met him before they went out and told them her curfew was midnight. I looked at the clock and was getting ready to go through my mental list of punishments for Deb staying out too long when the front door opened.

“Hi Daddy! I made it,” Deb giggled.

I chuckled, “Yeah you made it.”

“You weren’t worried, were you?”

“Deb, I’m your father. Of course, I was worried. I always worry about you when you go out.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

“Have you got a cold?”

“No. Why?”

“Well it looks like your nose is running.”

Deb put a finger to her nose and felt the wetness.

“Oh my,” and with that Deb took off for her room.

It was just before midnight on the following Saturday night and I was again up doing my fatherly duty.

Deb was out on a date with another new boy. I’d met him earlier before they went out and told them her curfew was midnight.

“Yes, Daddy! Don’t worry,” Deb said before kissing me on the cheek and heading out the door with her date.

So now I was sitting in my recliner, looking at the clock and again getting ready to go through my mental list of punishments for Deb staying out too long when the front door opened.

“Hi Daddy! I made it again!” Deb giggled.

I chuckled, “Yeah you made it again. Your dear old Dad doesn’t need the stress of you coming in at the last minute.”

“You worry too much, Daddy.”

“Deb, like I told you last night and I will repeat as often as needed, I’m your father, of course I was worried. I always worry about you.”

“I still love you, Daddy.”

I looked at my little girl and noticed something.

“Hey, Deb. Have you been doing one of those ‘Got Milk?” commercials. Looks like you’ve got a white mustache.”

“What?” Deb ran her finger across her upper lip and felt the wetness.

“Oh crap,” and with that Deb took off for her room.

The family was gathered for Sunday morning breakfast. Wilma had made French toast and the smell of bacon and coffee had rousted the kids from their beds. Deb was wearing a robe and Paul and Mick, Jr, her older brothers, were just in their pajamas. We all sat and talked about general stuff.

“The last couple of nights, Deb kept coming in with stuff on her upper lip or running out of her nose. What was that about, Deb?” I asked.

“I guess it was just some milk shake,” Deb said.

“Or, my little sister doesn’t know how to give a blow job,” Paul opined.

“Yes, she does!” Mick, Jr said, bringing a screaming halt to breakfast.