Chapter 13

I figured the trip home would be relaxing and quiet after the rush to get to the apartment and pack it in a hurry. Lindie would drive my car, following me and my "Shotgun" rider, home in the van.

I figured Michelle would be tired and fall fast asleep about five to ten minutes into the drive from Stewart City to Rock Creek. Every time we had all ridden together, that's the way Michelle had reacted.

Of course, the trip from the Stewart City U-Haul to my apartment after picking up the van was a short one. She didn't have a chance to settle in because of the excitement of the moment and the fact it was a very brief trip.

So, when we got to the Interstate, I figured Michelle would fall off. She proved she could be as unpredictable as her mother. When she loosened her seat belt a little and she leaned over resting her head on my right thigh, she did not drift off. Not by a long shot.

No, the questioning mind of an almost twelve year old intellect kicked into gear. Big time.

I guess because of the driving force of the necessity to pack up the apartment and the thrill of it, she'd just kept a lot of her questions to herself. Saving them up for a quieter time. This was definitely to be the quieter time.

They came in random order. I guessed she saved the hardest for the first, not the last. After she started, I was sure there would be no last question, only the next one. Even though the first question was tough, I knew that each one would require an honest answer.

I'd never really dealt with a child other than peers when I was one. There was Katie though. She was just shy of four and her questions were simpler, uncomplicated ones. I knew I couldn't talk to Michelle like I'd talked to Katie. That just wouldn't work.

Peers don't count either. Questions didn't count when I was Michelle's age. We all shared in the questions and we had our friends to "discuss" our concerns with, rather than ask an adult for an answer.

I was going to have to learn a skill real quickly. You see, the very first question from Michelle was, "Dad. What was that thing in your nightstand that buzzed?"

Talk about getting right into the center of a tornado! I felt like Dorothy as she was lifted aloft and spun around. I'd seen it many times in movies and in real life. You know. A kid asks a difficult question and one parent says, "Ask your Mom!" or "Ask your Dad!"

That was my first impulse. "What the hell do I do now?" raced through my mind. I couldn't stop and tell Michelle to hop back to her mother in the car. I was on the hook for an answer and like I mentioned, I had no experience talking to a child. My child as it was the case.

The proverbial first question kids asked was, "Why is the sky blue?" Not, "What's that dido in your pocket for?"

I will admit that I took the easy route. Well, not actually easy, but the most direct one. I decided to talk to Michelle as if she was an adult. And that she was asking adult questions.

I decided not to back off and give obtuse answers to direct questions. After all, how else was she to learn. After all, how was she going to gain confidence in me.

We had just gotten to know the other existed. For me it was not as she had done, looked at a picture and wished me into existence. For me, I had not known at all about even the potential of having a child until barely a day and a half ago.

My thoughts took perhaps ten or fifteen seconds for me to come to the realization that I couldn't shirk the question. Michelle patted the outside of my thigh, right on top of the vibrator. "You know. This thing," she confirmed.

It wasn't a sharply clipped question in an annoyed voice. She spoke softly in a genuinely questioning voice. One that requested an answer, not demanded it. This I knew immediately would set the tone of the rest of our lives together. My answer had to be compete, adult and yes, even though my daughter was barely twelve, understandable.

"Yes. I understand Honey," I told her as I formulated my answer. "I know that is a simple question but very complicated also. I'll explain, but I need to ask you a question. A very personal one. OK?"

"Yeah dad," she spoke softly. "Go ahead."

I paused, trying to figure out how to word my question and then knew that only the direct route would do. "Honey. Do you play with yourself?"

"Sure I play alone a lot. There aren't many other children around except when I'm in school," she answered.

Well, that didn't get to the heart of the question I'd asked. "No that's not what I mean Honey. I mean, with your hands. You know. To make yourself feel good."

As I drove I looked down at my angel and could see she was totally confused. I took my right hand and rubbed her arm as she said, "I'm not sure what you mean, dad."

I moved my hand over to her stomach and rubbed her there softly. "Like this. Rub yourself to make you feel good."

She was thinking but I could see she really didn't understand what I was asking. She gave a slight frown and then looked back up at me, her faces filled with love and trust. "What do you mean?"

"Well," I answered as I shifted my hand lower and pressed my fingers lightly into her crotch. I got an instant reaction and her body curled up as her knees came up to her chest. She had captured my fingers in her crotch and I had a little difficulty removing them as I continued my sentence with, "Down here."

As my fingers lifted off her private area, she grabbed my wrist with both hands and pulled it to her chest. My palm settled onto her right breast and the tips of my finger settled onto her left one. She held my hand firmly against her as she sighed out a staccato breath.