CHAPTER FOUR
Paul
God, it felt good to tell her to repeat those words. It felt far too good. I overstepped.
Gwen is not my little girl and I am not her Daddy. Of course, she probably has absolutely no real understanding of the incident, at least not how I feel about it. She doesn't understand how I naturally assumed that role with her and how I naturally expected compliance from her in a little girl role. She doesn't understand that I want her submission, because I want to take care of her.
Of course, what I did was good for her, and I hope it will have a lasting effect on how she feels about herself. There is no question in my mind that she needs to think differently about herself. As much as I want it, though, I can't just assume I will be the man who leads her down that path.
Damn it, I need to get a hold of myself.
All of these thoughts come to me the next morning, as I am driving. I am travelling about two hundred miles, to pick up some important components for a large cabinetry project, the replacements for the old and outdated cabinets at the house. Usually, I wouldn't work on a Sunday, but the components should have been delivered by a different vendor a few days ago and I don’t want the project to get behind schedule. I’m also waiting for a call from Gwen, because I left her a note after I left early, asking if I could take her to dinner this evening. I need to find out how she feels and to figure out whether I owe her an apology.
I can't concentrate on anything. It's a good thing I make this drive a few times a month because I'm able to handle it on autopilot. My mind is filled with Gwen, and there is little room for anything else. Thoughts and images of her flow through my mind at a pretty rapid clip like a slideshow. Of course, one of the most prominent images in the rotation is Gwen on the back porch with her fingers moving in her bathing suit. She called out my name. Of course, she did that because she caught sight of me through the window. I've been fantasizing lately that she was thinking of me while she masturbated. It is ludicrous, of course. Still, I imagine it. I hope for it. It’s idiotic, but it’s also impossible to stop.
That’s not my only obsession with her. When I look at her, I see a lovely woman, who’s ready to bloom, and I so desperately want to be there for that. I want to have a part in it. I want to enable it... Again, it’s just so presumptuous, but that doesn’t keep me from fantasizing all about how I could care for her, protect her, and help her to face her demons, whatever they might be.
My phone rings and I answer immediately, like some kind of eager teenager. I’d curse myself if I weren’t so overjoyed to get a call from her.
“Paul?” she asks.
“That’s me,” I say. “Thanks for calling.”
“No problem,” she says. Her voice is always so restrained, and afraid as if she’s terrified she might say the wrong thing. “Dinner will be nice. Um… do you know when that will be?”
“Hard to tell,” I say. “I have to put together all of the purchases and that always takes time because the supplier will have substituted some things. Anyway, it’s three hours there and three back, but I’ll hit traffic on the way back … I guess sometime between five-thirty and eight.” God! Why the Hell am I droning on like this. I want to be her Daddy? I am rambling like a God-damned toddler.
“Oh,” she says. “Okay.” I can hear the disappointment in her voice and I can tell she wants to say more.
“What did you want to say, Gwen?” I ask.
“Oh no,” she says. “It’s fine. I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Gwen, I want you say what you want to say,” it amazes me how effortlessly I slip into this role. My tone is firm, and expecting obedience. I feel a brief worry that I might offend her, but I continue.
“I just… I just had a question,” she says. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Ask your question, Gwen,” I say in the same tone. “If you don’t use your voice to tell people what you need or what you want, how can anyone ever know?”
She pauses for a moment and I worry I’ve done it. I’ve gone too far in a rude and presumptuous attempt to be a Daddy for someone who doesn’t want a Daddy and certainly not me.
“I was hoping you could give me a better idea of the time. Do you think you could call me when you’re fifteen minutes away? That way, I’ll be ready when you get here.”
I was amazed that she asked the question as if she thought I would be offended at the request. As if it was some type of horrible demand and not a perfectly reasonable thing.
“Oh, sure,” I say. “I should have suggested that from the beginning. You know, I’ll tell you when I leave Templeton, too. Then, I’ll let you know when I’m ten minutes away. I should have thought of that.”
“Okay, great!” she says. Her level of enthusiasm is far higher than I would imagine for the circumstances, but it’s not forced and not faked. It’s just… childlike is too strong a term, although it definitely enhances my already near-desperate desire to think of her as a Little. There is just a very obvious exuberance in her voice; relief that I didn’t mind her asking the question and excitement at the answer.
“So,” I say. “Do you have any big plans for the day?”
“Well, I have to get ready for a special dinner,” she says with a giggle.
“You’re so cute,” I say and she breathes in at the words as if I’ve just composed a song for her. I love her reaction, but I also wonder at just how little self-confidence she must have to be so overwhelmed by something so small.
We stay on the line together for a little while, and we really don’t talk about anything at all. I find it amazing a conversation can feel so substantial, even though we say nothing at all of importance. After the call, I feel energized; not just recharged, but far more charged than normal. When I get to the supplier, I feel as if I could dance across the parking lot.
I go through the process of checking the order and ensuring its all I need it to be. I also buy new appliances for the rehab and while I’m at it, all the necessary materials for an outdoor kitchen, from barbecue to deep fryer.