I was finding some kind of sick silver lining of truth to my debauchery. Finding something to be proud of through from surprising your daughter with your cockhead is….optimism?
“Well, I tried to understand you, so I looked stuff up. I read on the internet that most sexual perpetrators who commit incest are, like, pedophiles. They do it from when their kids are super young. So I don’t think you’re that fucked up. You need help, but I think you just cheated on your wife with someone who happened to be your daughter, you know?”
I stayed silent. I wasn’t going to let myself off the hook anytime soon. Rationalization is very, very dangerous. I learned that the hard way.
“So….wow. I mean everybody says this modelling stuff is what I’m supposed to do, but even my own dad. Wow. You’re, like, the last person on earth who should try to fuck me, and you couldn’t control yourself. And you think I’m sexier than Emily. Wow.”
I did, and you would too. She was from another planet. “I think you dance better too.”
She smiled again, “Really?”
I shrugged, “I didn’t become an incest fan until you did that move.”
She outright laughed, “God that’s so fucked up, incest fan,” I tried to smile with her, but my heart broke a little that something so absurd gave her a rise and a giggle. Did anything phase kids from her generation?
“OK, this is the other thing I wanted to do, uhm….” she put her hands out and sort of prepared herself, “With me just being me, look at me sexually.”
We made eye contact, and my eyes roamed up and down.
“I kind of want to know what my teachers and my friend’s dads think when they look at me. Because, I know I can fuck them, and maybe I can get things from them, but I’m not sure if they know what they’re doing or if they’re thinking about me.”
“They are, ” I said. It was like asking if the sky wasn’t blue. “If I can say something, uhm. I’m being real here. The whole thing adults say about getting good grades and trying hard at school? That’s the plan people lay out for the average kids, and the smart kids. Then you’ve got athletes, maybe a computer whiz, maybe a model,” I motioned to her with my hand, “Or a model/actress…I mean, it’s not all a lie. Being educated can help you a lot in life, and keeps you safe and on track. But you’re not one of them. Your looks…those dads/teachers know they’ll see maybe two or three women like you in their lifetime. So will most other men. One of those guys will be rich, and a guy you can control…”
“Like Kyle…” she interjected.
“Well no, he will never be rich…”
She laughed. It made me feel good that she knew he wasn’t up to her standards.
“Anyways…” I said, wanting to go on.
“There’s been a lot of guys besides Kyle.”
She seemed to think it was a secret worth protecting.
“Oh. How many?”
She sort of squirmed, “Like, fifteen. Twenty. I guess…sixteen or twenty-one, with, ya know…”
I tried to seem unphased. It was another generational thing…I guess. I moved forward, wanting to skip the gory details. And to stop myself from asking how the hell she didn’t know the exact number.
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