Pierre le Valle: Yes, My Darling Daughter!

“Look. Phil, someone has to take Jane in hand soon or she'll be coming home one night pregnant!”

“Well, you're her mother-you do something.”

“What can I do-apart from telling her the facts of life? She knows about the birds and the bees-I saw to that. But this is different; she hangs around coffee bars with those leather-jacketed little spivs who are only after one thing when it comes to girls. How can I start telling her about how to prevent babies coming along? That would be almost sanctioning her going to bed with them.”

“They don't bother looking for a bed nowadays- straddle 'em across their bikes with their drawers off! Maybe that's why they have so many crack-ups-lose control when they shoot their loads!”

“Phil! Don't be horrible! You're taking this far too lightly-and you may be joking, but that's the worst thing that could happen.”

“Now you surely can't expect me to go into detail with her about what they expect her to let them do between her legs!”

“Oh, you're impossible! You don't help at all, do you? You should forbid her…”

“Forbid her to do what? Go out? She's going on sixteen, you know. What can I say to her? I don't know how girls of her age think. Tell you what-why don't you ask your lesbian friend?”

Suddenly, my heart was hammering wildly and I was immediately thrown on to the defensive. What had he meant by that?

“My-my lesbian friend? I haven't any…”

“Come off it, Rita! Don't try to kid me you're such a sweet innocent that you haven't noticed. If Stella Chambers isn't a lesbian, then I'll eat my own cock- with chips!” My husband cocked an eyebrow at me.

“It wouldn't surprise me if she had hot pants for you! You're still quite a tasty dish, even if you are getting on, now!”

I let my breath out slowly and tried hard not to look relieved. He was joking.

“I'm only thirty-five,” I pouted. “And you have a perfectly filthy mind! Just because Stella isn't married, doesn't mean she's that way inclined. I think she's very feminine.”

“Oh, she's got a very fair figure-lovely pair of tits on her, at that. But there are certain signs you can't miss: the way she looks at other women-even at you, sometimes. Then she had that irritating expression of hers.” He pulled a face. “'Oh, men,'“ he mimicked, “'they're all the same!' ”

“Maybe she's right! Anyway — I'm sure she's not like that.”

“I'm sure she is! Look at the way she's always diving in here-it's for sure it's not to see me! If I were you, I'd wear tin drawers when I went over to her place. What can you possibly find to talk about with a woman like that?”

“I thought you liked her.”

“Oh, she's all right, I suppose-I'd like her a lot better if she was normal, though.”

“I'll bet you would!”

“Now who has a filthy mind? So you admit she isn't normal, then?”

“I'm admitting nothing and, anyway, we're getting off the subject. If we don't do something about it soon, we're going to have Jane coming home here either pregnant or worse!”

“I suppose you're right; I must say I didn't particularly like the idea of her going around with that type of creep. I'll try and think of something.”

“And I might take you up on your suggestion of asking Stella's advice; she'd be on the outside looking in and sometimes that…”

“Sh-can it! Here's Jane.” He looked at his watch. “She's not so late tonight, either-only just after ten.” Phil struck his pipe back in his mouth, picked up the paper and relaxed back in his favourite chair.

Our daughter came into the living-room, complete with jeans, “stylish” unkempt hair-do and long-strapped bag slung over her shoulder.

“Hi, mom, hi, pop.”

“Jane, this isn't America and we're not Americans- is English considered old-hat in your set?”

“No-you're just more with it when you have an American vocabulary.”

“There, you see, Rita? She can still pronounce words like 'vocabulary!' She can't be too far gone!”

“Have you been talking about me? Well you can carry on, because I'm off to bed-I'm bushed!”

“So long as she's not something else,” murmured Phil, for my ears only.

I watched our tall, blonde daughter as she went towards the door. She was going to be a lovely woman; Even at fifteen, she showed evidence that she was going to be full in the breasts, like me-already, she boasted a 35-22-34 figure. Another three inches on that bosom of hers and she'd have caught me up. Her bottom and legs were filling out and losing that “little girl” fatness around her hips. If only she would do something with her hair and stop plastering that horrible black muck around her eyes, which reminded one of the earlier horror films of Dracula and Frankenstein. She paused at the door and looked back at us.

“G'night.” And she went out.

“You hungry, Phil?” I got out of my chair.

“Yes-but not for food!” He ogled my breasts as I leaned over his chair.

“You're incorrigible!” I ruffled his hair affectionately. “And I'm tired.”

“Always some excuse! I'm rationed to about four pokes a year, now-if you're not careful, it'll dose up altogether on you!”

“You're exaggerating! Why we did it…let me see…”

“There you are- you can't remember! I'll tell you- it was damn near a. math ago!”

“Surely not as long as that!”

“Longer-it was a couple of days after your period when we did it, and you've just finished another one, haven't you?”

I blushed. For some reason I couldn't account for, I always felt embarrassed when he mentioned my periods-even after being married to him for nearly seventeen years! I nodded.

“Men! That's all they think about!”

“That sounds just like Stella. You'd better be careful-she might have you round to her way of thinking. While I might be able to understand your not feeling like sex much-though I can remember a time, not so very long ago, when you used to almost beg for it-I'd be very annoyed if you started using up all your energy on satisfying the sexual needs of a lesbian, while I was on worse than iron rations!”

I turned away from him, unable to meet his eyes.

“Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, thanks-hot milk will do.”

I mixed two beakers, gave him his and picked up the book I'd been reading.

“Well, I'm off to bed.”

“OK. I won't be long. And remember what I said about Stella-it wouldn't surprise me if she tried to get your pants off you one of these days, so watch it!”

I went upstairs with my face burning and a chill feeling in the pit of my stomach. She might try to get my pants off me, he had said. That was the trouble-she already had! My mind had been in a turmoil for the past few months over it. Phil was quite right-I was satisfying her sexual needs; my own, too, while I was at it. I hadn't realised I'd cut Phil down so drastically on his “ration.” The funny part was, Phil had just about hit the nail on the head with his expression “get my pants off me.” She had literally done just that.

We had known Stella for a few years, since she had taken a house at the end of our road. She had picked Jane up in her car several times either going or coming from school and Jane had asked her in to meet us eventually; we had been friends ever since.

I liked her as a person, although I knew there had to be something the matter with her sex life, living on her own like that. She was a year younger than I and very attractive, with that fascinating combination of almost blue-Mack hair and very fair skin, and, as Phil had observed, she had a lovely pair of breasts — we measured our busts together once, and she topped my 38 by an inch.