"Take off my bra," I whisper, as meanly and condescendingly aspossible. It amazes me how childish he becomes with his hand on my breast. So I lift his hand and put it on my breast before he cando it himself, so he knows I'm the one in charge. I know he wants to touch my breasts because he looks atthem so often. I turn around in my bra and underwear and look at him.He looks at me. He does it, and then he unzips it, andthe skirt falls while he slips his hands under my turtleneck, and liftsit over my head. But the only thing I haveto unbutton is the top of my skirt. I've seen my mom do this a million times.
"Stand up and unbutton me," I tell him, turning my back towardhim. I've never had astrapless dress before, and I'm thrilled, but I want to look mature, soI don't show my excitement. I stand overhim looking through the dresses. He has this dumbsmile on his face, like he's waiting for me to do something. When Dad sits down in the dressing room he looks so silly-the chair istoo small, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands. "Let meshow you where the dressing room is," she says to me, "And youcan come out here to show your dad." The saleslady says she wasn't sure if we were coming back. I go to the shoe sectionwithout turning around and when I stop to look at a shoe he's right therebehind me.Īt the bathroom, I go in and he waits outside. I slide my hand into his andgive it a tug. "No," I say, and touch his thigh, "I want you to come with."He follows me. We have all twelveswhen the saleslady asks us if she can put the dresses in a fitting room.I wonder if the saleslady can tell I'm just a daughter. I put my arm aroundhis waist while he picks out dresses that he likes.
He says that with my new breasts I'm probably a twelve. I pretend Dad and I are husband and wife.
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