Daughter defence fantasies

I am a father, but my daughter is safely in the lower part of single digit age, so I haven’t yet had to protect her from the social consequences of puberty, which the internet sometimes tries to convince me would involve shotguns and/or curfews. As a parent, I wholeheartedly understand the genetic imperative to protect my offspring, but I can’t help feeling that the stereotypical daughter defence fantasy is somewhat misguided. To that end, I will offer up my own fantasies about a future where I am defending my adolescent daughter.

The young man speaks with a squeaking, nervous voice, and has just started to learn to control his newfound muscles and mass. Of course he is nervous, this is the first time my daughter dragged her boyfriend along to a family gathering. My wife and daughter are sitting next to each other talking in hushed voices, our little boy is playing some game on his phone next to me. Between my children, across the round table from me sits the “young man”, fifteen years old¹ and as tall as me. He is consistently seeking my daughters hand under the table, but catching himself thinking I might disapprove and stopping himself. Smart kid, wants to make a good impression. My wife pleasantly asks him about his family, school, hobbies and whatnot, and I act as civil as I can manage, thankful for the dim sum that I can stuff my face with instead of participating in the conversation.

Towards the end, my wife and daughter decide they need to use the restroom and excuse themselves in unison. I sit silent until they are out of earshot. “So, you’re here because you want to sleep with my daughter?” I ask the startled young man. “Erh, well…” he begins, but I cut him off before he makes an ass of himself “I’m pretty sure you are here because my daughter wants to sleep with you. Should I tell her she’s wasting her time?” He looks down and shakes his head. I feel a little bad for torturing him like this, but only a little. “She really is precious to me, my lil’ girl, I’m sure you understand that I want the best for her.” I continue. “Yes, sir!” the boy says, relieved that the conversation has moved into more familiar territory. “Problem is, you don’t even understand how little you know, which is why I’m giving you homework.” The boy looks confused again. “No hanky-panky until you’ve read and understood this book.” I say, pushing a brand new copy of She comes first – a thinking man’s guide to pleasuring a woman over the table. His eyes grow bigger, he so far out in uncharted waters that he settles for reading the cover, carefully, over and over again, to avoid having to do something. I’m fine with that and enjoy the tea. “Hi, honey!” I say with a big grin, as my wife and daughter reappears, giving the boy a little more time to fumble the book out of sight from my daughter.

My son looks up from his phone in a daze and wants to go home, the kids have tickets for a movie soon, and the dim sum is all but eaten. “Yes, let’s.” I say, picking up the bill. Maybe I will grow to like the guy, or maybe my daughter will tire of him, who knows. All I know is that I’m confident that we raised her to make her own decisions for herself. Still, it feels good to nudge the world to be a little bit better of a place for her when I can.

Until that day, I do what I can to protect her from princessism.