Daddy Issues – Part 1 (Dad’s Little Girl)

Her nipples were hardened by the cold wind to great stiffness keeping them erected like long peanuts. The rain had drenched her modest dressing – denim below. A white kurta on top stuck to her skin as the pink bra peeked through failing to cage the mysteries of her youth making it impossible to not wonder what havoc was under.

Hi, guys! I am Siddharth, a 29-year-old guy from Mumbai. I started as a therapist, now I teach. Currently single because Anu – my feminist girlfriend for 8 years – loves to dump me now and then. She returns when she misses me, so we can’t date others or have flings.

Love is weird. But this is a different part of my life – Ragini, who I met last July on this fateful rainy day after a gap of five years. This is my first story on ISS, so feedback, or simple hellos are more than welcome. You can email me at [email protected].

I first met Ragini when I joined my first job as a counselor at a famous school in Noida after my masters in counseling. She was a shy 19-year-old girl going through a bad phase because of a broken family. When she was 18, her mom shifted to Canada with another man whom she fell in love with and took Ragini’s brother along after divorce.

Ragini chose to live with her father – a grade-A government official, who had become bitter because of the cheating wife and separation. He expected a lot from Ragini, but never praised her, and often screamed at her for no reasons. No matter how hard she tried academically or in other fields, her father would never be happy.

It was troubling her from inside. She used to reject all the guys who asked her out because she always felt something missed in them. I asked her once if she looks like her mother. She replied that the resemblance is uncanny. At that moment, I knew what her problem was, but I didn’t tell her directly.

Without going into details here, I helped her with many sessions that year. I knew if not taken care well, her issues with her dad could cause clinical depression. For her friends she was a sweet beautiful girl, just above 5’ feet 3” inches, fair, hair falling on her shoulders and big telling eyes.

But I knew her inner battles. I never fancied her sexually because first, she was a student, also a client, and of course, I am loyal to my girlfriend. After her school-farewell, she met me one last time thanking me for all the help. She asked me if we could be friends as she felt I made her life better.

I politely declined as counselors are supposed to make their clients’ lives better and not befriend them. She understood and asked me if she could write emails when in need. I obliged. The same year I too left the school to pursue my Ph.D. abroad.

She wrote to me on and off with her issues, like many of my clients, and I helped. In college, she met a guy she finally liked, and first, her emails became less frequent then stopped. It was a good sign. I was happy for her.

I moved on with my life until this fateful July day in rainy Mumbai. The rain came out of nowhere in the morning as I walked back from the gym. I took shelter under a closed shop’s roof. Just a few seconds later, there she walked beside me. In a different city after five years.

She was drenched like coming out of the ocean, her hair touched her waist now, big black eyes irritated with rain, a confident face boasting the tales of the curvaceous body she carried with grace. It was the first time I saw her in anything other than a school uniform. She looked like this lesser-known actor Soundarya Sharma, google her if you wish, but with black hair, and serene face.

Suddenly, she looked at me. I looked away. Girls know when someone is staring at them. She too turned slightly, drying her hair. I stole a look of her heart-shaped buttocks with the deepest breath of my life. As she had caught me looking at her lustfully, I couldn’t collect courage to tell her that we had a history.

And she didn’t recognize me, although I hadn’t changed much, I stand 5’ 11”, hit gym 5 days a week for last ten years, and keep no facial hair. When I was in my thoughts, I heard an auto across the road and called out. Her voice also followed mine, but auto stopped in front of me.

I smiled, which she might have misunderstood as smugness, thus ignored me. “Please take the auto,” I told her, “I can wait.” She looked at me with surprise, “Thank you.” Ah, her sweet voice. She entered the auto, and it was then as if she recalled something and looked at me carefully, and the auto left.

I received an email the same night, just one sentence, “What are the chances to run into your therapist in a new city after so many years?” with a wink emoticon. I replied immediately with a smile emoticon, “I quit therapy, in Mumbai as an assistant professor now.”

She replied within a minute, “Does that mean we can be friends now?” I snapped back, “After so many sessions, you still need excuses?” She replied, “Had to end my relationship a month ago, Dad has found a match for me, meeting them this weekend and I’m scared that I will mess up my marriage like I did my last three relationships.”

I delayed my response deliberately to evaluate the urgency of the situation, and she wrote, “There?” I replied, “CCD, Oberoi Mall, 8 PM, Tomorrow.” Next evening, she walked in a decent green midi dress going little below her knees, and high enough to reach her lower neck, hair neatly tied in a bun and with an old handbag that made her otherwise posh appearance casual, yet special.

“Feels like the old times,” she said sitting across the table as I smiled at her, “just the shape of the table has changed and we get to have coffee.” I replied, “Except that you’re not a hesitating teen anymore, but a confident young woman.”

She laughed a little, and said taking the menu, “Not really, I’m just happy seeing you, what will you have?” I responded taking the menu off her hand, “I’ll have your issues while I keep ordering for both of us.” She started talking and didn’t stop. I let her.

I always appreciated her will to understand and fight her issues. There was a minute or so, when I sneaked a look of her bosom, knowing that the peace they are in is pretense, and imagined her nipples growing to the size of large peanuts. But then my girlfriend’s angry face popped in my head.

So I heard Ragini clinically as she went on about her problems with guys she dated, her intimacy issues, her issues with her boss, with the world and of course, her dad. I even made a serious face when she leaned towards me and told that she never reached orgasm with any of her boyfriend nor herself as if I didn’t already expect that.

“So daddy ordered me, 23 is a good age Ragi, get married. I said, okay Daddy.” She shrugged and looked at me. I replied, “You had to, you can’t say no to Dad.”

“See, you get it,” Ragini told chirpily, “None of my friends get this. Now can you help me with my intimacy issues?” I promised her to write an email after putting thought on her situation. As it was late, I offered to drop her as she didn’t have a car.

She lived slightly interior off the main road to be able to afford a one BHK for herself and invited me to come up.  I told her it’s too late, and hid that I had to pee. “Just for five minutes, at least see my home and tell me if Dad will like it, he will visit for the first time with the prospective groom’s family next week.”

I sighed looking at her. Her flat was small but beautifully decorated, with lamps, curtains, family pictures etc. Homes resemble inhabitants’ psyche. I asked her permission to use the loo. As I turned around after doing my business, I found a pink bra and a skimpy black panty hanging on bathroom’s door on pins.

They took me back to the rainy day and reminded me how sultry her nipples under the pink bra looked. I had an urge to see them free, to feel them. Just that, nothing else! I guessed I could hide a small thing like that from my girlfriend, if and when she returns.

Time would tell that. As I walked out of the bathroom, I knew what I wanted.