“Like I get it, maybe the man was hot or rich or wore suits or whatever, but that’s someone’s father. Like not sugar daddy, not zaddy, not anonymous Twitter DILF. That’s your best friend’s actual dad. As in the man who changed her diapers. The man who probably has cholesterol and back pain. That’s not sexy. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Still no reaction.
She just blinked.
Which of course made me spiral more.
“I mean, what kind of girl even lets it get that far?” I continued, because silence makes me panic. “How do you go from ‘hi sir, good afternoon sir, happy birthday sir’ to ‘wreck my p***y, Daddy’? Like where’s the transition? Where’s the moral compass? Where’s the shame? Is it dead? Did she bury it beside her self-respect?”
I laughed. A high-pitched, unhinged kind of laugh
