Bambi and Thumper

Daddy

Bambi knew it was just a matter of time. She'd been lucky. She'd always been pretty much invisible to her dad. She was gone before he got up and long asleep when he got home. Best of all they never did anything together.

But the scandal had to get back to him eventually. It just wasn't that big of a burg. As soon as she got to her room, she knew he'd been through her stuff.

She sat twitching in the living room easy chair, wishing herself into the flames of hell.

"Out of my chair," were the first words out of Bambi's father's mouth. She stood shyly in front of him.

Once enthroned in comfort, he said, "What are these?"

These were a lacy pair of pink panties. For the life of her, Bambi couldn't remember rightly whether they were an enticement from a prospect or a keepsake from a satisfied client.

"Panties, dad. You know, lady's undergarments."

"Don't get smart with me you twit. Are they yours?"

Bambi surprised herself. She didn't come back with a snappy retort. Somehow the jaunty misery of that panty overwhelmed her. She settled for a tearful drooping of the chin.

"Look, Terry. Or is it Bambi now?"

"I can explain—"

"No need," her father cut her off, raising his right hand like he was a traffic cop and she was Frosty. "Believe me, I know. I've seen all the television shows."

"But—"

"Trapped in a boy's body, am I right?"

"That's not how it happened at all."

"Don't lie to me. I knew it from day one. Ever since you were a baby. It was written all over you. You swished from the day you crawled."

"Please, you've got to listen to me."

"No, let me finish. I know, it's not my fault. You were just born that way. Queer. It's from your mother side, you know. Her brother was a big-time fag."

"Dad. I'm not that way." Bambi had to reach him somehow, break through what she hoped was mere ignorance. He'd known her since the day she screeched onto this planet. Of all the people, he had to understand–had to believe her.

"You go to school dressed like a drag queen and you say you're not a queer?"

"They made me."

"Like, who made you?"

"Spike and Butch."

"Spike and Butch? Weren't they the bullies on the 'Little Rascals?'"

"Dad, I'm serious. They're seniors."

"Oh SENIORS. Believe me Bambi, when I told you, you had to deal with them yourself. I meant you had to stand up to them, not lie back for them."

"You don't know how it is—"

"You bet, I don't. I was picked on too, you know–but I would have died rather than let some man use me like a woman."

"Is that what you want? That I should have died?!"

"Listen here young lady, don't try your feminine wiles on me. I know what your type is all about. I was in the Navy, you know."

'I will not cry', Bambi screamed inside her head. "Dad—"

"It's okay. Come to Daddy," he patted his thigh, commanding her to him like she was some kind of lapdog.

She settled down upon him, reveling in the reek of his musk.

"Daddy—please—I need your help. I need your understanding. Things are out of control. Those seniors–those boys—they made me do things I never wanted to do. Things I'm not proud of. I was scared. Can you understand that? I thought they were going to kill me or worst."

Her father looked like something was happening inside his head. Maybe a little candle—the dim light of compassion.

"Oh boys. Believe me Bambi. I understand boys. If you ever need to understand boys, you talk to me. I'm your man. I've got to be honest, from the moment I saw your cute little puppy dog face, I thought of you more as a she than he. Now boys, they'll say anything to get you to put out."

Bambi was lost. All she could do was wag her head like a doggie's tail, letting her daddy fill her empty noggin with his man-of-the-world crap.

"Now, a pretty thing like you can get whatever she wants. You just have to play your cards right. Never show you hand."

"Show my hand?"

"Figure of speech, Toots. Means don't put out till you get the goods."

'So', Bambi thought, 'This is why mom dumped this beast. He's a total asshole–and a misogamist.'

Not that his father would have any idea what that word meant. To him it was only plain sense.

"Yes, daddy."

"Now, I love you Princess, so daddy is going to tell you once and once only."

"Yes?"

"Always use a condom. Okay?"

"Okay, daddy."

"That's my little girl. Now give daddy a hug."

Bambi didn't understand it. Why did she always seem to land up in men's laps? It was nice at first, but after a while it got damn uncomfortable, lumpy.

"I love you, daddy," Bambi purred. It was after all her next line, like she'd heard in a Shakespearean comedy tragedy.

"And Daddy loves you too, Pumpkin."

And to prove it he gave her a big reassuring hug–one that crushed her fleshy breasts to his meaty chest.