Watching my drunk daughter by Zillapat

My name is Bill and I’m a 40-year-old British guy, with a beautiful family. My wife, Sarah, who is a year younger than me. Her parents were originally immigrated from Hong Kong, so she has classical Asian features, a sexy trim body, long dark hair, and dark brown eyes. We have a daughter, 16-years-old, who we call MJ for short, and who in so many respects is developing into the spitting image of her mother. MJ has a more youthful, angelic face, framed by long silky dark hair that cascades down her back almost to her butt and a fringe that covers her forehead, a trim 5’ 2” figure, with smallish perky breasts, which I guessed were probably no more than a 34B, and a cute little bubble-butt. Being a fusion of Asian and Western DNA, she is extremely pretty, with a cute nose, gorgeous dark brown eyes, and an endearing smile, which always seemed to catch the attention of boys. Despite all this attention, MJ still has a girlish innocence, still somewhat shy of boys, focusing more on her schoolwork with seemingly little interest in dating. In fact, her mother, still being somewhat traditional, actively discourages her from dating, citing that it would “distract her from her studies”. Consequently, I don’t recall her ever going out on a serious date with a guy. Of course, she goes out with friends from time to time, which are mostly girls, although she has a couple of male friends, who she has known for years, but for some reason or other her male friends always seemed to be gay, perhaps because she feels safer with them. I remember how they used to play dress-up together when they were young and even experiment with makeup. More than her attractive looks, her innocence and sweet personality are endearing.

Sarah’s parents live in Chinatown in London, where we first met before relocating to Leeds, a city some 200 miles north of London. I had accepted a new job and had moved there about 5 years ago. Although the pay was slightly less, we both enjoyed the benefits of living in a small country village, a 30-minute drive from the city. We had been able to afford a nice home, which was larger, with an expansive garden that Sarah took full advantage of, growing flowers and fresh vegetables. The air here is so fresh, combined with the smell of the countryside and the quietness, apart from an occasional passing car, it contrasted completely from the over-priced and frantic lifestyle of living and working in London. Moreover, we would never have been able to afford such a nice home in London, so on balance the quality of life was so much better and totally offset the small reduction in salary. Sarah didn’t work, mostly spending her time on looking after the home, and of course, taking care of MJ. As a mother but perhaps a bit too controlling, probably a result of her Asian heritage.

I had developed an enjoyable habit of popping to the village’s local pub, a charming establishment, serving hand-pulled traditional ales, and decorated with dark woods, the shelves and walls adorned with a vast array of memorabilia, old photographs, and antiquities. The pub was mostly frequented by locals, both young and old, familiar faces from around the village, mostly guys, occasionally accompanies by their wives or girlfriends. Like all small communities, the pub was the social centre of the village, a kind of forerunner of Facebook, a carry-over from an era before computers and mobile phones, a meeting place, where one would catch up with news, local gossip, and share stories at the pub rather than via a phone. Sarah never fussed at me about going to the pub and I would never over-stay. It became an outlet for me, a way to destress from work. Over the years, I had become friends with the landlord, Dave, who always had a friendly and welcoming demeanor, but he and I got on well on a personal level and would often spend time chatting whenever he was not busy serving other customers. Occasionally, we would even head out and play golf together. Dave was a widower, having lost his wife a few years before, to cancer, and to my knowledge had been single ever since.

About a week ago, Sarah had decided to take a trip to London to visit her parents as it was coming up to her father’s 65th birthday and she wanted to be there with to share it with him. Conveniently, due to some important work commitments I had to stay home, but she was happy to go on her own. Sarah’s parents were old-school Chinese, keeping themselves to themselves, operating a mini supermarket; they rarely took time away or ventured out of their community. I was somewhat relieved to not have go with her. Her parents spoke a little English, but I knew that most of the conversation would end up being in Cantonese. I always felt like a bit of an outsider to Sarah’s family; I remember when we first told them that Sarah and I were going to be married it took them some time for them to get used to the idea. Consequently, they were always polite to me, but in an almost formal, detached way, lacking any visible outward sign of warmth. Again, I put this down to culture and tended to just accept that this was normal. My decision to move 200 miles away only made my relationship with them more challenging, almost as if I had taken their daughter to the other side of the world, but Sarah had willingly and happily accompanied me. She often called them and knew that she was only a 2-hour train ride away.

As it was just MJ and me, I had postponed my almost nightly visit to the pub, instead, making sure I was home for MJ, rather than leaving her home alone. Friday night rolled around, and I had made my mind up that tonight I was going to go there. I guess that I still felt a bit uncomfortable leaving MJ alone in the house, not because she wasn’t responsible, just that I didn’t want her to feel alone, so somewhat on the spur of the moment I offered her the chance to come with me. Surprisingly, she jumped at the opportunity and happily agreed before dashing up to her room to change.

Whereas in reality it was only about 10 minutes or so, it seemed ages before she came back down. I was struck with how beautiful and grown she looked. She was wearing an attractive long blue dress, the type with short off-the-shoulder sleeves, with a white flower print, that hung down almost to her mid-calf. Her hair was down, laying across her bare shoulders and she had applied a little eyeshadow and lipstick. She was wearing a pair of wedge sandals, which added a couple of inches to her height and seemed to alter her posture slightly. MJ smiled and did a little twirl for me, she looked stunning, transforming almost by magic from scruffy teen into a beautiful young woman.

“Do I look ok daddy?” she asked adopting a coy, almost flirty expression.

“you look beautiful honey, quite the young lady”

She smiled happily and hugged me

“Daddy daughter date!” she joked, giggling happily

This was going to be her first visit to a pub, so I was a little cautious about taking her because her mum would lynch me if she knew, but I was looking forward to spending some relaxing time together.

It was a pleasant summer evening, so along the short distance to the pub, we walked and chatted happily. I was definitely enjoying sharing quality time with MJ, even something as simple as simply walking together to the pub.

“I really like that dress sweetie; it looks great on you. Is it new?”. I noticed how the soft fabric clung to her, accentuating her slender shape, the lower part covering her legs, wafting slightly as we walked. If I hadn’t been her dad and some 10 or so years younger, I would definitely have had her in my sights. I’m still surprised that she didn’t already have a line of guys waiting to knock on our door. Being Asian, Sarah had always kept MJ on a fairly tight rein and often lectured her on the risks of allowing herself to be distracted from her education. I think that was one of the few things that Sarah and I really differed on. I understood the importance of her education, but I also wanted her to have the freedom to experience life, even if that meant dating some spotty teenager.

A few minutes later, we arrived at the pub. As we entered, I smiled and nodded to acknowledge the faces that turned to look in our direction, most of whom I recognized. There was the usual collection of local farmers together with a few small business owners and residents from the village. Normally I would take a stool at the bar but as MJ was with me, so I went over to an empty corner booth near the window that had an old red sofa and gestured her to sit.

“what would you like to drink sweetie?”

“Daddy, can I try a glass of wine?”

I laughed, “I don’t really think that’s appropriate honey, your mum would probably kill me just for bringing you to the pub, if she found out I’d served you alcohol, she definitely would”. I was semi-serious, semi-joking, but I sure didn’t want to face the prospect of her mum knowing I’d taken MJ to the pub and let her drink alcohol.

“Please daddy, all my friends drink and I promise I won’t drink much and besides, I’m with you, so you know I’m safe”. She looked at me, pleading with her puppy-dog eyes that melt the strongest will.

“ok, well just one, and only if you absolutely promise not to tell your mother”. Not quite sure where my parenting skills had gone, but I agreed before fully realizing what I had just agreed to.

“I promise daddy, I won’t even tell her we came here, honest”. Her expression and tone were serious, but her smile was beaming.

I sauntered over to the bar, to be greeted by Dave, who just finished pouring another pint for one of his customers.