First dating

Sofia is bustling around the apartment, barely paying any attention to me. I’m eating my dumplings, drinking my coffee, and watching my daughter philosophically.

My daughter has grown up; she’s already of age, heading out on her first real date. Tonight there’ll probably be a first kiss, and maybe things will go further. I know her suitor is named Ihor, but the young man hasn’t been introduced to me yet.

Sofia runs out of the bathroom already in a blouse but still without a skirt. Her ass is hugged by thin lacy panties. She dashes to her room, and I hear her clattering around as she gets ready.

“Hey, don’t rush so much,” I call from the kitchen with a smile. “A girl is supposed to be late. Otherwise it’ll seem like you’re impatient. Remember, you’re a lady.”

Who the hell is this Ihor? I don’t know him at all. And I feel a little jealous of this unknown guy. Of course, that’s wrong.

Here comes Sofiyka into the hallway. The skirt is on now, and underneath there’s something flesh-colored. Stockings or tights? Probably stockings, judging by the lacy panties. Subconsciously, my daughter might be ready to go pretty far tonight.

God, I hope the kids don’t screw things up too badly today.

Meanwhile, she’s putting on her new shoes. She’ll probably blister her feet.

“Don’t drink too much,” I say. “Come home…”

“…by ten?” Sofia grimaces.

“Fine, by eleven. For a first time, that’s more than enough. We’ll tell Mom it was ten. Keep your phone handy. And…”

“What?”

“If the new shoes rub — take a taxi. I’ll give you money.”

And with that, we part ways.

-

Once Sofia leaves the house, I turn on some music and sit down to work.

Work isn’t going anywhere, so soon I’m browsing AliExpress for headphones, then making myself another coffee and rewatching favorite episodes of Black Mirror. When the Christmas special ends and San Junipero starts, I hear someone fiddling with the key in the lock.

Sofia? Way too early. Probably Yulia back from her courses in Kyiv. But the Kyiv train arrives in Mariupol early in the morning. Maybe she took the bus?

I get up from the chair and head to the hallway.

It is Sofia coming in. Her face shows confusion, her mascara has run a bit, but nothing critical, it seems.

“Having lunch?”

She nods.