When Rebecca, my four year old daughter, heard my wife and I  arguing, she felt tingly and warm in certain places and continued to play with her dolls and toys, sitting open-legged on the floor of her bedroom. Becka had hoped and prayed.., and even knew, that a break-up was going to happen between her mom and me. She hated her mom. I must admit that I helped form her opinion, because whenever her mom went out and Becky and I were alone, We'd get comfortable on the couch and watch tv and I would tell her how my wife neglected and abused me. "She neglects and abuses me, too!", Becky had said to me that first time. I honestly felt so close to her at that moment. I said to her, "Come over here, sweetheart. Sit right next to me and let me hug you." She scooted over without a second thought, her curly auburn hair boucing slightly, and let me put my arm around her.
   For some reason, I never really treated Rebecca like my daughter. I always treated her like an equal, and I think that is why she loves me so much. I think that's why I had her; for somebody to talk to. To relate to. Shortly after her second birthday, I began showing her pictures that usually only adults would understand or appreciate. I read to her about romance. and contemporary archaeology. and astronomy. I read Shakespeare to her. and Sylvia Plath. She would turn her head up and kiss me whenever I was finished reading. She seemed to understand, and we cherished every moment together. 
  It hit me me quite by surprise one night when I had my arm around her on the couch and was casually gazing down into the darkness behind her little cotton sleeveless shirt.., that I was thinking of her romantically. She seemed to sense that and sprang up and then she brought me back a thin vase of cut tigerlillies that she and I had arranged. She stood there holding them in front of her for me, with a warm, mischievous little grin/smile. I leaned forward to smell them, placing my hands around hers, but even leaned past the flowers a bit to try to catch her scent. I wanted to smell her sweet, little, excited nipples as their delicate scent mingled with the stamens and nectar and pollen of the lilies. I pressed my lips into hers and she dropped the vase and it broke, but neither of us moved a muscle.
  I knew that her awareness of romance was maybe less, certainly different than mine (after all, she was a female), but we loved and trusted eachother. That's all that mattered. Our special relationship had been going on for four months when the final argument came between her mother and me, and I had been informing Becky all along of how men and women act when they find a special partner and are attracted to eachother. Her questions and comments proved to me that some girls her age are every bit as intelligent and capable as older girls, or young women. I had somehow sensed her maturity, even when she was two, when I led her one day from her crayons and coloring book that she was tiring of, and into our home studio where we now do oil painting together. She sits in my lap, both of us nude, and she does a wonderful, imaginitive-yet-careful job. Her femininity really seems to jump alive when she is painting. She knows just what she wants.
  When she gets excited, my erection pops up and I watch her dab and swirl her brush in all the surprising colors of a girl's childhood. Once in a while, she even dabs the face of my cock, playfully, with paint when she sees it erect and smiling up at her from between her 4-year-old legs. She's lost all of her babyfat on those legs, and pretty soon, the boys on the playground (and men on streetcorners) are going to notice her. When her mom goes out, I dress Becky in the shortest skirts I can find for her and drive her into the city to the ice cream parlor. She knows I look at other girls her age and slightly older at the ice cream parlor, but she seems to know that our love can not be broken and that those other girls are not a threat. Sometimes I look at her and wonder what she is thinking, but a girl will never tell you everything. I respect that. It's really hard no to kiss her passionately in the ice cream parlor!
  I should say, "...when her mom WENT out". We are now separated and I am paying big bucks for the best lawyer I could find so that I am awarded custody of Becky after the divorce. Her mom used to abuse painkillers, and I had had the foresight to photocopy all of her prescriptions from her eleven doctors. That, and the fact that I make $80,000 per year and her mom is chronically un-employed should do the trick for me. Becky will back me up in court with tales of her mom's abuse and neglect.
  That same night that I had the conclusive argument with my wife, and she had gone out for the night, slamming the door, my little angel, Rebecca appeared in front of me with a bowl in her hands and asked me, "Daddy? Do you want raisins or M&M's in your ice cream?" All she had on was a white lace pull-over nightie. This little girl was determined not to lose a beat. My wife storms out, and my real soulmate is there in seconds, offering me luxury and the keys to the kingdom. I picked her up and sat her cross-ways in my lap and rocked her, trying not to let her know that I was crying. I was crying in joy that so much love could be poured on so much hate. All I could think of was getting Becka to my deceased grandfather's abandoned place in Alaska. We could live together there in peace. She slept with that night for the first time, sneaking into my bed after I fell asleep. She smehow knew.., or didn't care, that my wife would not be back that night. Maybe she was even prepared to fight for her man. i would back her up if she did. I saw her there in the morning and felt like I had died and went to heaven. It is hard for me to tell you how much i love her and appreciate her and how happy she makes me. Her eyes popped open when she knew My face was hovering over hers, smiling, and i dropped a tender, strong kiss on her. She was absolutely loving it, especailly as we danced our tongues together. She still tasted like raisins and M&M's. I will always take care of my Becka.