She shook her head, amused. “Would you like me to brush your hair?”
“Yes, please.”
She took the brush and used it to describe a circle in the air above me. I turned, moving between her legs, my back to the sofa, my eyes closing as she began to pull the thing through my hair.
I was so relaxed by the time she set the brush aside that I was having trouble holding my head up. She gathered my hair into a tail and tickled my neck with it, making me giggle. She released my hair then. “Come up here and lay down.”
I got to my knees, turning, my gaze going to her thigh as she patted it. I glanced toward my father. He shifted his legs closer to the back of the cushions, making room for me, an unreadable expression on his face. I moved, sitting on the edge, lowering myself down onto her lap, her hand coming to rest on the side of my head, her thumb already moving. I brought my feet up, moving slowly, wondering if he was looking, knowing that if he was, he’d be able to see my panties. The thought thrilled me.
I closed my eyes, tuning out the sound of the TV, concentrating only on my mother’s touch, wanting to be nowhere else.
But soon she squeezed my shoulder. “Let me up, honey.”
I lifted my head then lowered it again when she stood, watching, mesmerized, as the thin film of her nightgown slid down over her panties, partially hiding them. She had, in my opinion anyway, the most beautiful skin, soft and creamy, tanned but not dark. She was an easy four inches taller than my five feet, four inches, with rounded hips and long, tapering legs. I’d seen more than one of the boys checking her out.
His hand on my foot caught my attention and I curled my toes as he pushed a thumb into my sole. He chuckled when I moaned. “How come you aren’t out with your friends? It’s a beautiful night.”
“And miss out on a foot rub?” I shook my head. “No thank you.”
He laughed softly. “You’re like a kitten.”
I remained silent, wanting nothing more than to rub up against him, to purr as he pushed himself into me.
I lifted my head, settling it back onto her thigh, her fingers moving immediately to my ear, tracing it, making me feel loved.
Once I was in bed, my mother came in to say goodnight. “Sweet dreams, my angel.”
“You too, Mom.”
I relaxed into the mattress, breathing in her scent when she leaned down to kiss me, my eyes closing.
And I lay there for many minutes, my mind on my father; on the foot rub he’d given me, his thumb pushing into my sole, pushing into the muscles near my toes, making me wet with desire for him.
I wasn’t so naive that I didn’t know that wanting him was wrong, quite the contrary; I was very aware of just how wrong it was, how illegal, how sinful. I knew that nobody would understand my feelings for him, not my friends, and certainly not my mother. But nonetheless, they were my feelings, and they were very real and very strong.
I pictured myself laying under him while he nibbled at my lips and my ears and my neck while his penis throbbed inside of me, pulsating to the beat of his heart, stretching me as he thrust into me, making me moan, making me wet, making me his.