I breathed in through my nose and let it out slowly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not a total idiot. I’m just… sorry that I wasn’t involved with educating you. I take it Mother filled you in on everything you need to know?”
Amity snorted with a small laugh. “That and so much more, Dad. Most things in this family aren’t very private, but some things… are.”
I nodded. “I understand. And I want you to understand that if there’s anything you want to know that Mother didn’t teach you, I’ll always do my best to help.”
“There is one thing…” I glanced at her questioningly. She looked me right in the eye and asked with absolute earnestness, “Where do babies come from? Because I think I might wanna have one some day.”
The question hit me so completely out of the blue, so unexpectedly, that I at first didn’t know HOW to respond. I just gaped at her. Surely the subject of procreation had been taught to her! I KNEW it had, as I had participated in that conversation with her mother back when she was only 4 years old. “What?! I-”
Amity broke out into laughter. “See? You ARE too gullible!” Then her face hardened. “But, seriously, I DO want to have one some day.”
I just blinked at her stupidly. “I… I have no ready response for that,” I replied.
“None needed,” she said off-handedly. “Just a statement of fact. Now, if you please, go do something else for a little bit while I unload.”
I left to go take a shower. A cold one.
I’ve described Amity’s beauty insofar as her mind and personality are concerned, but I have yet to describe her physically. That was intentional, as her physical beauty was something I never really noticed until it was just the two of us alone together. And I didn’t notice it for a long time after Rose was killed. In retrospect, I fully understand WHY it took me so long to notice my daughter’s beauty: she may have been the only female around, but I was still grieving for my mother, who amounted to no less than my wife.
But that didn’t mean noticing her beauty had any tint of lust behind it- at first. My awareness of her beauty was more clinical and objective, much in the same way you’d walk past a painting in a museum and say, “Oh, that’s an exceptionally beautiful painting!” without having any interest in taking it home with you. Having lived with and loved my own mother as I did, whose beauty was as constant as the North Star, as far as I was concerned, acknowledging Amity’s beauty was almost a no-brainer. To my mind, OF COURSE Amity would be just as gorgeous as her mother was. How could she not?
Amity was short. Much, much shorter than me, perhaps just a shade shorter than Mother, who was five feet tall. So call it four-foot-ten, at an educated guess. Now, on that short and diminutive frame was a woman whose attributes reflected her mother’s, but more so. Mother’s breasts, when I first made love to her, were 36-C. They were firm, high and as close to flawless as any man could imagine and stayed that way well after giving birth to Amity and swelling in the process, as a woman’s breasts are wont to do after childbirth. Amity’s breasts were every bit as perfect and, on her shorter frame, seemed even larger. Her legs were strong and well toned, worked hard from helping Mother in our garden and walking on our land. Her hands were small, but held a deceptive amount of power, mostly gotten from hours upon hours of coding and working on the computer as well as physical labor in the garden, which also helped to keep her waist trim. Her hips held the slender grace of youth, but a critical eye could see that they would soon develop subtly to show off a young woman practically made for both sex and bearing children. On the backside of those wondrous hips was what can only be described as a derriere designed solely to grab a man’s attention. How I’d missed it all these years was a true mystery, but once I’d become aware of her beauty it was impossible to ignore. Her butt cheeks were high and tight and had the most subtle curve, looking both soft and taut at the same time. And all of this gorgeousness was wrapped up in the most exquisite, soft, sun-toned skin any woman would kill to have. All the fresh country air and good, natural living had done her complexion wonders that would stump even the best of dermatologists. Amity’s incredible body notwithstanding, her most beguiling feature was easily her face. Soft, gentle cheekbones, small elfin ears, and a short nose that was small but not at all upturned and sat above full, pouty lips. Her hair was a golden brown in certain types of light and burnt blonde in others. That beautiful mane of luxurious hair was thick and long, hanging down past her shoulders and perfectly framing her bosoms with soft ringlets. Her eyes, however, could steal your soul with a glance. They were a perfect steel blue with just the faintest hint of gray that sparkled with intelligence and mischief and strength, whether she was laughing or crying.
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