Laughter and jokes, two things you quietly wonder when they will come back into a home that’s been struck by tragedy. Time heals all wounds, as they say. And while I don’t think either of us would ever fully heal from the loss of our mother, the wounds were no longer as fresh or painful. We adjusted to her absence over time. And, in due course, over a period of months, the laughter and joy returned. Jokes at one another’s expense, laughter while watching a movie on TV, smiling genuinely at each other… those were the best, if you ask me, the smiles. At first they were warm and supportive, but at some point they had a hint of playfulness about them. She’d read something online while we were in our shared office/computer lab and I’d glance up to see her glance at me self-consciously and, when she caught my gaze, her eyes would twinkle. And seeing joy in her face always made my heart swell. Seeing happiness in her gave me hope, which was something I desperately needed.
Maybe it had happened sooner and I just hadn’t noticed it, but one day I did: Amity stopped wearing panties. She still wore the short skirts and sexy shorts and tight pants, but one day, when she walked by me and I dropped something, she bent down to pick it up for me and, not a foot away from my nose, I got a very clear eyeful of my daughter’s sex. The first things that registered in my mind was that my daughter’s pussy was small, clean and very inviting. When she stood upright again and turned to hand me the pen, she noticed the befuddled look on my face. “What?” she asked.
It was my turn to raise a skeptical eyebrow at my beautiful daughter. “Playing The Game again, are you?”
Amity’s brow furrowed for a moment in confusion and then realization dawned on her. “Oh. Oh! No. Uhm, no. I… I just… I think I gave that up.”
“So why aren’t you wearing any panties?” I asked bluntly.
And she just shrugged. “Don’t want to anymore. I quit wearing them months ago, found I liked the feeling. Now I only wear them when I’m on my periods. You really didn’t notice until just now?”
It was my turn to shrug. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. “Not really, no.” Feeling uncharacteristically bold, I flipped up the front of her skirt to get an unobstructed look at her mound from the front. Like her mother’s, Amity’s pussy was completely bare, not even so much as a whisker. “Can’t say I disapprove,” I added.
And she jumped back in surprise, pulling her skirt from my light grasp and once again hiding her cute little snatch from view. “Dad!”
“What?” I said defensively. “You see a nice painting, you admire it. That’s how it works.” As explanations of sexually harassing your daughter go, yeah, that was pretty lame.
“Maybe for perverts,” she retorted archly, “but not for respectable people.”
At that I scoffed. “Then call me a spade. And a pervert. I had sex with my mother, knocked her up and now I’m lusting after my daughter… who is also my sister. If there was a meter that measured perversion, I’d be in the red, Amity.”
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