A Week of June: Thursday

Her eyes were glazed, a little far away. Her voice was still in the same monotone.

"I was never aroused by any of this, and she made no attempt to draw me into joining her. I was only satisfying my curiosity. I guess I was the most knowledgeable kid at any of the sex talks girls engage in, and that had a certain appeal also, especially combined with the fact that I didn't have to be a slut to find out this stuff.

"And then you guys broke up. Of course, I was devastated. Anybody would be, no matter what the situation. But considering what I had been a part of for so long, I blamed myself, even though I had never told you about Mom."

I remembered the little girl's tearstained face from North Carolina, the distance between us at that time, and how hard it had been to connect with her. It all made appalling sense. But June's story was far from over.

"Mom seemed to go a little crazy. She was constantly with a stream of guys, faceless men that she used and tossed out with the garbage. It was around this time that she started to become 'interested' in me. She spent far more time with me than she ever had before, barring her sex demonstrations. I was in the midst of puberty, and I started to get boobs, and fill out more. She would take me shopping for clothes, compliment me on my figure, help me in the dressing rooms. At first, I was flattered; it was more attention from her than I had ever gotten before. It seemed like finally I was going to have a normal relation with her, where we could be girls together.

"Then, one day, when I was fourteen, and we were shopping at Victoria's Secret, she touched me."

I tried to keep my roiling emotions together. I wasn't sure how upset I was allowed to be about this revelation, considering I was touching June myself at this moment. I forced myself to stay quiet, to hear June out.

"She cupped my breast in a bra, and said 'You are really filling out nicely, June.' Her fingers stroked my boob, and ran over my nipple. It was clear that her intentions were not simply motherly. I was shocked, frozen, unable to say anything. She took this as consent, and put her hand inside the bra, skin to skin. The contact broke the spell, and I slapped her hand away. I rushed out of the dressing room, holding my shirt over my upper body, shaking, horrified. I heard her call after me, but I kept going, mortified at my nakedness, and revolted at being used.

"Of course, I couldn't get home without her, so I had to wait for her to find me. I was quiet the whole way home, refusing to answer anything she said to me, huddled against my side of the car.

"She never let up. Can you believe that shit? For the next two years, she would 'accidentally' barge into my room when I wasn't fully dressed. Or she would feel up my skirt, or tweak a nipple, or whatever other violation she could come up with. But I kept my own, I built a fortress around me.

"Then I discovered something else. I had power over her. I could flaunt myself at her, and not allow her near. I could tease her, leave her parched with desire, but give her no relief for her thirst. The number of men through the house gradually dwindled, as she became obsessed with me. I would let her see me in the shower; I would walk around with next to nothing on; I would suntan in the nude by the pool. And all the while she panted after me like a fucking dog. But I let her have nothing. Nothing! And she had to like it.

"Do you know, it felt great. Our relationship was reversed. Where once she controlled me, now I had her in the palm of my hand. I would bring boyfriends home, and make out with them where I knew she would catch me. And I knew she secretly watched me. Worse for her, I would bring girlfriends home and let them lick me to orgasm in her sight. But fuck her! She got nothing. I could make her give me anything I wanted, simply by flashing tit at her, or showing leg. She was obsessed with me.

I was crying by this point. What the fuck had my bitch ex-wife done to my sweet daughter? June seemed to snap out of her reverie. She reached over to my face, and traced the path of one of my tears.

"Don't be sad. A lot of my life has sucked because of my cunt mother. But she taught me a few things, however unintentionally. She taught me how to be strong. She taught me how to be sexy, if only in contrast to her sluttiness. She taught me how to plan and think. And she taught me how to keep the upper hand in a relationship, how not to give up your trump card.

"What kept me going throughout this time was my contact with you. Your love was never tainted. You never tried to control me. You never fucked with my mind.

"But in return, my love for you felt dirty, rotten beyond belief. Still, even now, I feel complicit in the stuff that wrecked your marriage. Even though I know I had no real choice, no real responsibility, I still feel that way.

"So you wonder if you have ulterior motives in moving beyond being my father. It's important to know that I have a number of ulterior motives in becoming more than your daughter. Yes, I want to punish Mom. I want her to know that she can never have me, but that the man that she rejected is welcome in my bed at any time. I want her to know that I know how valuable you are, how worthy of love, how deserving of respect, and that she fucking made a stupid mistake in leaving you.

"And even more than that. Even more than messing with her mind. I am in the process of cleansing my own soul. By consummating this relationship, I am going to remove the blame I've given myself for all of these years. I want my love for you to be as pure as it should be, a reflection of the love you've given me.

"And finally, most important of all. I need you to understand just how much you mean to me. I love you. I love you far more than a daughter should love her father. I've wanted to sleep with you ever since I've had fantasies of any kind. I can tell, lying in bed with you, how right it feels to be your woman, your daughter, your lover. If you can have me, as fucked up as I've been, I know I can start again, rediscover my innocence. Will you have me, Dad? Will you?"

I gazed at June, my poor daughter. Our messed up rationalizations, our revenge against Alice, the demon witch of each of our nightmares, our desire to forgive ourselves. All of this seemed unimportant in the face of this young woman, her desire for me, her sadness, her simple loving being.

"Yes," I said earnestly, and moved myself over her. I lowered my mouth to hers, my daughter's lips meeting her father's in a soul-deep clench. Her tongue, so sweet and soft, wrapped around mine. Her body against mine, the heat of the contact far outflying the heat of the day surrounding it. The impending reality of our consummation rekindled my arousal, my stiff erection grinding along her leg, her insistent cunt wantonly pushing against my hip.

And then, her hand on my cock, so natural, so right, guiding it home, nestling into the sheath of her pussy, warmly, wetly enveloping me, snug, comforting, until the waves of passion demand more, movement, into the deep confines, and then withdrawing, the delicious friction guiding us down the path we had never explored together.

Our animal cries joined as one, our increasing ardor driving us onwards, the tightness of her, the hardness of me, the contrasts, the similarities, the primal male and female, father and daughter, lover and lover, separate and one, lost, conjoined, together at last, a union so holy and unholy, my ejaculation flooding her, as she screamed, her head thrown back, her hands clutching at the sheets, my back, leaving scratches I feel to this day.

And then, collapsed on her, feeling her ragged breathing pushing her breasts into me, our tears running together, commingled as we were commingled, our mouths hungrily searching for the other, joining together in a grieving so intense it felt like ecstasy.

****

Afterwards, June dozed. Once I was sure she was asleep, I panicked and ran. I am not proud of my reaction, but the events of the week were so overwhelming that I needed some separation. I can't remember where I walked; my mind was whirling, and I let my feet take me where they would through the humid heat of the afternoon. I replayed the sequence of events that had led June and me to my bed this morning. I had been passive, letting the current of June's machinations sweep me along. I had, at every junction, chosen not to be responsible. I had rationalized every choice to play along with the belief that June knew what she wanted herself. Now it seemed that my ex-wife had twisted my girl with her fucked up sexuality. And was I any better than Alice?

I found myself in front of Barnes & Noble. I found some books on incest, and hungrily searched through them for any indication that an incestuous relationship could end happily, but such comfort was not to be found. What had I gotten myself into? Was I doomed to destroy the relationships I most valued?

Some hours later, my questions unresolved, I resigned myself to face the consequences of my foolhardiness. Trudging home through the deepening dusk, my heart sank as I contemplated the possible outcomes from my foolhardy fling with my daughter. One, the guilt of my actions could overwhelm me, and keep me from sharing any intimacy with June, let alone sexual closeness. Two, the ease with which she overcame any objections I might have had could lead her to look on me with contempt, or worse, disgust. Three, in reality, June never wanted me to sleep with her, but had actually been looking to me to reestablish some normalcy in her life in the form of a true parental relationship. When I had not stood up to that ideal, I would have doomed her to the kind of inability to form and keep deep relationships that her mother displayed in spades.

Any way I looked at it, it seemed my future was inevitably poorer.

I found myself in front of my door, looking at the entry to my apartment, once the apotheosis of my dreams, the escape from the humiliations of my marriage and the adit to my revivified dreams. Now it seemed like a barrier, an insurmountable obstacle preventing me from being the man I wanted to be. On the other side of that door were the consequences of my conscious and unconscious choices. I drew a deep breath. It was time to face up to the fact that I was an active participant in the events of this week. I had to make some sense out of the horror.

I turned the key and entered. June jumped up from the sofa, tears on her face. She threw herself into my arms. I hesitantly placed my arms around her, gingerly embracing her. Fortunately she was wearing a T-shirt, protecting me from the seduction of her bare skin.

"Oh, Daddy! I thought I'd lost you! I thought you'd run away from me, just when I needed you the most."

I was silent. She pulled away from me, and gazed seriously into my face.

"Listen, princess. We need to talk about this situation." She started to speak, but I motioned for her to wait.

"I am not going to pretend that what we did earlier was anything but wonderful. Making love to you was beautiful, perfect, just like you. Perhaps, too, it was cathartic for both of us, a way to sweep the past clean, a way, however inappropriate, to apologize for anything we might have done that hurt the other. But it must end there. We must re-create our relationship as father and daughter. We have to allow our intimacy to be the border between the old us and the new us."

June listened carefully to my words. She thought for a second, and then firmly shook her head.

"No. I can't accept that. I can't accept that we can only be father and daughter and not also have the intimacy that you admit felt so right. I know that your cock and my cunt fit together in a way that nature designs few to do. Maybe I'm an idealist, but I can't believe that it would be right to deny that perfection."

"You're right, June. It was something special. And I will always miss that union. But I want to be your father, and not your lover, and I don't think the two things can co-exist."

She stamped her foot, frustration showing on her pretty face. For the first time in the week, she seemed a little younger than her age.

"No! I won't have it. I seduced you before, and I can do it again. You can't resist me!"

I raised my eyebrows. What was going on here?

"I'll show you that you can't live without me in your bed," she went on. "I'll make you a bet. If you can manage to get to midnight Saturday without fucking me, I'll go along with you. If you can't, then we'll live our lives the way I envision it, father and daughter, lovers as well. Is it a deal?"

I looked at her, further understanding dawning. Perhaps she didn't realize it, but she was testing me to see if in fact I did deserve what Alice had done to me. If I was as weak as all the men her mother had paraded before her, then maybe all men would be nothing more than sextoys to June. I couldn't let that happen either. I shook her outstretched hand.

"Deal."

"Good," she smiled, suddenly back in control. "Here are the conditions. You have to do whatever I ask you to do in the next two and a half days, short of intercourse. Anything else is fair game. Likewise, you can touch me or do anything to me short of intercourse, and you won't have violated your end of the deal."

I was astonished. Had she thought this out before I had come home? Was this all part of an act? In any case, I had to prove the strength of my will against this remarkable woman. If I had to follow along with her game to do it, so be it. I nodded.

"Allright, then. It's time for me to go get a tattoo!"

****

Forty-five minutes later we were in the Village, standing outside an unassuming door. Above the door, a tasteful sign read "Body Designs." The heat of the day was still astounding, despite the lengthening of the afternoon shadows. June seemed cool, however, not a bead of sweat visible on her face. Her blouse, simple, white, thin, didn't stick between her shoulderblades, the way my shirt did. The blouse was designed to be tied in a knot below her breasts, and veered off towards her shoulders above the knot, revealing a large amount of bared skin in between the sides. She wore a tight black miniskirt that hugged her hips and exposed her hipbones, and then stopped around ten inches lower. From there to the ground it was all leg, from her slender ankles up to the bottom curve of her asscheeks, which peeked coyly from under the hem of her skirt.

She stepped forward and pushed the buzzer at the side of the door.

"How do you find these places?" I asked.

"My friend Esme told me about it. She's my friend from school who's now living in the city."

The door buzzed, and June pushed it open. Inside, a narrow staircase led upstairs. I had a feeling of déjà vu from the day before. Yesterday's experience had been mind-blowing. What did June have in store for me today?

At the top of the stairs, we went through a simple door, into a room which was crawling with colors; every inch of wallspace was taken up with tattoo designs, all of which boggled the mind. The creativity, the detail, the precision of the images all spoke to the talent and experience of the designer. Even the most cliched designs, the "Moms," the roses, the daggers, flowed in a way that would complement rather than just sit atop the flesh that they were meant for. But then, the more complex pictures were astonishing. There was a dragon, curled around the base of a tree, whose expression conveyed a slyness and cunning natural to its breed. There was a naked woman, whose position artfully denied access to her most private areas, but whose lips smiled a clearly recognizable come-hither. A cat stretched, still sleepy from an afternoon nap. These were not just tattoos. These were art.

Lost as I was in examining the gallery, I didn't hear the entrance of the store's owner.

"Do you like what you see?"

The voice was feminine, a deep alto. I turned to see an Asian woman, her jet-black hair tumbling aver her shoulders in a swift shower to below her breasts. Her skin was tan, but deep and clear; her eyes, dark brown, beautiful and exotic; her lips, painted a gorgeous dark red, full and pouting. Her body was encased in a Chinese dress, sleeveless, high collared, electric blue, coming down to her knees, but with slits on each side up to mid-thigh. Her long slender arms, however, attracted my eye the most. On each one, winding around, indelibly inked into her skin, a brilliant green snake tattoo.

"Absolutely," chirped June. "You designed all of these?"

"Of course. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Joy." She extended her arm languidly. I took her hand. Her skin was unbelievably soft, like silk.

"Did you also design this snake?" I asked.

She smiled. "I designed it, but my teacher engraved it. It was my graduation project and gift. Please, look as closely as you wish." She turned away from us, undoing two buttons of her dress, and shrugging the dress down her arms, showed us her back. The snake was coiled around the sinuous curve of her back, its emerald green intermixed with shots of yellow and red. I traced its progress with a finger. Her skin everywhere was as smooth as her hands.

"I see you note how soft my skin is," she said over her shoulder. "A tattoo need not leave the skin rough, if the proper care is taken." She slipped the dress back over her shoulders, and rebuttoned herself before turning around. "Now, which of you will be requiring my attention today?"

June raised her hand, a little nervously, I noticed.

"Good. I will take care of you. I offer advice as well as artisanship. I can tailor the image to the area you wish to engrave. Come with me to my work area."

She led the way through a curtain at the back of the gallery into another, smaller room. Here there was a bed, a plush stool on wheels, two armchairs, and a cart with all of her tattooing implements.

Joy indicated the bed to June, who hoisted herself onto it.

June cleared her throat. "I was thinking of getting something simple, um, like a flower, or a heart, you know. And, I guess, I was thinking maybe on my butt?"

Joy gazed at her steadily.

"For someone as gorgeous as you are, you need a tattoo that is remarkable, one that will stand out. You can get something like what you indicated at any street-level parlor. But you came to me for expertise. Allow me to suggest alternate choices. Please to disrobe."

June stared at her for a second, then untied her blouse, glancing at me unsteadily. She paused, then slid the garment off of her arms, her perfect breasts swaying slightly with the movement. Her nipples, as always erect, were extended even more than usual, if possible. Then she stood up, and peeled her miniskirt over her hips, and down to the ground. Joy had her stand before her, and then turn around. All the while, she looked over my daughter's body as if it were a canvas, and she was assessing the potential. Then she nodded curtly, and stepped through the curtain, leaving me alone with my naked child. She looked imploringly at me.

"Hey, don't look at me," I said. "This was your idea. If you want to go through with it, stick the course."

She looked down at the floor. In a moment, Joy returned, holding three designs. She spread them on the bed and invited us to look at them. If she was fazed by the incongruity of one of us being clotheless, she did not show it.

The first design was a Chinese dragon, the kind you see in the parades held up by a bunch of people. Its head was tilted to one side, giving it a quizzical expression. The colors were bright, celebratory, each scale a different hue.

"This one I would place starting here," indicating the small of June's back, "and then it would move around the side and finish up here," pointing to the space below June's navel but above the mons. "It is a bold statement, but expressive, cheerful."