Flicka

I left my pants on the floor as we ate that dinner. She sat on my knee, and I could feel her hot oozing vulva on my thigh. She giggled and tickled my ear. I was in heaven.

After dinner she lay in my arms. The TV was on but I am not sure whether either of us were watching. We were in a sort of post-coital haze, completely unaware of our surroundings.

But she broke the spell.

"I am a horrible person," she said.

"You are the most perfect woman in the world," I reassured her.

"I am driven by my desires. My desires led me to abandon you. I will never forgive myself for that."

"You needed to be who were meant to be," I said. "I understand that. In the modern world, most people do." I was trying to tell her tat I knew that she was a transwoman and that everything that she had done to herself, and the effect that it had on others, including me, was beyond her control.

"Your mother could have allowed me to stay," she said. "But I wanted to be a wife to a man. I wanted to be under a man. I always want that. Mike is more than I deserve."

"Sure," I said. "I like Mike. I feel uncomfortable about ... betraying him, I guess."

"Oh no," she said. "It was his suggestion. The last time he went away, I strayed. He knows what I need. He just doesn't want to lose me. He knows that he could never lose me to my own son. You know that too, don't you?"

I was suddenly a little confused. I was trying to make sense of whatever was happening for the first time. The sexual fantasy was so complete, I really had lost sight of who this creature in my arms was. She was a wet dream come true. Not my father. How could she be? Maybe my father had helped my dream come true, but they could not be the same person.

But they were. The horror of it finally dawned on me.

"Come to bed," she said.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2019