How They May Be

Why, indeed? Because she might otherwise inflame further her father's fetid fantasies . . . but she had no way to know that. "You know, princess, I have a feeling that you're going to completely torment some lucky man someday." I grabbed for her feet, which waved aimlessly back and forth in the air like reeds in the breeze. They were so perfect - dainty, well-formed, her soles still soft and sensitive, her unpainted toenails a darling pink.

Emily hummed happily and wiggled her toes at me. "No time like the present."

I half-smiled at that, though she could not see it, and poured a measure of tanning lotion onto my palm. Emotion played a complex symphony within me, the pounding drumbeat of desire sounding alongside the high fluting of pleasure and pierced by a distant, aching note of loss. Her cliché had hit home, though perhaps not in the way she intended - this, right now, was special. There would not be many moments like this left with her. All too soon she would be leaving, and once you leave home you never come back again, not really. Not the way you used to. Maybe that was best, I thought. Maybe the only resolution to these feelings was for her to be out of my life, so I could not be tempted. But I knew I could not sacrifice what little time I still had with her. I just had to muddle through, as best as I could.

Emily was graciously pliant in my hands - I pointed her right foot upwards and began to apply the lotion, smearing it on first with my palm before going back and working it into every groove and crevice, rubbing roughly at her tarsal bones, squeezing my fingers between her toes. I took a moment to play with them, bending her toes gently back and forth, admiring their delicate cleft, the flexibility of their joints. I hardly knew how toes could manage to be so feminine, and yet somehow hers were. Her left foot soon received a similar treatment, and she was quiet through that as well. I almost began to wonder if she was not falling asleep there on the towel when she suddenly spoke again, a slight note of melancholy in her voice, as though I had transferred my dampened mood to her by my touch. Or as though we were so in synch that our emotions moved together. "Mark, I was wondering."

I moved on to her calves, where her runner's physique was most apparent. Corded muscle bulged just beneath the skin, strong and healthy; I encircled her leg with my hands and slowly drew them up and down along her satiny, hairless skin, leaving it glistening damply in the bright ambient light. "What's that, sweetheart?"

She hesitated while I traced my fingers along the inside of her knee. "What do you think about my body?"

"I try not to." No, that was no good - it suggested too much. "That is, I don't, sweetie." But even as I said this, I passed over her knees to her thighs, moving at an ever-slowing pace as I gripped at their creamy underside, rubbed my thumb repeatedly along their inside surface, higher and higher, inch by inch.

"What a terrible thing to say to your wife." It was teasing, but there was little humor in it. She wanted an answer.

I felt as though I was two minds, two selves, one of them conscientiously attending to her worries, the other licentiously kneading at her soft and yielding flesh. I applied another healthy glob of lotion, the white fluid now seeming lewdly suggestive. "Honey, is this about what Katheryn said to you?"

"Maybe." The muscles of her leg tensed in my hands, relaxed again. "Yeah."

"Well, you shouldn't let her get to you." I leaned in closer, reaching to the tops of her legs, resting my fingers mere inches from her appetizing derrière. "She was just trying to hurt your feelings."

"I guess," she granted weakly, her voice small and unconvinced, "but still, I'm-"

"But nothing," I insisted firmly, and my hands passed that invisible boundary, grasping slickly at her rear where the bikini bottom left it uncovered. Coated it with a thin layer of lotion, still clinging to the threadbare pretense that this was anything other than molestation. "I told you before that you're a beautiful girl, Emily, and I meant it." My gaze fixed on the smooth curve of her buttocks beneath the thin violet cloth, between hands that stroked slowly at their flesh. "Every last bit of you, from the hair on your head to the soles of your feet. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar." Beneath, just grazing the fabric of the towel, I could make out the outline of her nether lips, softly parted as though desperate to be fed. My head spun at the sight, filled with terrible ideas, vile ambitions. It would be so easy to touch her there, to slide my fingers beneath her bikini and caress her hidden treasure. Or, the despicable thought insinuated, to go further yet - to pull aside the crotch of her swimsuit, undo my fly and sink my manhood within her right there on the beach. My hand trembled against her, drifted inward, downward, towards the most forbidden part of her. One finger snuck barely beneath the edge of her suit...

No. Conscience fell like a hammer blow upon me, and I jerked my hands back, away from her, my breathing disturbed and shallow. This was exactly the danger I had worried about, that I would lose control of myself, that I would fall by inches into an action I could never take back. Emily was silent, her face still pressed against the beach towel. I could hardly believe now that she had not felt anything amiss in all this, that she had not spoken to question at least the languor with which I had applied her tanning lotion. I could only think that it was again her trust in me coming to my rescue, concealing my wrongs, a trust now much-abused but still doggedly faithful. I could not entirely conceal the agitation in my voice as I spoke "Okay, Emily, I'd say you're pretty well covered now," and tossed the bottle onto the sand beside her.

She sat up then, turned around to look at me with unreadable eyes that refused to meet mine, and my heart sank. She knew. Or she suspected. Or, god, maybe she was just still worried about what Katheryn had said to her. It was crazy - normally I could tell what she was thinking much better than this. Attraction had jumbled up my senses. I waited for her to accuse me of crimes I could not deny, and felt only a thin relief when she instead said in a quiet, attentive voice, "Thanks. I'll get the rest myself. And thanks for what you said, too."

"That's fine, honey." I swallowed uncertainly, pulling my knees up in front of me. I wanted to apologize to her for the sinful urge behind my touch, for what I had nearly done to her, but could not find the words or the will to do so. Still could not stand to bring this awful truth into the open, if she didn't already know. "I just want to be a good father for you, Emily," I awkwardly said instead. "I know I must fall short in a thousand ways, but that's what I want. That's all I want."

She squinted at me and rested one delicate hand reassuringly atop my knee. "You are, daddy. Mark. You are, and you have been, and I think you always will be." Then she quirked a smile as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa's, and added "Except this weekend. This weekend, you're my husband."

"Right." I buried my forehead in my palm. "Right."

I stayed there on the beach with her for about an hour as she flitted back and forth between the water and the sand, making the most of the luxuriant weather. I didn't join in - just sat under the umbrella watching her, trying to force myself to see my daughter, rather than this beautiful girl who beguiled my senses.

No, that's not really true. I did see my daughter; that was entirely the problem. This attraction had merely laid itself atop all my other feelings about Emily, joining hands with the pride and the affection and the fatherly adoration to form a new whole, add a new dimension to my perspective on her. And as I watched her frolic in the surf, I was dubious that anything I could do would remove it.

We filled the remainder of the afternoon with a visit to Pearl Harbor and the memorial for the U.S.S. Arizona, Emily adopting a pensive kind of reflection in recognition of those who rested beneath the waves. But it was no lasting sorrow, and dinner at the hotel restaurant soon brought her spirits back up. It was not until late that evening that I realized the next problem I faced, as I followed Emily into the hotel room and watched her sit back on the bed with remote in hand, kicking off her heels.

"There's only one bed." I said it with a simple weariness. It wasn't surprising, really, but I hadn't considered the issue beforehand.

"Well, duh," Emily glanced at me with a grin as she flipped through the channels. "They wouldn't give a married couple a room with two beds."

"No, of course not," I muttered, facing away from her. "All right, fine. I can just sleep in the chair here." A large and reasonably comfortable-looking brown easy chair sat in the corner of the room near a small table. It wouldn't be the most restful night's sleep, perhaps, but I'd probably be able to catch a few winks.

"Oh, don't be silly." Standing, Emily approached me from behind and put a hand lightly against my back. "I mean, this thing is king-size, at least. There's plenty of room for both of us." Her voice turned teasing, dramatic. "Unless you're afraid that you might forget who I am, and ravish me in the night."

I spun around to face her. "That's not funny, Emily." It came out much more sharply than I had intended, my anxiety boiling over into rancor, and I nearly shouted at her. "It's completely inappropriate to joke about. I don't ever want to hear you say anything like that again."

Emily was quite shocked at my outburst, an expression very like fear breaking onto her face, and she opened her mouth twice before any words emerged. "I'm sorry, daddy," she finally sputtered out weakly. "You're right, I shouldn't have said that. I don't know what I was thinking." And she looked up hesitantly into my eyes.

I regretted the ferocity of my words as soon as they left my mouth, and the quiet injury in her gaze only increased my remorse. "No, I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to yell, really I didn't." My arms went around her reflexively, the hug ever our method to smooth over the slightest upset or hurt feeling. After a slight delay she accepted my embrace, pulled herself against me, and I cast about for a scapegoat. "It's . . . you know, it's this jet lag, it always makes me cranky. But please, pumpkin." Pulling back, I gave her a serious look, "I don't like hearing you talk like that, okay?"

Emily adopted a solemn expression as her hands dropped back down to her sides. "Okay. I understand." She took a slow breath before adding, "You do look kind of tired."

I felt tired. Not physically, but a mental weariness, an exhaustion from the effort of fighting back the impulses that arose every time I looked at her. And the jet lag was real - it felt at least two hours later than it was. Emily had made up the difference while on the plane, and still looked quite awake, but I was more than ready for bed. "Yeah. Were you planning on watching TV for very long?" I asked apologetically, the implication of the question clear.

"Not at all, if you want to sleep." She flipped the power, cutting off Alex Trebek in mid-answer. "I mean, this is your work thing. I'm just tagging along. That's why I thought you should use the bed - you need your rest for tomorrow."

Half a smile labored its way onto my face. "Well, I . . . that's thoughtful of you, sweetheart." I was touched, yes. She managed somehow to be so gracious a girl, even when I had just senselessly screamed at her. To be so selfless, even though I spoiled her enough to turn an angel rotten.

She smiled back at me kindly, grasped for my hand. "Come on, then." I permitted myself to be towed over to the right-hand side of the bed, to accommodatingly lay down where she pushed me, Emily putting me to bed as though our roles were suddenly reversed. The impishness that had infused her manner just a few short moments ago was gone, abandoned in favor of a gentle solicitude. I only stopped her when she began to unbutton my shirt for me, protesting with mostly false peevishness, "All right, all right, I'm not an invalid yet. I can take off my own shirt."

"Of course you can," she agreed tolerantly, and raised her hand to ruffle at my hair, her thin fingers tracing lines of delicious sensation as they ran along my scalp. "Now I'm going to sleep way over on the other side of the bed. You won't even realize I'm there. Okay?"

"Okay, princess," I smiled weakly, knowing how little chance there was of that. There was nothing she could do to escape the impression she made on my consciousness - nor anything I could do, for that matter. Though I closed my eyes and turned my face to the wall in order to avoid the smallest glimpse of her as she got herself ready for bed, I could still hear the airy whisper of her clothing as it slid off her skin, the soft flutter of it crumpling to the floor. I could feel the minute shifting of the bed as she crept into it and lay down flat, and soon thereafter, the body heat that drifted over from her beneath the covers. It seemed by some magic to carry her touch, her brand - I swear I could have distinguished between the warmth that flowed out of her body and heat from any other source in the world. Hers was special. She was special.

There in the darkened room, Emily spoke quietly. "Goodnight, Mark." That again. Mmmar-kuh.

"Goodnight, sweetie." And somehow, I slept.

---

I awoke quite suddenly to a room still pitch black, and for a moment could not recall where I was, nor discern what had roused me. Only once the fog of sleep had retreated somewhat did I begin to make sense of the softly heaving weight pressed against me, and remember with whom I had shared my bed that evening. Emily must have turned over in her sleep, for she now rested halfway on top of me, my right arm trapped beneath her torso, our legs loosely entangled. I could hear her breathing, slow and deep, no more than three inches from my ear. "Emily," I whispered, trying to wake her gently.

No response. I just lay there a time, while the sweet sensations of being near to her languidly drifted up into my skull. Her breath fell warmly upon my ear and jaw, racing in thin currents amongst the whiskers that had grown out from the previous morning's shave. The soft rise of her breasts insinuated itself against my ribs and right bicep, a sprightly pair of cushions to ease her already delicate weight. But most insistent was the feel of our intertwined legs, as I realized that our position lightly pressed each of our groins against the other's thigh. I could feel cotton next to skin halfway above my knee, and the gentle pressure of her leg upon my loins only increased as they stirred with excitement. "Emily," I said louder this time, and lifted my left hand to prod at her shoulder. I knew I could not permit this contact to go on much longer.

But still she slept, the even keel of her breathing unaltered. She had always been a heavy sleeper. I would have to move her over myself - better, anyway, that she not wake to feel my rigidity against her thigh. My hand dropped to her waist, preparing to roll her over to her side of the bed . . . and hesitated there, as the devil whispered in my mind. She was sound asleep, her body already accustomed to contact with mine. There would never be a better chance than this to touch her. Nothing terrible, my lust declaimed slyly, nothing worse than I had already done; just a brief excursion to satisfy the wondering of my imagination. She would never know. There would be no harm to it.

In the muddling of near-sleep, breathing in her scent, these honeyed thoughts slipped past my resistance. My trembling hand snuck beneath her shirt to rest upon her waist, fingers curled lightly around her prominent hip bone. I waited there long seconds, my ears straining for the slightest change in her breathing, for any sign that she might be waking up. Only when I was convinced that she was still deep in sleep did I begin the ascent of her body, my opened palm sliding with rapturously fearful slowness along the warm, porcelain flesh of her abdomen. Halting again just beneath her sternum, to ride upon the tranquil rise and fall of her chest as she breathed into my ear. There was a strength in it, a kind of peace, and it gave me just enough courage to press on even higher.

Shivering fingers tentatively touched the base of her right breast, and it was as though an electric jolt ran through my body at the contact. I had to bite the tip of my tongue to keep from gasping. I couldn't breathe, didn't want to breathe - wanted every neuron in my head to focus on the sensations that trickled back from my fingertips. That smoothly rounded shape, the generously supple springiness of my daughter's breast. It took me thirty seconds to get my hand around it, terrified now that she would wake and put an end to this dream. When I finally held it, a priceless treasure in my hand, I gave it only the softest, most loving squeeze. The feel of her bosom was everything I had guiltily imagined for the past fortnight; it was like grasping a little goddess, perfection radiating from her flesh.

My thumb made the climb to the summit alone, curving up to scrape pleasantly at the rougher texture of her areola, to tweak at her small and pliant nipple. And there was a sudden rush of wicked joy atop my primal satisfaction as I felt it grow rigid from my attention, my tweaking turning to a miniscule circular caress right at the tip of her. I was even beginning to contrive some way of getting my mouth on her when I heard it.

"Mmmph." A quiet little groan, leaden with sleep and flavored with pleasure, it filled me with mortal terror to hear. I pulled my hand out from her shirt as quickly as I could manage and rolled her off of me, the way I should have done long minutes earlier. My heart thundered in my chest as I listened feverishly to her breathing, praying that she had not woken and once again cursing my own depraved idiocy. It took well over a minute for her respiration to settle sufficiently that I could assure myself she was still asleep, that I had again managed to escape the revelation of my sickness, despite my own efforts.

I crept guiltily out of bed then and snuck into the bathroom, closed the door behind me. Caressing Emily had left me so aroused that I knew sleep would be impossible without relief. And indeed, I hardly had to grasp hold of myself and think back to the feel of her breast in my hand before I was brought to climax, spitting my sinful seed into the toilet bowl. I couldn't even feel particularly ashamed of thinking of her for my satisfaction - compared to molesting her in her sleep, it was a trivial offense.

Standing in the doorway, I looked out into the hotel room, Emily's form barely visible beneath the covers in the dim light from the bathroom. If only she weren't so beautiful. If only her figure didn't storm in through the eyes to assail reason. If she'd been a tubby little girl, with stringy hair and a musty smell . . . I'm sure I would have loved her as much, a love that would have remained purely paternal. Instead I had my own Aphrodite, and lacked the strength to ignore her charms. It hardly seemed fair. But then, very little in life was. With a quiet sigh, I flipped off the light and felt my way across the room to the easy chair that I should have slept in from the start. It was all too clear now that I couldn't trust myself with temptation.

I awoke again the next morning to the sound of running water. A quick glance over at the bed confirmed that Emily had woken before me, and had gone to take her morning shower. Standing with a yawn, I flung open the curtains to brighten the room a bit. It looked like the beginning of another beautiful day - the dawn was a brilliant scarlet, with a handful of puffy orange clouds on the horizon. A tightly ambivalent grimace twisted my face as I looked out our third-story view. There was such shame over my actions in the night, the joke for which I had scolded Emily now seeming ominous in retrospect. My actions looked even darker, viewed in the light of day. But I cannot deny that there was also a current of pleasure within me at the recollection. The hand that had grasped her, when I concentrated on it, still seemed to pulse with her warmth, as though infused with the sensation of her body. For a moment, hesitantly, I raised it and touched it lightly to my cheek, and a rush of bliss flooded me at the imagined contact.