Some say that time heals all wounds, but that is a lie. It was just over a year ago that a drunk driver crossed the center line and took my wife, Anne from me. Since then I had fallen into a deep depression that time, the supposedly great healer, would not or could not release me from. I existed, but was untethered from my humanity. I felt no joy in life; no love or humor, not even hate. I was nothing but a pale, emotionless shade just going through the motions of life without really living.

My daughter Janine knew of this and saw the changes that occurred in me, and saw what I was becoming. Maybe if I had realized what I was doing to her I might have climbed out of the pit I had fallen into sooner, but I was too steeped in my own ruin to have noticed her own suffering. And suffer she did; not just from the loss of her mother, nor from my self-imposed exile from life, but deep down she must have known that she was the only bulwark that stood between me and my own demise. That fact would have been a terrible burden for anyone to carry, let alone someone so young, and it must have caused her insurmountable anguish.

So it was that I found myself on the station platform waiting for her train. It was Janine's Winter break from college, and she would be living back at home for the next couple weeks. For the first time in recent memory I felt genuinely happy, and was filled with anticipation of her arrival. The last time I had seen her was right after the funeral, when subsequently she spent the next year away from me, and getting most of her college prerequisites out of the way. I suspect that part of the reason for her long stay away from home was due to my ever worsening depression. The last thing anyone wants to do when they are sad themselves is be around depressing and depressed people, so I imagine that Janine voluntarily remained at college.

When I saw her again I marveled at how much see looked like her mother, and except for her hair color, which was darker, and the broad nose that she inherited from me, Janine could almost have passed for her sister in younger days.

Our conversation on the ride home was amiable, but more reserved than I had ever known. It was mostly confined to small talk. She commented on how thin I looked, and asked if I had been eating at all. A morsel here and there I said. I was not very hungry lately. I asked if she made any new friends, or developed any new romances. She said she was too busy with school to have too much of a social life. It seemed that for the passed year both of us were resigned, or almost content, to live our lives in relative isolation from the busy world that surrounded us.

It wasn't until I got her home that Janine's demeanor changed, and I began to fully realize how much pain she bore. The tears began to flow almost immediately when she walked into the kitchen, that area of the house, I suspect, she most equated with her mother. She stood for a moment looking about her as large drops of moisture welded up around her eyes, and as she turned toward me all she could muster to say was, 'I miss her so.' I clutched her hard as great sobs of anguish flowed out of her, dampening my shirt. I listened to the totality of all the pain and misery she bore for a year spill out of my child, and I felt shame and grief. The grief came from the knowledge that as with me, a part of my daughter must also have died at the loss of her mother, and shame that I allowed her to suffer so, alone and in silence. I tried to remain composed long enough to ask her for forgiveness for my selfishness and apathy before succumbing to my own sorrow. We held each other and wept, for how long I do not remember.

In subsequent days we both eased back into a normal existence. Janine cooked diner for us, and assumed other household duties, which brought much needed life back into the home. I continually asked her about school and classes, giving her advice and instruction on science and mathematics, two subjects that she was deficient. Mostly we talked about Anne, no longer with melancholy, but in a fun-loving and humorous way. Each of us trading stories about her little quirks and foibles that made us love her. It was in one of these conversations that Janine asked me what I missed most about her mom. I didn't think much about Janine's question, or my answer at the time, but both would irrevocably change our lives. I told her that I missed sleeping and waking up beside her the most. Anne was always a terrible bed-hog, an idiosyncrasy that I did not like at the time, but now realize as an endearing quality. It always made for sleepless nights having to constantly, and unsuccessfully, push her back to her side of the bed. However, even with all my efforts I would still wake up nearly falling off the edge of the bed as Anne had absconded with the majority of the room. Now that she was gone I missed our somnambulant fights for territory, because their absence made me feel more alone.

It was Friday night and Janine had been home for almost a week. I decided to take us both to a good restaurant as a sort of celebration. It was a wonderful time. The food and conversation were excellent, and our frivolity augmented by a nice bottle of wine I had ordered. Janine was not quite at legal drinking age, but I figured, and correctly so, that no one would check her identification. I felt that she deserved to share a glass or two with her old man.

Throughout the meal she continually asked why I hadn't dated anyone as yet. I finally told her that I had dated a couple of nice women, but that I was always trying to find her mother in them. To me it was a tell-tale sign that I just wasn't ready for a relationship, and seeing how it would have been unfair to string them along with unkept promises, I would end the associations after the first or second date.

After we got home, and what with the size of the meal and the wine, I quickly became extremely drowsy. I said goodnight to Janine, and once in bed I fell into a deep, catatonic sleep.

In that state of restful bliss, a wonderful dream invaded my subconscious. Anne was next to me again. I could feel her warmth and hear her softly breathing nest to me. I put my arm around her, pulling her tight against me so that we lay together as spoons in a drawer. I heard her softly murmur approval of our closeness as she gently messaged my arm. Dream or specter, I knew not, or cared; but it was my Anne, of that I was certain, and if it is just a dream I didn't want it to end. I kissed the apparition on her neck, as she reached a hand around to gently stroke my hair and cheek. I started to message her breasts, each one in turn until her nipples were firm and erect. Hearing her soft moans as I gently pinched and pulled on her nipples, I firmly pushed my growing erection against her tight buttocks. She responded by seductively wiggling her hips against my member, and reaching around to take hold of my own buttocks to pull me even closer.

I heard the dream say my name, her voice full of want and desire, but something was off. The voice wasn't quite my Anne's; it was innocent, but at the same time more sultry. Imperceptibly at first, sleep started to drift away, but I continued to fondle the specter in a vain attempt to keep consciousness from fully taking over. I moved my hand downward along her abdomen, and she opened her legs in lustful anticipation. I was between consciousness and unconsciousness, not knowing or caring what was dream or reality, sliding my fingers along my Anne's pussy. It was warm and succulent; the lips of her vulva fully extended above their covering, and her opening well-lubricated allowing one, two, than three fingers to easily penetrate her. She moaned loudly and rolled over on her back and taking hold of my hand with both of her own and forcing me even further into her. It was this sudden movement of my dream that jarred me to full consciousness, and there lay my daughter Janine.

My first reaction was to pull my fingers out of her, but she held my hand tightly against her and would not let go. We spoke no words to each other. I could see her staring at me, a bright glint, created by ambient moonlight, reflected off her eyes. I do not know what possessed me to stay by her side. My whole psyche was screaming for me to remove myself from the situation, but against all fatherly precepts I remained. And not finding any trustworthy counsel in my own conscience, I searched her face for any hint of reservation or disgust in what was transpiring between us; wishing, in a vain to find some moral arbiter hidden in her look that would signal me to step no further into the realm of parental indecency, but all I saw in her eyes was hopeful and eager anticipation. When I saw that expression of want and lust in my daughter's eyes, I knew then that the societal mores were broken, and probably would remain broken between us, but I did not care. I rolled over onto my back and pulled my daughter on top of me, and without any word or coaxing, Janine deftly lifted her hips and slide my cock inside of her.

I could tell that she was inexperienced; for once she mounted me Janine started clumsily, and a bit too forcefully, in slamming herself up and down along my stiff pole. To counter her eagerness I placed my hand on her hip to slow her motions, and guided her into a more relaxed rhythm consisting of raising herself up slightly while shifting her hips forward, and then lowering herself while shifting backward, all in one fluid action. I placed the thumb of my free hand in such a way that for each upward and downward motion her clit would brush against it. It wasn't long before her breathing deepened and quickened in response to her ever increasing sexual arousal. Her clit was fully unsheathed and protruding, and every time it came in contact with my thumb the sensation sent a small, but visible shutter through her legs. Janine was beginning to find it difficult to control these repeating erogenous spasms. I watched her face intently, eyes closed and mouth parted as she would momentarily stop her hips to solely concentrate on the ratcheting of sexual excitement that was gradually building in her and toward climax. I kept thinking to myself as I looked at her now reddening face that this was my daughter, my little girl, brought to the peak of sexual excitement by her own father. Surprisingly, I felt no shame or reprehension in any of this, because at this moment Janine was not my daughter in any sense of the word, but had in effect become my surrogate wife.

She was so close to climax that it would not take much to push her off the precipice she now stood. Holding her hips, I quickly rolled over so that she was under me. The sudden change in our position brought Janine out of her deep sexual trance, as she opened her eyes and stared up at me. Thinking that I might be experiencing some reservations and would dismount her, she shook her head and quickly wrapped her legs around my waist to keep me inside her. I kissed her hard as I drove my cock further into her warm pussy. She responded with a low guttural moan, and by grabbing onto my buttocks in an attempt to force me further inside. I quickened my thrusts, making sure that I came in contact with her clit on each down stroke. It was only another four or five long, downward thrusts when I felt Janine stiffen beneath me and dig her fingernails deeper into my flesh. She remained rigid for a few moments, her hands and legs tightly locked about me, and then I felt the warm fluid of her climax flood out from her. Finally, as the small shutters began to subside, Janine released my mouth and inhaled a long draft of air, it was only then that she allowed her hands and legs to fall limply to her sides.

I rolled off of her and onto my back. I listened to her labored breathing slowly subside in the post-climax afterglow. Now that the fervor of our sexual tête-à-tête was over my mind started to work on the consequences of my actions. Not only was guilt slowly seeping back into my consciousness, but I was also starting to worry if my actions would negatively affect our relationship specifically, or any potential relationship she may have with someone else down the road. I tried to relay these misgivings to her, but sensing my dilemma, she looked at me with her large blue eyes, still full of love and lust, shook her head, and placed a finger to my mouth to quiet me. If she had any misgivings about the direction we were heading, they had long since dissipated. There was no doubt in her. A knowing smile passed her lips; she kissed me lightly, and then turned her full attention to my still erect member.

Without any hesitation, Janine drew my cock into her mouth as far as it would initially go without choking. Her enthusiasm for sucking my cock was only matched by the dexterity of her tongue, which fully bathed me as she swirled it around my swelling head and along my shaft. When she reached her limit, she would hold my cock in for brief periods, allowing more of her saliva to build-up and lubricate my cock before almost fully withdrawing it from her mouth, and then she would repeat the process; yet each time she would pull a little bit more of my cock inside her mouth from the previous time. Soon she was sucking all the way down my shaft to where I could just feel her breath on my scrotum.

Whenever my wife Anne preformed fellacio on me I sometimes liked to drape my hand across her face and feel my cock moving in and out passed her lips, or help out by stroking myself as she licked my knob. The sensation always heightened my own arousal. When I first tried this technique with Janine she thought she was doing something wrong and started to pull away to let me pleasure myself, but I gently pushed her head back down and slide my cock back into her mouth. Once she understood what I was doing, I felt an increased level of sexual arousal coarse through her, audible as softly spoken words of desire and seduction. I started to play with her and taunt her with my erection. At times holding it just out of the reach of her hungry mouth, and making her slightly shift or even lunge forward in order to continue her tonguing. Other times I would hold it steady or stroke myself as she would kiss and suck around the now purplish head. Anne always hated when I played my little games, but Janine was ecstatic and giggled her approval. I couldn't be sure if this was the first time she had ever sucked a cock, I suspected it wasn't, but I was sure that this was probably the first time she loved doing it.

I continued to stroke myself as Janine applied the necessary lubricant to my head and shaft, always following my hand down my shaft as she pulled me further into her mouth. Once this rhythm was developed I substituted her hand for mine as she continued to stroke me, hand and mouth in unison. It wasn't long before I felt the inevitable build-up toward climax. I told her I was coming to give her clear warning that I could no longer control myself, but either she didn't hear me or didn't care, because she continued sucking and stroking me with ever increasing vigor.

When I came it was as if a year's worth of grief, anxiety and depression were ejected from me along with my semen. It had been a year since I had been with another woman, and nearly as long since I had last ejaculated, but Janine accepted my load without so much as a sound of protest or sign of difficulty. I went limp almost immediately following the last spasm. Satisfied with her own performance, she curled up next to me, her head on my chest and arm swung across my stomach just as her mother did so many times before, and slept that way throughout the remainder of the night.

The next morning Janine and I set about figuring what we were to do. I asked her how she ended up in my bed, and she explained that she just wanted to give me what I missed most since her mother died, and that was to sleep next to her. She also explained that when I started fondling her that she was shocked at first, but as I continued she began to feel more and more aroused. So much so that she welcomed my somnambulant advancements, saying that instead of them feeling wrong or dirty that it somehow felt natural.

When I asked how she felt about what had happened, and what she thought it might do to future relationships that she might want to foster, she said that she didn't really know and really didn't care. It was a tough question, and one I don't think I could have even answered at the time. We both agreed that our relationship would forever be different, and we both knew that even if the previous night was the only one of its' kind, we could never go back to being just a father and a daughter. Once we came to that understanding we both succumbed to our wants and desires, and explored each other with complete abandon. For the rest of her time at home there would be no sexual pathway that I hesitated to lead her down, nor any that she would not willingly follow along.

It's been a couple of months since that fateful week occurred. Janine is back at school, and still doing well in her studies. A week doesn't go by without a call or letter from her, both usually laced in a code that no one but us could comprehend. We both are looking forward to her Spring break. For myself, I am in a far better place, and truly feel that I am living again instead of just being alive. I have even considered going out on dates again; there are a couple of ladies I need to apologize too. As I reflect back I often ask myself if I would have eventually crawled out of that pit of despair on my own. Could I over time have naturally moved on from the death of Anne? I honestly do not know. It is said that time heals all wounds, and for some wounds this might be true, but probably not in my case, at least not without the help of a loving daughter.

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