Love & Survival

"I have at times, I feel it has been needlessly cruel to me. . . and to you. I know that it doesn't balance, it tips against you sometimes, regardless of what you do or how hard you struggle, and I don't know if it is ever fair. Fairness may not be a quality of life. I don't know. There is no way I can tell. How do you feel about it?"

"I feel cheated. James was everything to me, and he was stolen from me. Mom was my best friend and I loved her more than life, and she was stolen. If she were here I would have someone to hold onto while I try to stand up again, but I feel so lost. You're all I have left, but I don't know if you are enough. You have always been there for me and given me more than I could ever repay, but just you and me. . .I don't like our chances."

I was sobered. I admit I have felt rudderless since Marilyn passed away, and I have felt like a lost soul myself. I recall the sailors lament: "O Lord, my boat is so small and the ocean so large".

"Honey, you are all I have left, too, and we will just have to get by with that." I'd have liked to say something profound, but I have never found profundity in this situation we are in. It is brutal, and it displaces finer feelings with a sense of being mugged.

In time, we rose and continued our short hike to the lake. By this time the sun was well up in the morning sky, and the day was beginning to warm. There was a small pier along the shore that several neighbors shared, and a rowboat that was communal property. Madeline and I boarded, set the oars and I began rowing out to the center of the lake, a perfect spot to drift under a cloudless sky. The silence was only disturbed by distant bird-calls, and the plop of itinerant fish plucking an errant fly off near the surface of the water. We put the oars away and sat in the boat, she in the rear seat facing me in the middle seat. She was wearing a down vest and shorts, and soon took off the vest. She had a sleeveless blouse on under it. She still retained some tan, although I am sure she had not been in the sun since James died. Her long limbs stretched out, and she lay back and closed her eyes under the arching sun.

I also stretched back and put my arms behind my head and stared into the light blue void overhead. From time to time I looked to check on Madeline, and she didn't seem to move much. I studied her and marveled at her perfection of form, the lanky grace of her, the toned and glowing skin, and I could not help but notice the bifurcated bulge of her womanhood stretching the crotch of her shorts. If I were a different man I would seize this opportunity and find a way to make a move, but I was her father.

Studying the empty sky, I pondered what was to become of her, and what was to become of me. We were orphans now set adrift, and our futures were uncertain. I knew it was imperative we stayed together somehow. Alone we were weak, but together at least we could support each other and make our own chances.

Madeline finally roused herself from her reverie and dragged out a baggie of soggy pizza slices. She offered me one, and we sat there eating a comfort food from long ago, grinning at each other as we ate.

We rowed back, tied up the boat, and found a grassy slope on the bank where we could stretch out. The sun was quite warm. Madeline stretched out with her arms over her eyes, and I could not help but notice how her breasts rose with her arms, and her nipples notably added to the mystique. I lay back trying not to stare and shielded my own eyes from the sun.

I thought we might nap there, but Madeline began speaking.

"Dad, I never saw you naked before. I thought you would look. . . old, but you don't. You're still a good looking guy."

"Well, I've seen you naked," I said, "but I remember you as being so young. I never imagined you would grow so beautifully".

"That's so funny. I remember when you used to bathe me, and we would have so much fun. Mom was always so business like, she'd get me washed and in bed, but you played around and threw my toys in the tub. It was always a party when you washed me."

I remembered those times, too. And that was the daughter I remembered then, her laughter and happiness, the glow of her personality, the joy of being with her.

"Well, sweetie, those are my favorite memories, too" I said to her, although her mentioning Marilyn brought back so many others. There were memories I could not share with my daughter that were as pleasurable as hers, but were private and precious to me.

She turned on her hip to face me and said: "I want to get some sun. I'm taking off my top, you don't have to look, but you've already seen my titties today, so it doesn't matter now."

And she pulled off her blouse and lay back with her breasts bare in the sun. I did look. Breasts are breasts, all women have them, and they are always a joy to see. It is my theory that our fascination begins when they are delivered to our mouths for sustenance. The first thing we see when we are born is our mothers putting them to our mouths, and then for a glorious year or so we suckle and are nourished by them, and then they are put away, and we cannot see them again. The well-springs of our existence are taboo, and they are not to be shared with us again until we marry and find a woman with breasts like mother. If we are lucky, we do. If we are not lucky we continue the search. Madeline's breasts would satisfy any search.

I lay back and tried to think of England, but it wasn't easy. And it got harder when Madeline said she was taking off her shorts, too, because the sun felt so good. She then asked me if I would shed mine as well, since we were so well known to each other by now.

And so I did. We lay side-by-side, naked under the early afternoon sun and we kind of baked there. I occasionally looked at her, and once or twice I found her looking at me, but we didn't talk much.

Finally, she asked me to massage her back, and I agreed I would. I straddled her hips and buttocks and began to rub the flesh of her back in circles, up and down and over and around, anyway I could move it. My prick was moving around in the cleft of her ass, and I tried hard to control myself.

Then we reversed positions and she sat on my back and pushed my flesh around for a while. I was hyper aware of the small brush of her pubic hair sliding into the crevice between my buttocks. It was immensely stimulating. I began growing hard while she worked.

When she had done enough, she stood and said: "Well, time to get back and have some lunch, don't you think?"

I rose kind of sheepishly, hoping she would not notice my tumescence, but she did.

"Dad! You got hard!"

And it was true, my penis was semi-erect and was kind of bobbing about. I pulled my shorts on and put my shirt on while she did the same.

She looked at me with a wide smile as we gathered our gear and began walking back on the path. We got back to The Hollow, and she wanted to stop.

We sat on the log, and she looked at me keenly.

"Dad, have you . . . made love since Mom died?" she asked me.

I admitted I hadn't. It was way down on my list of priorities, and frankly there hadn't been many opportunities since then, anyway, at least none I noticed.

"James and I were never apart when we were home. James was the only man I ever had, and he and I were sexual soulmates. I can't imagine another man ever being as much to me as he was."

"And your mother and I were like that, too" I told her. "We were so made for each other. She knew when I wanted her when we were in different rooms, and she knew when I wanted to be alone, not often I remind you, but that's important, too."

She looked down at her feet for a while, then looked back at me and said: "I hope you find the woman who will be that for you again, Dad."

"I do too, sweetheart" I said.

We walked back to the house as the afternoon light began to fade.

+++++

Back at the house I began getting busy with dinner. Tonight I would stir fry shrimp in oil, butter and garlic and toss it into angel hair pasta, always a favorite with her. There would be a green salad made of baby radicchio, arugula, and butter lettuce with capers, anchovies and boiled eggs, among other things, a meal in itself. And more Australian wine to provide a tasty communion for our evening.

Madeline excused herself to shower again and dress for dinner. I was thrilled that her spirits were recovering and that she was beginning to talk to me about her feelings.

I took a glass of wine and settled on the couch, then realized we needed a fire again. I gathered the logs, the kindling, and set myself to the task of warming our house again. It was roaring soon, and I settled back and watched the magic show again for a while.

I had the inklings of a plan in the back of my mind, but I needed more to flesh it all out. First, I thought, was to get Madeline to move back here and try to regather her life. She needed me, and I obviously needed her. We were all that was left of our families, and we needed to gather the pieces and set out again to make it against the world.

She could find a job locally, and my job was already secure and amazingly productive and lucrative. Money would not really be a problem, even if she did not want to work. Her room was here and ready, and I could go back with her and help her pack and move. Her roots are shallow since James died, and she didn't have many friends where she lived, whereas she had many friends here. And I was here.

Madeline came out for dinner soon, and I was surprised to see she hadn't dressed up for dinner, but there was really no need to anyway. She wore a T-shirt and satin gym shorts and flip-flop sandals. I knew it would be chilly later, but it wasn't a problem now.

We ate at the dining room table, and she loved it all, finishing everything on her plate, and emptying the salad bowl, too. We had ice cream for dessert, and then took our wine to the living room in front of the fire again.

She sat close beside me with her feet up on the coffee table, and savored her wine. She was nearly jovial now, and I was so happy and relieved to see the change. We laughed and joked and talked about Marilyn. I told her many things she didn't know about her mother from our courtship and early years. I told her how ecstatic we were that she was going to join us, and all the plans we made for our forthcoming miracle daughter. She seemed to like that a lot, and she had a happy smile on her face and a twinkle in her eyes as we talked. I told her about her grandparents who had died before she was born, and I tried to tell her what they might have thought of her, and how proud they would be, even now.

I refreshed the fire and she refreshed the wine. We both took potty breaks, and then resumed on the couch. We pulled the robe over us, and she snuggled up against me again. We were quiet again for a long time.

She finally spoke. "Dad, I want you to know I love you very much. I didn't know how to handle James' death, but you have helped me get back on track just by being you. I didn't even know if I wanted to live anymore, but I couldn't leave you, ever."

I hugged her so hard I thought I could have hurt her, though she didn't protest. "And I couldn't live again if I didn't have you," I told her. "We are in this together, whether we want it or not. And I couldn't imagine anyone I'd rather be in it with."

She gripped me so hard I could hear my ribs creaking. She let loose a deep sigh, and I could feel her heartbeat she was so close to me. And that was the way we fell asleep.

I awakened again in the middle of the night, not of restlessness, but of a strange feeling I had a hard time understanding. Madeline had put her hand under my waistband and was holding my penis. She had quite a grip on it, and it was responding in the only way it's limited intelligence allowed: it began to grow and throb. But she seemed to be asleep still. I still had an arm around her, but it too had gone to sleep and needed some relief. I reached over with my free hand to help free my arm, and my hand strayed over her left breast. And lingered. I got my arm free, but my hand stayed where it was, and I marveled at what it had discovered. I will repeat that a breast is a wonderful thing, and I reacted as any man would. I explored my daughters breast thoroughly, but carefully. I did not want to wake her, but I had to check this out.

That level of my curiousity was satisfied, although many others had opened in my mind. I finally returned to sleep, Madeline still had my penis in her grip, but that I liked and could sleep with.

When I awoke I was alone. The robe had been tucked around me so I wouldn't get a chill. The house was quiet but for a shower running. As I stirred myself up I realized there was something different going on. My shorts were sticking to me, and they felt stiff. I soon realized that my shorts were covered with my cum, and it had dried and glued my pubic hair to my shorts and my stomach. It was quite a mess. I didn't know if I had had a wet dream, or if perhaps. . . hah, couldn't have been that.

I went to the kitchen and started coffee, then ran to my room to get the shorts off and head for the shower. As I went by the bathroom I saw the door was open and Madeline was in the shower with the curtain half open, and I could see her washing her body, rubbing the soap into her crotch and lathering her breasts. I tried not to stare, but she was female beauty personified.

In my room I tried to take stock. I had certainly cum in my shorts last night, first time in a mighty long time, too. Pleasing myself had slipped from the agenda with all the tragedy recently, and if I had indulged it would have been a poor second to sex with Marilyn. I was somehow miffed that I had had a good time and didn't know it. The wet dreams I could remember, so long ago, were always vivid and unmistakable. And Marilyn would wake me from sleep with her mouth on my penis often, but she wanted me awake.

I was trying to put all this together when the door to my room opened. Madeline stood there, naked, still a little wet from her shower. I was naked, my ruined shorts in my hand.

"Dad", she said, "I jerked you off last night, and I am sorry I did. I should have done something else."

"What?" I said.

"This," she said, and walked to me and pushed me down on my bed. She put her hand on my chest and held me back as I tried to rise. Her other hand gathered my penis in and began to stroke it. She lowered herself into position and put her mouth on my prick and sucked it in. She was skilled, and she wanted to do this. She was unstoppable.

My prick rose like a tower and hardened like an oak. The more it rose the more she swallowed it down. Her head was pumping like a piston over my groin, and her lips were impacting the dried cum still in my pubic hairs. She glanced up from her labors and caught my eyes. I was shocked and amazed but deeply involved in her intervention. I would not, could not stop this.

It wasn't long before the pressure rose and this hydrant had to be relieved. More and more, higher and higher, I could stand no more and suddenly the relief valve burst and I sprayed my load out. Madeline's mouth was engulfed, and my spunk spurted out around my member and down her chin, then off her chin to her breasts, and in an opalescent rivulet to the hair of her pussy.

She gathered the loose ends in as well as she could, and used her fingers to gather more from her chest, which she licked and swallowed. I was gasping like a fish on the riverbank, and trying to catch my breath and wits at the same time.

She finally stood beside the bed and looked at me with an impish smile on her face. "Now let's get some coffee and talk," she said.

+++++

I showered and put on shorts and a t-shirt and slipped into some moccasins.

She was sitting at the kitchen table when I came out, two cups of coffee steaming in front of her. She had put on a robe. I pulled up a chair and looked at her. She seemed composed, but maybe a little apprehensive. I made a small drama out of creaming my coffee and stirring it just so.

"Well, do you think I'm a slut, Dad?"

"No, no. I am surprised, it's a little bit of a bolt from the blue," I said. "But it didn't kill me."

"I just thought you needed it. Also, . . .I think I needed to do it. I love you so much, but I don't want you to think less of me," she said."

"Well, nothing's changed. You are still you, and I am still me."

"And Madeline, you've made me so proud. Watching you grow was a privilege. When you married James I knew you would get the happiness you deserved. Including children. I wanted your kids, too." I said.

Mention of James seemed to sober her for a moment.

"You know I married him because he reminded me so much of you, don't you, Dad?

"I didn't know. I know he was good for you. We both needed a lifeboat, and he was yours. He pulled you up when you needed it."

"I hoped so much there would be a boat for you. I felt guilty you might think I'd taken my boat and just left. Now you are my boat when I need you. You're my rock, Dad."

I looked into her eyes and saw all our history within. My connection to my daughter transcended time and space, all the archeology of my life was buried in her, all my imagined futures were unbreakably bonded to her.

"Well, make up your mind. Am I your rock or your boat?"

She laughed then, and suddenly it was like the sun shining.

"You're silly, Dad." She was quiet for a moment, then spoke again.

"Dad, I want to move back here. I've already left my job, and I sold or gave away everything in the house. Everything I want I brought with me. I don't want to be a burden on you, but I'll find a job near here. I just don't want to be with anyone else right now."

I knew she was my daughter. I had planned to ask her to do just that, and her plan was exactly mine.

"You will not be a burden, and you don't have to get a job. I can support you as long as you like. There is no one I would rather be with than you, now, either. You are home, and I don't think I will let you leave, so just plan to be here now and forever."

The look on her face was of such grand relief. I had lifted darkness from her, and her glow continued to return. And I felt the light return to me again, as well. When Marilyn died I had felt abandoned and cast out of the universe. I knew the dark heavens above began with all energy bursting out and rushing toward an end as cold, dark, dead matter. I could not understand why it was necessary for us, sentient mankind, to be here to observe it happening. The process could have occurred without our witnessing it, and we would have been spared the sadness of life itself, with it's range from giddy elation to blackest despair. Having my daughter back close to me, rejoining life was more than I could have hoped for, more even than I could have asked for.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning outside, the blue of the lake was sparkling through the trees, the green pines shone, and their shadows receded into deep blue.

"Let's go to the lake, take some lunch with us, and get some sun," I said.

"Great idea! I'll put some lunch together after I change clothes."

I went to the sliding doors and opened them and took a deep breath of the cool air, noting the scent of pine, the faint waft of a blossom of something, heard the birds singing and the quiet coo of a mourning dove in the rafter-ends above. The dew was steaming off the grass in the small pasture between the house and the tree line. We had moved here for just such things. I hadn't noticed them in a long, long time.

I heard her in the kitchen and turned to see she had donned shorts and a t-shirt, and I could see she had no bra on. Her breasts looked larger when she was naked, but their form was perfection either way. She was wearing sport shoes with no socks. She had a backpack in which she had put fruit, crackers and cheese, and what looked like a bottle of wine.