Things to Be Thankful For

* * * * *

The kids took that most unsubtle hint and cleared the table while Parry and I adjourned to the family room. He hugged me as soon as we were alone.

"Thank you, Meg." Parry nuzzled my ear. "That was a wonderful dinner." I could feel his arousal pressing against my abdomen.

"Darling? Is that for me?… Or have you been looking down B's dress?" I knew exactly where he'd been looking.

"Both." He admitted the transgression of voyeurism. "Just wait until I get you alone." He nuzzled my ear some more before moving down to my neck.

"Coffee anyone? – Ooh!" B bounced into the room and caught us in each other's arms. She didn't apologise and she didn't back out and leave us to it. Instead, she stood in the doorway and watched us. "Coffee?" she asked when her presence halted proceedings and Parry straightened up.

"Thank you. We'd love some." I answered for us both, not wanting to let go of Parry just yet. He would have a hard time hiding his arousal right now and B doesn't need any encouragement to tempt him. As soon as B left, I eased out of his embrace.

"Better sit down Darling." I touched the front of his trousers lightly to indicate why. "Save it for later." And I was every bit as aroused as my husband, but with us girls it isn't so obvious. I resolved that 'later' Parry would have absolutely no reason to think about anyone but me.

"Mom, Daddy, we brought you a tape of our fifteen minutes of fame." Helen came in with a videocassette in her hand, followed by B with a tray full of coffee. Helen popped the tape into the machine and parked herself in the nearest armchair. As soon as B had poured coffee for each of us, she joined our daughter, sitting on Helen's lap and snuggling up. I should tell you we have no shortage of furniture so the girls didn't need to double up: I assume it was more of B's forthrightness – 'You know we're lovers so lets not bother pretending otherwise'.

Parry and I both watched silently as B and Helen kissed. Not a full on tongue to tonsil kiss, but rather more than a buzz. I noticed Helen's hand first, but Parry wasn't far behind me. Our little girl was rolling one of B's nipples between finger and thumb and it was responding. She noticed our stares and just reached for the nipples' twin.

"Parry," Eric arrived last. "Do you know the Chinese pictogram for trouble?" He took the other sofa and didn't wait for an answer. "Two women under one roof. Everyone thinks I live like a sultan, with hot and cold running courtesans, but you're my witness – I'm the one sitting alone." Eric contrived to look hard done to.

"Beast!" Helen had rolled from under B and launched herself at Eric with a cushion in one hand, swiping at him. B was just behind her. Between them, they pinned him down and beat and tickled him until he cried pax. Personally, I couldn't take my eyes off B's bottom. Her minimal dress had no hope of covering her during a pillow fight. After her pass at me in the kitchen, I found my mouth watering at the sight of her soft lips pressed between her slender thighs. Safe in the knowledge that everyone else's attention was on the fight; I touched the front of Parry's trousers, measuring his hardness with finger and thumb. He was like iron. Maybe not everyone's attention was on the fight after all.

Two years ago, I wouldn't have believed I'd be ok with my husband getting so conspicuously aroused by a much younger woman, but now it actually turned me on seeing the hunger in his expression as he looked between B's legs. I knew that he would be wonderful at bedtime – energised, like last summer, When Helen spent so much time naked or nearly so. He'd said then that Helen naked was like a 3D memory of me, our first summer, which was very gallant of Parry, because I was never as beautiful as Helen.

The fight ended with Eric's unconditional surrender and kisses all round for the youngsters. I let go of Parry before anyone noticed and paid attention to my coffee. When the three of them had settled together on the sofa, Helen made a long arm to retrieve the remote control from the arm of her previous chair and pressed play. We watched The Review in silence. I for one was impressed at B's defence of nudity in art. I know she's a very bright young woman and this is her subject, but all the same…

"B, you should write a book." I made no attempt to hide how impressed I was by B's poise under pressure.

"I said that too!" Helen chimed in. "But if you think that's impressive, you should see her letter in the New York Times."

"They printed an article by one of Andrea Dworkin's crowd, haranguing us. The editor kindly printed my reposte on the letters page." B explained. She disentangled herself from Eric's arm and went to fetch her press clipping.

"Would you bring my portfolio too?" Eric asked her as she left. "I'd like to show Parry some of the new stuff."

"Ok." B skipped out of the room.

"A reporter from The Times wanted to do another interview as a follow-up to the Dworkinians' attack, but B said she was fed up with the media capitalizing on her notoriety and that she'd only agree to an interview if they included one of my pictures – uncensored." Eric explained the back-story in B's absence.

"There you go." B returned at a little less than a run, with a large leather portfolio case and a laminated newspaper cutting, which she handed to me before rejoining Eric and Helen. I passed the portfolio to Parry to hold while I read the letter.

Dear Sirs,

I find it interesting that a newspaper in this city, above all others, would act as a soapbox for extremists.

I refer to your recent article by Ms Chatwin, which was little more than a personal attack on me. Had Ms Chatwin's vitriol been poured on me in a less public manner, I would have simply walked away, leaving her to her opinions. However, since you provided such a public platform for her remarks, I feel compelled to speak in my own defence.

Ms Chatwin is clearly proud of her association with the late Ms Dworkin but a few minutes on the Internet makes it apparent that many feminists believe that Dworkin's revivalist pulpit thumper variety of extreme feminism was counter-productive. Her oft-quoted anti-masculine comments only gave men an excuse to sneer at any real message she may have had. Ms Chatwin, in the fine tradition of her mentor, demonised me as a gender traitor and a pawn of the porn industry.

Am I to assume that the freedom she believes all women are entitled to is only the freedom to agree with her? What about my freedom of self-expression, guaranteed by our constitution and the international declaration of human rights? Are my rights as a citizen and as a human being to be curtailed because Ms Chatwin disapproves?

I am not, as Ms Chatwin so cleverly described me, a pawn of the porn industry. I am a summa cum laude Harvard graduate, an art historian, and an emancipated woman. My work with Mr Kruppa is as much my expression of my own femininity as it is his view of the nature of woman.

I note that a recent survey claimed that 60% of women in the US own and regularly use a vibrator. I respectfully suggest that if anyone is being objectified, it is men, who are reduced to a plastic phallus by the majority of women, albeit a phallus with none of the periodic failings of the real thing. By comparison to that, I am most certainly not objectified by the images of me.

If I were to allow the opinion of Ms Chatwin to censor my actions, where would it end? Burkhas for all women? New York has already had a too bitter taste of that brand of extremism and I do not believe this city has any more appetite for militancy.

Yours,

Miss B Kennedy

"It's a bit harsh, comparing her to a terrorist." I passed the clipping to Parry.

"Mom, you didn't read what that woman wrote about B… and me. And she thinks Eric's a rapist." Helen was quick to her girlfriend's defence.

"I'd show you, but Helen burned the newspaper." B said.

"It was too vile to keep." Helen was clearly getting emotional – angry not upset. "But Eric's plotting our revenge."

"Revenge?" I glanced from my daughter to Eric.

"If they want to make me their devil, I'll play along. I'm planning as whole series of pictures on the subject of female subjugation." Eric sat back and smiled wickedly.

"I think I just found some of them." Parry was leafing through Eric's portfolio. He handed it to me open on two images of B. One showed her spread-eagled on an iron bedstead, tied there by wrists and ankles and surrounded by half a dozen leering old men who looked like vagrants, all masturbating. B's expression was either lust or terror – hard to tell, but the striped, stained mattress she lay on had a conspicuous darker stain under her flanks, as if she'd wet herself.

It was the first time I'd really found one of Eric's pictures disturbing. Despite it's graphic pornography, it was almost completely unsexy. I said as much.

"That's the idea." Eric moved off his sofa to kneel in front of me and explain. "I wanted to parody all the things I was being accused of to show that that is so not what my work is about. I'm not enthralling, abusing and humiliating women to create masturbatory fantasies for dirty old men."

"And these men…?"

"From the streets of Greenwich Village. I paid them a hundred bucks apiece and any money made from prints of this will go to the local homeless shelter. I'm not into exploiting anyone."

"And yes," B added. "I did have to wet the mattress. Eric won't fake anything like that. It wasn't the most fun I've ever had in a roomful of men, but it really makes a point.

"It's horrible." I couldn't think of anything more to say about it.

"It's called The Dark Dreams of Andrea D." Eric said and then pointed to the second picture. "And that one's called Imancipation."

Imancipation was one of his trademark ultra close-up images of B's vagina. This time, her labia were distended around a mirror polished ball nestled inside her. The ball appeared to be a couple of inches in diameter and attached, by a few inches of solid looking silver chain, to a broad ring, split and hinged open. It was a miniature version of a medieval ball and chain with the shackle open and hanging down between her spread thighs, for the most part obscuring her anus.

"They're great for pelvic floor exercises." Helen had moved around behind Parry and I and was leaning over the sofa back to see the portfolio too.

"They?"

"Eric had two of them made. One each for B and me, as symbols of our subjugation to him."

"Which is why they don't lock." Eric pointed out.

"We had a solemn ceremony in front of a few friends. Helen and I swore to love, honour and obey Eric and he swore never to hold us to our promise." B had joined Eric on her knees in front of us and I felt her hand on my knee under the large album. I glanced up at her touch and she held my gaze, smiling that oh-so-innocent smile. But I was sitting there looking at larger than life close-ups of her vagina and my own was churning as I thought about B's proposition. "Pardon?" I'd missed what Helen was saying.

"I said they're made of solid silver." Helen repeated for my benefit. I think Parry had asked about the ball because she turned towards him as she continued to explain. "About a pound of the stuff in each. That's why they're good for the pelvic muscles. Walking around holding that kind of weight in…"

"I can imagine." Parry knew a bit about pelvic floor muscles because I had worked hard to keep mine in trim after having a baby.

* * * * *

"Meg?" Parry and I had gone up to bed early, leaving the kids to their own devices.

"Hmm?" I asked around my toothbrush.

"Did you ever expect you'd spend thanksgiving looking at pictures of our daughter getting laid?"

I rinsed and spat. "No Dear. Never. But Eric's pictures are beautiful and I'm learning to appreciate his work for it's aesthetic value. It helps not to think about who it is in the pictures." I lied. I always thought about who it was in the pictures. I craved that sweet flesh of my daughters' and now I was thinking the same way about B too.

"Where did we go wrong?" Parry asked with a wry smile, cuddling me from behind and making eye contact in the mirror before nuzzling my neck. I could feel his erection against the small of my back.

"Nowhere. Helen's happy and that's almost all that matters." I moved one of his hands from my tummy up to my breast, feeling him squeeze it gently.

"Almost?"

"Our daughter's choices haven't just made her happy. You enjoy looking at those pictures too. Admit it."

"I can hardly deny it, can I?"

No he couldn't: Not when I was holding his erection. "Poor Parry. You spend all evening sneaking peeks at B's perfect body and all you get is this dried up old carcass."

"Dried up eh? We'll see about that." Parry got all manly, picking me up and carrying me through to the bed. I squealed as he dropped me on the bedspread and flung my legs high as he hauled my panties off. He tossed them aside, caught my ankles in his firm grip and spread my raised legs as wide as they'd go. "Dried up?" He repeated, looking closely at my slick and sticky pussy. "Looks like someone else enjoyed this evening." He let go of my ankles and plunged forward, burying his face in my musky crotch and making me writhe under his tongue's intrusive caresses.

I was glad he hadn't teased me about liking looking at girls. My blushes might have given the game away. "Oh God! That feels good." I moaned as his tongue swirled around my clitoral hood. I waited for his fingers to join the party.

I didn't have to wait long. Parry's fingers dipped into me as his tongue tormented my clit, pumping in and out of my vagina as he licked me closer and closer to climax. I knew what was coming next. One slick finger withdrew from my dripping vulva and slipped down between my buttocks, probing for my bottom.

Since Helen seduced me, I've been much more open with Parry about what turns me on. Parry and I talk much more about what we want and one thing he really does want is anal sex. While I'm not ready – may never be ready – to submit to that, Helen's influence and her caresses have made me realize there are things I will submit to. Parry's finger, circling my sphincter and almost certainly about to push its way into me, is one of those things.

True to form, Parry's probing finger found its way in and I gasped at the intrusion. But it does turn him on so much and he started sucking on my swollen clit even harder, making me scream and clasp handfuls of bed linen as I climaxed, my throbbing pussy leaking pungent, slick juices that flowed around that intrusive finger, lubricating it still more. As the spasms of my orgasm subsided, Parry's tongue lapped up the spilled juice and, as his finger popped out, I waited for the frankly perverse touch of his tongue around my contracting anus. My breasts ached to be caressed and, exhausted though I was after my orgasm, I yearned for the feel of my husband inside me, the rough caress of his hands on my breasts as he made love to me…

"I'm fed up of listening to you two!" Helen pushed open our bedroom door. Parry rolled off me in surprise, leaving me lying there, legs wide, brazenly aroused. Helen wasn't wearing anything either, but that didn't really help alleviate the shock of being interrupted. She came to the foot of the bed, looking at my swollen, aroused labia and wet thighs, then at her father's bobbing erection. She absently stroked her own labia. "It's too frustrating for words. Mom, its time Daddy knew the truth."

"Darling, I…"

"Daddy, Last summer while you were doing 18 holes, I was doing two. Those two there." Helen pointed between my still spread legs then sat on the foot of the bed and reached over to stroke my lips. I was paralysed with shock. Why was she doing this? I waited for Parry to explode. The explosion never came. Helen moistened her fingers between my labia then licked them daintily before carrying on. Parry looked stunned too. He just watched her, open-mouthed. Helen continued. "Mmm. Daddy, I've decided I want you too. One big happy family."

I still waited in vain for Parry to explode. What was our daughter doing? But Parry not only failed to explode, I could see the look of lust on his face as he watched our daughter lick my juices off her fingers. I wanted to shout at her to get out. I felt betrayed, but the cataclysm that should have followed hard on the heels of her revelation hadn't happened and I was faced with the possibility that it wasn't going to. Possibility became probability became certainty as Parry moved first, reaching for one of Helen's firm breasts, rolling her nipple between finger and thumb, his free hand pumping his erection.

Helen moved away momentarily to get up, knelt between my legs and leant forward to kiss me, presenting her flanks for Parry's inspection. At the first touch of her lips against mine, the paralysis of shock dissipated and my lips parted as I moaned against her mouth. I vaguely felt movement on the bed as Parry got up, then Helen gasped and smiled as her father buried his erection in her pussy.

"Mom, Daddy's fucking me." She whispered, grinning like the cat that got the cream. What could I say to that? Nothing. Instead, I pulled her face back down to mine, kissing her with all the pent up passion the evening had produced. I didn't even care that I wasn't getting screwed. Empty though my own vagina felt, this was better. I'd wanted Helen in my arms since she got home – and rather longer, truth to tell – now I had my wish and I didn't have to hide my love for her anymore.

I wondered at how quickly Parry had succumbed to the taboo temptation and it occurred to me that, although he never said as much, he may have entertained fantasies about Helen for quite some time. He did say she reminded him of me, when I was young, so perhaps…

It was strangely exciting to hear all those low grunts and moans Parry makes during sex and to not be on the receiving end. I couldn't see his face but I knew that he'd have the same expression he has whenever he's about to come in me. I pulled my mouth away from Helen's to tell her "He's about to come." Just in time as Parry groaned and the bed shook with his final few thrusts. Helen's hands clenched like talons on my breasts as she arched her back and squealed in ecstasy, coming just as Parry did. I reached for and tweaked her nipples, twisting hard as I know she enjoys a little pain with her climaxes and I've often seen her do this to herself. In turn, Parry slumped sideways onto the bed and Helen slumped forward onto me, purring contentedly.

"One big happy family." She murmured, nuzzling my hair.

Parry pulled himself up to the same level as us and looked deep into my eyes, searching for some reaction to what had just happened. "Meg?…"

"One big, happy family." I echoed, holding his gaze. I smiled at my beloved man, knowing that what could so easily have torn us apart was even now binding us closer together than we'd ever been. I reached up to tousle his hair then drew him close enough to kiss, tasting my own juices, still pungent and sticky on his lips.

I was too bemused by the overwhelming perversity of the situation to care that my daughter had gate crashed my eagerly anticipated time with my husband. I'd barely even realized that when she offered a solution.

"Mom?"

"Yes Darling?"

"Think of a number." Helen had played this game before. The first time, it was think of a number between 68 and 70.

"69." I dutifully replied, realizing what she had in mind. Last summer, Helen pestered me until I gave her the opportunity to lick me clean after sex with Parry. In hindsight, I should have known she wouldn't settle for incest-once-removed forever. Whatever, it appeared to be my turn to clean her. As she moved around and straddled me, I wondered which view Parry would choose: Me licking Helen or Helen licking me?