Chapter 1

I am Patricia; better known as Pat to my intimates, the 42 year old mother of a beautiful, but precocious teenager. Those of you out there that have such a daughter will know what that entails. I am married to Bernard – always to be called Bernard – a boring old fuddy-duddy of a husband whose get up and go has got up and gone. Don’t get me wrong, when I married him we had a whale of a time, my sex life was good and satisfying. I was in love with him totally. Now, I still love him – he’s a good man – but, that little word “in” is now missing. He has his own company and the business – which provides us all with a comfortable lifestyle – takes all his energy and most of his time. These days, we even have our own bedrooms at opposite ends of the house and the only time we go out together is to entertain clients.

I am five and a half feet tall, 34D 28 36, auburn and fairly fit thanks to regular gym sessions which I started to counter the boredom. I play a round of golf once a week and do a “Ladies who Lunch” date about once a month. And apart from keeping a clean and tidy home, do not do much else. I dress fairly conservatively, knee length or lower hems, loose fits and no significant neck lines. Never slacks; except for golf. All this at my husband’s insistence – I did say that he is a fuddy-duddy.

My daughter; also called Patricia, but known as Tricia or Trish to distinguish her from myself – the other protagonist in this narrative – is a younger version of myself, the same height, hair colour and 34C 24 35. She is very arty, in fact a brilliant pianist as am I, but I not nearly as brilliant. She also is a conservative dresser when dressed formally, but lets loose in tees and jeans or shorts at other times, much to her father’s chagrin. However, on her sixteenth birthday, I (having my own money as a result of my parent’s legacy) gave her a clothing allowance, and when doing her laundry once – she usually did her own – on returning it to her room, I noticed a change in her underwear drawer. Flimsy panties and bras, lots of lace, a cup-less black basque, stockings including hold-ups and underneath it all; most surprising of all, a rather large flesh-coloured dildo – bigger than anything real or fake I had seen – and a harness of some sort. How the hell was I going to handle this. There is no way that her father should find out about this little – sorry – big appendage. I needed to think. I laid her clean laundry on her bed, left her drawer as I hoped I’d found it and retreated to my own room to think.

Tricia and I are almost like sisters, in fact we are often mistaken for sisters. We are best friends. She is the only person that I relate to without having to constantly watch my “P’s and Q’s”. I had thought that I had her full confidence, she always told me all about her friends and their foibles, especially the boys. At least I believed she did. The underwear; albeit a surprise, was not a problem to me – though her father would not approve – but the discovery of the dildo hit me like a bus, I certainly did not see it coming. Was she a lesbian or at least bisexual? I had to talk to her. I found myself uncomfortable with this secret side to my daughter. I had to have it out with her.

She arrived home from school took her stuff to her room and returned to the kitchen and helped herself to OJ from the fridge. “What a god awful day” she moaned, “I could not make any progress at all on my art project. I just was not in the mood.” She sat at the breakfast bar sipping her drink and went on “I think I will take my frustration out on the piano. I need to practice anyway.” So saying, she flounced off to the family room where we have a baby grand, initially for my pleasure, but now she makes more use of it.

I decided that the best time to tackle her about it would be after dinner when she had gone to her room. I did not want an atmosphere over dinner which her father would certainly pick up on. As it was, dinner passed off as usual with she and I making most conversation, hubby butting in when he disapproved of her talking about a boy who was obviously chasing her. Following my discovery earlier, I took more notice of her and caught her looking at me with what – had it been a man – a leer in her eye. At this point I was easily tempted to put two and two together, but I was frightened of the answer. If indeed she was at least bisexual and fancied her mother, why did I not abhor it as my upbringing and my marriage demanded. As a teenager myself, I experimented with other girls especially at university and had a serious crush on a music teacher, but not my mother. God forbid, she was not my favourite person in the world. College and later marriage had been an escape from her domination of my young life. Not that I had fully escaped domination as you have probably surmised.

My husband noted (for once) that I was deep in though and offered a penny for them. Without blinking an eye, I told him I was considering whether or not to accompany our daughter to the piano recital she had been chosen to give in the capital. The look of bliss on her face as I said this was further confirmation of my suspicions. He was enthusiastically all for it, in fact insisted that I be her chaperone (to use his words). If it wasn’t for his over protection of her, I’d have wondered if he wanted me out of the way for some reason.

She helped me clear the dishes and finish cleaning up in the kitchen talking all the while about our upcoming trip and the fun we could have in the capital. Having finished, she excused herself to her father and I and went to her room. Later, when he was engrossed in the sports channel, I went up to her room to have it out with her. I was just about to knock on the door, which was slightly open when I was stopped dead in my tracks by “Come in Mummy, I want you to come and be downright fucking wicked with me, come and taste my delicious cunt juice.” Over the sound of slushing noises. Did she know I was there? “Come on Mummy you dirty, sexy slut, I know you are dying to munch on your filthy daughter’s hairless twat, I know it’s naughty, downright fucking wicked, but it will be so much fun.” Her crude language had my panties a sodden mess (a long time since that happened) and my nipples were swollen and ached for attention. I had to go to my own room and digest what I had just heard and reaction, my libido was at bowling point.