Church is no place to be thinking about sex, even less so incest, especially during the Christmas service, just four rows back from the altar, where the elderly Parish Priest is so fervently extolling the memory of the last supper.

“Take this all of you and eat it. This is my body which will be given up for you.”

I should be contemplating the significance of the words, but I find myself glancing at my daughter’s pretty face, the soft curve of those youthful breasts accentuated by her gentle breathing, as she kneels beside me, hands clasped together in erstwhile prayer.

“Take this all of you and drink from it. This is the cup of my blood, the new and everlasting covenant.”

I find myself concentrating not on the Eucharistic prayer now, but rather, Lucy’s slim hips and radiating vitality. As she turns momentarily to smile at me, some part of us touches and recognises the far-flung possibilities.

Let us back-up a lifetime.

Lucy and I have always been close - more in what has been unsaid rather than spoken aloud. She is a soul-mate. Even though she is eighteen now, the special bond we shared during her childhood has not slackened off. Rather, it has evolved into something almost tangible.

An only child, she was but three years old when my wife died. Her very existence eased the pain of Nadia’s passing and provided the focus I needed to overcome my grief. In a decade and a half not a solitary impure thought has crossed my mind so far as Lucy is concerned.

But then there was tonight.

Just an hour before we had to be at Our lady of The Rosary I picked Lucy up from a girlfriend’s place where she had spent Christmas Eve, quite evidently quaffing the occasional alcoholic beverage. (In Australia, unlike the US), one may imbibe alcohol from 18 onwards) I say “quite evidently” on account of the fact she was still giggly and overly talkative. - traits she rarely exhibits.

It was as she sat in the car chatting animatedly, that I realized how much I loved her and how much - to my on-going discredit - I wanted her in ways other than those might be termed appropriate.

“I love you dad,” She had said, reaching across and holding my hand. In that instant, our destinies overlapped.

Even as the Priest intones the words,

“Father, calling to mind the death your son endured for our salvation...”

the images begin to form.

Lucy stands at the foot of her bed seemingly unfazed by my close proximity. Removing her school back-pack she tosses it on the covers. I notice her tanned arms and legs as she turns her back to me momentarily, retrieving a purse from the pocket of her school-dress, that she then places on her work-desk nearby. I cannot fail to notice either the soft curves of her shapely bottom that are so clearly delineated for an instant.

I seat myself on the edge of the bed and place my hand just above her hips. She still has her back to me even as I begin to smooth over those gentle rearward curves. She knows instinctively what pleases me and takes a step backwards so that I may better feel-up my field of dreams.

“You are so beautiful Lucy,” I mutter, sliding both hands now across her taut little rear and cupping both cheeks, feeling plainly her underwear beneath the school-dress. Holding her around the hips I tug that warm little body towards me until she is sitting on my lap.

Slipping my arms around her waist, my hands wander northwards searching out the illicit warmth of her teenage breasts. She makes no move to stop me, simply gasping softly as I begin to fondle those delicate mounds. I know she is watching as I begin undoing the top few buttons of her dress.

“Grant that we who are nourished by his body and blood... :”

The image fades and once again I glance down at the sweet-smelling youthful form alongside me. I must suppress these thoughts at all cost.

“ ... the apostles, the martyrs and all your saints upon whose constant intercession we rely for help.”

My hand slips into the newly created air-space. I relish the contact with the frilly material, it represents the ultimate feminine tactility. Again the lightest of gasps as I cup her breasts through the yielding material, squeezing and caressing the softness beneath. Even as an embryonic moan rises in her throat, I incline my face to her shoulder and nuzzle her lovingly. Kissing her at the base of the neck, I feel her wriggle slightly on my lap, the warmth of her young body addling my senses. I slip a hand inside her bra cup and grasp what nature has been working so efficiently upon these last six years or so.

“Oh dad,” she whispers, bringing her own hands up to cover mine, wholly complicit yet fully in acceptance of my actions. It requires a minimum of sensory recognition to acknowledge a hardening of her nipples within their padded rayon creche. My desire is rising like the Spring tide.

“and all the Bishops, with the clergy and the entire people your son has gathered here before you.”

I look down at the Missal between my hands. My thoughts betray me and aware of the offense I am causing in this hallowed place, I replace it in the rack before me. Again Lucy glances in my direction and smiles so sweetly I can feel the onset of tears of emotion. I try to concentrate on the liturgy.

“Welcome into your kingdom our departed brothers and sisters and all who have left this world in your friendship...”

Again my euchamenical surroundings fade as Lucy turns her pretty face towards me. Without hesitation I kiss her softly on the lips. I can see clearly now her exposed cleavage and the incestuous behavior of myhands as they roam freely the captive mountain range before me. I need to see that which I can feel.

Beginning now to rub her nipple between thumb and forefinger her kisses wholeheartedly match my own for passion and intensity. Her small hand seeks out the other breast, idly caressing it’s focal point as together we inspire a mammarian celebration within the confines of those fleecy restraints.

Undoing the buttons to her waist almost, Lucy’s slimline bra is revealed in all its tempting simplicity. I kiss her passionately as she matches my ardor with her own. As I slip the bra straps down her arms, encouraged by the fact that she is making no move to halt my progress, she once more teases me to distraction by perceptibly thrusting her breasts forward as I tug the material lower, relieving both cups of their protective duty.

We break off momentarily from our lip deliberations and look into each other’s eyes. All understanding is there ... no oratory required. Fully exposed now, her breasts stand out proudly, her nipples erect and in urgent need of a man’s touch - a FATHER’S touch!