A grieving young widow is finding life without her husband almost unbearable. When her young daughter, Tina, develops a crush on her it only seems to add to her problems.

I took the death of my husband Paul very hard. He was only a year older than me: twenty-eight, which is no age at all really. Pancreatic cancer is a bitch like that, it can take you at any age and in a horrifically short time, especially if you don’t catch it early.

It left just me and our daughter Tina, who was twelve at the time of his death. I tried to keep myself together for her sake but I was not in a good place. I drank myself to sleep most nights, vodka mixed with orange juice, to start with anyway. More and more it’s just the vodka now.

I suppose I became what some people call a ‘high functioning alcoholic’, although high was perhaps overstating it.

I’m pretty sure that Tina has no idea about any of that. I never had a drink before she went to bed and I always made sure that I was up to make her breakfast, no matter how bad I was feeling in the morning.

Two years later, and I ‘d still find that tiny reminders of him could reduce me to tears in an instant if I let them.

Tina was the only redeeming feature of my life at that stage. Fortunately for me, she was a real gem: bright, self-reliant, pretty as anything, and funny too.

I guess the first clue I had that Tina was becoming more aware of her sexuality was the change in her choice of clothing. Where she’d generally been happy in jeans and a T or sweatshirt, she now, more often than not, wore shortish skirts and pretty blouses. They weren’t particularly revealing and certainly nothing I felt I needed to have a word with her about, they were just different. I assumed, at the time, that she’d just discovered boys, and thought no more about it.

Then her behavior around me started to change. The first few times that it happened I convinced myself that they were accidental. She would walk around in just her bra and panties before getting dressed in the morning and she would turn our hugs into prolonged intense embraces.

On a few other occasions, when getting crockery out of the lower kitchen cupboards, she would bend at the waist, rather than crouching down, giving me a view up her skirt. I’d brought her up to know better than that but I couldn’t bring myself to take her to task about it.

One day she came down to breakfast wearing a pair of yellow leggings which left nothing at all to the imagination. I was pretty sure that she had no underwear on under them either; the outline of her vulva was that clear. I sent her back upstairs to get changed straight away, telling her that it was not at all appropriate clothing for a girl of her age. She sulked for a couple of hours after that.

I was in the kitchen one day when I heard her call down for clean towels. When I went up with them the door to the bathroom was shut. I knocked and went in. Tina was in the shower with her back to me.

I put the towels on the rail and, when I went to leave, she’d turned around. She was washing her pussy, but, rather than using one of the scrunchies or flannels, she was lathering herself with her hand. I guess that there was no reason why she shouldn’t, it just struck me as a bit unusual. The other thing that surprised me, but it was difficult to be sure, was that it looked as if she had no pubic hair. Her breasts were well enough developed, probably a B cup, so I figured that she should have had some by now.

I suppose I lingered slightly too long as I thought about all this, and then I realized that she was watching me, watching her. She smiled at me through the glass and started to wash her breasts with her other hand. I admit I was a bit flustered at being caught, apparently peeping at her, and I left in a bit of a hurry.

I thought no more about it until, later that day, I was collecting laundry to do a wash. There, in the basket, were two towels, both of which were dry. When I sniffed them they still smelt strongly of soap powder; they were unused.

It was at this point that I started to suspect that maybe Tina had a bit of a crush on me. I had no problem at all if she was attracted to girls, it was just the way that her attentions seemed to be directed towards me that was the issue.

That night was the first in as long as I can remember that I didn’t have a drink before going to bed. I was too busy trying to process what was happening between us.

I knew that it wasn’t unusual for young boys to go through a phase of being attracted to their mothers, but I thought it was less so with girls.

As you do nowadays, when confronted by something you’re not sure about, I tried Googling it. It came as news to me that the Oedipus complex is not a boy thing: it’s any child attracted to a parent of the opposite sex.

There was a lot less information about the same-sex situation, but I did find articles by several lesbians who admitted to ‘an inordinate level of devotion and/or attachment to their mothers’ or something similar.

I decided that the best course of action was not to query Tina on this, which might just entrench her feelings, but to ignore it, try not to encourage it, and hope that, given time, she would turn her budding affections to someone more appropriate.

I have to admit at this point that I went through a bit of a lesbian phase myself when I was about her age. My BFF at the time, Audrey, and I had started having sleepovers at each other’s houses. We would get into our night-time gear and then muck about on the bed before eventually going to sleep together.

On one occasion Audrey grabbed my phone and wouldn’t give it back. We had a play-fight on the bed and eventually, she gave in and handed it back to me. I was breathing heavily afterwards had felt a strange warm tingling in my groin. I had really, really liked the feel of Audrey’s body against mine!

On our next sleepover, I deliberately engineered another play-fight and I’d loved the touch of her legs, and occasionally even her bottom and breasts. When it was time for sleep, I lay awake for ages waiting until I thought that she was asleep. Then I slid up behind her and pressed my body against the back of hers. It was wonderful, and I got a bit light-headed at the feel of her perfect little bottom pressing against my upper thighs and groin.

I lay like that, in a mini heaven, my pussy throbbing in a way I didn’t really understand at the time, but was delighted by anyway, until I finally fell asleep.

On what turned out to be our last sleep-over, during another play-fight, I’d managed to get my thighs wrapped tightly around one of Audrey’s lower thighs, pressing my pussy hard against her leg. The feeling was exquisite, and the more Audrey struggled to get free, the more delicious the sensations in my young pussy became.

Then I’d felt a wetness in my pussy that I’d never felt before. I panicked, leaped off the bed, and rushed to the bathroom. There, I sat on the loo and touched myself to see what the wetness was. I was relieved to find that none had leaked out; I had caught it just in time, thank God! When I pushed my finger up inside, where the wetness seemed to be, it felt amazing.

I could feel that my fingertip was wet, so I took it out and looked at it. It was clear, which was a relief, but it didn’t look like pee and it definitely didn’t smell like pee. It was unlike anything I’d ever come across, but definitely nice.

I guess it was because it smelt so pleasant that, without really thinking about it, my tongue came out and I licked it. It was sweet and slightly salty and had a tanginess that I just loved. I put a finger back inside myself, collected more of this intriguing fluid, and then popped the whole thing into my mouth. I was hooked and savored the taste, which even has a sweatiness to it, but in a very, very good way.

Then I wondered if Audrey’s pussy would taste as good as mine and I couldn’t stop trembling, that thought aroused me so much. I really, really wanted to push my fingers deep up into my pussy, but I hadn’t locked the door behind me, and I was terrified that Audrey might come in and catch me at it.

I cleaned myself up and took some deep breaths until I’d calmed down and my quivering had faded away, then I returned to the bedroom. Audrey was apparently still asleep and I had cuddled up behind her again, praying with all of my heart that she’d wake up and touch me like I’d touched myself. But she didn’t and, eventually, I must have fallen asleep.

The next few times that I asked Audrey round for a sleep-over she always had reasons why she couldn’t make it, and we had gradually drifted apart.

I suppose that my attraction to girls faded and I’d never felt so powerfully about any woman since. I admit I sometimes felt a certain something looking at a particularly attractive woman or girl, and I certainly enjoyed lesbian scenes in films and so on, but I’m pretty sure that most women do.

Late one afternoon, I found myself sitting in a sexy set of red satin underwear in front of my dressing table mirror with my makeup half-done. After God knows how many attempts, my old friend Barbara had finally persuaded me to go on a girl’s night out, and now I was wondering why the hell I’d agreed and if it was too late to back out.

She told me that we were going to glam it up and I’d selected this set of bra and panties to go with a bright red, shiny, tight dress that I hadn’t worn since ... and that was the problem right there.

This was the dress that I’d always worn as a treat for Paul. He loved me in it and it never failed to have the desired effect on him. Often, when we got home after a night out, I’d be halfway up the stairs and he would already have the zip down and his hands all over my ass.

I think this may have been the first time, since his death, that I’d been able to remember our lovemaking without cracking up. So many happy, horny memories. My pussy was fairly buzzing when, suddenly, there was a knock on my door and Tina burst in.

“It’s polite to leave a pause between knocking and entering,” I chided her gently.

“Sorry, Mom. God, you look gorgeous!” I looked in the mirror and my makeup was a fright in its current state, then I saw where her eyes were looking, directly at the tops of my breasts which were on display, pushed up by the bra. She sat down on the bed and I carried on trying to make myself look presentable.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright on your own?” I asked her again, kind of hoping that she’d say no and get me out of this.

“I’ll be fine Mom. You go and have a good time.”

“Do you think I should wear that dress?” I asked her pointing to where it was hanging on the back of the door.

“Wow, Mom, absolutely. You’d look great in that. Put it on.”

Amazingly, it still fit me after all this time, but I was having a little trouble with the zip.

“Here, I’ll get that for you,” Tina volunteered, jumping up from the bed and coming up behind me. I felt her tugging at it and it didn’t seem to be working too well.

“I think it’s jammed,” she told me and she put her hand inside the back of the dress to free it. This meant that I could feel the back of her hand grazing my ass through my panties. Most of the fingers of her hand on the outside of the dress seemed to be stroking my butt too.

Honestly, if it had been a bloke, I would have accused him of blatantly copping a feel, but it wasn’t, and I didn’t.

“I think I’ve nearly got it,” she said and I could feel her warm breath on my lower back and bottom as she must have bent over to see what was wrong. Both of her hands moved lower and her gentle touch on my ass was having a definite effect on me.

“Here, let me try,” I said hastily, and reached around behind me with both hands.

“That’s got it,” she declared suddenly, and pulled the zipper up to the top.

“OK. Thank you,” I said and turned and put my hands on her shoulders to kiss her goodbye. She pulled me into a big hug, the whole length of her body pressed against mine.

“Bye, Mom. You have a great time. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” She was still hugging me and I had to gently ease her away.

“Bye, honey. I’ll be home by about eleven, don’t wait up.” And with that I left, feeling a bit flushed.

Idiot, I thought to myself, so much for not encouraging her!

When Barbara and I were at the bar having aperitifs a young bloke came up to us and greeted Barbara like they’d just bumped into each other. She made a big thing of introducing us but it was obviously a setup job.

The whole situation became too much for me and I just couldn’t take it. I burst into floods of tears and ran off to the cloakrooms. Barbara came to find me, saying how sorry she was and how she’d hoped I was ready to start dating again, but was obviously wrong.

When we got back he’d gone. I begged Barbara to explain to him how it wasn’t anything to do with him, I just wasn’t ready yet. When she asked me when I thought I might be I had no real answer for her. After a few more drinks and some food, we had a nice enough evening but it was all a bit awkward.

When I got home and saw myself in the mirror, in that dress, it took me right back: Paul always knew that if he wanted to have sex all he had to do was to stroke my bottom. I’ve always been very sensitive back there.

He would often bring me to the brink of orgasm with his tongue in my asshole and his fingers dancing in my pussy. Then he would fuck me, either in the pussy or in the ass, I loved both and so did he.

This was the first time that I’d thought of the two of us together and felt arousal rather than despair, and I took it as a positive sign. I touched myself briefly and thought about masturbating but it still felt like a betrayal of him, and I just couldn’t do it.

Things were quite normal at home for about a week and I was starting to hope that Tina’s obsession with me had run its course. Then, over dinner, the conversation took a worrying turn.

“Mom, do you check your breasts for lumps?” she asked me out of the blue. My mother had taught me how to do it and I’d gotten into the habit of checking them on the day that my period started.

“Well, yes I do honey. Why do you ask?”

“I think I should be doing mine. Can you show me how?” It seemed a perfectly reasonable request and I couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

“Sure, we’ll have to do that.”

“Tonight?” I was a little concerned by her enthusiasm, but again thought why not.

“OK,” I replied, “After dinner go and take a shower then just put on a robe ... and panties obviously, and come to my bedroom. I’ll do the same. We’ll do it then.”

“OK,” she said and wolfed down the last of her meal before rushing upstairs.

When I’d finished my own dinner I loaded the dishwasher and then went upstairs. Tina was sitting on my bed, ready and waiting.

“God you’re keen!” I said, laughing, then took a quick shower and joined her.

When I opened the top of my robe it was the first time I’d really looked at my breasts in ages and I was quite impressed. There was very little sag and I thought they looked pretty good. My nipples were as keen as ever and perked up immediately that they were exposed.

I went through the same process that my mother had shown me.

I demonstrated to her on my own breasts, showing her how to press gently with two fingertips held together, all over the breast area and right up to the collarbone and into the armpit.

“What you’re looking out for is any differences between your two sides or changes from the last time you checked them,” I explained as I did it.