The year - 1835. The place - the Wild Wild West.

John McNaughtin was the typical Wild Western family man - he lived on the outskirts of a sleepy town whose only trouble came from the wild hogs that sometimes ran their way. No gun slinger had ever set foot in this town, and the sheriff was a quite cheerful seventy-year old man who hoped that he he still had the star when his age became three figures. The houses were wide-spaced, and had sizeable grounds of their own. The neighborhood was cheerful and pleasant, and on Sundays, the local vicar had a full house.

John McNaughtin and his wife Martha were quite happy with their lives. John had been fifteen when he had knocked up his eighteen-year old friend, Martha, but their families had been quite happy to let them tie the knot. His father gave him a small plot outside Sleepville (as the town was popularly known, its original name being buried under tons of dirt near the praire roads), and as time progressed, John was able to expand it into a sprawling farm. In spite of the vastness, though, John could manage the farm almost single-handedly, his right-hand being his beloved daughter, Georgia. The two went about almost everything together, whether it was roping calves, riding horses or mending the hedges. Martha, on the other hand, was quite content to play the housewife, waiting on her husband and daughter as they returned from a hard day's labour. Her husband's closeness with his daughter never threatened her - this fact made her proud, since she knew of other housewives who viewed their husbands' trips with their daughters' with suspicion. A part of it was justifiable, but in that sleepy town, nobody bothered even if you fucked your own daughter on the altar.

As she watched John and George - as she preferred to be called - ride off into the sunset, she sighed. Her daughter, at nineteen, was a lovely vision - but at a time when she should have fallen in love with one of the local boys, George was following in her rugged father's footsteps. She was the typical tomboy, mused her mother, always wearing jeans and sweaty shirts with the top two buttons undone. This did show a lot of her ample cleavage, but Martha was sure her daughter barely recognised the fact. The girl had sharp features, inheriting them more from his side of the family than hers, and perhaps that accounted for the testosterone as well. Her face was beautiful, her blonde hair even more so, but George rarely took the effort to keep herself free from dirt, and the result was that at first glance, only her figure seemed striking.

Finishing her work, Martha sat down in their living room, and turned to her journal. Halfway through the first page, her thoughts about George interrupted her, and she set the book down. As a mother, she had to admit that George's tomboyish attitude was starting to be worrying her a bit. The ultimate dream of any mother is to see her daughter accepted as a very responsible lady - and Martha was starting to fear she had failed. And then a plan occurred to her. A very interesting plan, indeed.

When John and George returned home that evening, Martha had prepared a wonderful meal, but unlike other days, she insisted they wash up before they started. George was the first to have her bath, and as she came out of the toilet, her father had just a small glimpse of her naked butt as she went into her room. This was not the first instance - once, a couple of months back, John had been bathing when George rushed into the toilet to relieve herself. She had stood just a foot away from her father, babbling something about their wild-hog hunt the next day. He had caught a glimpse of her blonde tuft.

As John returned from his wash, Martha led him into their bedroom. John smiled inwardly, knowing from previous experience that dinner would be cold by the time they got around to it - but he was disappointed. As soon as the door was closed, Martha turned to face her husband, a hand automatically keeping him at arm's length.

"Not now, John, we need to talk - about Georgia, that is!"

"Aw, honey, you know she hates that name. But somehow, I don't think that was the point you were trying to make."

"You are right, that is beside the point - come to think of it, it is in fact a part of what I have to tell you. Tell me, John, have we got a daughter or a son?"

"Of course, a daughter. What sort of a fool do - wait a minute, I think I see your point." John scratched his stubble thoughtfully. "What you mean is that George - I mean Georgia - needs to be more... feminine, right?"

"Yup," replied Martha, "I mean, even at Church she shows up in that cowboy dress of hers - I am not embarassed by her or anything John, but don't you think she is beautiful? I don't want her to spoil her good looks on the soil - no offense, John, the rugged look suits you, but is that what we want her pretty face to become? Some muscular scowl?"

John looked at his wife. The two women in his life were poles apart even in looks, but equally beautiful. Martha, as always, had a point. But the question was how to make his daughter change. After all, you don't ask her to become a woman overnight - she needs to be taught proper manners, the proper walk, how to respond to a man's touches - the last thought bothered him though.

"I can see what you are thinking, Johnny, my boy. If you want to listen, I have a plan - it's not a plan as such, but under the circumstances, it's one nonetheless. Wanna hear it?"

"Sure."

"We get her to fall in love - and before you object, let me name him. Don't worry, it's someone who ought to meet your standards in everything. Then again, I guess he should. You see, the guy I have in mind for our daughter is YOU!"

The last sentence hung in the air, until John found his voice and cut throught it.

"Martha, honey, did you have too much wine?"

She laughed. "That was expected. But look at it this way - we can't make her give up a way of living she so obviously loves - therefore, we have to make her love something even more. Do you remember how I had been, John - the wild carefree bird. Then I met you, fell in love... the rest, as someone in the future might say, is history. Now I am the quiet housewife who goes to Church every other day, sits at home by the hearth and knits and reads books. Oh, look what you've done to me, John!"

John smiled. "Well, at least it leaves you more fresh in bed - you are still the tigress I met."

Martha smiled back. "Well, it's high time you took the tiger cub for a lesson or two in these matters. Besides, I doubt if she has ever thoght of any other male than you - with the exception of Rex and Chester, but I figured I'ld rather have a human humping her. If you ask her to drop her pants, she would. So... your mission, John, should you choose to accept it, is to turn your daughter into a fine woman. The ends will justify the means, so if it means that I've to share you with her, then I guess I will start seeing more as a son-in-law."

John was already shaking her head. Martha held his face inher hands and looked into the inner depths of his eyes. "Look, I am not saying you grab her right now and have sex with her - just take her out during the nights, get her to wear something more feminine, like a skirt and blouse, seduce her. Make love to her. Or if you can't do it, get someone else - although I doubt she will even give him a second glance. You are her love, John, but it's upto you how you want to receive it."

For a second John deliberated his actions. Incest wasn't so taboo, and he wouldn't have to cover it up or anything - hell, it was a well-known secret that the Sheriff's third wife was his eldest daughter. The nagging doubt was about his daughter's feelings. Would she accept him - or if he failed, would she turn away from them?

"Okay," he replied. A vision of a naked Georgia had made the decision for him. "I will do it."