The frustrated maternal instincts of a woman are often the most powerful in the world, as inimical as the joy of giving birth is not. And as the days passed, the truism was all the more emphasized in Midge Robinson-Mason's life.

At twenty-four, happily married and well-settled, she should have been looking forward to the expansion of her family, but with an absentee husband and a ticking biological clock, she was in no position for family planning. Her life was happy, yes, but that was when her husband, Moose Mason, was home. The problem was, he rarely was.

And as much as Midge wanted to say "Damn You!" when he called up week after week with excuses for being late, she couldn't find the heart to do so. She loved him - she thought she did - and the big bear was so devoted to her she just couldn't put her foot down. It was one of those rare spins life throws at us - we are often the weakest with the people we love.

This particular Saturday morning, her husband had called again. To say he wouldn't be able to make it in time for Thanksgiving. She had replied politely, saying she understood, for the simple reason that his profession meant a lot to him. Never mind that she would be having just the turkey for company that night.

A bathrobe is hardly the attire for such a festive occasion, but when you expect no one else but yourself in the house, you don't dress for dinner. Midge half-expected her husband to show up at their doorstep at the last moment, but she knew that it was pure fantasy on her part.

So when the doorbell rang, she practically ran to the door, hardly bothering to tie the belt of the robe around her waist. Only a pair of lace panties formed her second line of defense against nudity, but she was so excited about her husband's arrival that she cared little that her breasts were bared to the world, the robe fluttering back against the current of air generated by her speed.

She threw open the door, flung her arms around the man on her threshold and kissed him fiercely on his mouth.

And it was only when her arms sensed that the girth was smaller than Moose's that the woman realized she was not holding her husband.

"Dad!"

"Midge!"

Jack Robinson stared at his daughter. She had jumped back, but their arms had linked, and he still held her. The wind outside billowed her robe, sending it flying back, and it shocked the father to see his daughter in such a state of undress. Her pert breasts looked firm and heavy, and the strawberries on top were a dark shade of pink. The encircling skin was the same shade to the width of a dime, and her panting caused the mounds to sway.

"Do you always greet people on Thanksgiving like that?"

That broke the ice. Midge recovered enough to pull her robe back over her exposed body before laughing freely at his remark. His smile eased the awkwardness of her shoulders, and she thanked her stars that there had been no one on the streets. It would have been quite a sight for them!

Midge moved aside and gestured for her father to come in. He obliged, curtsying her with a bow before removing his coat and tie. "Happy Thanksgiving," he greeted, landing a gentle, fatherly peck on her cheeks. She returned the gesture, and gave him a hug as a bonus.

"Moosie not here?"

Midge winced theatrically, and her father smiled. "Nope. As usual, something's come up and he wants to make sure he is not left behind. If you hadn't shown up, it was just me and the turkey for the dinner. Thanks, Dad."

"No problem, kiddo."

She liked the way he called her kiddo; since she had been a little girl, he had always called her that. Somehow, it conveyed to her that infinite attention a parent has for the child, and it made her realize how much she was missing out.

"Where's Mom?"

Jack grinned at his daughter. "Paris. Fashion City. Ever since her shop had that show of Ardmand's, she's been busy. Got a call about a contract today morning, and I saw her off a couple of hours ago. As you said, sharing the table with only a turkey makes you feel like one yourself. Then I remembered you, and figured I would drop in -"

"And it took a turkey to remind you of ME?" she countered playfully.

Jack laughed from the bottom of his lungs. "Knew you wouldn't miss that! Just the same old Midge. Seriously, though, it's been a week since we last spoke, and since you happen to be an only child, I guess I will have to trouble you like this everytime."

"Bosh! It's no trouble at all."

Jack took in her appearance. Still the same old Midge indeed. The same figure, the same bob-cut, the same lovely smile... she was still very much the girl he loved. His observation of her physical aspects was a recent phenomenon, one that he had started to find disturbing - he was evaluating her, and it did not seem to him proper that a father should 'evaluate' his daughter.

The bath robe had been tied so tightly around the waist that it hugged her hourglass body, sensuously enconscing her feminine nature in a way that an unrelated man would find excitable. Being a father only prevented the excitement from showing.

Midge noticed her father's interest in her rather modest attire, but she had no idea of the personal feelings that were coursing across him. On the other hand, even if she had known, it would have been debatable if she was in any position to sit in judgment of him. After all, she was checking him out.

Only seventeen years older than her, Jack Robinson still retained a fair share of his youthfulness, a trait that was reflected by his looks. He was neither a hunk nor a nerd, neither a flirt nor an introvert, and ten minutes of casual exercise a day ensured that there was no extra pressure on his belt. He was half a head taller, a full chock of hair and enough flair about him to make her wonder a very wrong question.

If he had not been her father... ?

Midge had always rationalized her feelings towards her father by telling herself that it was just a harmless crush, and that she was already married to her true love, the only man who would ever have her, and there was no chance in hell that she would ever be indulged in anything more than a platonic relationship with the man who had made her.

Then again, she had never had the opportunity of standing before him wearing only a single piece of clothing... Swimsuits were a different matter, for beneath her robe, she was practically naked. She was glad he hadn't made a big deal of her indiscretion back at the door; then again, she had always found him to be a very cool person.

"Are you just going to stand there in that excuse of a dress, or are you going to change? Because if you aren't, I am going to have to stand at the door and warn folks that a naked beauty is going to fly out and kiss them."

Midge threw a soft pillow at him. Although it hit his face, it was no more painful than a falling feather, and the two grinned at each other. They had always kidded each other, and it felt so natural to be back at it again.

"No," she said in the manner of a haughty princess. "I was just waiting to see to it that you wouldn't run away. Now that I am sure you won't, I will get into something more appropriate. See you in fifteen minutes."

'Fifteen' minutes was just less than five, and her 'appropriate' dress was a single piece dinner gown that flared up just around mid-thigh, with a plunging neckline and a strapless back. Two thin wires were all that held the top tight, and the black color shot off her pale skin to maximum effect.

Jack gulped when he saw his daughter descending the stairs. God! He had never seen a sight more beautiful, or a person more sexy, than what she appeared to him. As she moved closer, he could make out the jiggling of her tits, braless and a trifle too big for the dress. Her long, lithe legs were stockingless, and he noticed with relief that she had chosen only low heels.

He could never put up with high heels - granted, it emphasized all the right curves in a woman - but it also caused her to be tall beyond the implications of demureness, and that was something that irritated him. His wife Martha respected this misgiving of her husband's in good spirit; and he was glad daughter had followed suit.

Midge noticed his reaction, and was mildly surprised to discover that it actually caused her to pride herself on the selection. She had laid it out earlier in the evening, in the false hope that her husband would show up, and she was pleased to see that it evoked in her father the same reaction she knew she would have seen in her husband.

"Like it?" She gave a slow twirl, as if asking him to comment on each and ever fluff of the dress. It was her favorite dress, and it made her feel deliciously naughty to model it in front of her father.

"It's good."

"That's all?" She pouted at him.

"As a father," Jack elaborated, "I should have burnt this thing. Unfortunately, it suits you... and as a man, I must say that you look extremely beautiful in it. Not that the dress has much to do with your beauty - you would look just as beautiful even if you weren't wearing any... I mean, it."

Midge beamed at his praise, and even colored slightly at his indeliberate compliment that she was just as good-looking without 'any'thing, but she managed to push that reaction to the back of her head before it proved to be embarrassing. Cool it, she told herself. It was purely an asexual remark, a slip of the tongue. And as much as she wanted to, she wasn't going to read anything more into it.

"Let me just get the dinner on the table, okay?"

"Want any help, sweetheart?"

"It's all right. No thanks."

Jack flipped through the local television guide for the ten minutes it took for her to warm the turkey and set the table. By the time she had called out to him, the smell of the food had already done its work, and he hurried into the dining room.

The table was set for two, with a candle in the middle. The turkey was beside it, complete with the traditional knife, and the rest of the table was a plethora of choices. Jack was impressed. "You made all this?"

Midge nodded proudly. She had always been a good cook, and she was glad her hands hadn't failed her. "Yup. All this."

"My, my!" The pride in Jack's voice was unmistakable. "It is terrific."

Dinner was a slow affair, and more than once, Jack was tempted to comment on the confluence of the soft light and the flickering candle in creating a romantic atmosphere, but noticing her distant expression, he realized that something was ruining her mood. Unpleasant things were not something you talked about at the dinner table, and so he waited until all the dishes had been washed and dried.

"Something bothering you, Midge dear?"

"No," his daughter replied hastily. Abruptly, she changed her mind - after all, he was her father, and a good friend to boot. "I mean, yes. I don't want to talk about it, though... Can we talk about it?"

Jack pulled her to him for a simple, reassuring hug. With an arm around her waist, he led her into the hallway and sat her on the sofa. Without a word, he opened the bar cabinet across the hall and poured two glasses of a mild alcohol. Midge took the glass he offered her gratefully.

It took her two minutes to muster up the courage to speak; Jack chose to keep silent during those two minutes, realizing that it was to be her own choice to come clean. "Damn!" she began, and Jack ignored her language. She was a grown woman - as he was painfully aware of - and it was, after all, her house. She could say what she damned well pleased.

She did not speak again for some more time, and when she finally turned to look at him, he could see that his daughter was holding back tears. He placed an arm around her shoulder and drew her close, and she melted into his embrace. "Dad," she sniffled, "Can I sit on your lap, like old times?"

Jack stirred uneasily. He had almost forgotten his little problem of an erection at the memory of his daughter throwing her naked body at him, and everytime he looked at her, he was seeing the same image over and over again. And now she wanted to sit in his lap... He managed to suppress his hardon by repositioning it, an action that he hoped would be missed by his daughter.

A very relieved Midge settled on her father's lap. It felt so good to have him with her, holding her, making her feel special... it was the way they had bonded over the years. The security was important; for the first time, she was going to tell someone else of her needs other than Moose.

"Thanks, Daddy. You don't know how much this means to me." Softly, she locked arms behind his head and kissed his cheeks in a very daughterly fashion. "I mean, to every one else, I have every thing a person in my position could ask for. What I don't have... is what every woman in my situation wishes to have... I want to be a mother, Daddy, I want to be one so bad." She had let herself go faster than she had thought she could, and the sudden release had caused the pent-up tears to fall.

"I have been trying to talk Moose into cutting back on his job, but he is so preoccupied with it that what I say goes in one ear, out the other. He loves me - or so he says - and although he never hurts me, he never listens to me anymore. THAT hurts me, Daddy, because he doesn't realize how much I want to have my own baby.

"What do I do, Dad?"

Her father patted the back of her head gently, allowing her to sink her face into his shoulder, as he pondered a solution. It was a matter between husband and wife, he knew that, but his daughter was not someone he could dismiss with an objective judgment "Have you tried making him jealous enough?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "There was a time when that would have aroused the devil in him. He doesn't even blink when I flirt with others openly, not even when in front of him. It's like he doesn't want to waste time on me anymore."