Chapter 7

It would have been easy to stay in her bed. She'd have let me. She'd have let me fuck her too. But somebody had to be the adult. I imagine there were a few snorts out there, just now, at me characterizing myself as being "adult" in this situation. Those people would say it wasn't adult of me to do anything at all with a fifteen-year-old girl, and then do more with a sixteen-year-old girl, and then keep doing more and more while she was seventeen until I fucked her. "Ludicrous" is a word they may be bandying about at this moment.

But let's look at the biology of things. Mother Nature doesn't give a flying fuck that American culture has decided that fifteen is too young for a girl to get involved in sex. We humans have always thought we could beat nature at her game. But she's been playing that game for millions of years, and a hundred thousand or so of those years she played with humans. So what's really ludicrous is that we still think we can just ignore nature's rules. We even have the temerity to think that little old us can alter the whole planet's climate, when the fossil record clearly shows that exactly what's happening today has happened four or five times in the past.

But I digress. This isn't a debate about whether science and nature can co-exist (which question also seems a bit ludicrous on the face of it, since nature is science in motion) but rather, the question is: "Should we do what other people think is best, or what we, as individuals, think would result in the most happiness?"

I thought the most happiness would result if I didn't get Cindy pregnant. So I left her bed, and went to sleep in Dennis' bed instead.

The next morning was a bit odd. I got up and checked on Jill, who was still asleep, probably because of the pain killers she still had to take every four hours. Then I fiddled around in the kitchen, getting something ready for her to eat, when she woke up.

Cindy came in, dressed for school, gave me a very routine lover's kiss, drank a glass of milk, grabbed a banana, said she loved me, and left for school. It was so routine that it bothered me. Cindy and I were lovers, pure and simple. Gone was the teacher/student relationship. And as much as I hated casual affairs, it seemed as if I was in one. I loved her ... sure ... and she loved me too ... but it wasn't going anywhere. It couldn't. They frown on incest pretty much everywhere.

I checked on Jill again, and she was awake. I carried her to the bathroom, and this time gave her some privacy. It's hard to feel romantic in the morning, when your hair's a mess, and your breath stinks, and last night's sweat is still clammy on your skin. And I swear it was just that feeling that made me offer to give her a bath. She had mentioned wanting her hair washed, so I just offered to do the whole tamale as I carried her back to bed. Maybe since she was already naked, that helped break down any natural barriers.

"I will take you up on your kind offer, sir," she said, somewhat formally. Maybe that helped make it seem less bizarre that she was asking her brother-in-law to tend to her naked needs.

Again, perhaps because I felt a bit disheveled myself, I took a shower and combed my hair and brushed my teeth before I gathered up the things I thought I might need to make Jill feel better. It wasn't much. The only actual sponge I could find was under the sink, and I wasn't wild about using that on her skin, so I got a clean washcloth, and a big mixing bowl. Hot, water and a dash of soap went into the bowl. I wasn't going to try to wash and rinse both. I had no idea how I was going to wash her hair, and when I asked her she said that could be later, and she'd tell me what to do.

Finally the time came where I was standing beside the bed. The thermostat was turned up so she'd be comfortable, but that made me hot, so all I had on was sports shorts and a T shirt. Now that I felt better, she somehow looked better. There was a comb on the bedside table and she'd used it. It was her strong arm that was broken, so her hair looked different, because she'd had to comb it differently, but she looked very good, lying there naked. I felt a twitch in my shorts, but she couldn't see it, so I didn't worry about that.

"You're looking at me again," she said.

"You want me to try this with my eyes closed?" I asked, raising one eyebrow.

She laughed. "No. I'm just wondering if that's how you look at my daughter ... when she's naked."

"Oh," I said, feeling my face get hot.

"Plus I'm surprised at how I feel about all this."

"All this?"

"This sponge bath thing," she said.

"You don't have to do it," I said. "You can wait until Cindy gets home, if you would prefer."

"I don't know what I'd prefer. That's what's so interesting. Let's just give this a try and see what happens."

I started at her collar bones. Don't ask me why. She lay there, looking at my face as I moved the warm, damp cloth across her upper chest. She closed her eyes briefly, and I realized her face needed washing too.

"Keep your eyes closed," I said. I dipped the cloth and wrung it out, and then moved it across her forehead, then down over her eyes and along both sides of her nose, and finally doing her cheeks and chin.

"Feels nice," she sighed.

I did her upper chest again, contemplating that I'd have to touch her breasts sooner or later. Doing her arms delayed that a bit. I paid extra attention to her fingers, cleaning each one individually. Then I did her sides.

I realized that the feeling inside me was like what I used to experience on Christmas morning, when I always got up before my parents did, and sat in front of the tree, just anticipating the joys to come. That anticipation was almost better than actually opening the presents.

Her eyes were open again, and again pinned to my own. When I glanced at her breasts, I knew she knew where I was looking. I realized my cock was half hard.

"I'm going to have to touch your breasts," I said, softly.

"I know," she replied, her gaze never breaking.

"I guess it's time to do that now," I said.

"All right," she said.

I had been looking at them. They sagged, somewhat, having rolled toward her sides, leaving wide cleavage between them. But they were still firm enough to stand off of her chest. As I looked at it, the nipple on her left breast became crisper, and swelled slightly. My mind interpreted that as a sign that she actually wanted her breasts touched, whether she could ever admit that or not.

I dipped and wrung the cloth again, and spread it out on the upper slope of her left breast. Using the flat of my hand, I moved the cloth around the breast in a circle, and then over the tip. She made a sound, deep in her throat, and closed her eyes again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I haven't been touched like that in a long time."

"I hope I'm not hurting you," I said.

Her barked laugh was loud in the stillness. "Don't try to tell me Cindy didn't make that same noise, the first time you gave her nipples some attention."

That settled the problem of whether I had caused her pain or not. Now all that remained was trying to figure out if those feelings were welcome ... or not.

"Shall I go on?" I asked.

"Please." There was a faint note of pleading in her voice.

I did her other breast the same way. She left her eyes closed, but didn't make any noises. Even with the warmth of the water, though, her nipple popped up in ways that made my mouth water.

I was mostly hard in my shorts, now.

I did her ribs, but when I went over her abdomen, she gasped and her belly sucked in so far that I could actually see the lumps made by the organs under it.

"Sorry," she said. "That tickles ... I think."

Then I was doing her hips, and the tips of her iliac crest, and her stubbly mound, and those fleshy labia were right there in front of me.

Again, I delayed, unsure of myself. I did her hips and thighs and legs.

"You want another foot rub?" I asked.

"No," she said, and I realized she was panting. Her eyes were tightly closed now.

When I took the cloth away from her foot, she pulled that foot up and bent her knee. It moved her thighs apart and opened her up.

The permission was obvious.

I thought about asking her how well she wanted to be cleaned, down there, and then I realized how stupid that would sound.

Almost carefully, I dipped the cloth and wrung it out again. I laid it on her mound first. She sucked in air. I pushed it down, letting the cloth spread her lips, except that didn't work. Her hips jerked. I reached with my left hand and pulled her lips apart. As the cloth cleaned her there, and scraped across her clit, I saw it bulge, and actually saw the head protrude from its protective sheath. She gasped again.

"Sorry," I said, automatically. Again, I got that barking laugh.

I wanted to suck that clit. I was rock hard now. But I felt bad. So I didn't.

Instead, I gave the whole area a circular scrub, and pulled the cloth back up over the stubble on her mound. It occurred to me that that must be uncomfortable, if she was used to being shaved.

"Would you like to have that stubble removed?" I asked.

Her barking laugh had the additional component of a sob in it.

"I don't know if I could take that," she panted.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," I said.

Finally she opened her eyes.

"Don't tease me, Bob. This is hard enough as it is."

"I wasn't trying to tease you," I said.

She stared at me, blinking a few times.

"I feel much better now. But all this ... activity ... has worn me out, I think. I need to take a pill and try to sleep. We can do my hair later, all right?"

"Absolutely," I said.

I pulled the sheet over her, watched her take the pill, and left to go take care of the monster in my shorts.