Jenny, my wife, Sophie's mother, died from a snake bite whilst on safari with her sister in South Africa. She was 26, Sophie four. Jenny had gone with her sister because her sister's husband had left her ... for another man; her sister needed cheering up. Her sister had returned with the coffin, gone home and committed suicide by an overdose. Boy, that had been a good time. Irony there.
So, 27 years old, married five years to a beautiful, lovely woman, widowed from same and with a four-year-old daughter. What to do? Bounce back, look for a new wife/partner to help with Sophie and perhaps have more lovely babies? Or, quit your job, sink into a year-long booze-addled depression and barely manage to keep Social Services from taking your daughter away from you? Guess; go on, guess.
I pulled through, thanks to help from my parents and Sophie's --how they coped with the loss of both their daughters and still managed to help keep me above water I don't know, but they did.
So, here we are. I manage to write enough, fix people's computers, make a go of day-trading and teach English part-time to keep us in comfort and still give me time to be a parent to Sophie. Fortunately, she has never given me any grief and has always kept on the straight-and-narrow whilst seeming to have lots of fun. As I've said, she's stunning to look at; she's also sporty, funny and very, very intelligent -- she has been offered a place at Oxford to read English Literature and Philosophy. She
will
get four A*s and she
will
get a First; that's just the way it will be.
I was in the kitchen making a prawn omelette and salad for our supper when Sophie burst in. I turned and found her wearing a white spaghetti-strap stretch crop-top that clung lovingly to her bra-less perkily-nippled boobs and a short, flouncy, floral lightweight cotton skirt. Her hair, tied up in a ponytail, was damp, so she had clearly had a shower. She dumped a bulging carrier bag in the bin and slammed the lid down emphatically.
"All of it! Gone!"
"What?"
"My underwear, my swimming costumes and bikinis."
I frowned "What,
all
of your underwear?"
She struck a pose and pulled the side of her skirt up to her waist. "Yes! Look! Look what my knickers have done!" she pouted, looking down at the deep red marks left on her hip by her knickers' waist band and leg elastics. This conversation was getting familiar.
"Err, ouch, but Sophie ... "
"What?" She dropped the hem of her skirt, twisted round and pulled the other side up to show me. "They've really dug in -- it hurts."
"Yes, I can imagine, but ... " My gaze was transfixed by the swell of her perfect bum at the top of her long, slim leg.
She looked up at me, a sudden little glint appearing in her eye. "Kiss." She pointed at a red mark.
"What? No, I can't kiss there -- it was bad enough earlier. Now, lay the table."
"Kiss." She said quietly, in an imploring tone.
I looked at her, her eyes never waivered from mine. I rolled my eyes in resignation and dropped to my knees beside her. She thrust out her hip and I kissed the red line made by the waist elastic as chastely as I could; she sighed with pleasure. As I kissed my way along toward her back she turned, lifting the skirt as she did, completely uncovering her bottom ... dear God, it was so perfect it would have made Michelangelo weep. I worked my way round to her other hip, trying desperately not to stop and look down in rapt adoration at the most buggerable bum I had ever seen. She shuffled round, then, as I reached the antipodean point she pulled the front of her skirt up to expose her belly and ...
"Sophie!" I squawked in horror, looking away, the image of her gently swelling, shaved mons burned into my brain.
"Don't be silly. Be a good daddy and kiss the red marks better." She ordered quietly.
"If I was a good daddy I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing."
I felt her hand on the back of my head and I was pulled towards her belly; in a daze I kissed the red line across it. When I'd finished I looked up at her, frowning slightly at her little smile of triumph.
"See, that didn't hurt, did it?"
I clambered to my feet and she dropped her skirt down; as I stood she leant forward and kissed me quickly on the lips "Thank you, that was nice."
I sighed and turned back to the counter to carry on preparing the salad. "Now,
please
lay the table young lady."
As I started to rinse the watercress I heard the kitchen table creak; good, she was doing what I asked her.
"Ow! Look!"
What? Not that "look" again - this was getting out of hand. I glanced round and -- holy shit! -- Sophie was sitting on the kitchen table, her skirt pulled up, her feet resting on the table and spread wide apart as she looked down and traced her fingertips along the red marks her knicker elastic had made on her groin! I turned back to face the window, rigid with shock and embarrassment.
"Sophie! Will you for the love of God cover yourself up!"
I couldn't get the picture of her neat, bare vulva out of my mind -- her outer labia had been slightly parted due to her splayed legs and I could see the pinkness of her inner labia and the swell of her clitoris under its hood at the top. It had been a long, long time, but I knew the sight of an aroused pussy when I saw one. I was shocked to the core -- Sophie had never flaunted her body at me so overtly. Sure, she was relaxed about me seeing her in her underwear or bikini around the house -- I'd even seen her topless a couple of times, which seemed to worry me more than it did her. But this situation was different; what the hell was going on? This was more than winding up her father - she had been blatantly exposing herself to me. Together with what had happened earlier I was now a very confused and unhappy man.
I heard the table creak again and hear her walking up behind me. I turned round and glared at her.
"Sophie ... " She silenced me by reaching up with her right hand and putting her fingertips on my mouth.
"It's ok. I don't want you to be embarrassed or upset. I just wanted you to see - I don't mind you looking at me. I know you sneek peeks at me and that's just fine -- I enjoy it; it lets me know that I'm hot and that you're still alive. I love you and I know you love me."
I flushed as she spoke; she took her fingertips from my lips and looked up at me lovingly.
"Sophie, " I said softly "that's very nice, and I understand what you're saying, but today's ... behaviour ... has been a bit much for me to be comfortable with just now."
"Sure, understand. Just be aware that I won't be wearing any underwear this weekend and it's going to be hot, so it's going to be stuff like this." She waved her hands at herself to indicate her clothes. "Plenty of opportunities for sneek peaks." She giggled, kissed me quickly again and spun on her heels to go and lay the table. "So, come on, where's my supper?"
I stared at her back briefly, taking in those long, slim legs, then rolled my eyes and turned back to the food prep; it was simply impossible to be mad at her.
Twenty minutes later we sat down and dished up the food, I poured the wine -- a nice Chablis -- and we set to.
"Anna's coming round tomorrow morning -- she's staying over."
The delectable Anna: Sophie's best friend. An exquisitely formed and beautiful bundle of giggly, flirtatious fun that had me running for the safety of my study every time she came over. The young woman took even more mischievous delight in winding me up than Sophie. I had seen them grow up together since they had become inseparable friends, seemingly joined at hip and mind, at the age of 14, and it had been a joyous nightmare.
