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You can remember her only that she is gone
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what she’d want:
Smile, open your eyes, love and go on.
Alan woke to the soft tapping of raindrops on the bedroom window. It was still dark and his mind was groggy with sleep. He lay on the right of the double bed, his side, against the wall – habit not necessity. Not anymore. He reached out to the empty side of the bed, only cold sheets and a fluffed pillow, where she had lain. His hand recoiled, hard fact callously rejecting memories of love and warmth. Debra was gone now. Gone forever. He would only see her in photographs, camcorder memories, and in restless dreams that left his pillow wet with tears, and his heart empty.
It was a month since the cancer had taken her. It had had taken her young — only forty-eight — in turn his friend, lover, fiancé, wife, mother of his — their — child. Some part of him was comforted in the knowledge that the time they’d had together in their lives was precious, and he had been lucky to have her. But another part, the bitter voice in his head, screamed at the unfairness of it – that such a beautiful loving woman be taken so young, while others — criminals, druggies, rapists, paedophiles – the dregs of society – seemed to live to ripe old ages. Only the good die young — wasn’t that how it went?
He turned to face the wall, tried to turn away from painful memories, the gutting sense of loss. He wanted to sleep again for that was the only refuge from the pain, if only a temporary one. Waking to an empty house was hell. It no longer felt like home, rather a prison where he tormented himself with ghosts of memories played out over and over in his grieving mind.
Only this weekend, it was not empty. Beth, his — no, ‘their’ daughter had come to stay. She’d left her husband with her kids, Jack and Amy, back at Milton Keynes, and come up to London to stay at her old family home. She was worried about him, and although he had tried to fob her off, tell her he was fine, the waver in his voice betrayed him, and she had insisted. She was staying in her old room, where she had grown up, only now it was the guest room as Debra had designated it.
He had to admit, he was glad really, Beth’s imminent visit had galvanised him to tidy up the house, focus on cleaning for a whole day — a semblance of normality.
Beth had been a rock though out the whole period, spending much of her time with her mum as the cancer increased and Debra weakened. When the time came Beth had arranged the funeral service — throwing herself into busy role of organiser — perhaps that was her coping mechanism. Alan felt it should have been him taking the lead, but the loss of Debra was more devastating and complete than he could have imagined. Even though he knew it was coming, when she went, emaciated and defeated by the disease it was as though Alan had died too.
Alan closed his eyes. Let his mind drift back into the fog of sleep. The rain beat a gentle tattoo on the window pain that was somehow comforting, a reminder that life went on. The world outside still turned.
Then, an awareness of movement by the bed. Alan kept his eyes shut, suspecting it was a dream, then he felt a depression on the other side of the mattress, heard the duvet pulled back the sound of someone getting in.
‘Debra?’ he mumbled, his senses confused . ‘It’s just me, dad,’ Beth’s voice sounded, gentle, calming.
Alan said nothing.
‘I couldn’t get back to sleep – the rain . . .’
‘I know,’ he mumbled.
‘You okay?’ she asked, lying next to him.
‘I mean, with me here?’
‘Of course,’ he said, feeling the pull of sleep lessen.
‘I mean in bed,’ she said, awkwardness in her voice.
‘I know. It’s okay, Beth.’
She cuddled up to him, her breath warm on the back of his neck, the warmth of her body seeping through their night clothes, heating his back. It was almost as if it were Debra. He sighed.
Beth put an arm around his chest, and squeezed a hug. ‘It’s been a while since I got into this bed,’ Beth remarked lightly.
‘You were never out of it when you were little.’ Alan replied, feeling warm with the sudden memory.
‘Me, you, mum and teddy,’ she said, dreamily.
‘And you always in the middle,’ Alan said, remembering how she would break up Alan and Debra’s embrace, and thrust herself in the warm gap she created.
‘All kids go in the middle. Jack and Amy always do.’
‘How are they taking it?’
‘Kids are pretty tough at five and three, they ask after Nana a lot, but I tell them she’s up in heaven keeping watch over us all, they seem pretty content with that.’
Alan smiled at the notion, and wished he believed in heaven, in an afterlife. Such comfort belief must bring. He was aware suddenly that he had an erection. It was nothing to do with Beth, just one of those involuntary muscular reactions halkalı escort men got in the mornings. Morning glory, Debra had playfully called it. Awkward, but it would go down on its own soon enough.
‘How are you coping, dad?’ Beth asked, her fingers idly playing with his chest hair through a gap in his buttoned pyjama top.
Alan sighed, ‘I’m . . . I’m trying, but it is hard – so bloody hard. I can’t stop thinking about your mum, and in that state I can’t do anything, and I know in order to be able to function — to go on, I need to start thinking about other things — going back to work, seeing friends, but I feel like I’m betraying her memory if I start to let that go.’
‘Oh dad, you’re not. She wouldn’t want you to suffer like this,’ Beth said, and he knew that she was right.
‘I know, it’s just I don’t know how to cope now she’s gone.’
Beth was quiet for while, her fingers idly stoking his chest. She’d popped a button for greater access. His erection had still not gone down, and he wondered if he should ask her to stop, or perhaps guide her hand away. But he did neither, for needed her touch more.
‘You know,’ Beth said. ‘Mum’s not gone. Not really gone.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘Remember when I was about eight or nine, and I asked you about God and heaven and stuff, and you told me you didn’t believe in all that?’
‘Ye-es,’ Alan said, unsure where she was going with this.
‘Well, remember I asked you about what happens when we die, and you said in a way we live on, but not as some ghost-like spirit in heaven, but we live on in people’s memories and through our children?’
He turned onto his back, his face to her. He could just make out her features in the grey dawn light that brightened the curtains and infiltrated the room.
She kept her hand resting on his chest.
‘I remember. So?’
‘Well, in a way doesn’t mum live on through me, and in Jack and Amy?’
‘I suppose,’ he said, touched by her efforts to penetrate the darkness in his mind. He looked at his daughter who so resembled her mother around about the time they’d started dating. His hand touched Beth’s soft blonde hair, and he inhaled her scent. God, she even smelt like her mother. If he closed his eyes it could be her. Alive again, and by him in bed where she belonged. He tried to push the tempting illusion from his mind.
‘I think . . .’ Beth began, then tutted in sudden irritation. ‘Sorry, dad, insect bite on my ankle, bloody thing gets itchy.’ She moved her hand to scratch the offending itch, but in so doing, happened to brush against her father’s erection.
‘Dad! Have you got a boner?’ she laughed, seemingly shocked.
‘Sorry,’ he said, embarrassed, trying to shift away but not really being able to because of the wall. ‘It’s not you, it’s just a . . .’
‘I know,’ Beth laughed. ‘Morning glory.’ She giggled again, embarrassed for her father.
It was Alan’s turn to be shocked. ‘How did you hear of that term?’
She scratched her itch, then returned her hand to his chest. ‘Didn’t you think mum and me ever talked?’ she teased.
‘Yes, but not about . . . not about . . .’
‘Dad,’ she chided, as if telling him off for treating her like a kid. ‘Mothers and daughters do talk you know, or how would I know what to expect on my wedding night — or in the morning after for that matter?’
Alan gave in to his daughters teasing, acknowledging a father’s naivety with laughter. That teasing sense of humour – she was so like her mother. They both laughed, and the sound was a soothing balm on his emotional wound.
‘That’s the first time you’ve laughed since . . .’ Beth left the words hanging, unsure how long it had been. ‘Well, too long anyway.’
‘I’m so lucky to have you,’ he said, suddenly overcome with the sensation of intense love for his daughter. He hugged her, and she kissed his shoulder, her hand popping another button, this time near to his stomach.
He sensed a line was being approached. On the other side of that line was taboo – what should never be.
Beth’s hand on under his pyjama top stroked his chest.
For a long moment neither father nor daughter spoke, and in that moment something passed between them. Alan looking into his daughter’s eyes realised she too knew they were close to line that should not be crossed between a father and daughter. Still her hand moved – soft on his chest, comforting, but now also stimulating. In the gloom of the bedroom, he sensed in her eyes she was waiting for a response – that her touch was a proposition. That more could happen.
He took a deep breath. ‘Beth . . .’ he began.
‘Dad,’ she cut him short, anticipating his disapproval. ‘It’s okay, dad. Really it’s okay,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper, but Alan detected a tremor of nervousness in her words.
Outside the patter of morning rain on the window continued. Beth undid the remaining buttons, and pushed back the pyjama şişli escort flaps exposing his chest to her touch.
‘Beth . . .’ he said, his tone firm now.
She moved her head closer to his, her eyes wide and large this close to him. She had her mother’s eyes. ‘Mum said, I was to look after you, dad. She said I wasn’t to let you grow into a lonely old widower, rattling about the house on your own.’
‘Yes, but she didn’t mean . . .’
‘Sometimes it takes more than words.’
Alan opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a wet kiss on the cheek. ‘I love you, dad.’
Alan took her chin between thumb and forefinger, looking into her eyes. ‘I love you, sweetheart.’
There was a long moment’s hesitation, a moment filled with fear, trepidation and unmistakably, excitement. Then Beth leaned forward kissing her father tenderly on the lips. His mouth opened slightly and the kiss became more intense, their tongues meeting, probing tenderly, nervously, like teenagers kissing for the first time; confidence and lust growing hand in hand.
Beth broke the kiss. But gradually – kissing his nose, his cheek, his ear, his chin, then resting her head on his bare chest.
The line was crossed.
Her hair was silken and he ran his fingers through it as he had done so often with her mother.
Beth’s hand still stroked his chest, but with bolder movements now, fingers trailing through his chest hair, going down towards his naval, towards the erection that had not gone down, and that was now needful of touch.
The kiss had been the seal of approval. Beth’s fingers reached the end of bare skin, and met the elastic top of Alan’s pyjama bottoms. Her fingers hesitated then caressed the hard outline of his erection, running the length of his shaft, to his scrotum, then up again, the cotton material of his pyjama bottoms felt soft on her fingertips. Beth kissed her father’s chest lightly as her fingers teased his penis that strained against nightwear.
She could hear his breathing as it deepened. She hooked a thumb under the elastic of his pyjama bottoms, then lifted it and eased it down a little, only an inch or so exposing the head of his penis. She ran her thumb over the gland smearing pre-come over the swollen head making it slippery and easy to rub. Her father gave a gasp of pleasure at her touch.
Beth was wet now, her need growing stronger as she pleasured her father, the feeling of breaking down this vast taboo evoking an exciting sense of freedom in her. She pulled the pyjamas down exposing his whole swollen member. She wanted him naked now, to feel every inch of him, her wonderful father who had given her life, who had loved and raised her to grow into a strong successful woman.
She pushed the pyjamas down as far as she could from her position, and if her father raised his knees he could easily kick them off, but he remained still, as though still reluctant to encourage his daughter in this dangerous game. Beth loved him even more for this act of non compliance for she knew he was frightened of hurting her, and more than that was confused between his duty as a father and his desire as a lover.
Beth shuffled down the bed and gently removed the pyjama bottoms. The duvet was dragged back along with her, so she could now see her father almost naked before her. She knelt at feet, enjoying the feeling of his eyes on her, and of the fear mixed with excitement in those eyes. Beth pulled her nightie in one smooth motion over her head, so that she sat naked before him in the gloom of the bedroom.
She heard his deep intake of breath, could feel his eyes on her and she allowed him time to view her nakedness. Silence stretched the moment, then Beth lowered her head tenderly kissing both his feet, before easing his legs apart allowing her a passage to his crotch.
Alan watched as his daughter prostrated herself between his legs, his erection was full and taut, his daughter’s act of kissing his feet fuelling his lust for her. The act was one of submissiveness, but Alan knew it was his daughter who was in control. Beth’s head was now level with his hard on, and Alan gasped in pleasure as she dipped her head and he felt her small wet tongue lick the underside of his scrotum. She began to lick around the area covering his balls in her saliva, causing him to grip the sheets tightly, arch his back in the ecstasy of her touch. He could not help whimper in pleasure as she dipped her probing tongue lower circling and wetting his anus, as with her hand she trailed long fingers lightly over his hard shaft. She stopped and looked up at him. ‘You okay, dad?’
‘Yes,’ he managed, his voice thick, guttural.
He made out her smile in the half light of the room.
Beth bent her head and began to pay attention to her father’s hard straining member. She held his shaft lightly between her fingers and slid her tongue up it, kissing the sticky head of his penis, tasting her father’s come on her lips, tongue and mouth the smell and taste sarıyer escort elevating her arousal.
Alan reached down stroking his daughter’s hair. She was so like her mother, even the way she licked and touched him, that same pressure and measured movements. He cried out as she suddenly enveloped the head of his cock in the warm cavern of her mouth, sliding her tongue around, sending waves of ecstasy over her father’s mind. She began to bob her head, and Alan held her head relishing the soft silken sensation of her lustrous hair on his fingers. It could almost be Debra he was watching and for a moment he closed his eyes imagining it his wife.
‘Debra,’ he breathed.
Beth heard him, understood what thoughts he must be thinking and continued pleasuring her father. If he wanted to think it was his wife not his daughter, that was fine by Beth. She understood, she felt his pain, she loved him.
She took him deeper into her throat, almost to the point of gagging, and moved her head at a moderate speed, not wanting it to be over too soon. With one free hand she massaged his balls, and with the other stroked his chest, loving the touch of his thick chest hair on her narrow fingers. Beth felt her father’s hands on her head tighten their grip, and she knew he was close.
‘Debra!’ he cried.
Beth took him deep as he spasmed, his hot come shooting down the back of her throat, his thick seed coating her mouth and throat – the seed that had given her life.
Beth swallowed his effluence as each spurt came, and when he had finished coming, licked gently around the head of his softening penis. Then she laid her head on his stomach.
Neither spoke. Alan’s fingers stoked her hair, and Beth felt nervous, that now the tide of lust was ebbing away, he might grow angry with her, feel disgust and disapproval at her incestuous seduction. She tried to think of something to say, but in the event her father spoke first.
‘Beth, I called out your mother’s name, I didn’t mean . . . I . . .’
‘It’s okay, dad.’ Beth soothed, ‘it’s really okay.’ She raised her head and kissed his stomach.
He sighed deeply, and Beth wondered at the meaning behind it, satisfaction? regret? guilt? shame? Would he be angry with her? She felt a glimmer of apprehension.
‘Beth,’ he said after a while.
‘Yes, dad,’ Beth said, she swallowed nervously.
‘Come up. Lie by my side.’
Beth shifted up, settling herself against him, her head on his shoulder, he tenderly kissed her forehead, and the kiss told Beth that everything was okay.
They lay in silence, their thoughts exploring the change in their relationship. A door had been opened and they had entered willingly, connected by memory and the shared sense of loss for much loved mother and wife. The act of physical love somehow transcended the emotional, for they both knew things would never be the same again.
Beth moved her legs rubbing her thighs in sexual frustration and pressing closer to him. She kissed her father’s chest and slowly eased her hand downwards. She felt him take her hand in his and for a moment she feared rejection, but instead he guided her hand lower. He was hard again, and her fingers small in his larger hand were placed on to his revived member. She stroked the soft underside of his swollen penis savouring the sensation, the warm feeling it gave her to pleasure her father physically as well as emotionally. Her own hunger was almost unbearable now and she shifted position so she was on top of him, her breasts rubbing against his broad chest, her dripping velvet wet lips below, inches from the straining head of his penis.
She looked deep into her father’s eyes, seeing only love and desire.
Alan gazed into his daughter’s hungry eyes. It was true. Debra lived on through their daughter, for Beth had her mother’s eyes. The thought made him smile.
Beth lowered herself onto him, with exquisite slowness, so the wet lips of her labia ate his bulbous head and began to consume his whole shaft. He shivered in pleasure and as his daughter took him fully inside her, she eased herself up so she was straddling him, and his entire length was buried in her tight soaking passage.
Beth breathed deeply and shuddered as her father filled her. She gazed down at him, her eyes glazed with desire, as she began to ride him, her movements measured and rhythmic.
Alan reached up, taking her soft large breasts in his big hands, kneading and massaging the soft supple flesh, eliciting sighs of pleasure from his daughter. Beth’s head was tilted back as she ground into him, and he pushed his hips up to penetrate deeper inside her. Debra had always liked her nipples pinched, and he tried this with Beth now, gently crushing her erect buds as he squeezed her breasts. Beth whimpered in delight at the sensation in her nipples and she began to move her hips faster, feeling the edges of orgasm approach. Her body was sheeted in sweat as she increased her rhythm, grunting with each of her father’s thrusts.
She reached behind with one hand, her fingers massaging his balls as he pushed deep inside her, the sensation making her squirm in delirium, her breaths coming in short rapid succession, her tongue licking dry lips that still tasted of her father’s come. She moved her hips in small circular motions feeling her father’s manhood press fully inside her. She was close now. So close.
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