3 comments/ 25032 views/ 4 favorites That's My Girl By: Allyrianna I lay sprawled out on the bed, dripping wet from the shower; with my hair falling around my face. My wet skin glistens in the sunlight as if covered from head to toe in oil. My chest rises and falls with every breath I take, and the cool air touching my breasts makes my nipples immediately go hard. My heavy breasts ache as they long to be touched and fondled, and teased. The sheets, so cool and soft, leave my skin covered in goose bumps with every movement I make. The scent of lit French Vanilla candles on the dresser, work my senses like natural aphrodisiacs, while soft music plays in the background. My body is so full of longing and my mind can focus on nothing else but you as I run my hands over my body, to my chest. I slowly cup a breast in each hand, rubbing and kneading them gently, and softly teasing each nipple with my fingertips. The pleasure attacks all of my senses and my body responds naturally by writhing on the sheets as a soft groan escapes my lips. I raise my head and hold a breast up to my lips, flicking my tongue over the hard nipple, smelling of lavender and chamomile soap, and tasting like Heaven. I begin to suck on the nipple, slowly and gently at first, while continuing to fondle my other breast with my hand. As my body continues to become more and more aroused, I start sucking harder and harder, tracing my tongue around the nipple over and over, nibbling ever so slightly. I can feel my hot pussy starting to become moist, and instinctively spread my legs apart, across the bed. Removing the tender, wet nipple from my mouth, I blow on it, gently, sending my body into a deep shudder as the cold air teases my hard, wet nub to the point of sheer ecstasy. My fingers trace down my chest and stomach to my aching pussy below, as the smell of my own sex fills the air. I gently push my forefinger through the moist folds and let out a tiny gasp as my fingertip touches my warm clit, and I begin slowly stroking and teasing it, closing my eyes and picturing you in my head. I can almost feel your warm body next to mine as I pinch down hard on my clit, arching my back, and rocking my hips back and forth. Unable to contain myself any longer, I reach beside the bed and grab the vibrator next to me, and turn it on, tracing it along my breasts and up my neck to my wide open mouth, licking the tip and running my tongue over it in small, tight circles. I imagine I am holding your huge, hard cock in my hand, and as the urge overcomes me, I slide the full length of the vibrator into my mouth, loving the feel of the soft rumbling it makes as my tongue lingers from its base to tip. I begin sucking on it harder and harder, thrusting it in and out of my mouth, feeling my pussy getting even wetter than before, my finger still stroking and teasing my clit over and over to the point of complete arousal. I remove the vibrator from my mouth and slowly slide it deep into my pussy. Arching my back again with longing, while moaning out your name, I thrust the vibrator deeper into my pussy over and over again. My fingers continue rubbing hard on my clit, and the vibrator pulsing deep within my pussy, as my whole being is overtaken by lust. My legs begin to tighten as I thrust the vibrator in and out of my dripping wet pussy, and my entire body starts to tense as I rock my hips back and forth, fucking the vibrator as if it were your huge, hard cock. Overcome by pleasure, my body tenses more, and starts to shudder, as I scream out your name, cumming so hard that the bed beneath me is soaked with my hot, sticky juices. I can almost feel your hard cock spewing out deep inside me as my body writhes in pure ecstasy, bucking hard until the last drop of cum drips down my thigh. Silently and spent, I lie there on the bed, my heart racing, as I watch the flickering lights from the candles in a quiet trance. Finally, I hear you moan softly and say, "That's my girl," as you adjust the camera and come to bury your face in my hot, dripping wet pussy. That's My Girl When I wake, it's to a translucent curtain of brown hair in front of my eyes, where it has flopped over while I slept. The ropes are still there, I can feel them biting into the skin of my wrists and ankles. He is there, too, watching me silently, waiting for me to wake up. "How are you feeling?" says he, reaching with a large, square hand to brush my hair out of my eyes. I say, "Like I've been tied to a bed all night." But I smile. He half-smiles, indulging me. "Glad you have such a healthy sense of humor this early in the morning." He unties me and helps me to stand. My knees buckle as soon as my feet touch the floor, but he supports me, like he always does. He stays with me while I pee, silent and serious. His face is almost always serious, but I know how kind he really is, and I smile. When I'm finished, he stands behind me to lend the support of his lean, strong body to my atrophied muscles while I wash my hands and face, brush my hair, brush my teeth and have a drink of water. Then it's right back to bed with me, where I lie down and remain still while he re-ties my wrists and ankles to the bedposts. "You're so pretty," he tells me in a murmur as he binds me. "So round and soft." He pulls the knots tight, then moves his hands over my naked body, dry palms over dry skin, the brushing sound loud to my ears. He touches my ribcage, my stomach, my thighs–but not between my thighs; never there, where I ache for him the most. In the three weeks since we met, we have not yet made love. I arch up to him a little, smiling, eyes closed, hoping he will change his mind. He doesn't. "Breakfast time," he says. I give him a reproachful look, and he favors me with a rare grin. He leaves the room, presumably to get the breakfast tray. It has been this way for a little over three weeks. We only really got acquainted after he tied me up. I was resistant to the idea at first, but he was always gentle, always kind, and very insistent. I still don't know his name; we don't use them, names. They are unnecessary. He brings back the breakfast tray. It's just corn flakes with sliced banana, because I don't get much exercise and I shouldn't have too much to eat. He feeds me spoonful after spoonful, interspersed with sips of orange juice, dabbing my mouth with a napkin periodically, as if I am a child. I eat silently, realizing I must appear wide-eyed and adoring, but I don't care. I am amazed by the way he moves, with slow dignity, quiet grace. His smooth face is sober and contemplative, his clear blue eyes watchful. He doesn't look like the kind of guy who would go in for this bondage thing; he wouldn't look out of place in a three piece suit at a Baptist church. He wipes my mouth once more, offers me a final sip of juice, and then takes away the tray. "I'll be back at lunch time to feed you," he says to me. I feel deeply grateful. He spends so much time on me. He has to get up very early to get his own breakfast so that he can feed me mine, and he takes time out of his lunch break to come home and feed me. I wish there was something I could do to help him. I'd love to clean his house, wash his clothes. But he is very insistent that I never get out of my bed unless he is here. I don't know why he still thinks I will leave him. I would never; not now. Not anymore. I'm so lonely after he leaves. The room is dim and silent. There's not much to do; no television, the curtains drawn. I look around the familiar room, my territory. I sleep. When I wake, I have to go to the bathroom again. He's in the house. I can tell he's been to check on me because the door has been moved since I fell asleep. If I do not breathe, I can hear sounds in the kitchen. If I do breathe, I can smell soup; Campbell's Vegetarian Vegetable. My stomach growls. After a while, he brings a tray. There is a bowl of soup, a glass of milk, and a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, on the sturdy melamine dishes he bought after I came to live here. The spoon in the bowl is plastic, too, from a camp mess set. Last time he let me use breakable dishes, I broke them. Last time I got metal silverware, I tried to stab him. Now I'm not allowed to use those anymore. I've given up trying to convince him that I'm all better now, and besides, I like my special dishes. He bought them just for me. They are my favorite color, just like the curtains and the new carpet. "I'll bet you have to pee," he says, setting the tray down on the desk. I nod. He unties me and helps me stand, supports me, takes care of me. While I am peeing, he asks, "Did you miss me?" "Yes, I did," I say. "What did you miss most?" "Talking. I was lonely," I confess while I'm cleaning myself up. "I wish you could stay here all the time and talk to me." He helps me up to wash my hands, and then back to bed, where he ties me again, rather more snugly this time. Then he backs up and looks me over, watches me for a full minute, a strange expression on his face. I am confused. "You know," he says finally, "your stock is down three points today." He keeps watching me. I watch him, too, wondering if this is a test. I am baffled as to why he would bring up this piece of ancient history, this potsherd, a relic that means nothing to anyone anymore. Certainly, it's only been three weeks since he chloroformed me in the parking garage and carried me home with him in his Econoline van, but it may as well have been years. I am not a CEO anymore. I live here now, in my little room, on my four-post bed, and eat my meals off my special dishes with my special flatware. I have been good and am frequently rewarded, and whether I am good or not, I am always treated with gentleness and care. "You don't care, do you?" he asks me finally, when I don't say anything. I shake my head. He smiles down at me. "Lo, how the mighty have fallen." I must have failed the test. He must be disappointed in me. I am filled with horror; my face burns, my scalp crawls with it. "But I thought I was doing better. You said I was." "You are, baby. You're just how I like you now." I am so relieved, my eyes fill with tears. He sits in his chair by the bed, dabs at my eyes with a tissue, helps me blow my nose. He leans down and hugs me, his arms warm on my naked body, and he holds me until I am not scared anymore. Then he picks up the soup bowl. "Could we...could we make love tonight?" I ask. "We'll see," he says like always, and offers me a bite of soup. I open my mouth, and he feeds me. "That's my girl." That's My Girl I walk in the house, exhausted from yet another day of work, to find you kneeling by the door waiting for me. Scantily clad in your collar and lacy blue underwear, you look amazing. Following the rules, I take off my uniform piece by piece until I'm just in my underwear and collar as well. I kneel down next to you and kiss your neck "You've been good today, haven't you?" you know that you need to answer honestly, because that depends on how the rest of your night will be spent. "Oh yes, Master," you whisper in my ear. "I've been perfect." I stand up and hold my hand out to you. "That's my girl, now come with me," as you stand up, I give you the once-over, glancing at your round ass, perfect breasts, and finally resting my eyes between your legs hungrily. I lead you to the bedroom, never taking my eyes off you. "Strip for me, Slave," I command, throwing the rest of my clothes onto the floor and sitting on the edge of the bed. After walking over to me seductively, you start kissing my neck and chest, giving me goosebumps all over. Slipping off your bra, your tan nipples stare at me, but i restrain myself from biting them... At least for now. You slide off your panties and kick them across the floor and I finally get a glimpse at your naked body. "Good girl. Now onto the bed," I say, pointing to the king-sized mattress as I stand up and watch you lay down, looking at me the entire time. Crawling on top of you, I feel your searing hot skin underneath me, but the real fire is in between those legs. I start kissing your neck and running my hands up and down your body, feeling you move beneath my touch. I reach over and grab the chain off the nightstand and clip it to your collar while attaching it to the headboard in one swift movement. "Please, Master..." you beg as you drag your nails across my back "I need your touch." I tease you, kissing your hips, feeling them buck under me. Putting on the strap-on, I kiss your inner thighs. "What is it you want, Slave?" I ask in a low whisper. "I want to feel you... Inside me," you beg. Proceeding to kiss and lick your torso, I rub your clit, feeling how wet you are. You're soaked and it just turns me on even more. I can't wait any longer. So I kiss and lick my way to your neck, slowly sliding myself into your tight pussy, inch by inch. "Yes, Master!" you moan into my ear as I penetrate you. Nipping at your neck, I move myself deeper into you as you drag your nails across my back. Without warning, I thrust myself into you. "Oh, God!" you whimper and pull my hair, making me moan from pleasure. "Do you like that, Slave?" I ask, grinding into you, rotating my hips. "Yes," you whisper. "What was that?" I say, pulling your hair. "Yes...Master," you moan against my neck. I flip you over so you're on all fours and slide myself into you, grabbing onto your hips for max momentum. I grab your hair and pull it, making you moan with every thrust. "I'm g-gonna..." you scream "I'm gonna c-come, Master!" you start moving your hips against me and I start to feel that unmistakable tingling in my toes, moving up my legs. "Come with me, Slave," I command, reaching around you and using my finger to play with your clit. "Y-yes, Master," you respond, voice shaky. I can't hold it in anymore. My moans grow louder and so do yours. In climax, I squeeze your hips and pull your hair even harder with each hand. "Oh, Master!" you scream as your body convulses in time with mine. "That's it come for me, Slave," I taunt as I move slower, my shudders making it hard to move. Your hips buck against me while you squeal and moan. "Oh, God" i murmur while my body vibrates and I kneel down to bite your shoulder, the vibrating strap-on finally bringing me to the brink. Feeling you shake and shudder under my grip, I know that we're both finished and pull myself out of you, collapsing onto the bed, breathless. You turn to me and snuggle up to my chest. "Thank you, Master," you say, kissing every inch of my body as I slowly drift off to sleep. That's My Girl Author's note: This tale is probably mostly fictional. All sexual acts involve humans of age 18+. The story moves slowly; it is not a stroker. Contents include incest, romance, group sex and music. No cheating loving wives here, sorry. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's (who managed to fix some major errors in this edit). Your constructive feedback is always appreciated. If you like this, VOTE! That's My Girl Her mouth worshipping my cock, taking me down her throat, licking slyly, till I explode like skyrockets at a midsummer festival. Then, rolling apart, and gasping, licking each other's face as we cool off; and I recharge, and we rejoin. We move together, her long lithe legs wrapping around me and pulling me deeper into her core, faster and furious-er, till she screams and screams, and I bellow, and our voices fade to whimpers and whispers. Her legs still enmeshing me, we roll on our sides together, faces together, our hands moving over each other's torso and butt and head and arms, murmuring, merging, loving. That's My Girl The last breathy chord of the I Wanna Be Your Dog / I Touch Myself medly faded away. We all leaned back and stretched, happy and relaxed. Then Jen said, "Oops." "Oops what?" I asked. "My water just broke. It's time to move." Tasha whipped out her cell and speed-dialed the taxi dispatcher. "Get here NOW!" she emphasized. We were rolling to UCSF Medical Center on Mount Parnassus just six infinite minutes later. UCSF had The City's best reputation for maternity care. Tasha and I occupied ourselves in the maternity waiting room with our mini-laptops, my chromatic harmonica, and our growing impatience. "You play Sukiyaki just one more time and I'll fucking murder you!" Tasha growled. I blew the classic Saint Louis Blues, in G. She snurfed at me. I paced the room, looked out the top-floor window at the vast 'scape below: homes, streets, parks, the Golden Gate, and the Marin mountains beyond. I called Tasha over to me. We stood together, arms around waists, comfortable. "This feels a bit weird to me. I was here thirty-two years ago, to the day. The room Jen is in now is the same exact place my daughter Elise was born." I pointed ahead. "Look down there, down Third Avenue, right before Lincoln Avenue and Golden Gate Park. In the third house on the left is the flat my wife Mary Jane and lived in. It's deja fucking vu all over again." I shivered. I pointed straight down. "See the Student Union down across the street? MJ and I took Elise there when she was twenty months old so we could see a student play at Hallowe'en, a sexy rendition of Dracula. Elise screamed at all the right places. "This is like my home turf, but I haven't been up here for three decades. It's a hole cut out of my life." I shook my head and pulled Tasha closer. "Or it's like a time-bound palimpsest, images layered atop older images. I've seen all this before, and now again too." I shivered again. She hugged me, then held my hand. We waited, and waited. Night fell. Jenna labored, and labored. Tasha and I were not allowed in with her. So much for Lamaze. Tasha napped. Midnight approached. Tasha woke and tried to take command. "Go the hell home, Randy. I'll hold the fort here. I'll call you as soon as anything happens. Go get some fucking rest." I disobeyed. I stretched my six-point-five-foot frame uncomfortably across the wide waiting-room couch. I closed my eyes. I twitched a lot. I finally slept. I revived groggily around oh-dark-whenever hours to find Tasha nestled next to me. Her sharp nose nuzzled my neck. I smiled and returned to tortured dreamland. That's My Girl Chet, his mother June, and his partner Mark, were chattering elsewhere in the ballroom. Chet and Mark had flown up from The City with us. What a yakfest! "More like she snagged me. About the only say I had in the matter was to say Yes." Willowy pale June came up and wrapped her arms around hubby Brad. "Sure, our Jen can be rather forceful when she's onto something. Remember the time she decided the town water tower in Sandpoint would make a good UFO beacon?" Lean black older sister Lynette joined us and slapped June's shoulder. "Don't you go telling too many stories, now. It's too late to scare this guy off but you could still make him pretty nervous." She shone a Cheshire Cat grin at us. Small Hmong youngest sister Susanne slipped her tidy arm into mine. "Well, if he gets nervous enough, I could always try to relax him or something," she smirked. She ran tan dark fingers along my biceps. "Nice package!" Susy was only two years younger than Tasha but acted like a seductive teenybopper. Tasha came to the rescue (or something) and took my other arm. "No way, baby doll, you'll have to wait in line. I've got dibs on this hunk." My step-wife flicked her thumb against Susanne's nose. "Just cool it for now, hear?" Lynette kept grinning. "Hmmm, do I sense a three-dimensional relationship here?" Jenna slinked up to me. She had left Lily with Momma and a few score other sisters and cousins. She gently separated Susanne from my other arm and took it herself. "You sense rightly, oh my big sister. And next year, we'll have more babies to celebrate. And who knows what else?" This news wasn't too disturbing here. Much of Idaho was Mormon country, and more than a few Fundamental LDS harems were reputedly in the vicinity. Plural marriage was not totally freakish in these wild lands. And for the growing Ronk family, at least, there was no question of non-consent or cradle-robbing. Hmmm, were my wives hinting that others of their 'sisters' might be welcome? Damn! Large loose Latino cousin Jaime shook his finger at me with what I hoped was a mock-serious scowl. "Don't you go stealing all our womenfolk, buddy. Ya gotta leave a few for the rest of us lonely guys." Jaime broke the mood by smiling. "Or at least, ya gotta share them!" Yeah, I met the dozen or so adopted siblings, and their families, and countless cousins, in overwhelming numbers and numbing name lists. I swear, I need a memory chip implant. Burn all those names and faces into a ROM so I won't forget. And of course, I met Momma (Ethyl) and Papa (Nate). Momma's health was not great -- congestive heart failure would take her before long -- but she was bright and sharp. She was obviously still the heart and soul of this large adopted family. What Momma said, went. Papa was physically strong but was increasingly lost to Alzheimers, and rarely spoke. I did not quite know how to read him. Sometimes he looked at me with a strange expression, especially after my name was mentioned. What thoughts and memories were being triggered? The festivities roared. Nonstop eating, drinking, talking, singing, laughing, dancing, shouting -- and no brawling! Maybe some excessive arm-wrestling, though. We had quieter, formal moments too. We had ceremonies. New babies were presented, and named, and more were announced. Mamas and papas were hugged and kissed. Deaths and separations were mourned. No, this was not a Catholic family, but candles of remembrance were lit. Marriages and other joinings were reconfirmed. Not legally or religiously, but in the eyes of all present. Jenna, Tasha, and I were cheered and congratulated. The gathering was wonderful, all except for the occasional look in Papa's eyes. That's My Girl "The reason your parents stated for relinquishing you was their fear they were unfit as parents. They thought they would be unable to adequately raise you. They thought your adoption by a functioning family would be in your best interest. And you were adopted almost immediately by our Momma and Papa. "That is the story told by these documents. For more details, read them carefully, then talk to Randy. By the way, Randy has absolutely zero knowledge of what I have done here. This is entirely my doing. "I had the original documents destroyed for what I hope are good reasons. I want you to live your life, free of your murky history. I fear that if anyone found those documents, they could make our lives -- all of us -- a living hell. "It would be so easy to destroy all we have. Incest accusations. Criminal charges. Predatory lawsuits. Horrible publicity. Trial in the media. Lily, and any further children, siezed and institutionalized, lost in the system. It would be utter disaster. "With those files gone, you have a chance. A chance to be whomever you want to be, starting as Natasha Ives of West Samuels, Idaho and San Francisco, California. You may be happy with this identity. You may want to be another person. It is all up to you. But you will never be forced to be either victim or villain. "How will you handle this information? I have just one recommendation, or maybe it is a dying wish: You should love Randy and Lily and any other children with all your heart for as long as you live. Randy is about the best man I have ever known. Love him and cherish him and never leave him. "I wish I could have presented all this to you face-to-face, not just in a dead file. But your reading this means it can never happen. Be strong. Be brave. That is how you were raised. And know that I have always loved you." Jenna's signature was clear and crisp. "Oh fuck," Susanne whispered. She knelt and hugged Tasha tightly. Tasha's eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. Processing this was NOT a pleasant experience for her. I saw her shiver and convulsively grip Susy's hand. Tasha eventually opened her eyes and looked at me. She looked for a long time. "Sit the fuck down, Randy," she said. "Right there. Now tell me the fucking truth. Why did you and my mother -- I won't say Mom, my Mom is in Idaho -- why did you two abandon me, give me up? What was wrong with me?" The fears emerged: the trauma of abandonment, like it's her fault. Oh shit. We were all naked or mostly so. I looked at the sisters, my wives, staring fiercely at me. I had an answer, an honest answer. I opened my mouth to speak. We heard the mini-lift arrive and our door open. Trinh breezed in, carrying Lillian, the Sprout, now sprouting nicely. Trinh took one look at us. She felt waves of tension. She wordlessly took Lily to her room and set her in the soon-to-be-outgrown crib. Trinh pulled off her outer clothes, then came to us and looked more closely. She sat beside me on the couch. "Okay, give. Tell me. Now." Trinh was pretty damn smart. Susanne passed the hand-printed pages to Trinh. Nobody spoke while she read. Trinh looked up. Her bright eyes took us all in. "I think I know where you are here. Randy needs to explain himself, right?" I didn't feel a headache, or nausea, or sharp pains, but my body felt like it had turned inside-out and back again. Isn't passing through a space-time-warp supposed to twist chordate nervous systems like that? I shook myself, focused, forced myself to talk. "Mary Jane and I were really, really dumb kids, and totally mismatched. We hooked up for lousy reasons, almost by accident." I sighed. "We knew each other for a couple years in high school before we fucked bareback and she got pregnant. We married because that was the right thing to do. "After Elise, now Tasha, was born, we lived pretty shittily. I had dropped out of high school, had no job skills, just worked at day labor while we collected welfare. Our friends were drunks and dopers. We stayed stoned a lot. "Welfare counselors sent me to adult high school and then some job training that never worked out. Welfare expired after a year and a half. I kept at minimum-wage day labor that just barely paid for food, wine, and a slum room overrun with roaches in a rooming house full of junkies. "MJ and I were dumb but not totally stupid, nor amoral. We realized our lives were shit. We realized baby Elise would have a shitty life. We could not do that to her -- to you, Tasha. That's why we sent you to Social Services." I locked my eyes on Tasha. "We did what we did because we cared for you too much to do anything else." She blinked a few times and held my gaze. "Mary Jane and I stayed together awhile after the adoption. Then we just fell apart. We divorced. She married my best friend. They have kids. That's nice. "I haven't contacted her since. For some years, I was in touch with her sister Beth, a minor celebrity. We had been high school friends and were on good terms. We corresponded often. Then Beth got married to another minor celeb, and MJ refused to let me attend the wedding. I haven't talked to any of their family since then. "Tash, you're lucky you don't look like us. MJ was short, blond, Germanic. I was tall, black-haired, Dutch-Anglo. You must have caught all our recessive genes in just the best ways. You are so beautiful!" Tasha's Celtic freckles flushed. "I didn't know you were my daughter until just now. I had hints -- your age, your birthday, the way your Papa looked at me. He knew my name, I'm sure. If his mind had been intact, he would have talked. And Jenna would have produced her papers. And we might have lived very differently -- and Jenna might still be alive." Tears ran down my face as I spoke. Trinh held my hand. She broke into my monologue. "I haven't known you all for a long time but I feel like I've always known you, always loved you. I feel like we're all just one big beating heart. "I know Ran would do nothing to hurt any of us. Whatever he did long ago is done. Whatever he did last week is done. Whatever we all do from now on -- we need to agree on. We need to be together. "Tash, I know your pain. I can even label your pain: abandonment issues. You've probably always felt guilty, and inferior, not good enough -- if you were good enough as a person, why did your parents throw you away? What did you do to them? "Randy just answered that. It was their failure, not yours. You bear no blame. "Tash, you have choices. Your inside voices are shouting at you. Which voice will you listen to? The voice of pain might tell you to run away. The voice of despair might tell you to hurt yourself. Other voices might lead you into the darkness. "Or you can choose to listen to the voice of love, and accept that Randy loves you. Susy and Lily and I love you and need you. You are part of us. We would all be empty and desolate without you. "That's not just your own voice. That's Jenna's voice. The voice of love." Trinh held her hands out to Tasha. "Come here, my friend, my sister, my lover. Come to your husband." Susanne squeezed Tasha's hand tight as a vice. Tasha looked at us all. She rose and stood naked in front of me, her fine red bush just before my face. I stood too. "I love you," Tasha said, and embraced me, and cried. I held her, and Susy and Trinh held us,and our tears flowed together, washing us clean. Then Trinh tickled Tasha and drew a quick giggle. Susanne caught on, and tickled me and Tash. I tickled back. We were soon all writhing and laughing. Not much later, we were all totally naked, and in the big bed. Soon after, we were all crying, but cries of joy and love, not anguish. We came, and cried, and cooled off, and calmed down, and conferred. Trinh was in her usual naughty joking mood. "If you gals are my sisters now, and Randy here is Tash's father, does that mean we should call him Daddy?" Her eyes gleamed evilly. Tasha was somber. "I had a Papa all my life. I don't know if I'm ready for a Daddy, especially a Daddy I'm in bed with, and loving, and fucking." "I can't think of this tall hunk of man-meat as Daddy," Susanne said. "I only know him as my husband, and brother, and lover, and best male friend ever. He's my man, our man. He's just Randy." "Well, not at the moment I'm not too randy," I joked, "but give me some time and I'll be randy enough to keep you all happy." I got punched. Tasha was still serious. "I'm thinking about my pregnancy, about the baby I'll have that will also be my father's baby. I worry about the baby, and genetics." "Stop worrying," Trinh said. "I read the genetic analysis. You have very very little chance of any hereditary problems. Any kids should be okay." "That's great," Tasha said, "but I also have another scene in my mind. I saw that old noir film CHINATOWN. There's a scene where the Jack Nicholson character is interrogating the Faye Dunaway character about the young woman in Dunaway's house, and the role of her evil father, the John Huston character. "Nicholson demands, 'Who is she?' Dunaway says, 'She's my sister.' "He slaps her. 'She's my daughter,' Dunaway says. "He slaps her again. 'She's my sister AND my daughter.' "He's stunned. He realizes Huston raped his own daughter decades ago; he's been raping her ever since then at least. "When my baby is born, will I be the Dunaway woman? And agonize that my daughter is also my sister? I know Randy hasn't raped me, hasn't used me. I know we are where we are because we didn't know who we were. There's no evil intent, just love. I know I need to give forgiveness. "But that's the video in my brain. It keeps replaying and rewinding in endless loops. I don't know how to stop it from haunting me." We all held Tasha. We did not speak, not in words, nothing so limiting. We just radiated our love. Trinh worked the greatest miracles on Tasha. Trinh's training focused on child development but also included clinical psychology and counseling. As our in-house shrink, she kept us in tune with ourselves and each other, and helped us smooth our rough edges, and generally lubricated all our interactions. And Trinh helped Tasha come to terms with herself. Tash finally dumped a great load of guilt and anxiety and anger and low self-esteem she had carried with her ever since she realized she was adopted. Tash finally felt worthy as a person, as a mother-to-be, as part of a strong loving family. And as both my daughter and my wife. Trinh's counseling closed Tasha's wounds, and our love washed and healed them.