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From: "M.C.G." <mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk>
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Subject: "THE DOORS TO GAYLE'S FUTURE" - PART ONE
Date: Sat, 15 Jun 96 03:00:05 GMT
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MERRILL, CASTLE & GRAY (uk)
Adult Books On The Internet
WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT REFERENCE TO
EXPLICIT INCEST, UNDER-AGE SEX etc. PERSONS OFFENDED BY
SUCH MATTER SHOULD NOT READ IT.
ANY PERSON UNDER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN YEARS MUST OBTAIN
PARENTAL CONSENT BEFORE READING.
Foreword
~~~~~~~~
Readers of `Tomorrow's Family?', recently serialised
in this newsgroup, will know the professional standing
of the father of the family concerned, `Alex' as a
hypno-therapist with wide experience of the cause of,
problems arising from and/or answers to questions
related to the practice of Incest. Albeit the topic is
controversial, E-mailed interest and support of the
airing of the subject has led `Alex' to obtain the
permission of some of his `patients' for their stories
to be told.
Although the work of a Merrill, Castle and Gray staff-
writer, readers should remember before publication, the
manuscript has been checked and approved for factuality
and accuracy both by `Alex' AND the `patient'. Only
names and, in some cases, dates have been changed for
purposes of protection.
This is another of our dramatised, but true-account
"CASEBOOK SERIES.
e-mail: `list-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk'
for a complete, up-to-date list.
+~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+
Points to ponder...
More usually regarded as the reward of the righteous,
could it be that along with so many other things, incest
could occasionally be an event, an occurrence `destined'
to happen, or even demanded, by a capricious Fate?
Or, in defending something seen by society as
reprehensible, although a very weak one, is such an
theory just merely a `defence'?
But, well beyond your control, suppose you became
caught up in events involving those around you, and
whilst following the non-optional sole path circumstance
defined, became firmly convinced you were being
inexorably pushed towards a critical point when you had
to decide between the happiness of a truly-loved - and
helpless - one and your own conscience, what would you
do?
On moral, legal, conventional, `respectable' grounds,
although knowingly sentencing the loved-one to life-long
misery, for which path would you opt? Could you be
like this man, who sacrificed his conscience and chose
to pass through -
"THE DOORS TO GAYLE'S FUTURE"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter One
~~~~~~~~~~~
It was only the other week, at one of those Mayoral
charity dinner-dance THINGS we all have to attend
somewhere along the line of Life. As we glided past
tables full of the dowagers of our community, sitting
like knitting-women watching whilst French
Revolutionaries lopped the heads off aristocrats, her
dyed red hair nodding as she leant towards her co-
knitter, one dear old-biddy said in a furtive stage-
whisper, "How nice to see a happy May and September
marriage". Realising we were within earshot, her blue-
rinsed friend quickly said "Yes, they do make a handsome
couple, don't they?"
However flexible the mind, old habits die hard and
even after six years, prone to occasionally still
feeling wobbly about the entire situation, grasping
Gayle tightly as we danced on, I felt her giggle. "If
only they knew", she whispered "Her hair would go grey.
Or even drop out."
At the end of the Ball, the milling local dignitaries,
Council Officials, little-businessmen trying to be big-
businessmen and the hoi polloi formed into a large
circle for our National Anthem. Singing the third and
fourth lines, above the assembly's muted drone of `Send
her victorious, happy and glorious', from next-to-me and
just loud enough for only me to hear, Gayle quietly sang
`I want you very much - to kiss and hold and touch'.
Nervously peering round to see if anyone had heard, I
squeezed her hand.
Taking our place in the pecking-order to take our
leave of our hosts, we eventually escaped, and skipping
down the steps of the Victorian monstrosity which passes
for our Town Hall, Gayle led the race to where our car
was parked. Eagerly, she sat forward in her seat as
heading for home, the car swung out of town onto the
coast road.
It was a glorious, warm night. Without cities or
towns to cast reflected glow, with just occasional
shooting-stars to marvel at, jet-black and speckled with
millions of stars, a cloudless sky etched the Moon's
shimmering path cutting across the English Channel
towards us. Contented with our little lot, and loving
my company, I looked forward to reaching home.
But twelve miles was about seven miles too far.
Tucking her legs up on the seat, deliberately enticing
me, Gayle's hand rested on my knee. Her head against
my shoulder, faint traces of strawberry-scented, warm
woman rose to my nostrils as her fingers spider-walked
up and down my thigh. The cloth of my dinner-suit
refusing to give way, it became time to ease the
situation and as I made the turn into a narrow lane
leading to a favourite headland, Gayle breathed a husky
"Y-e-s-s".
Particularly when confronted with a 200 feet sheer
drop to a cold sea, being old and of `belt-and-braces'
mentality, I set the hand-brake and shoved the car into
gear as Gayle pushed back her seat and eagerly clambered
into the back of the car. Looking at her as I divested
myself of my stuffy jacket, removing the pins which had
kept it piled Junoesque on her head all evening and
shaking her long hair loose to tumble across her
shoulders, the skirt of her copper-coloured ball-gown
was already above her knees. Grinning as she saw me
clamber between the front-seats, wriggling herself into
the corner of the car and pushing down on the cushion, a
long leg swung up to rest on the back of my seat. Her
hands hitching her skirt higher, her other leg heading
towards the back of the car, in the moonlight, following
the sheen of her stockings, the white skin of her thighs
suddenly stopped as black panties started.
Struggling to open my fly and get my erection out,
moving towards her, I watched Gayle's fingers slip
between her open thighs, and clawing the gusset of her
briefs to one side, what I knew to be soft brown pubic
curls showed stark black in the shadows as thrusting
urgently, her abdomen came at me. "Quickly, I want it,
darling. Do me. Do me now!"
In this mood, Gayle was already wet and waiting, and
with her perfume mixing with the aroma of musky sex,
needing no other stimulation, I was as ready for her as
I had ever been. Tinged with just a trace of soft mint,
her warm breath washed over me as her lips found mine,
and my perking penis coming into contact with her
vagina, to make the first penetration deep as we fused
together, wrapping her legs around my waist, she pushed
herself onto me.
A few quick, deep thrusts and my testicles foretold
the beginning of orgasm; with a shivering flutter,
animal passion overtook us as sperm started its journey
and a million needles pricking my scalp and shoulders,
Gayle's gorgeous lips opening to scream softly as vice-
like, those long legs clamped me to her curvy young
body. As her vagina swallowed the first jets, both
hands pushing me away so she could do what she loved
most, looking down at her belly, her sparkling eyes
opened wide in excitement at seeing my penis oozing in
and out of her, the scream changing to a sexily-low `o-
o-o-h-h, d-a-r-l-i-n-g' as, pushing my penis clear to
squirt uncontrollably, she watched splashing tendrils of
semen showing whitely against her underwear and pubic-
mound.
The last sperm drained from me, as she pulled me back
close to her, rubbing against my scrotum, Gayle's vulva
felt stickily warm. Gasping lungsful of air, my head
slumped on her shoulder as pinching gently at her tight
buttocks, my fingers slithered up her naked thigh.
Basking in our perspiring exhilaration, after a few
moments, Gayle squirmed appreciatively. "Christ, that
was so good!" Kissing me, she thoughtfully nibbled my
cheek and murmured, "Do you know, for someone
supposedly in the September of his years, you're a
glorious fuck."
Nuzzling her hair, I gave her buttock cheek a
reproving nip. "Have respect for your elders. And
who taught you to use language like that?"
Pressed against me, I felt her giggle. "You did".
"Did I really? I'm olden, I can't remember. But
under the circumstances, you're forgiven, that's OK,
then." The spell of carnal lust broken, waiting a
laughing Gayle to unlock her ankles before disentangling
ourselves, smiling to myself as I felt them behind me,
for only about the nine-millionth time, I pictured her
legs.
Gayle lowering her foot onto the spacious seat
alongside me, as my hand cuddled a soft breast, laying
between her thighs, a sigh escaped my lips. Absently
stroking locks of hair from my forehead, knowing what
was on my mind, she gently kissed me.
Anytime of the day and night, I had only to see those
legs to want to kiss and nibble and lick them. As
though possessed of a personality of their own, in
their own right having dropped me to the depths of
misery, then lifted me to far-reaching heights of
happinesses and delights, in a queer sort of way, I was
as much in love with them as I was Gayle.
Long, very long, with small, pointed feet, slim ankles
led to subtlely curved calves. Tear-drop knees gave
way to unblemished soft thighs, finishing with a gentle
curve to the roundness of her muscular buttocks and,
with a built-in sway, delicately-flared hips. Not only
every day supporting her, those sculptured legs could
uncomplainingly sit astride horses for hours, walk golf-
courses and run around tennis-courts as though every
match was the Women's Final at Wimbledon. Joyfully
jumping and clambering about the rocks on the seashore
near our home or showily twinkling across a dance-floor,
they were a joy to be seen. If set off by a short
skirt and pirouetting at the ice-rink, had every glance
they drew been a coin of the Realm, Gayle would have
just been fucked in the back of a new Rolls-Royce.
Capable of exerting pressure enough to make my back-
bone creak, their particular joy and speciality was
squeezing me closer to her body as I frequently
ejaculated into it.
But those talented and beautiful legs being able to do
so many things so gracefully, sensually and extremely
well wasn't the fascination.
It was the fact they could do them at all!
** * **
Things were extremely awkward. The poor young
policeman didn't know how to say what it was he had to
say, and I didn't know how to help him say it. Full
well, I knew what was on his mind, I'd known the moment
the metallic voice of the receptionist had paged me to
the lobby. Frantically trying to find me, from the
embarrassed, sympathetic look on my Manager's face as
he'd burst into my office, I'd known. And as soon as I
saw the grey look on the police-officer's face, I knew.
"I'm extremely sorry, sir, but there's been an accident.
Your wife..."
`aks-ee-dent' (noun): event happening by chance;
mishap' Accident! An eight-letter word, totally
insignificant when buried amongst 40 or 50,000 common
words in the English vocabulary, but capable of
instantly stopping time, freezing blood and mercifully
sucking every thought from the mind, used as the subject
of a sentence, dominating everything else around, a
mystic word of miraculous power.
"How are they?" Not aware of asking the question, my
eyes seeing but not recording as they watched his face,
I fought off a tremendous urge to put an arm round his
shoulders to comfort him as, speaking from a long-
distance in an echoing passage-way, the policeman
hesitatingly looked down at his shoes. "....I'm sorry,
sir."
"Both of them?" Having got over the worst job of
his day, as I saw his sombre little face lighten a
little at the chance of being helpful, as the policeman
said, "No, but your little girl is not expected to make
it. She's in intensive-care and we're to get you to
the Hospital as quickly as possible", completely
illogically, I experienced a gripping-urge to do a tap-
dance around the marble-and-glass foyer of my employer's
office block.
That evening, the shock set in and I can't recall much
of the next few days. Through drip-feeds, signing
papers, black plastic piping by the mile, sounds of
rasping, clicking, life-support machines and bustling
nurses and doctors, the rest of her young body covered
by cradles and bed-clothes, there remains a clear image
of Gayle's bandaged head and face, her eyes blackened
and closed. Occasional vague memories flicker of dimly-
lit offices, hushed voices and above all, the faint but
distinct odour of putrefication in the mortuary, but
never sure whether to feel guilty about it or not, I
cannot at all remember seeing my wife.
And from what I gathered about the accident, perhaps
that is just as well. On their way to spend a day with
my mother-in-law, innocently waiting at traffic-signals
for them to change, chains containing the load of a
lorry shuddering to a stop alongside suddenly sheared,
and in a few crazy seconds, the car containing my whole
life was pulverised under toppling tons of road-building
bulldozer. Death of any occupants a fore-gone
conclusion, crushed so flat, even the Fire Brigade had
taken their time in cutting the bodies out of the
wreckage, when eventually reaching her, they were amazed
to find a precious spark of life in Gayle's hideously-
damaged body.
Having miraculously passed the initial crisis, with
youth, fitness and medical science on her side,
according to the experts, Gayle stood a good chance of
recovery. All three did their work well; within the
same amount of months, Gayle's bright eyes, pink cheeks,
merry smile and complete inability to feel sorry for
herself had captivated the hospital staff, who
cheerfully doted on her. And save for a temporary
paralysis whilst severe bruising to her spine and
nervous system settled down again, all without the trace
of a scar or blemish on her young body.
Which made it so much more of a shock when the
specialist surgeon called me into his office. A sheaf
of papers in his hand, bushy-eyebrows looking over the
top of half-rim spectacles, he quietly explained. "As
you can see, to all intents and purposes, Gayle's
busting with health and as fit as a flea. But the
crush injuries to her pelvis and spinal column were just
too much. From her hips downwards, every nerve
transmitting sensation is dead.
"Of course. we'll continue to do what we can, but too
much time has passed. Whichever way we approach it,
the loss of response is permanent." White-lipped, with
a face set in granite, he looked up at me. "I'm sorry.
Gayle's tried so hard. But you never know, miracles
can happen."
All the felicitations in the Universe wouldn't make
matters right, and over the next few weeks, many more
opinions were sought and tests carried out. They say no
two doctors ever agree, but this time, with many words
in plain English and even more in strange medical terms,
they were unanimous. The upshot was, Gayle would never
walk again.
And with an added twist, joy of joys, Gayle's
specialist thought I was the best person to break the
news.
With a possible 60 or 70 years ahead of her, at 12
years old, there seemed no point in rushing to break the
news. Medical-men may be very good at explaining why,
if you stub your toe, your mouth says `ouch', but when
it comes to advising on when and how to break someone's
heart, they haven't a clue.
Neither can anyone predict the fall-out or how to
handle it. Made as comfortable as possible in her own
bed which I'd erected in our living-room, Gayle had been
home from the hospital for a month before I got round to
mentioning it. Holding her in my arms and dread-full
of floods of tears, as gently as I could, I told her
what the doctors had said. Momentarily, her forehead
puckering into a frown, Gayle's eyes hooded and she
swallowed hard. There was a long - Christ, it seemed
like three years - silence, and then a clear, uplifted
little voice said, "Never mind, Daddy. We've always
got each other to love," then it was her arms reaching
out to me and me breaking my heart. Leaving me for
ever, four months of worry, strain and grief came out
that night and was gone. If Gayle could smile, then so
could I.
But this isn't an account of misery, pain and
suffering, it's a story of happiness and success. And
love. Through the working week-day, being cared for by
one or the other of her grand-mothers, in all she turned
her hand to and for all her disability, Gayle was so
bright, keen and enthusiastic or worth doing everything
for, I sometimes wondered who was caring for who. If
her legs felt no life, thankful they could feel no pain,
hurrying home from work each evening, with those
flaccid, wasting white legs over my arm, her arms around
my neck, carrying her to the bathroom, she'd happily
chatter about everything happening during her day. In
the bath, relieved of the dead-weight, she'd laugh and
splash like any other happy child, then cuddled together
on the settee, we'd watch TV, play games or talk. With
two whole days together in front of us and grandmas back
in their own homes, Fridays could never come quick
enough. Years later, I cannot recall spending one
morose moment with her, one tear appearing or a cross,
impatient, word passing between us.
As the lawyers interminably argued about the number of
noughts on the end of what was a massive, undisputed
insurance claim, an understanding Bank Manager set a
sky-high overdraft limit and everyone set about making
life as easy as possible for Gayle. Amidst her
continual excitement and wonder, disability-aids, an
adapted car, an electric-powered wheel-chair, exercise
equipment to keep the rest of her in trim and,
thankfully, private tutors to continue her education,
all arrived. (Later, making special arrangements,
Education Authorities allowed her to take her school
examinations at home, which she chewed up with relish.
Whatever the matter with her body, her mind was razor-
sharp, her personality soft, gentle and full of humour
and her spirit amongst the strongest).
After about six months, gradually more and more
realising that whilst at work, I was missing her and
thus side-tracked in my concentration, being of less use
to my employer and with Gayle's grand-parents beginning
to fidget, it was time for long-term arrangements.
Funnily enough, it was Gayle who brought the subject up.
"Daddy, can't you give up your job so we can be together
all the time?" The simple logic appealing to me, her
steady persuasion made short work of any resistance I
may have had, and a good employer releasing me early,
within the month, the deed was done.
There followed a week of both grandmothers training me
in Gayle's daily and weekly routines. Fortunately
enjoying cooking, changing careers to becoming a full-
time nurse seemed quite straight-forward to me until my
plump mother mentioned the subject of feminine hygiene
and blossoming sexual awareness. Not particularly
perturbed about such things, but never even having
thought of such matters in relation to Gayle,
momentarily catching me on one leg, Mother looked at me
as uncertainty flooded my mind. "It's all part of the
job, you know, there's more to everything than playing
with her and making her laugh. Of course, in those
departments, Gayle is capable of looking after herself,
but you'll have to keep an eye on her physical bits and
pieces."
Lost sight of in busy activity, it was quite a shock
as it suddenly dawned on me that in the flurry of
nursing and making Gayle happy, during the months since
the accident, whilst life had stood still for me, my
mind assumed it had for her. Suddenly, I saw that but
for her legs, all other parts of Gayle had continued to
normally develop as any young girl. Somehow
disconcerted, if only to allay problems in the future,
it occurred to me the situation and choice of nurse-
maids in certain areas ought to be put to her.
Wearing a fluffy pink bed-jacket over a flowered
night-dress, as she listened, Gayle's brown-eyes smiled
at me. Embarrassed and staring at the wall beside her,
never even noticing them before, I felt acutely
conscious of the shape of her forming breasts as I
spoke; simply a situation arising which to be dealt
with, this was no matter or morality or decency, but
whilst my mind was happy to agree, for no reason I could
put a finger on, everything else was confused and I felt
utter stupidity. "...so that's the situation, Gayle
If you wish, Granny will come in two or three times a
week to help you. Or you can let me do it. It's up
to you." Staring avidly at the pattern on the
wallpaper, I felt her take my hand.
Looking down at her, Gayle smiled shyly. "I'd rather
it was you, Daddy." She squeezed my fingers. "We'll
be all right." Laying back on her pillows, she
grinned. "Grannies are too fussy, too business-like,
in any case. I'm happy if you are. It'll be like
Mummy would have wanted"
Gayle was right there. At Val's mention, there had
been a little kick in my heart, nothing much, just
enough to remind me of her loss. But as a family, she
had always wanted us to be self-sufficient, to love and
look after each other. Doubting whether she'd meant
for it to be in these circumstances, as though she had
touched me, my heart and mind cleared. Mentally-
squaring my shoulders, sure Val would have approved, I
made the decision.
From there, I took care of Gayle completely and seeing
her quite happy, clean and well-cared for, granny-doubts
rapidly cleared and save for very frequent happy visits,
they left Gayle and I alone.
Every evening in the bath, Gayle handled things very
efficiently until the time came when having cleansed
everything she could comfortably reach, she'd press the
button of the bell I'd installed downstairs. Going up
to the bathroom, I'd wash the rest of her, then lifting
her out of the bath and snugly wrapping her in a bath-
towel, carry her downstairs to lay her on her bed and
dry her. From the very first, I'd determined this was
treated as normally as possible, made just as much fun
as anything else we did. Consequently, amid furious
rubbing with the towel, there was much chatter and
laughter and tickling.
But no amount of horseplay or rubbing produced a
glimmer of reaction to that white abdomen. And until
manually-moved, like two match-sticks sparsely covered
with flesh, those thin legs just uselessly lay there.
Personally, my plans past the end of next week didn't
exist. Groceries, electricity and the like being
delivered to the door as it were, Gayle and I became
comfortably ensconced in a nice, untroubled existence.
If the need arose to obtain a forgotten item of grocery,
scarcely aware of what was happening around me, I
scuttle to the shops and back. Only with difficulty
could I recall the name of the shop I brought it from.
Never consciously thinking of the future, I vaguely
supposed I would carry on looking after Gayle until I
died, when someone else would take over. Everything
was much too far distant to concern me and all other
human responses shut down. Apart from car-journeys,
the outside world no longer seemed to exist or be of
importance.
Without school friends or the emotional and physical
stimulus of the outside world, where was Gayle likely to
meet a boy mature or happy enough to be able to accept
the responsibility of marrying her? Quite the reverse
of expectations, Gayle was no cement-like load to carry,
but assuming she met someone and overcame obvious
barriers, which young man was likely to stay around long
enough to build a relationship loving enough to overcome
her inability to have children, of having a sex-life or
even the sheer physical day-to-day arduous work of
caring after her. If based on pity, any relationship
would naturally die. And having no pity for herself,
Gayle wouldn't entertain anyone else pitying her; more
likely to have pity for the person pitying her, she
would avoid any such relationship. Unable to see any
way out of the vicious-circle this created, no matter
how good my imagination, I couldn't visualise the
situation ever changing. Such matters never discussed,
the status quo was merely unobtrusively absorbed.
Even from her wheel-chair, Gayle had become a handy
little cook in her own right, and until the arrival of a
dish-washer, helped with the washing-up as best as she
could. Undergoing tests of all kinds, frequently
spending days on end in hospital, when like a fish out-
of-water, I'd sit at home waiting visiting hours to
start, Gayle's always hopeful, resilient little spirit
seemed happy enough, but she was never in the company of
strangers for long enough to form friendships.
Particularly during the first winter, neighbourhood
children and ex-school-friends came to call and laying
her on blankets and cushions on the floor, I'd watch as
they played games with her, but another year passing,
their interests graduated to adolescent activities and
they faded away.
Contentedly enjoying our lives and each other's
company, Gayle and I scarcely noticed their absence.
Sealing off the section of our lives containing the rush
and bustle of `normality' as it did, I was occasionally
given to wondering, the accident not having happened, if
for me, this section of my life would have been happier.
I doubted it.
Whatever the case, it wasn't to last as long as I
expected. Unexpectedly, when Gayle was approaching 14,
pivoting on the tiniest of jewels and so insignificant
as to almost slip by unnoticed, doors to our respective
futures silently eased ajar.
After eighteen months, becoming so used to it as not
giving it a second thought, following her nightly bath,
I was rubbing Gayle's body with a rough bath-towel.
Followed by a drive in the car and afternoon tea in a
village-cafe, after a strenuous morning working with her
weights, with the surfeit of fresh hair, half-asleep,
Gayle was nakedly drowsing on her pillows. Gathering a
finer hand-towel and carefully so as not to disturb her,
to part them, I picked up one heavy, lifeless leg.
Wiping at any dampness, stealthily stroking the towel up
her thighs, to dry her genitals and covered by the
towel, my innocent finger slipped between her labia
lips. At that moment, eyelids flickering, Gayle's head
moved as she murmured and apprehensive of awakening her,
I stopped. As she settled again, I carefully dried her
tummy, and covering her over, left her to sleep until
supper.
Just before dawn, I sat bolt-upright in bed. Wide
awake and heart thumping, hurriedly bumping down the
stairs, I entered what was now Gayle's bedroom. Propped
half-upright on her pillows, she was fast asleep.
Gently drawing back the bed-clothes, her night-dress
rucked around her knees, gathering up the hem, I
uncovered her abdomen. Gently shifting her legs apart,
oblivious to the fine down covering her pubic mound, my
finger slipped into her vaginal cleft as I held my
breath. Maintaining steady pressure, I sought her
clitoris, and on making contact with the little bud,
wiggled my finger.
Gayle stirred. Excited, but aware this may be
coincidence and not wishing to unnecessarily cause her
hopes to rise, giving her a few moments to settle, I
gave another wiggle. Stirring again, she gave a little
`mmm' and to remove any doubts at all, in her sleep, as
though to brush away an irritation, her hand jerkingly
fumbled across her abdomen. Colliding with mine, it
stopped and then suddenly gripped it as her eyes opened.
"Daddy?" Her eyes opened wide in alarm. "Daddy,
what are you doing."
Reaching to turn on the bed-side lamp, I exclaimed,
"You did! I knew you did!"
Propping herself up on her elbows, struggling to sit
up as she squinted in the bright light, Gayle sleepily
looked at me. "Did what, Daddy?", she asked.
"Felt it! Felt me touching you," I said excitedly.
Gazing first at me and then at her vulva, it took
seconds for Gayle to understand. "Yes, I remember",
she squealed. "Oh, Daddy, even though I was asleep, I
felt it clearly!"
"This evening, darling, when I was drying you there,
you moved then! I thought you were dreaming, I
scarcely noticed but something must have registered in
my mind. Something made me wake up and just to see if
I had imagined it, I had to come and experiment."
Looking her in the eyes, I grasped Gayle's shoulders.
"Did you really feel something?"
Gayle nodded vigorously. "Yes, Daddy, I did feel
it."
For a long moment, neither of us would say what was on
our minds, and then, as close to tears than I had seen
her for months, Gayle's voice trembled. "Oh Daddy, do
you think....?"
"...too soon to say," I said abruptly. "You mustn't
get your hopes up, darling. But whatever it is, the
doctors will be pleased. If you can feel that, where
else might be becoming sensitive?"
Excitedly, Gayle gazed at me. "Let's find out, Daddy.
Pinch me somewhere else."
Tentatively touching and gently prodding her feet,
ankles, knees and thighs, I looked hopefully at her, but
Gayle shook her head. "I can't feel anything."
Pinching her tummy, Gayle began to look disappointed,
so I returned to her vulva. Immediately, giggling with
excitement, her hand flew to her neck, her headed
craning as she felt tingles and we were again full of
hope. "That came out here," she laughed. "Where else
can we try?"
With Gayle eagerly watching, resolving to see just how
far this phenomena extended, supporting her lifeless
legs and placing her feet as far apart as possible, as I
looked at the open lips of her labia, sexual awareness
of what was happening and what I was doing caught up
with me and flushing, I looked at her, doubtful. She
nodded. "Please, Daddy, go on, it's OK. I'm
frightened it won't happen again. See if the feeling is
still there."
Hesitating for only a minute as her eyes implored me,
my fingers gently splayed her soft labia. Deliberately
ignoring the dark opening to her vagina, drawing the
length of my finger up the tenderness of her inner lips,
I heard Gayle gasp as it again touched the tiny hood of
her clitoris. Peering closely to see what I was doing,
my heart jumped for joy as before my eyes, a tiny, slim
sliver of flesh made a appearance, sluggishly moving as
though just awakening from a long sleep. Carefully
touching it, as Gayle's shoulders and chest began to
flicker and twitch in tension, it grew a little longer.
Not only was it sensitive, to my mind, it was reacting
very normally.
Laying them along the bed, I gently replaced her legs
together. "Well, darling, now we know. It was no
flash in the pan." Rearranging her night-dress and
bed-clothes, I said, ""Look, little Gayle. I know
you're excited, but don't start building your hopes up.
We'll see what the doctor says tomorrow, but at the very
least, it is a great step forward." I kissed her
forehead. "Now try to get some sleep."
Gayle pouted. "Please Daddy, do it again. I'm too
excited to sleep."
Abstractedly thinking of her clitoris's sudden, sly
appearance, and wondering if Gayle had experienced any
form of arousal, I was tempted but said instead, "Do
you want a drink or anything? I'm going to make a cup
of tea."
Only slightly disappointed, suddenly reddening, Gayle
smiled slowly. "Yes, please." She looked down at my
abdomen. "And Daddy, if you are going to stay up,
don't you think you should at least put your dressing-
gown on?"
Blood of shame rushed in my ears as I caught sight of
a wavering, half-erect penis.
+~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+
"THE DOORS TO GAYLE'S FUTURE"
copyright: Merrill, Castle & Gray 1996
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