Heidi opened her eyes. "I love you, mummy." I loved hearing her say those words. Those simple, embracing words. "Love you too, sweetie," I smiled, my eyes becoming moist. As was customary on stormy nights like this, Heidi turned herself over to face away from me. I snuggled up behind her and pressed my pelvis to her bottom, slipping my arms around her waist. Outside, rain lashed the window as lightning split the sky. I liked nothing more than being snug in bed when a storm was raging outside. The warmth of the bed comforted me. The sound of the storm contrasted with my comfort and reminded me of how lucky I was to be alive with a beautiful daughter to raise and keep me company.

My husband died a year ago. Heidi was three then. It was a shock. Drunk driver. Failed to stop at a red light. Crushed David's car like an accordion. Heidi wasn't old enough to remember what David looked like, but she may have been old enough to remember what he felt like. I still don't know for sure. I found a diary six months after the funeral in which David detailed his "relationship" with a "young lover". With Heidi. The first entries were deceptively innocent. "She is so beautiful...She smells like white chocolate...I watched her pee today...I touched her bottomhole this morning..." That was inevitable, I suppose. Then it graduated to: "I tasted her bottom this morning; she tastes like heaven." The "relationship" also entailed David removing Heidi's tiny panties regularly and sniffing them for "hours". One diary entry detailed how he often wiped Heidi with her own panties when she wet herself and sucked her vaginal juices out of them. "She is my daughter and my lover," he announced to Dear Diary three months after the "relationship" commenced. "She is my true wife," was his final proclamation. The drunk driver saw to it that there were no more entries. David died seconds after impact. The attending ambulance officers found Heidi's bunched-up panties in his left coat pocket. They smelt of sweet and sour piss.

Several questions have haunted me for the two years since David's death: Did David have intercourse with Heidi? Did David ever make Heidi cum? Did my three-year-old daughter (at the time) experience an orgasm with her father? And did David ever cum inside Heidi? Had Heidi tasted my late husband's semen? I dwell on these questions constantly. Their elusive answers obsess me. I look into her eyes when she stares at me and I wonder what memories are locked behind them? At first I assumed that any memories associated with her "relationship" with David would, by definition, be traumatic and sure to trigger enormous psychological harm in the future. Now I'm not so certain. I know Heidi misses David. We both do. Sometimes I find her crying in her bed. She sits in the garden sometimes, too, like she used to when she was waiting for David to return from the office. She would run to meet him and he'd sweep her into his arms, planting delicate kisses on her cheeks and neck. She sits for hours now amongst the flowers, not comprehending that he won't be coming home ever again. I find that hard to comprehend myself. It seems so unfair.

Last Friday night, I caught Heidi rubbing her vagina through her panties. She was lying on her bed cuddling a doll with her right arm as she pushed the crotch of her panties into her moist, pink slit. I know it was moist because her panty-crotch was stained. I didn't enter the room or disturb her, of course. I observed her from the passageway. She moaned quietly to herself and pulled the panty-crotch right up into her slit until her face was contorted with childish pleasure. The panties got jammed so far up her that I could see the scented, swollen lips of her exquisite vagina. Yes, "exquisite" is how I would describe her sex; "exquisite" and "delicate". For the first time in my life, I experienced a strange, overwhelming sensation watching my daughter pleasure herself. The sensation was one of both need and hunger. I'd never experienced lesbian desire before and I'd never touched or considered touching a child, either. I'd never felt the need to. I'd never felt the hunger before that I felt on Friday night watching Heidi's wet, soft vagina yawning open in the moonlight. I wanted it. I wanted her. Plain and simple. I wanted to lick her vagina. To hold her. To be closer to her than I'd ever been before. I wanted to step beyond my traditional idea of love for her and become her lover. To "eat" her "cunt". To drink her piss even, just as her father and lover David had often drank mine.......(cont)