"Look, if you're uncomfortable with this, or the way I'm doing it, that's fine. I don't ask anyone to do anything that makes them uncomfortable. You don't even have to be in the project. I can toss all my notes on you and you never have to think about me again." Oh, you're good," she said maddeningly. "I can see it now. I just thought you were Joe Normal, but you are a brilliantly devious young man." Come on, Jane, it isn't like that at all!" I complained. "You're reading WAY too much into this." Do you find me attractive?" she asked.This was getting worse and worse. How do you answer that kind of question from that kind of woman without burying yourself either way?"Of course I do, but that doesn't mean I'm trying to hit on you," I said."And you imagine me to be a lonely political widow, pining for some affection while her hubby is off boffing interns and those impossibly beautiful young women who volunteer to help win elections. Is that it?"The analytical part of my mind was still. “Daddy…” I started to say and sit up, worried about you. Scared that you were hurting, crying, afraid – not knowing what you were there for. Not knowing that I was the one I needed to be worried about.“Shhh…” You kept rubbing my belly. “Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”“What’s wrong?”You just kept rubbing me, and kept crying, and I noticed something else. A sound I’d never heard before, but would become familiar with. “TickTickTick” is what it sounded like – a fast watch ticking in the middle of the night. I listened to the sound and tried to see your face through the darkness.“I’m so sorry.” I heard you whisper.“Why?” I whispered, almost afraid of the answer.You didn’t answer. You just touched me. Your hands getting more and more bold, running under my nighty and over my panties. You started pausing on my flat chest to feel my c***dish nipples and then you would cup my tiny mound through my panties. I understood this is why you were sorry, but didn’t understand why – what it.
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