1

As for Sherry, she was dead to the whole world except for her new toy and her very happy pussy. She came twice and might have managed number three but for the Valium, entertaining a small army of fantasy lovers, and making her husband watch her with every last one of them.

When she finished, and began to drift away into sleep, she wasn't exactly happy or content. But she was too spent to be miserable, and that was an improvement.

December Twenty-fifth

All of the Fords stood before the big living room window at seven twenty-two that morning. The twinkling tree stood behind them, ignored. They were looking at the snow.

It had snowed all night. That same ridiculous light fluttering of snowflakes. Yesterday the world outside had a thin covering of the stuff. Now they had inches of it. It made a big pyramid in the birdbath. It all but buried Jasper's doghouse, which lay in a depression near the fence. Josh's Charger, which he and Neal had spent a precarious hour pushing home the previous evening, was heaped high with it. And it was still coming down.

For a long while silence hung in the air as they surveyed the scene, in disbelief. A Currier and Ives scene, but for the white-shrouded palm trees.

"Dude," said Josh, breaking the silence. "It really snowed!"

In spite of everything Neal laughed. So did Sherry.

"Hey Josh, I saw that movie about you," said Vanessa. "A Beautiful Mind?"

"Oh fuck you."

For an hour or so they opened gifts, chatted fairly easily, acted like a family. There was an undeniable coldness between Sherry and Neal that would not thaw, but they seemed to be keeping their barbed remarks to themselves. Vanessa cooed and giggled over all the baby items she opened, bibs and rattles and androgynous dresses, altogether behaving in a giddy, feminine manner that Neal had never seen in her before. Josh found it hilarious that his sister had given him swim fins and a diving mask, considering the weather outside. Sherry was thoroughly surprised at the stack of Cary Grant and Clark Gable DVD's Neal had given her -- it was a thoughtful, knowing gift, reminding her of the old Neal for the first time in weeks. He must have bought them ages ago, she thought. And Neal was frankly blown away that Sherry had found a first pressing of Sergeant Pepper on vinyl -- complete with psychedelic rainbow wrapper and punch-out cardboard toys. The card read "From Josh," so he directed his official thanks to his son. But he knew Sherry had been the one to find it for him; his son knew as much about the Beatles as he did about Quantum theory.

The good spirits, the joviality, the nonchalance and humor lasted about three hours, long enough to see them through the gift giving and an early lunch. Around eleven thirty Sherry cleared away the plates and brought out dessert number one: strawberry rhubarb pie.

But there was a lot of talk about the weather, and that led to trouble. Neal said that the snow would shut things down pretty quickly, suggesting that they get to the store and stock up on a few supplies. Sherry asked him just how he proposed to do that. Neal said they could try her Volkswagen, it would probably get them to the convenience store and back, at least. Sherry asked him if he was trying for two cars in the ditch.

Neal, full of turkey and stuffing and potatoes and pie that his wife had prepared, was reluctant to respond to her sarcasm the way it deserved. Instead he fell silent, and the gloom returned to the house.

***

Around one, Neal tried to pick up something -- anything -- on the television in the den. But the cable was still out, and he didn't know where the antenna was, or if they even had one for this set. So he brought the old TV down, the one from the bedroom. His wife disavowed all knowledge as to the whereabouts of the remote.

After fussing with the rabbit ears for twenty minutes he managed to get one station from Jacksonville, and he and Josh laid about in the den, watching The Grinch. After that a parade came on and he left the room. Parades bored him shitless.

He snuck into his office, a small room off the den, and the coldest room in the house. He knew that Sherry was in the living room, talking with Vanessa, so he was fairly sure he wouldn't be disturbed. Once connected he quickly logged into his free email account to see if he had a reply to his message.

He had sent Melanie a short note early yesterday morning. The cold and the loneliness in his own home made him think of her pityingly. She didn't have family in the city, and he didn't think she had too many friends either. The thought of her spending a solitary Christmas in her tiny apartment made him sick and miserable, caused him to miss her all the more. He hadn't written much -- just a few short lines, testing the water as it were. But he had admitted to her that things weren't well with Sherry and him, and that he was seriously considering calling an end to the whole thing.

Neal had hoped that his message might bring some good feelings to poor Melanie, would let her know that he hadn't forgotten her. Maybe it would even give her something to look forward to, once the holiday was over and the weather cleared up.

He was thrilled to find that yes, she had indeed replied to him. There among her older messages, dated from October, was a new unread one whose subject was FOR YOU BABY. His heartbeat quickened as he opened it, the term of endearment melting all his reservations and fears at once.

There was no text in the message, only an HTML page for him to download. He clicked on it eagerly, wondering what she had sent him. Maybe a clever little computer Christmas card she made herself -- the kind of silly, juvenile thing that might have annoyed him once, but which he would utterly welcome now. Or maybe . . . it was a nude picture of herself or something? He could see her doing that -- turning up the heat a notch, trying to get him back.

The download was complete within a minute, but he was a little disappointed to find that it was a fairly simple text message, on a buff colored background:

"Dear" Neal;

How very sweet of you to drop me a line. It's only been six weeks or so after all. Imagine how thrilled I was to find out that you and your wife are still fighting. Oh oh oh might there be a chance for me after all??? I'll be sure to hold my breath until you come back to me, dear.

For your information I'm spending Christmas with my parents in Tampa. So when you do manage to get away from the house, you can forget about coming for a little visit because I won't be there. You can forget about it permanently. I wouldn't let you within a mile of me.

I've been thinking a lot about us for the past few weeks, dear sweet Neal, and have decided that really I need to thank you. You made me aware of just how bad it can get. Thank you for showing me just how fast and how cruelly a man can leave -- I'll know better next time. Thanks also for all the nice things you said about my body. Now I'm not nearly so afraid to get naked in front of guys. Which guys have I been getting naked for? Wouldn't you like to know?

Goodbye now and don't ever, ever write me again.

Melanie

P. S. Thanks also for downloading this attachment. Next time you go fishing off the company pier, you might not want to fuck with the girls from programming. You now have three or four of the more destructive, faster acting computer viruses in your system. It was the least I could do:)

Have a nice crash!

Neal finished reading the last lines just as the cursor froze. When he tried to reboot, he got an empty black screen.

***

Vanessa managed to corner her mother around one. She'd been looking to catch her alone, and finally got her chance while the men watched TV. Sherry Ford was sitting in the living room with a cigarette and a Scotch, staring blankly out into the glowing white yard. She smiled when Vanessa came in and kissed her cheek; she smiled even more, and blushed a deep crimson, when asked if she was having a nice Christmas.

"I had a much nicer Christmas Eve," she all but whispered.

Vanessa giggled softly. "Did you like it then?"

"Oh baby," said Sherry, exhaling smoke. "Of course I did. I don't know how you knew I needed one -- I think you can read my mind."

"No, I can just hear you moaning and groaning," she said, laughing mischievously.

Her mother blushed even deeper. "Oh no," she said, grimacing.

"Mom, I don't know when you're gonna figure out these walls aren't sound proof. It's okay, don't worry about it!"

"What all did you hear? No, never mind that. What have -- I mean, have you heard us -- your father and I -- in the past?"

"Duh. Yes, of course. Try not to listen if I can help it."

"Oh my God," Sherry groaned, cradling her forehead in her hands.

"Mom, I swear, it's okay. Kinda sweet, really. Actually, it was when I stopped hearing noises next door that I started to worry . . . "

Her voice trailed off. She hadn't meant to say that.

"Yeah, well," said Sherry, stubbing out her cigarette. "Not without good reason, as it turns out. I'm sorry -- I shouldn't be smoking around you and the baby --"

"S'okay. So you did like it, then. I'm glad."

"Yes, of course I did. Thank you -- it was very, um, thoughtful of you. I was very surprised." For an instant Sherry's eyes met hers, rather shyly. "Though I guess I shouldn't be, huh? You seem to know a lot more about . . . these matters than I thought you did."

Vanessa smirked.

"These matters? You mean sex."

"Yes, I do," Sherry said softly. "What makes the world go round, I suppose."

"Oh, I don't know that much. I know you haven't been getting any. And that you need to. And that Dad has been, and that makes you angry."

Sherry laughed bitterly. "You have a very uncomplicated way of putting things, Vanessa."

"Sorry. I don't mean to oversimplify it. But that is what's going on."

Her mother said nothing for several seconds, then asked "So what do I do about it -- find myself a toyboy?"

"That might help, yeah." She scooted closer to Sherry, put her arm around her. "Look -- you and Dad love each other. There's no arguing that. He fucked up, you didn't. Now I'm not saying that you fucking up a little is the only answer, but who knows? You might consider it."

Sherry looked at her.

"Vanessa, we're married," she said.

Vanessa shrugged. "That didn't stop Dad. And it might be the only way to get his attention."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"Why?"

"Well, what about you -- would you cheat on Brad?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely! If I needed to, or if the situation was right. Shit, wouldn't you cheat on Brad?" She laughed. "Anyway, I wouldn't consider it cheating. It's just taking care of yourself, getting yourself through a bad patch. And as horny as I've been, and him not around -- hey, if there was someone here to do me --"

"Oh, Vanessa, stop it."

"No, I'm serious!"

"I believe you're serious, I just don't want to hear it. What you don't understand is, that's not the way things are supposed to be. You don't just screw whoever you want to when you're married!"

There was a pause, then Vanessa shrugged.

"Then why do we want to?" she asked.

Sherry stared at her but couldn't answer her. She only sighed, and turned her eyes back to the window. After a minute or two Vanessa kissed her again and patted her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she said, getting up. "I didn't mean to bug you. Anyway, for right now you've got Big Bear to take care of you."

***

At about four Josh caved in and dialed Jeanie's number from Neal's office phone. She answered it, snarled about fourteen words that should never be used on Christmas Day, and hung up. He called back, the phone just rang. He hung up and called again. This time he got a busy signal.

"Well, fuck you too," he said disgustedly and hung up.

At seven he and his sister actually went outside to play in the snow. Josh couldn't decide what was stranger -- the fact that he was actually standing in soft, powdery snow or that his sister was fully dressed for the first time in a week. They made a pathetic, slouching snowman that their mother took pictures of, and then when she was gone Vanessa tried in vain to give him a giant cock and balls. They kept falling off, causing her no end of amusement. Eventually Jasper -- who had rapidly decided snow was a bad idea -- took a long, steaming piss on the snowman and decked him.

At nine thirty, while Josh was eating leftovers in the den with his dad, the electricity went out. They both waited a few minutes, munching in the dark, but the power didn't return.

"Ah shit," grumbled Neal. "I knew it. I fucking knew it."

"What?"

"This! I knew this was gonna happen, I said so. Honestly, you'd think someone woulda learned from the last time it snowed here, but hell no. I bet it's down for days."

"What about the heat?" asked Sherry a few minutes later. She was maneuvering down the hall with a candle, a ghostly spectre.

"What about it? It's out. We still got gas in the kitchen but . . . "

"So what -- we all sleep in the kitchen tonight?"

"No, Jesus, we don't have to sleep in the kitchen. We just bundle up good tonight. We're not gonna freeze to death or anything, Sherry."

"I didn't say that!"

"Well then quit being so melodramatic."

"Neal, I'm not being --"

"We could all sleep together," said Vanessa, from somewhere in the darkest corner of the room.

The suggestion struck them all speechless for a moment.

"Well, you know," she added, "me and Mom, and Dad and Josh -- we could sorta snuggle up."

"Uh, pass!" said Josh. "No offense, Dad."

"Nessa, we don't need to sleep together. We'll be fine at night, you guys -- we'll just pile on the blankets. Tomorrow I'll crank up the oven and we can go into the kitchen when we get really cold. I don't know, maybe move some chairs in there. Right now we need to find some candles before I bust my ass."

For the next hour they prepared for the night. The house soon glowed like a cathedral, each room bathed in flickering candlelight. By eleven all was completely, incredibly silent; the only noise was the occasional whistling of the wind outside.

Neal settled into his makeshift bed in the den with many grunts and grimaces. Sherry had been exceptionally cold to him after the kids went to bed, tossing blanket after blanket at him from the hall closet, never even considering admitting him into the bedroom with her. Neal was a bit dismayed by this, yet also somehow relieved. He couldn't imagine the conversation that would ensue if they ever did find themselves in such intimate space again.

He climbed into bed naked, having learned long ago that it was the best way to keep warm under a lot of blankets. Unfortunately, his nudity also awakened his cock, which struggled and rose insistently, craving attention. Poor guy, Neal thought miserably. There's no one to pay you any attention anymore. Not Sherry, not Melanie.

He considered running upstairs and trying again to sleep with his wife, but the prospect of standing in the cold hallway, knocking on the door and trying not to be overheard doing so by the kids, kept him where he was. Instead he wrapped his chilly fingers around his cock and began tugging slowly. His movements made the covers jerk and ripple crazily, and sounded deafening in the silent house.

So this is what I'm reduced to, he thought. Jerking off alone, in the freezing cold den of my own house.

He closed his eyes, tried to concentrate -- one good hard cum and he'd sleep better. But who to imagine now? What woman to service his stiffstanding need? Pamela Anderson? How about five Pam Andersons? No, too silly, too fantastic. That girl in Marketing, the new one with the big knockers.

Big knockers like Nessa's.

Oh God, no -- now he was losing his erection. Damn it, what was with him? Stroke harder, faster -- make it happen. Come on, think about that girl -- what was her name? Ah, fuck her name, think about her tits. Yeah, those were big juicy tits she had, and she loved to show 'em off. Always wearing things tight, or low cut, or both. Nice, nice headlights when it was cold in the office.

Oh yeah. Now what if she were here now, Neal? Right here in this room, with those gorgeous tits popped right out of her shirt -- that big rack staring you in the face, just like --

"Dad?"

"Ah Jesus, Nessa!" he cried, slamming his nuts painfully.

"Oh my God!" she said, turning away from him. She held her hand in front of her mouth. "Oh shit! Oh shit shit shit! Uh . . . I'm sorry."

Neal let the pain wash over him, tried to slow his breathing. All the while his daughter's pale figure remained in the doorway, facing the wall. And here he thought his situation could not be worse.

"It's okay, Ness," he grumbled eventually. "Uh, what is it?"

"Oh fuck. I . . . I'm so sorry. Um. I was just . . . just checking on you. Making sure you didn't need anything. Or anything."

"No, I'm fine."

"Um . . . okay. Are you sure? It's awful cold down here."

"No, baby. I'm okay. Really."

"Um . . . oh shit . . . all righty then. Goodnight."

Quick as a wink she vanished down the hallway, fatally embarrassed. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the floorboards. That's how she surprised him, he thought -- plus he'd been pretty preoccupied at the time.

Neal sighed and dragged the covers back into shape. Oh well. No use trying to cum tonight. He doubted if he could ever get hard again in his life.

***

Vanessa mounted the stairs as quickly and quietly as she could. To her ears every sound was immense, huge, deafening. It didn't help that her heart was hammering in her ears.

Oh God, the dick that must be under that blanket. Josh was obviously not adopted, she mused -- he'd inherited his equipment from Daddy. She felt a giddiness in her belly, a weakness in her knees as she played the picture back in her mind. His flushed face, his strained expression. The tall tent poking straight up under the covers, the jostling of the material as he jerked himself. His panting breath, clenched eyes. In her fairly knowledgeable opinion, he had been less than a minute from blast off.

Oh Jesus, how embarrassing but how incredibly, unaccountably hot. Her own father: rock hard and raging with lust.

She passed her own room and paused briefly at her mother's door: no sound within. Either she was asleep or Big Bear was fucking her very quietly. No doubt she was now very self-conscious about her noise. Vanessa cursed herself for ever telling her. At least before she could tell what her mother was up to.

Too bad, too bad. She'd just have to be really, really quiet. She stalked past the door and stopped before Josh's, turning the knob so slowly she thought she would freeze to death in the drafty corridor.

At long last she was in, closing the door softly behind her. The click of the lock sounded like a pistol shot.

The dim room held a intangible, lingering stink that was somehow magnified by the cold: the scent of shoes or dirty clothes. Her brother lay on his side, facing the wall. The single glowing candle on his desk cast dancing shadows over his rumpled brown hair, his tattooed bicep. Vanessa blew out the flame, plunging the room into relative darkness -- only the moonlight illuminated the scene. It wouldn't help them at all if they were discovered, of course, but somehow it felt safer.

Despite the iciness of the air, she hustled out of her nightgown and flung it on the floor. Her nipples were popping out harder than steel bolts, making her tits feel colossally huge, like they could fill the room. Ignoring the goosebumps rapidly spreading over her, she pulled down her panties and crumpled them into her fist, then lifted the covers and shook her brother's bare shoulder. He grunted; she slid in next to him, luxuriating in the warmth of his body.

Hmm . . . Ness?"

"Shut up!" she hissed at him. "Just shut up -- don't make a fucking sound, whatever you do. Understand?"

"Mmm . . . yeah okay," he grumbled, turning onto his back with a sleepy sigh.

She couldn't see his face in the darkness, but she knew he'd be wearing that insufferable, slightly goofy grin. Oh this was bad, this was crap -- the last thing she needed to do was pump up his overinflated ego even further. Oh but shit, she couldn't wait. That fucking Brad and his fucking stupid family! Running away to Georgia when she need him so badly!

Her pussy was throbbing, burning. Still, she needed him hard -- lightning rod hard. She wanted him completely intractable when she slid him into her. It wouldn't take long, she thought, as she ducked beneath the covers. It was satisfyingly warm under here, just her and her brother's big cock. It didn't last; Josh pulled the covers off her completely, letting a wave of chilly air crash over her. His eyes glinted at her through the gray light. Never mind the poor light -- he wanted to watch.

He jumped a little when she opened his boxers and wrapped her cold fingers around him. She ignored him, focusing on the delicious weight and warmth of his slackened tool in her hand. So nice and solid, rigid around the head, feathery soft along the underside. He was gathering his pillows together to sit up; she pulled his balls out of the boxers as well, tested their weight in her palm.

"Mmm, this is a pleasant sur --"

"Josh, I said shut up! Not a word."

"Okay, fine."

Her hand was moving on him, even as she scolded him. She leaned very close to his cock, inspecting its pale length objectively, with detachment. In seconds it grew in her hand, spasming upward in expectation. She could see him grinning beyond the furry stripe of his bellybutton.

"Merry Christmas," he said, when he was fully erect.

Vanessa pounced forward to his face. He started, then acquiesced as she kissed him deep, savagely. Her teeth nipped around his lips. With her left hand she stuffed her balled up panties entirely into his mouth while he grunted in surprise. She loomed close to his face with wild eyes.

"Now," she whispered. "Shut the fuck up. This is not for you, it's for me."

He had barely nodded in surrender before she put her mouth on him; his head fell back onto the pillows, a muffled groan filled the room. Her lips played and sucked around the swollen head for awhile, her tongue flicking over the tip, causing him to spasm, his body to lurch. Finally she opened wide and took as much of his cock into her mouth as she could. He thrashed a little and made chewing noises; he did not try to remove the panties, however. He knew better, knew she meant business.

The sweet, sticky precum began flowing into the back of her mouth; she began lunging up and down on him, milking him. Ohhh, he was good. Every sweet inch of him was so damned good. With her right hand she stroked his tightening balls; with her left she tugged at the base of his dick. With her mouth she consumed him. Before long she was warm enough to discard the covers completely and rested on her knees beside him, her breasts brushing against his belly and hip as she worked. He rubbed up her leg and over her ass cheeks, stole a wiggling finger or two into her dampening pussy. Her body felt electric, surged with energy.

She was lavish with her saliva, drenching him in it. The more she sucked and tongued the more he oozed, and the more she dribbled the mixture back onto his shaft, working it in with her hand until his dick felt like a great wet snake. He glistened and gleamed in the half light, shining with her spit. He was as solid as a railroad tie.

He was ready.

It almost took her breath away just to spread her legs, just to straddle him; her thighs trembled the whole time. It did take her breath away when she sank down on top of him, feeling him fill her, stretch her out inside, inhabit her. She gasped and he groaned, and then he was inside her. All of him.

Vanessa was no connoisseur of dick length, always finding that five or six inches was perfectly fine when she needed it. But God damn, there was something magical about her brother's eight-and-a-quarter, she had to admit it. After too many boys to count, his was still the nicest dick she'd ever had inside her. And she hadn't fucked him for almost three months.

He was gigantic inside her, immense, throbbing, shuddering. She wriggled about on top of him like an impaled insect, squirming on his lap, moving in a delicious fore and aft rather than up and down. His hands squeezed her tits, danced on her enervated nipples, stroked her broad belly, settled on her hips. Sometimes he tried to thrust up into her but she was having none of it -- this was her gig, and her cunt muscles were gobbling at him, nipping him, trying to swallow him up inside her depths. In minutes, despite the chill, his lap was sweaty with her gratifying friction.

Almost impossible, to moan in a whisper. It made her mind ache, her head feel like it was going to explode. She sobbed and bit at her lips as she felt him surging, growing even harder and larger inside her.

"Don't cum yet, Josh!" she hissed. "Do not cum yet!"

He grunted helplessly, apologetically; his breath came hard through his nostrils.

"Josh!" She leaned over him, her belly pressing the wind out of him. "Josh, you mother fucker, don't cum yet! -- not yet -- wait -- ahhhh fuck! -- wait --"

His face was a muddled pool of light in front of her, eyes wide; his chest heaved against her mashing tits. He was swelling, tightening, straining (his face like her father's had been, she thought), his fingers dug into her ass.

"Ohhh -- oh you bastard, not yet!" she huffed into his ear.

With a sudden lunge like a cat, she dove forward and buried her teeth into his shoulder -- he yelped in surprise and pain as she clamped her hand over his mouth. Almost there, you bastard, almost there . . .

And then she was quivering, quaking, trembling all over. Her cunt squeezed his cock for all it was worth, clenched around his hardness, flooded him with her juice as she sobbed and whined, her forehead resting against his.

"Ooohhh god . . . oh Jesus god . . . "

She straightened, stretched out her back slowly, heard vertebrae clicking and snapping. His hot, sweaty palms held her breasts as she came down, slowly, painfully, until finally she rolled off and lay next to him, inert.

"Aaaoow!" came his harsh whisper, as her pleasure subsided. "Jesus, Ness, you bit the shit out of me! What the -- I'm bleeding, you dumb bitch!"

"Josh," she croaked, "shut the fuck up."

Later.

"And he was jerking off?" he said incredulously. "What, seriously?"

"Dude, he was so slamming himself!" she whispered back. "I could not fucking believe it. I've never been so embarrassed in my life!"

"Yeah," Josh replied, after thinking a while, "but it got you hot too, didn't it? You twisted little slut! I mean, that's what sent you up here in such a fit, right?"

She took a long hit and sighed.

"Yeah," she admitted finally, "it did. What can I say, it was pretty hot."

It was almost three o'clock now. They were huddled by the window, which Josh had opened a crack to exhale the smoke out into the cold night wind. Vanessa felt warm and gushy inside. The blanket draped around her, safe and enveloping, reminded her of watching cartoons early Saturday mornings when she was a child. And the smoke from Josh's joint, along with the occasional post-cum tremor, gave everything a nice, cozy glow.

She supposed her brother, naked except for his boxers, was trying to prove his he-manliness by withstanding the cold. His exposure was the only thing making her uncomfortable in the room. But damn, he was fine too, and good to look at. Tall and lean and muscley, with hard gleaming eyes and an adorable case of bedhead. She had to stroke his chest and hair occasionally, just to make sure this beautiful buzz wasn't a dream.

"Damn," he said, shaking his head. "So I guess he's really suffering, huh?"

"Yeah, he is. Wouldn't you be?"

"No," he said indignantly. "I'd be out getting a piece."

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh brother. Just shut up and finish that shit. I'm not supposed to be around it with the baby."

"Oh crap. I'm sorry, Ness, I forgot."

He stood up and stubbed out the joint against the window frame, flicked the butt out into the snow. Vanessa watched his tight little ass approvingly while he did it.

"You got a fine tushy, boy," she told him.

"Yeah, I know." They both laughed when he exposed a bit of his crack.

That was his trouble, the big dope. He really was pretty fucking irresistible. It was going to screw up his life, not help him.

"Hey," she said, reminded of her mission to rescue him from himself. "Did you call Jeannie?"

"Ah . . . yeah."

"Well?"

"No go. She just cussed me out and hung up."

"Well, I don't blame her."

He smirked at her.

"Bitch, you don't even know what happened!"

"So tell me. You wouldn't tell me yesterday, tell me now."

So he did. He gave her details of he and Jeanie's last afternoon together, spending rather too much time talking about the blowjob he got, growing a bit sketchy about the rest of it.

"So let me get this straight, Einstein," she said when he finished. "Jeannie sucked your dick."

"Yep," he said.

"And then she wanted a smoke and you wouldn't give it to her."

"I only had one. I shared with her, it was cool."

"Then you guys argued about Christmas, which you didn't want to share with her."

He shrugged. "I thought it would be a hassle."

"Then you wouldn't even kiss her?"

"Her mouth was just full of cum!"

"Yeah, your cum, you stupid prick!" she hissed, slapping his shoulder. "A girl blows you and you won't even kiss her, you're a fucking pig!"

"I can't help it, it just weirded me out. Anyway, she doesn't even blow me that good."

Vanessa shook away this lame conclusion and scooted to face him.

"Look, Josh, let me set you straight on a few particulars, okay? You need to get over yourself a little bit. I know you think it's big and macho to have a bunch of girlfriends and all, but not when you leave all of them hating your fucking guts! I mean, Jesus! Show them a little respect."

"I do show them respect."

"No you don't! Jeannie Crews sucks your dick and wants a cigarette -- damn! Give the girl a fucking cigarette -- give her a whole fucking carton of them! And for Christ's sake, give the girl a kiss afterward. That's basic boyfriend shit, that's Boyfriend 101. You can't just keep treating your girls like sheep or something."

"I don't treat them like -- like sheep? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Like sex objects only, like you can just fuck 'em and forget 'em."

She waited expectantly. The counter to her argument was so obvious that even Josh would see it.

"Like sex objects?" he said incredulously. "You mean like, how you just treated me?"

She laughed. "That's different -- I own you."

"You little bitch!" he said, laughing. He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her, thrusting his fingers into her hair. "You own me -- shit."

"Well, I do. I told you before. That was for me, not you."

"Yeah, well, you still owe me a cum."

"I don't owe you a cum -- I don't owe you anything."

"The hell you don't," he said, spreading her blanket slightly to cup her breasts. "You owe me a big sloppy one."

"Think so, huh. How are my tits looking now?"

She dropped the blanket around her waist.

"Fucking great. Maybe that's where I'll cum . . . "

"Tell me that you've been listening to what I've been saying."

"Yeah, I've been listening." But he was glassy-eyed and high, massaging her breasts with broad, slow strokes, tweaking her hardening nipples.

"So . . . you're gonna treat your girls better from now on? Starting with Jeannie?"

"Yeah, starting with Jeannie . . . "

"Josh, listen to me -- focus, you dumb pothead. You're gonna keep after Jeanie."

"Mmm hmm."

"You're gonna be nicer to her, right?"

He scowled. "Aw, Ness, fuck Jeannie. I don't care about her anyway. She's not half as good as you . . . "

He moved in to suck one nipple into his mouth, played about it with his teeth teasingly. She let him play, watched him tongue his way between her breasts to the other nipple lazily, delving his hands into the covers to grope for her pussy. He was too buzzed and too horny to listen right now, she decided. Besides, what he was doing to her felt too nice to stop him.

"You know what you need?" she breathed softly, basking in the tingly sensations.

"Yeah, I know exactly what I need," he said.

"No -- you need someone to take you down a peg or two. Someone who can outfuck you."

"Like you."

She smiled. "Yeah, but someone besides me. Why do you think you like me so much, dumbass?"

"Yeah, well, I know what you like."

He scooted forward on his knees before her and opened his boxers, brought out his stiffening cock and displayed it before her face. The fuzziness of her brain, the warmth of the blanket, the icy air, the growing arousal brought on by her brother's teasing -- it all gave her an appetite for his beautiful dick, and she did not refuse it. While he settled back on his haunches, his hands by his sides, she leaned forward to take him into her mouth once more. Jeez, his entire crotch was redolent with pussy, her own musky scent, sharp in her nostrils from the cold.

He watched her sucking him for several minutes, sometimes grabbing the sides of her bobbing head, sometimes reaching down to caress her hanging breasts. Then he scooped her up, blanket and all, and dropped her onto his bed.

She barely had time to spread her legs before he was between them, rubbing his swollen dick head against her sensitive lips. Crash, crash against her clit, maddeningly -- her whole body lit up from the contact. He grabbed her hips and roughly maneuvered her into place, her ass on the edge of the bed, legs hanging in space, heels just brushing the carpet. It was a precarious position -- she felt poised to fall at any second if her let her go. It made her pleasure all the harder to control when he slid into her.

He was utterly merciless with her this time, ignoring her gasps and shudders as he invaded her delicate, nervous folds. She called him all sorts of foul names in a shivering whisper; eventually he stuffed a wet ball of material into her mouth -- her own panties, she realized (here -- chew on this, he said). Again and again, and slowly, he plunged into her, his length once more awakening her body deep inside. She wrapped her legs around his, curled her toes.

Sometimes he quickened his pace, slamming into her with abandon, sending ripples throughout her tits and belly. Other times he slowed to a barely perceptible rocking -- he would barely insinuate the tip of his cock between her grasping lips and say, That's it, that's all you're getting -- you're not getting anymore, and then he would slide all the way into her, deep, and she had to clamp down on the panties to keep from screaming.

Sucking in air through her nose in great heaves, she could smell their sweat, could smell her own sex juices, and the lingering aroma of weed. The cold and the pristine white powder around the window made everything seem clean and pure, but the scents and sounds in the room were wicked, vile -- sooo dirty and delicious. And then the thought of who was fucking her would sink in, like it always did, and she almost climaxed from the sheer, delectable perversity of it all.

Her brother, her beautiful baby brother, the big nasty stud, slamming her with his big nasty cock, his gorgeous slab of meat. Baby brother, leering in her face, panting his hot breath over her breasts. It was all so wicked and wonderful, wonderful and wicked, she wished it could go on forever.

When he had settled into his home stretch, and she felt him tightening to the bursting point inside her cunt, and had leaned over her domed belly to chew on her nipples, her body gave a sudden lurch, and they both looked at each other in wide-eyed surprise.

"Mmmf!" she cried through her panties.

"Whoa!" said Josh. "Was that -- was that the baby?"

"Mmm hmm!"

He grinned at her, went right back to slamming her.

"Guess he knows who I am," he said, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back in his ecstasy.

Vanessa was reeling from the new sensation, and loving every hard, slick jab of her brother's cock, when he suddenly pulled out. The abrupt emptiness made her head spin, and his pulling back made her slide to the floor on her knees -- he yanked the panties from her mouth so hard he almost pulled her teeth out.

"Here it is --" he was hissing at her, struggling to stay quiet, panting like a steam engine, his fist flying over his oily, rigid prick. "Here it is, baby, here it comes -- yeah here it comes, you bitch -- yeah it's cumming, open up! -- open up, you preggo whore --"

Vanessa obediently opened her mouth as wide as she could, stuck her tongue out as far as it would go. Seconds later she heard him gasp and groan, and piping hot jets of her brother's cum doused her lips and tongue, shot onto her cheek, dripped from her chin onto her belly. She sobbed aloud, much louder than she meant to, as he leaned close, gasping, and poured his cream into her mouth. It was hot and it was thick and salty-sweet, and she gobbled it all up greedily, rolling it over her tongue, feeling it squidge between her teeth. At last he stopped spasming against her lips, pulled out and, with a deep sigh and a curse, flopped down on the bed.

The selfsure little fucker, she thought, struggling to stand up, rubbing the hot droplets into her belly. So cocky, so pleased with himself.

She climbed onto the bed beside him, ran her fingers over his tiny nipples rapidly, making him jump. His eyes watched her as she leaned over him, brought her face close to his own. He knew what was coming only a half-second before she did it.

Her lips closed over his own and she thrust her tongue between them, deeply, letting his gooey cum slide into his mouth. He grunted in surprise but continued to accept her kiss as she thrashed her tongue about in his mouth, the sweet but somehow bleachy cream mingling with their own spit. She kissed him for several seconds until she heard him swallow.

When she broke away it was with a grin -- a messy, sticky grin.

"Now," she whispered, "was that so bad?"

"You little brat," he croaked, laughing disbelievingly.

"Was that so bad?" she demanded, clamping her hand over his nuts.

"Ah! No --"

"That was good, wasn't it?"

"Yes!"

"You liked it, didn't you?"

"Yes -- fuck yes, I did -- ow!"

She released his tender balls and leaned back to survey him, her teeth clenched.

"Pussy," she said.

"Slut."

She smiled.

"God, I love you, Josh." Sherry Ford had passed a strange night, one that she was sorry to emerge from alone, in a cold, empty bed.

After she had locked Neal out of her room -- secretly relishing the thought of him freezing his balls off in the den -- she had climbed under the many layers of thick blankets naked, with her fun little toy. She had spent a glorious couple of hours experimenting with it the previous night, and looked forward to exhausting herself with pleasure again.

The only trouble was, in the dead silent house, without even the heater to provide some occasional masking noise, the buzz of the little motor sounded like a jet on a runway, warming up its engines. She discovered that the vibrator made hardly any noise when it was all the way inside her, sounding like nothing so much as a meandering bumblebee. Which was fine -- way up inside her was exactly where she wanted the thing, and she spent a very pleasant half hour barely nudging it into her, holding onto the little bear, and enjoying the way his snout bumped against her clit. Since Vanessa had made her aware of just how easily her moans and groans could be heard, she was careful to muffle her face with a pillow, and confine herself to painfully silent gasps and moans as she imagined her fit, dutiful and capable younger lover, burrowing his cock into her and whispering filthy words into her ear.

After she had come (how intense it was, a silent orgasm!) she left the thing inside her, buzzing merrily away, and before long the burbling, droning white noise (not to mention three glasses of Scotch) sent her off to sleep.

Around three thirty she awakened briefly, thinking that she had heard noises in the house. She listened closely and could barely make out what sounded like voices. The dildo had slid out of her while she slept, but not before its tingling presence had inspired some lovely dreams. She switched it off to concentrate on the whispering sounds, but they were gone. Probably the TV, she thought, and she drifted off again.

She woke again around six, the first drab hints of light invading her room, and remembered: there couldn't have been any television playing in the house -- the power was still off. If it was on again the heater would surely be going. She was also dismayed that the dildo's battery was nearly dead -- she switched on the poor sticky, discarded toy and got only the tiniest of buzzes, even though it was switched to HIGH. She played with it for a few minutes nevertheless, before sliding into sleep again, and this time her dreams were not so good -- full of whispers and peering eyes, and ghosts lurking in the darkness.

Just before nine she woke for good, and climbed out of the warm bed only because she had to pee so bad. In the bathroom she remembered her dreams, and her poor dead dildo, and the mysterious noises that had disturbed her. Was the house haunted or something? And if it was, why did the stupid ghost have to just whisper in the walls? Why couldn't it be a nice, handsome ghost with a supernaturally-charged dick -- who could flit through the walls at night and give her a little relief?

***

As he put the water on the stove Neal's mind was full of miserable self-congratulation.

After all, only he could have created such an abominable situation. Only he, stuck in a house with no electricity and no car, could so arrange things that he had cause to dread the appearance of both of the two females sharing his captivity. Hell, only he could have managed simultaneously to piss off the only other female in his life simply by sending her an email.

Yes, indeed -- quite a track record he was acquiring with the female sex. Melanie now apparently had no use for him whatsoever, and had taken special pains to give his computer the equivalent of mumps, German measles and the backdoor trots all rolled into one. His wife of twenty years was now perfectly happy to consign his frozen ass to the den floor, and missed him in her bedroom so much that she was fingering herself silly at night. And to top things off, Nessa -- the apple of his eye, his one great solace in a harsh world -- had been allowed to watch, appalled, while her father jackhammered his own meat like a monkey at the zoo.

Yes, it was quite scintillating of him. No one else could have managed to singlehandedly isolate every woman in his life with so much vigor and verve.

And why, one is compelled to ask? Why? Perfectly simple -- because of his big, stupid, insatiable dick!

Neal shook his head and cursed under his breath, recalling the whole sorry affair. What was most appalling, what made him feel the most guilt, so that he cringed inside his own skin, was that while he had been pulling so ferociously at himself -- yes, evenat the exact moment his only daughter had discovered him, he had been thinking of her naked body. His own flesh and blood, stripped bare and offered up to his mind's eye for his despicable consumption. In great works of literature beloved daughters inspired their fathers to do good deeds, to tap hidden resources, to sacrifice their own selfish ends for their dear daughter's sakes. But not Neal. His daughter inspired in him a huge, guilt-soaked erection, and the frantic need to jack off like a schoolboy. It was disgusting.

The water began to boil as these thoughts sounded and resounded through his head. He opened the oven, which he'd cranked up to 450, to allow some warmth to flood down onto his stocking feet.

While he tapped coffee into the pot, throwing in an extra smidge to make up for his troubled sleep, he began to believe that he really was the cause of all his family's current misery. All their suffering and heartache was down to him -- him and his unappeasable prick.

Well, that was being a bit melodramatic, perhaps. Josh and Nessa didn't really seem all that miserable. If there was suffering and heartache churning inside their minds then they could conceal it well. It was one thing that made Sherry's "for the kid's sake" plea seem unrealistic; relatively speaking, the kids were fine. They at least seemed to have some secret method for escaping all the chaos and disorder he had caused.

But the rest of it -- he and Sherry's desperate, depressing animosity, and poor Melanie's jaded bitterness and spite -- yes, they were all his fault. His actions to Melanie, his words to Sherry now played over his mind like a bleak, late night movie on a snowy channel: half remembered, half incomprehensible, all of it dismal and disheartening. For the first time since his affair with Melanie had begun, he felt thoroughly ashamed of himself.

Noises on the stairway. He turned and stood before the stove, watching the kitchen door uneasily. Who would it be? If it were Nessa, how in God's name would he look her in the eye?

It was Sherry. She was looking a little puffy about the eyes, a little disheveled. But she also looked warm and inviting in a way, wrapped up in her familiar mouse-colored robe with the tie cinched around her waist, her long brown hair hastily secured with a clip.

"Morning," she said, standing at the door.

"Morning," he said, amazed, even thrilled that something so mundane as a greeting could still pass between them. "Want some coffee?"

"Oh, yes," she said, starting for the pot.

"No, no -- you sit. I've got it."

"Oh." She paused for a moment, then sat at the table. "Thank you."

Maybe the worst thing of all, he thought, as his wife yawned behind him, was that he had robbed her of something. He wasn't sure how to define it, and was damned sure he couldn't put it into words yet. But for all her tenacity in defying him, for all her resolve in banning him from their room or pouncing upon the slightest pretext to argue with him, he could tell he had deeply wounded her. He could see it in her face, hear it in her voice. Her willingness to put all the blame on him annoyed him still, and her unspoken determination that he should pay unceasingly, abjectly, for his wrongs frustrated and angered him. Nevertheless, it was easy to see that she was not the same Sherry. Some essential part of her was missing, and he had taken it.

"Sugar or sweetener?" he asked.

"Brandy," she replied. "It's above the stove in the cabinet."

He stirred the coffee silently. Brandy, in the morning? His wife, never more than a social drinker, was turning into a fish. He'd been noticing her frequent nips from one or more bottles lately, but this was something else. And there was the Valium she'd been popping. He reckoned it had all started about two months before -- which meant, about the time she found out about Melanie. One more thing for him to feel guilty about.He would have said nothing about it if, when he returned to the table, she hadn't been lighting a cigarette as well.

"You've, uh, been hitting those rather hard lately, haven't you?" he remarked, grim-faced.

"No," she said. Then she laughed, joylessly. "Got nothing else hard to hit."

"Well, between those and the booze --"

"Oh, shut up, Neal."

A period of silence passed between them while Neal regrouped. He did not want to start the day with another argument.

"Stopped snowing," he said.

"Good. I guess."

"It's about four inches, I reckon. Back home it would be nothing. But here, we're practically snowed in."

She nodded.

"I guess I should do something with the food in the fridge," she wondered aloud. "Maybe put it outside, in the snow."

"Good idea."

"What about the eggs, do you think?"

He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "They should be fine for a little while. But if you put 'em outside they'll freeze."

She sighed. "I guess I should cook them up then."

She started to stand. .

"No, no, no!" said Neal, rising and holding out his hand. "You sit there, get warm. I'll put them on in a little bit, for us."

"The kids might want some."

"Oh . . . let the kids sleep. They're probably worn out from . . . playing in the snow or something. Try to get them up now, as cold as it is, and we'll have a fight on our hands."

"All right, all right," she said, settling back in her chair. She wore a different smile now, and he knew her well enough to know it wasn't a generous smile -- not a well-wishing smile. It was more of a wiseguy grin -- an "I know what you're up to but it won't work" kind of expression.

Neal was so steeped in his newfound remorse that he did not begrudge her the look, nor the sentiment that inspired it. She was skeptical of him, and why shouldn't she be? She didn't trust his kindness -- what reason did she have to trust it? Or to trust him? Wasn't he the same pig who'd been lusting after their daughter not twelve hours before?

Of course, there was another motivation developing for his courtesy to her, one which he was only dimly aware of at first. He could smell her pussy again, even under the thick robe. He found himself thinking what a perfect morning it was for lovemaking, that the kids would be sure to be asleep for hours yet, that it was cold just about everywhere in the house except in bed, that they could go nowhere and were expected nowhere anyway. And that for all their recent troubles, for all his reasons for resenting her, his wife was somehow exuding a raw, tangible sexuality that made him hunger for her. Long before he was aware he was doing it, he was fantasizing about her familiar and well-traveled curves and crevices, and remembering fondly just how good her pussy tasted, and picturing her breasts bared and splayed beneath him while he fucked her.

What was especially disheartening, even humiliating, was that he knew that she knew what he was thinking. That she had lived with him for so long, was so fluent in his expressions and mannerisms, she knew what questions he was asking before he even began to approach them. He also knew what her answers would be.

"I don't even know why we're doing this," Sherry said, before her husband could say anything else.

"Doing what? We're just drinking coffee."

"No, any of this. Why you're here, why you came back. You don't want to be here, with me."

"Yes, I do."

"You wouldn't rather be with Melanie? Are you honestly telling me that?"

As always when she mentioned the girl's name, Neal's face hardened and his eyes dropped. It was a stabbing tactic she had developed early on, a reminder that his infidelity was the sole cause for their problems. Sherry hated herself for using it now, when he was obviously trying to be nice. But she had read his meandering thoughts in his face -- had detected his lustful sniffing, and knew what he intended before he did.

Sniffing. Yes that was it, all right. He could smell her. She deliberately opened her legs beneath the table and hitched up her robe a little, hoping to infuse the room.

"No," he told her. "I wouldn't rather be with Melanie."

"No?"

"No. I told you, I'm through with her."

She squinted at him. "You're through with her or she's through with you?"

Again his face hardened. God damn the man! Had he been in touch with her recently? Yesterday, perhaps? Last night? There was definitely something kicking up his lusts, of that she was sure. It wasn't just the scent of morning pussy.

"I am through with her," he said, emphatically tapping the table. "Sherry, this is never going to work until you believe something -- anything! -- that I say."

"I'm not sure you want it to work."

"Yes, I do."

She wrapped her hands around the warm cup and said nothing for awhile.

It was miserable, but it was at least a different kind of misery. Her happy little toy had scratched some itch in her, that was certain, and had drained the bile and the nervous fuss out of her argument. She could come at him coldly, almost impartially, while he was clearly in some sort of emotional straits.

Sherry knew she couldn't do without a lover indefinitely. She couldn't make do with just a dildo for her pleasure, anymore than her deviant daughter could. But it had steadied her nerves some. Whereas Neal looked a nervous wreck.

"Over well, please" she said.

He stared at her uncomprehendingly.

"With toast?"

"Oh," he said, sighing.

While he was warming up the pan, she snuck a finger between her clammy pussy lips and sniffed it. Christ, she did have a smell -- she reeked! Knowing Neal, it was driving him nuts.

"You know what you need?" he asked, sitting down again, his face serious.

"Ho, what do I need, Neal?" she laughed.

"I'm going to tell you."

"Yes? Tell me."

"You need help."

Now it was her turn to stare.

"I need help.I do?"

"Well, yeah, I need help too, but it's probably too late for me. I'm a dirty, rotten bastard who should have his nuts chopped off -- we both know that. But that doesn't change the fact that you need help. And I do want to help you, Sherry."

She shook her head, as though in a fog.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"You're hurt. And you have needs, and you have drives. And I don't want to see you that way --"

"Oh my God," she interrupted, setting her cup down. "Well, I'd like to say nice try, Neal, but it wasn't. It's pathetic. Honestly, was that supposed to --"

"It's not supposed to do anything. Quit second-guessing every fucking thing I say!"

Sherry stopped. His eyes were a little crazy, and the finger he pointed at her was trembling -- actually trembling. Whatever he was saying, she knew he was sincere.

"Now . . . it's all . . . all turning to shit between us," he continued erratically, "and it's my fault. Okay? It's my fault, all of it. And I'm unbelievably, just unbelievably sorry for that. But you -- you're not yourself, Sherry! You're in some kind of trouble and you need help. And I'm just . . . I'm trying to say . . . "

"What?" she asked, as his voice trailed off. "What are you trying to say?"

What happened next was a total surprise. There was a noise at the kitchen door, and he nearly fell on the floor, he was so surprised. It was Vanessa, sleepy-eyed and bedraggled, but smiling.Hi, Mom -- Hi, Daddy she chirruped, like she had a thousand times before. But when their little girl passed by them, kissing her father's forehead on the way to the stove, there passed such a look of confusion and shame and desperation over Neal's face that for a moment, a few seconds only, Sherry thought he was going to burst into tears.

***

The day passed surreally: unthinkably quiet, deadly slow. All the normal signs of their life were mysteriously absent, replaced by unfamiliar impressions and sounds. No sunshine, only charcoal skies and white lawns. No birds singing, only whistling wind. No television sounds, only the weather report on Josh's portable stereo.

They passed much of the day inside the kitchen, mere inches and feet apart, only rarely acknowledging each other. Vanessa read a book about pregnancy. Josh either smoked or ate constantly; Sherry just smoked and drank pots of coffee. Neal stared out the window. It was like they were strangers, all waiting for the same bus to arrive.

By three o'clock, Sherry actually went to find some board games in the hall closet -- monuments to "family nights" that hadn't happened in years. When she returned, Neal had snuck away, and she set up to playClue with Vanessa.

"Daddy went for a walk outside," Vanessa said.

"Oh. He all right?"

"Yeah. He just seems a little . . . preoccupied. Ooh, can I be Miss Scarlet?"

***

Neal spent the better part of the colorless day trying not to think -- about Sherry, about Melanie, about Nessa, about his own frantic state of mind. Naturally his uneasiness made him uncommunicative, so he could do nothing but think.

His half-selfish, half-well meant seduction attempt that morning had been ruthlessly shot down by Sherry's quick wit and penetrating stare. If he could have walked away from it mad at her, he might have been okay. But instead he found himself wanting her all day long. Not since they were kids had he wanted her so badly, thought about her so much.

As for Nessa, Neal had expected a wide variety of reactions from her, but not the one he got. Far from seeming hurt, or scared, or unsure, she positively fawned on him. Jumping up to fill his coffee cup, rubbing his shoulders, giving him little kisses. Did she always treat him like that? Given his enormously guilty conscience, he couldn't be sure -- everything she did seemed so suggestive, like a big tease. Once he thought he caught her and Josh grinning at each other, as though they were sharing some private joke.

Her stance, her smiles, even her very proximity to him now seemed suspicious, questionable. He spent the entire wretched day torn between a desire to fuck his wife and a desire to feel his daughter. Since both were (for different reasons) out of bounds, Neal was beside himself with frustrated tension by nightfall, and wasn't even sure he could rely on conventional methods of relieving it.

Without actually asking, he let Sherry know with a look how much he wanted to sleep together that night. She didn't say no at first, but when he followed her upstairs with his guttering candle she was waiting in the doorway with a troubled expression.

"I don't think we'd better, Neal," she told him. "There's still . . . too much we need to talk about."

He wanted to scream at her, to vent his rage for the whole terrible day in her direction. But he only nodded, and slouched back down the stairs. His bed on the floor was already made up for him.

By Sherry or by Nessa, he wondered, as he crawled in.

***

"Oh Jesus, you have got some kind of balls, Ness," her brother said, laughing.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, pulling her bra strap over her shoulder. "That's a great thing to say to a girl who just let you fuck her."

He was shaking his head, still laughing, and grinning inanely."I'm sorry, but . . . damn, you really shocked the hell out of me. I've never seen such an obvious come on in my life! And right in front of Mom, too!"

She clucked her tongue. "It wasn't a come on and it wasn't obvious. I was just being sweet to him."

"Yeah, you were -- damn sweet! Walking around in your bra --"

"Hey, it gets hot in that little kitchen --"

"'Oooh, it's so hot in here! -- isn't it hot in here, Daddy?' and whoosh! off comes your shirt. Big preggo belly hanging out --"

"Josh!" she whined, shoving him. "Shut up! God, you act like I did a fucking lap dance for him. It was hot, you prick. If you were pregnant you might understand!"

"Vanessa, you were so all over him it was embarrassing!"

"I was being nice to him -- that's all. Mom isn't being nice to him, God knows. And he's having a hard time."

"Yeah, you'd like to have a hard time with him! Dude, he's gonna think you're psycho or something."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," she spat disgustedly, pulling up her shorts. "Come on before they wonder what's taking us so long."

She picked up Jasper's leash -- he had been an indifferent spectator in the corner -- blew out the candle and opened the barn door, letting the icy breeze rush in. Josh continued laughing all the way across the powdery snow bank to the back door.

***

In Neal's dream his daughter was calling to him over a broad white field of snow. He was trudging through it to get to her, but the ground kept giving away beneath him, and his legs ached from the effort.

He awoke to find it wasn't a dream -- not all of it anyway.

"Dad?" her whisper sang through the room. "Daddy?"

She was nowhere in the den, though he thought he saw her foot shrouded in the shadows of the hall.

"Nessa?" he said. "What is it, sweetie?"

"Are you . . . um, can I come in?"

"Of course, come in."

She stepped forward tentatively, but with a smile. She wore a full length nightgown like the night before, but prettier. A soft lavender, with little cotton flowers.

"I was just checking on you again," she said, crossing the room and stooping next to his bed. "Making sure you're all right."

"Yeah, I'm fine, baby. As well as can be expected. What time is it, anyway?"

"Um, I'm not sure. About two, I think."

"Two? Shit . . . " He sat up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. "What are you doing up, baby? Go back to bed."

"Oh, I can't sleep very good," she said, lowering herself to the floor beside him. Without meaning to, he studied her every curve as she descended. "It's too cold up there."

She rubbed her arms and shivered as she said it, and the face she made was straight out of her girlhood. That pouty little gonna-get-my-way expression.

"I'm sorry, sweets. Why don't you -- did you try to get in bed with your mother?"

"Mmm hmm. I knocked on the door but she didn't open it. I guess she's zonked."

Neal nodded and grunted acknowledgment. He swallowed, twice. Suddenly his mouth had gone very dry.

"Okay, well . . . you came to the wrong place if you wanted warm," he said, chuckling uneasily. "Pretty damn cold down here, you know?"

She said something back but he didn't hear it; his heart was thundering in his chest. Again he swallowed, trying to calm down, suddenly feeling like he was back in high school, asking Sherry out for their first date. As he had done then, he tried to breathe deep without seeming to, knowing he had to say something, trying to get it out.

At the same instant that he said "Do you want" she said "Would you mind," and then they both laughed.

He shook his head, smiling, and thought to himself, My God, she is so, so pretty.

"There -- how's that?" he said, pulling the covers over her.

"Mmm," she purred happily. "That's nice."

"Good."

He laughed a little laugh, for no reason. There had been a moment's embarrassment when he had to put his shorts back on under the covers while Nessa turned away, but now she was settled in. She lay next to him, on her side, facing away from him. He was sitting up beside her, afraid to lie down in case she felt his heart pounding through the cushions. He was also rather shocked to find he was sweating.

Christ! In a thirty degree room? That's quite an accomplishment.

Neal couldn't help it -- his already overwrought brain was now in a tailspin. Unavoidably, he thought of those first panic-stricken moments with Melanie, when he first realized he was no longer flirting, he was propositioning.

Stop it, Neal -- this isn't Melanie, you pig! It's your daughter. Start comparing them and you're in big trouble.

Yes, it was his beloved daughter, his Nessa. She had just come to get warm. It was totally innocent.

But she was stretched out next to him, in his bed, under his blankets, inches away. It was glorious and it was torture.

It couldn't mean anything. She was just cold, and she loved him. She trusted him. And she was affectionate -- she'd always been affectionate! Jeez, there was no law against a daughter wanting to get warm with her daddy. In a freezing house with no heat? Come on . . .

"Are you okay?" she asked him, looking over her shoulder.

She sounded puzzled, concerned, and sleepy all at once. It could not be an act. She was tired, and pregnant, and comfortable for the first time that night. She wanted him to lie down and go to sleep, was that so hard to understand?

"Mmm hmm -- fine! Yeah, I'm great, baby."

"M'kay," she said, scooting back ever so slightly closer to him.

Neal leaned back slowly, stiff as a statue, and stared at the ceiling . . .

. . . In the space of thirty seconds, he told himself a hundred times that it was okay -- that he could do what she asked. She was only cold. And she was his baby.

Trying to believe this, he turned very slowly onto his left side behind her and draped his arm across her.

"Like this?" he asked, sounding like a shy teenager even to himself.

His daughter immediately tucked his arm beneath her own, hugging it to her.

"Mmm hmm -- that's perfect. Oh, you're so nice and warm."

"Yeah, so are you, baby," he said.

-- and soft, and firm, and wonderfully curvy under that gown, he did not say.

He was suddenly hyperperceptive, like Roderick Usher -- his senses were heightened ridiculously, and he grew completely aware of where every part of him was in relation to her. The inside of his elbow, for instance -- it now rested against her side, beneath her own gently clamping arm. His forearm -- oh, his forearm was in heaven, pressed against the side of her engorged right breast. And he could tell, even from his arm, that she wore no bra beneath the nightie. His hand she held in her own; he could just detect her softly exhaled breath against the back of it.

His eyes were an inch or two from her shining, silky hair. His nose inhaled her shampoo with his every breath -- something fruity, like melons or papaya. His chest was pressed against her back, slim and firm against him, like Melanie's had been.

His crotch?

His crotch he kept a good twelve inches away from her -- no easy task, since she kept shifting back toward him in her doze. Whereas she lay in a beautiful, natural fetal position, his top half was lurched forward from his middle, like a man losing his balance on a wire. But there was no way he could move up to spoon her -- no way he could press himself against her little cotton-clothed buttocks. If he did . . .

She snored for a while, which put him at ease a little. At least she wasn't self-conscious of their closeness, even if he was. If he lifted his head a little from the pillow he could see her sweet, clean cheek, could watch her long lashes quivering against her skin. She was so beautiful, so very beautiful.

And so trusting, too. For the eleven thousandth time that day, he began to feel ashamed of himself.

She stirred a little when he had to move his arm; it was falling asleep.

"Mmm . . . ," she cooed, the absolute of contentment. "Oh this is so much better -- thanks, Daddy. I was freezing my fanny off upstairs."

"Well -- we don't want you to freeze your fanny off, do we?"

"Mmm, no." She turned her head to giggle softly, bathing his face in her hair. "We used to snuggle like this when I was little, you remember? Watching Sesame Street on the floor."

Neal smiled. "That's right, we did. I'm surprised you remember."

"Oh, I remember. I always liked it -- felt so safe and warm. Just like now."

"Aw. I'm happy to help, sweetheart. You gonna be able to sleep?"

"Mmm hmm, definitely. Are you?"

"Oh yeah."

After about two hours of deep breathing, reciting baseball statistics in my head.

"Good night, then."

"Night, hon."

And Neal did close his eyes, fully determined to get to sleep. Her reminiscences of childhood had taken some of the steam out of his erection, for which he was profoundly grateful. When the two of them lay perfectly still, and he kept his eyes closed, he could almost imagine she was eight or nine again, a total innocent, utterly dependent.

But, if he had fooled his mind for a while, his body was not so easily convinced. When he drifted off to sleep it resumed control, and he woke up hard and warm, and pressed firmly against her right thigh. Immediately he pulled away from her, though her mouth was hanging open slightly and she was snoring.

Was she faking it -- did she know? Had she felt him against her?

No, he decided. She looked too unselfconscious to be feigning sleep. Surely a pretty girl like his Nessa would not knowingly make such a snuffling racket, nor would she let her spit begin to run from the side of her mouth.

It may have been that lovely, slippery mouth that decided him. Or merely his deepseated conviction that she was indeed asleep. In any case, before he turned away from her, he let his right hand stray, with seeming casualness, out of her gentle grasp and over her jutting breast. For an instant only he rubbed his fingertips in a circle over the point, feeling her nipple. When she squirmed a little, and her eyebrows creased, he took his hand away. It required a supreme act of willpower to roll onto his other side and try to get some sleep.

December Twenty-seventh

Sherry stole out of her bedroom just before eight that morning, heading for Vanessa's room. The previous evening she had wrung the last vestiges of Big Bear's strength away from him, and since he required C batteries, and the only ones she knew of in the house were in Josh's radio, she thought Vanessa might be able to help. If the girl gave vibrating dildos as gifts then she certainly had one with her -- and if she had one she probably had a few -- and if she had a few she might lend her poor mother some batteries. Simple reasoning. Even though it seemed crazy to her that she had balked at their "big boobs/sensitive nipples/horny as hell" conversation only days before, whereas now she was accosting her daughter in the early morning hours to borrow batteries for her giant dick toy.

It seemed a bit of a fool's errand, to be sure -- but maybe she was getting a bit foolish, if not a bit crazy. A big vibrating rubber dick certainly did not mend her own confusion and heartache, nor did it come close to providing the intimacy, the companionship -- and no, not even the excitement she sought. About all it did was fortify her physically, a little bit, for the stresses of the day. Sure, it was better than using her remote control (though she did miss those little buttons!), and was certainly better than nothing. But what Sherry really missed was the sights, sounds, pressures and scents of real sex -- things she knew no dildo could ever provide. The heat of a real cock. The man's hairy chest looming in front of you to stroke, or brushing against your back. The puzzled, almost troubled expression a man wears when he's about to cum. The sound of him panting, the dirty words in your ear -- the squelch of your wet pussy being invaded. The aroma of cum in the air. These were things that made sex memorable, more than merely the "itch-scratching" provided by her toy. And it took a man -- a real physical body in bed with her -- to provide them.

Something that genuinely troubled her: she wasn't even sure Neal could provide them for her, not anymore. Oh, she wanted him in her bed again -- she missed his knowing tongue and his fat dick more than she cared to admit. But since so much distrust and animosity had grown up between them, she wasn't sure she could let herself go enough with Neal to really satisfy herself.

Yes, that was the word -- enough. A few nights back, when she'd been watching that cheezy porno, what had really turned her on was the thought of Headband Girl having "so many dicks" at her beck and call. It had never occurred to her that porno girls had an endless supply of dick if they wanted it -- not just the actors with their huge equipment but also the director, the producers, the cameramen, the sound guys . . . Your average porn set must be crawling with guys, either doing some legitimate job or just hanging out, watching. And which of them wouldn't unzip for the big titted porn queen, whether the cameras were going or not? Not so long ago such an idea would have held no appeal for her. The scene would have seemed vulgar, the girl cheap. But now . . .

She opened the door to Vanessa's room ever so softly -- no use knocking, the girl could sleep through marching bands. But the only creature stirring in Vanessa's room was Jasper, who lifted his head from her favorite goosedown pillow and winked at Sherry quizzically; a bushy brown tail wagged among the covers.

Sherry frowned; Vanessa up already? What was the world coming to?

For a good ten, furtive minutes she looked around for -- well, what she was looking for she didn't exactly know, and was a little afraid to find out. A stash of sex toys, perhaps. Or just anything that might have a couple of damned C batteries. Under the bed was too obvious but she looked there first anyway. Shoes and dust bunnies. Actually, she thought if her daughter did have a dildo around she wouldn't take the trouble to hide it -- knowing Vanessa she'd walk around the house using it, in front of the men.

While she searched she thought more about all those men, all those ready cocks. Yes, she wasn't sure why having more than one man at a time sounded good to her all of the sudden, after a lifetime of simple monogamy. After all, she had balked at Vanessa's suggestion to take a lover the other night. Ah, but "taking a lover" seemed like infidelity -- that's what her dear flawed husband had done. Whereas entertaining a handful of guys just seemed like fun -- not love or intimacy, just sex. Maybe five or six cocks to play with would actually be "enough" for her.

Maybe, she wondered as she gave up her fruitless search, she was becoming addicted to cock?

The chance to find out would be nice, she thought wryly.

Well, to erotic sensations in general, then. After all, hadn't she revealed an addictive personality these days? Hadn't Neal been about to tell her so, only yesterday?

Sherry shook her head in resignation and returned to her own room. She swallowed her last Valium whole, found her slippers and headed downstairs, amazed that her daughter should be up and about on such a cold morning, further amazed that little Miss Sex Kitten did not appear to have brought with her a dildo of her own.

***

"Can we make dirty words?" asked Josh, peering across the kitchen table.

Neal had been about to say no, but Sherry had already replied "Sure -- knock yourself out." Her voice slurred a little; he wondered just what she was buzzing on now, at four in the afternoon.

His son laughed triumphantly, setting out his tiles on the board to spell BLOWJOB.

"Oh, leave it to you, Josh," Nessa groaned.

"There! Used my J on the double letter square, that's . . . forty-seven points!"

"Well done, kiddo," said Sherry, patting her perverted son's hand. "Your turn, dear."

Neal frowned at the acid tone and stared at his letters some more: S, E, T, I, K, N, and C.

NECKSIT? SICKTEN? Yeah, those were helpful. God, he hated Scrabble.

While the letters buzzed through his head like angry wasps, he thought over the morning -- how he'd fairly leapt out bed at seven in case Sherry should come down early. Nessa had been all twisted up in the blankets, breathing silently, looking even prettier. He had stepped away from her slumbering form to move straight into the bathroom, where he peed and immediately jerked himself off. He came so hard he had to wipe off the toilet seat. But it was best to get it out of his system after the long night of lust.

SECTION, perhaps. No, the board was too full to build it off any of the O's.

He felt tired and haggard now, and had agreed to play because it was the only thing to do in the house's one warm room. He also felt guilty for that one quick feel of his daughter's chest. She had obviously felt nothing -- she was all smiles and hugs today, maddeningly enough.

Apart from that one moment of weakness, he reasoned, he really had no cause for guilt. She had only come down to get warm, surely.

Yes, surely . . . but if he there was nothing wrong with them sharing a bed, why had he jumped out of it so fast in the morning? Why had he been so afraid his wife would see them? Neal couldn't answer that, except to attribute his reaction to his own guilty conscience. He was getting fed up with guilt. There was only so much of it a man could take.

"Any time, Neal," said Sherry across the table.

"All right, all right."

He gave up thinking and spelled out INSECT on a free N. A lousy nine points.

"No, Daddy," said Nessa, leaning over his tiles so he could see right down her shirt -- those fat, tempting globes, hanging free. "You wanna swap these around -- get the C on the double letter square --"

Neal watched helplessly, then turned cherry red when he saw what she had done.

INCEST.

"Uh . . . thanks, hon," he croaked.

"Wow, cool!" his idiot son laughed. "Blowjob, Incest -- this game is getting dirty!"

Neal stared at the word as Sherry took her turn, either failing to notice his discomfort or too stoned to care. When he could meet her eyes, he looked across at Nessa. She was smiling merrily, eyes bright.

***

When he felt his balls begin to tingle, that familiar tightness setting in that told him he was close, Josh decided to surprise her with a little payback. Yes, she was already on her knees in a cold barn, sucking his cock, her warm breath bathing his belly while her cold fingers held onto his bare ass. But that wasn't enough mastery for him. He wanted to let her know that he was onto her, and that he didn't necessarily approve.

So when he felt himself on edge, when his sister's fast-working mouth took him right to the limit, he pulled himself out and shot his pent up load directly into her face. As the hot jets of sperm gushed over her nose and cheeks and flew into her hair, Vanessa held up her hands in surprise and scooted away -- but not before he had painted some nice thick swathes over her face.

"Josh -- you -- fucker!" she cried, wiping away his goo with her hand, making even more of a mess. "What the fuck did you do that for, you asshole?"

"Ahh! -- do what?"

"Don't do what me, you stupid jerk! I can't go back in like this!"

"Wipe it on your coat."

"I'm not gonna wipe it on -- oh you bastard. You bastard, it's already on my coat!"

He laughed. "I thought you liked it."

"I don't want your fucking cum on my coat, you ass!"

"Here," he said, relenting a little, and offering her the inside of his flannel. "There -- that's not so bad. They won't notice it."

"Oh, you're such a shit. I was gonna swallow it -- why can't you let me swallow it, dumbass? Half the men in America would love for a girl to swallow their cum!"