I can touch her, I can feel her. The silken rub of nubile skin pulled over still forming fleshy tissue, like lush verdant grass carpeting a gradually ...ising island. My daughter. I shouldn’t be thinking this. That’s not my daughter, that’s my wife. My wife is dead. I can never embrace her again. This is the next best thing. This is my daughter. God help me. Her buds, small and sweet and coloured like meringues. Her hair, growing like spring, a winding garden path down to her unopened gate. I. Hardly time to relax at all. But I managed to find a little play time. California had the prettiest girls and women in the world. Everyone knew that. And the college had lots of lookers walking around. I enjoyed just sitting on a bench and watching them walk by in their sleeveless sundresses giving me glimpses of their tanned legs. And sometimes I would catch a look at some soft breast flesh when they raised their arms up. A few girls were already deciding they didn't need bras. It was fun.. More

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