I arrived at the game a few minutes late. A knot of Katie's friends waved me over. Among them were Trevor and Patrick, two good looking guys she sometimes dated, although neither qualified as a steady boyfriend. I joined the group.
Katie was playing catcher. It was a lovely sunny afternoon and as I watched the game and enjoyed the outdoors my thoughts turned to last night. I had already digested the most obvious problem: Katie and I should not be sleeping together, licking each other's breasts, French kissing, and sharing vibrators. More fundamentally, I wondered whether Katie was gay and how I felt about it? I noticed, as if seeing it for the first time, how many of her female friends and teammates were unashamedly butchy. Last night she had initiated the conduct between us. She had never eschewed men, she had regular dates and showed every sign of liking guys. On the other hand, she did not have a regular boyfriend and showed every sign of liking everybody.
I also wondered about myself. Not only had I been aroused last night, I had been aroused all week by my daughter's constant and open masturbation. While I knew my husband's return would help resolve the fire constantly burning between my legs, it was clear that my daughter turned me on. I had always thought my daughter was beautiful, but I had been seeing her with a mother's eye. I was now seeing her as a sexual creature and she was stunning.
Katie went one for three and drew a walk, scored one of her team's seven runs, and played solid defense. In the top of the ninth, with her team up by three, a runner tried to tag up from third on a short, one out, fly to centerfield. Katie took the throw and blocked the plate. The girls collided and went sprawling in the dirt. Katie leaped up, holding the ball in air. It was the third out: game over. The other girls ran over and congratulated her. I suppressed my first urge, to run over and take care of my baby. I would first let her celebrate with her teammates.
I walked over after the girls separated. Coach was looking at Katie's leg, which featured an abrasion several inches long and wide.
Kate saw me. "Mom, whatta ya think. You see that girl smack into me?" She pointed at the girl, who was leaving the field limping, leaning on two teammates. "Oh, wait a minute." She popped up, leaving Coach and I in the lurch, and ran to the girl, comforted her, and finished with a big hug.
She jogged back. I shook my head. "Katie, watching you get hurt worries me to death," and finished with a curse, "I hope your daughter's as impetuous as you are."
Coach had taken advantage of Katie's absence to fetch a first aid kit. Coach, as Katie invariably called her, was in her early 30's. She had short black hair and an athletic, stocky build. I had long thought that with a little investment in her hair and make-up, she could be an attractive woman, but Coach seemed perfectly comfortable as she was.
After a long look at the scrape on the back of Katie's leg, Coach addressed me, her tone confident. "Miss Stepton, it's not as bad as it looks, but you're going to have to help her out. She can't see the wound and if you let have her way she'll be out shooting hoops five minutes after she gets home."
She knew my daughter.
"There's some dirt in it. She should soak in a tub until its soft and the dirt has dissolved. Then irrigate it with Shur-Clens and clean it. Do you have hydrogen peroxide?"
"Yes."
"Use that for the cleaning. Then apply an antibiotic ointment, give it some time to dry, and dress the wound." She fished most of what I would need from her bag.
She turned to my daughter, her stare intense, "Katie, that was a heck of a play you made out there, but we were up three runs. It was unnecessary. Try not to get yourself killed." And then, to reassure her, and accompanied by a pat on the butt, "We need you."
"Yes, Coach."
"And do what your Mom says."
"Yes, Coach."
I was struck, as I had been before, by how my daughter and the rest of the girls seemed to love this woman and her calm take-charge style.
When we got home I directed Katie to my bedroom. The tub there was the biggest and most comfortable. After unpacking I entered the room; the water was running and Katie nonchalantly peeling off her clothes. My effort to organize my thoughts was derailed as last night's event played in my mind. When Katie was naked she poked a toe in the tub to check on the temperature and adjusted the hot water. I looked away, trying to collect my thoughts.
"It's too warm, it'll take a couple of minutes to get right. Mom, can you take a look at me leg, but please don't touch it."
I went down to a knee, steadied myself by putting a hand on Katie's butt, and studied the wound. Coach was right, it looked worse than it was. It would hurt, but there'd be no permanent damage or scarring. When I realized I was squeezing her butt I jerked my hand awat.
"It's gonna sting when you get in the tub, but you'll be okay."
I stood back up and for the second time in two days was staring squarely at my naked daughter. Until the last few days I had managed to see her with the eyes of a mother, transmogrifying this stunning eighteen year old into a little girl. The unabashed adult femininity of the creature before me, now rendered that conjuring act impossible. She was not a beautiful child, she was a beautiful woman.
My daughter noticed my obvious interest. Adopting a strong man pose, arms bent at the elbows, hands in the air, she said, "Do you like what you see?"
"Yes, you're beautiful." I was surprised by the passion in my voice.
She kissed me on the cheek, her breasts touching my arms. "Thanks Mom, I got good genes."
She stepped into the tub. When the abrasion hit the water she squealed, more for effect than anything else. I got up to leave, but she asked me to stay and talk to her. She lay back and closed her eyes, providing me the opportunity to study her exquisite build.
Katie's large breasts had a beautiful round shape. Her nipples, especially compared to her large breasts, were small but with a wonderful rose color that contrasted nicely with the creamy whiteness of her skin. Her powerful rangy body was firm, but except for the arms and shoulders, not obviously muscled. There were a few beauty marks scattered across her breasts and abdomen. She trimmed her pussy hair, which was slightly darker than the blonde hair on her head. While we talked she occasionally dragged her hand across her body, giving out a small happy sigh at the pleasure it brought her.
Watching her I recognized a difference between my daughter and I. Outside of sex, I saw my body as something to be taken care of, to be preserved, more for show than use. My daughter was different. Katie celebrated her physicality. She loved movement, she loved sports and, it was clear, she loved sex. Over the last few days I had tried to say no to her constant masturbation and then to last night's events. My daughter, who seemed to revel in the pleasure her sexuality brought her, probably didn't understand why I wanted to.
My phone rang. I picked it up
"Hello."
