Church is no place to be thinking about sex, even less so incest, especially during the Christmas service, just four rows back from the altar, where the elderly Parish Priest is so fervently extolling the memory of the last supper.
"Take this all of you and eat it. This is my body which will be given up for you."
I SHOULD be contemplating the significance of the words, but I find myself glancing at my daughter's pretty face, the soft curve of those youthful breasts accentuated by her gentle breathing, as she kneels beside me, hands clasped together in erstwhile prayer.
"Take this all of you and drink from it. This is the cup of my blood, the new and everlasting covenant."
I find myself concentrating not on the Eucharistic prayer now, but rather, Lucy's slim hips and radiating vitality. As she turns momentarily to smile at me, some part of us touches and recognises the far-flung possibilities.
Let us back-up a lifetime.
Lucy and I have always been close -- more in what has been unsaid rather than spoken aloud. She is a soul-mate. Even though she is eighteen now, the special bond we shared during her childhood has not slackened. Rather, it has evolved into something almost tangible.
An only child, she was but three years old when my wife died. Her very existence eased the pain of Nadia's passing and provided the focus I needed to overcome my grief. In a decade and a half not a solitary impure thought has crossed my mind so far as Lucy is concerned.
But then there was tonight.
Just an hour before we had to be at Our lady of The Rosary I picked Lucy up from a girlfriend's place where she had spent Christmas Eve, quite evidently quaffing the occasional alcoholic beverage. I say "quite obviously" on account of the fact she was still giggly and overly talkative. -- traits she rarely exhibits.
It was as she sat in the car chatting animatedly that I realised how much I loved her and how much -- to my on-going discredit -- I wanted her in ways other than those might be termed appropriate.
"I love you dad," She had said, reaching across and holding my hand. In that instant, our destinies overlapped.
Even as the Priest intones the words, "Father, calling to mind the death your son endured for our salvation....." the images begin to form.
Lucy stands at the foot of her bed seemingly unfazed by my close proximity. Removing her school back-pack she tosses it on the covers. I notice her tanned arms and legs as she turns her back to me momentarily, retrieving a purse from the pocket of her school-dress, that she then places on her work-desk nearby. I cannot fail to notice either the soft curves of her shapely bottom that are so clearly delineated for an instant.
I seat myself on the edge of the bed and place my hand just above her hips. She still has her back to me even as I begin to smooth over those gentle rearward curves. She knows instinctively what pleases me and takes a step backwards so that I may better feel-up my field of dreams.
"You are so beautiful Lucy," I mutter, sliding both hands now across her taut little rear and cupping both cheeks, feeling plainly her panties beneath the school-dress. Holding her around the hips I tug that warm little body towards me until she is sitting on my lap.
Slipping my arms around her waist, my hands wander northwards searching out the illicit warmth of her teenage breasts. She makes no move to stop me, simply gasping softly as I begin to fondle those delicate mounds. I know she is watching as I begin undoing the top few buttons of her dress.
"Grant that we who are nourished by his body and blood...:"
The image fades and once again I glance down at the sweet-smelling youthful form alongside me. I must suppress these thoughts at all cost.
"....the apostles, the martyrs and all your saints upon whose constant intercession we rely for help."
My hand slips into the newly created air-space. I relish the contact with the frilly material, it represents the ultimate feminine tactility. Again the lightest of gasps as I cup her breasts through the yielding material, squeezing and caressing the softness beneath. Even as an embryonic moan rises in her throat, I incline my face to her shoulder and nuzzle her lovingly. Kissing her at the base of the neck, I feel her wriggle slightly on my lap, the warmth of her young body addling my senses. I slip a hand inside her bra cup and grasp what nature has been working so efficiently upon these last six years or so.