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Monday morning and Maz and I were preparing to return to the studio to wrestle once more with what we had come to refer to as the ‘wartime fiasco’...when my doorbell rang. I was astonished to see Flick in the little monitor and, when I let her in she grabbed my arm and almost dragged me to my kitchen. “Christ, Flick, if you’ve turned queer you don’t have to drag me, I’ll come quietly!” “Will you, just once in your life, just once, behave like an adult?” Her anger was seething. “You are, it seems,. You dress like a maid to feel like a maid, you feel like a maid when you clean, and you clean because you feel better when you’re being useful. Don’t you remember?’ The word ‘remember’ triggered another struggle in Jane’s mind. She remembered Doctor Bishop saying something about remembering, about something she would always remember and always remember to forget, but Jane couldn’t remember what it was that she was supposed to forget to remember and she was already forgetting what it was that. Lost in their lust and need of each other, neither noticed their father standing staring with wide disbelieving eyes at his son and daughter fucking uninhibitedly on the rumpled bed. Neither saw the shock on his face turn to lust at the sight of his daughters’ nubile naked form twisting and writhing underneath the thrusting body of her brother. Neither saw their fathers’ cock rise to a hard and upright nine inches as he spied on his children and suddenly realized that he was jealous of his son. ' She opened her mouth and let his tongue in. The boy started rocking back and forth a little, wiggling his hips, and Cindy realized that she was stretching to accommodate him. There was still a little jazzy burn to it, but it supported an itch deep inside her that needed scratching. The boy began to slowly move, out a bit, then in some, taking more territory in her depths. Cindy couldn't get her head around it. 'If it's an invasion, why do I want to chase it when he pulls out?' She reached up.
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