'What's Gagging', asked my curious husband, and before I could put the answer in adult terms, my daughter chimed in with a classic, 'Doing a Linda Lovelace without throwing up'.I looked at her and noted as she sat at my husbands right hand side, perpendicular to him, her crossed leg was brushing his calf with her foot, she was caressing his leg with her foot in a nonchalant manner, and her father was relaxed with the physical contact they were making.'Have you seen that movie he asked her', she smiled broadly, sure when I was ten, you kept it in the top right-hand drawer', I turned to face the stove again, she was right, we used to watch it before going to bed and having sex.'I'm sorry', he stammered, 'your were never meant to be exposed to that sort of stuff', he continued, our daughter shrugged it off, 'That was the seventies, you would thing women would know how to suck one now', and as I turned she was rubbing her foot against his leg as she stared into his face, sort of. . um ... chip in?”“Sounds like fun,” I said, quickly sketching the way her left knee was bent over the right leg and her head rested on her hand. “What’s the occasion?”“Tony?” she got up and walked over to me.“No! Oh. I didn’t take a reference shot. That was a great pose.”“I’m sorry, Tony.” She was almost hyperventilating and I realized I’d been giving her orders and she’d just disobeyed. Shit! I’m not supposed to do that! She was really in conflict now. “This is really important,” she nearly whimpered.I held out my arms, dropping my sketchbook on the floor. Wendy practically jumped into my lap and buried her face against my shoulder.“I’m the one who is sorry, Tiger,” I said. “I wasn’t paying attention and said things I shouldn’t have. Please. Will you tell me what’s on your mind?” Wendy was really still very fragile.“It’s Melody’s birthday Monday,” she whispered. “I wanted to do something nice for her, but I can’t afford to do it alone.”Oh, shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! How could I forget.
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