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’ Another long silence passed between us, with Enya once again providing the buffer. ‘I’m a lesbian, Daddy.’ While unexpected, that statement filled me with relief. ‘So? Are you happy and comfortable with that? Do you believe that being a lesbian is right for you?’ She simply nodded upon my shoulder. ‘Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it?’ I gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘I could care less if you like someone named Jonathan or Erika or Mohammed or Noriko or Juan or Céline. All I care about is that you’re happy and that whoever you decide to share your life with is someone who truly loves you and can genuinely make you happy.’ The tension in her body lessened, and she softened against me. She kissed my neck, but then I felt a tear anoint my shoulder. ‘There’s no need to cry,’ I assured her. ‘This changes nothing between us. We are still father and daughter. We’re still bonded by blood. And you still always have a place in this house and in my life.’ ‘I just didn’t think you’d. Wrapping my arms around you I lightly hugged you from behind, trying not to admit to myself that I was truly clinging to you for support. Luckily you must have sensed my emotions, because you kissed my shoulder lightly as you leaned your head against it and wrapped one arm upwards, partially hugging me back. ‘It’ll all be okay. Everything will work out fine…’ Despite how reassuring the words themselves were, I could tell instinctively that you didn’t believe them. ‘I know.’ Maybe just saying the words would make them come true? I was happy you were in front of me, unable to see, as I silently began to cry, knowing that we were both doomed. More for my own comfort than yours, I once again began to gently massage your back, this time allowing my hands to just barely touch your flesh as they glided over you. It wasn’t until my hands began to get sore and my mind was in knots that I finally stopped. I was relieved when whispering your name confirmed what your deep breathing had.
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Then while he was recovering in hospital a young student nurse had taken a shine to him – and offered him blow jobs on a daily basis until he was discharged. Cain had taken a long time to get over his injuries, his back pain was genuine as were the scars on his body but the pain was all exaggerated – he was, by his own admission, totally addicted to playing the patient in the bedroom – it was, he said, a passion he had got hooked on almost like an antidote to the other memories from that time – the memories of the rail disaster. Those were the roots of his fetish. Not that I was complaining; I loved playing nurse for him, it was a kink of mine, I loved the idea of caring for some gorgeous man who wanted all my love and attention (and who would reward me sexually for giving it), so in that way we were a match made in heaven. No matter what the kink or fetish, there is always, always a psychology behind it, the root grew from something and although many people often say they just like.

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