Cathy Burton stood in the living room a moment looking at her mom lying on the couch with a damp cloth over her eyes. Hung over, she guessed. Her mom only drank at the family gatherings, and when she did she did it in excess.
After seeing her in action last night, Cathy couldn't help but look at her with new eyes. She wasn't technically having incestuous sex when Cathy saw her. They weren't her blood relatives, after all. What she had seen last night was an insatiable woman eager to go all the way to fulfill her need for sensation and the needs of those around her. Now, she saw a pleasant looking woman in a flowered robe lying on a couch with her pale legs stretched out inelegantly and her mouth half open as she slept.
Cathy didn't wake her but walked through to the hall. She could hear snoring coming from the guest room, and assumed her aunt and uncle were in there, with or without their children. The shower was running in the bathroom at the end of the hall. It was a four in one chance that the person bathing would be her brother, Carter, the only relative she didn't want to see, but she'd risk it.
When she opened the bathroom door and slipped inside, she was hoping it would be . . . "Daddy?" she called out.
"Oh, hey kiddo." His voice came from behind the frosted glass panel that was further obscured by steam. "Have a nice sleep over?"
"Yes. Better than I should have, really," she replied, smiling at the memories.
Cathy unsnapped her jeans and pushed them and her thong down to her ankles so that she could sit to pee. "Do you know the Porters very well, Daddy?" she asked as she urinated.
"Not very," her father replied. "Of course, we've gotten construction loans through Robert at the bank. Seems like a nice fellow. I don't really know his wife."
"Pretty much normal people, right?" She finished her task and wiped herself. Then she stood and stepped out of her pants, a pensive look on her face. "Straight laced?"
"Sure."
"Of course, we're pretty much normal, too," she said, pulling her blouse off.
There was a pause before her father spoke again. "Well," he said, slowly. "I like to think we're pretty normal, yes. A bit above average, of course."
"Even straight laced, I suppose?" She was studying her face as best as she could in the steamy mirror. The steam left her looking distorted, her face half-formed.
"Well, no, not at all," he said. "What are you getting at honey?"
"I don't know." Cathy pulled her shirt off over her head and let her bra follow it to the floor. "I just wonder about us, our family. I wonder what kind of gene pool I came from."
Cathy slid the shower door aside and stepped into the large shower. It was a square, molded tub with a low bench formed into the back wall of the tub. Her father was standing under the spray of water, with a soapy washcloth in his right hand. He held the cloth low, concealing his penis.