Massage Mat Ch. 08

Incest? Love? Romance? It's complicated.

Welcome to one of the final installments of "Massage Mat." I think that I'm figuring out some things about my writing. Most importantly, I've found what I like to do: I like to tell stories.

Like my other recent efforts, this is conceived as a "bedtime story for grown-ups" rather than as a flat-out erotic story. It continues the story of the people who have been doing all of the crazy things in the earlier chapters. And they still do manage to find some time for sex. ;)

I'm not quite sure what happened to them, though. Somehow they became pretty independent and decided they wanted to head in new directions. I just tried to listen as they told me what was in their hearts, and this is the result.

They confirmed something I suspected all along: This whole series is really a love story.

This chapter is dedicated to Tim, whose kind, encouraging words—and whose affection for Leah—inspired it.

Kate

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"C'mon, Mills, you can do it," the muscular man said, handing Jason a shot. Jason took it and drained it at a gulp.

"Now it's your turn," said another guy, handing a shot to Leah. It vanished instantly.

The party was going strong, and everyone was in a good mood. The team was off to a great start—they were nationally ranked and had just won their holiday tournament. Now, with the prospect of a two-week break ahead, everyone was celebrating the victory the way college students have always celebrated.

Jason was having an unbelievable freshman season. From being "allowed to dress for some home games," his natural flair for the game had quickly led to his becoming a stalwart of the defense, and he was already attracting attention as a future NHL star. His rise to stardom was cut short by a nasty spill into the boards, but things were looking good for his returning to the lineup after the break.

Leah, of course, was thrilled. After she had cleared the air with Beth, she had felt much better about her relationship with Jason. Even though he mostly wanted to just hang out with her in a friendly way, she knew how she felt: her heart was filled with joy when she was near him. And when she looked into his eyes, she was overjoyed to see that he felt the same way.

Unfortunately, Jason was a typical guy when it came to feelings—he had them, but was never comfortable sharing them. And so they lingered in their emotional never-never land: more than friends but not yet lovers.

Although Leah had been sending pretty strong signals that she would welcome any physical advances from him, he never wanted to do much—they had, in fact, never even kissed. On the few occasions that they hugged or held hands, though, they both could sense that there was some special kind of chemistry between them.

Jason loved his mother and experienced gut-wrenching guilt about his feelings for Leah. His mother had been reborn through her romantic relationship with him, and was beginning to find that she wanted to experience other relationships.

She therefore encouraged him to branch out too. She had even told him of her experiences with other people, hoping that would help lead him to find a girl of his own age. For some reason he couldn't understand, though, Jason was consumed with guilt every time he allowed himself to experience his romantic attraction to Leah.

Leah gazed at him and thought, "I could be philosophical about this. I could tell myself 'at least it's not something sick like he's fucking his mother.' But he is. And I don't care." She giggled.

"What?" Jason asked her. "What's so funny?"

"You are, my darling Jason," Leah said, giving him a peck on the cheek, "You are." She rested her head against his arm. Jason ignored the goosebumps that instantly covered his body, gave her a hug and excused himself to answer a call of nature. As he returned, Mike, one of his buddies, stopped him.

"Hey Mills," Mike asked gesturing toward Leah, "Who's the hockey puck?" Jason scowled, hearing Leah referenced by the term used for girls who were passed around among the guys.

Things got worse when Mike added with a nudge, "You going to get her on your stick tonight?" Jason instantly got angry. Mike saw it, and hastened to apologize.

"Oh fuck, Mills," he stammered, "I didn't mean it. Is that your girlfriend?" Now it was Jason's turn to stammer.

"No...er...I mean...well..." his voice trailed off. "It's complicated, ok?" he said finally. "But she's not a hockey puck," he concluded.

"Well, is she yours for tonight?" Mike asked in typical guy fashion.

"Yeah, she is," Jason replied instantly. Mike looked into his eyes and didn't like what he saw.

"Sure thing, Mills," he said, beating a hasty retreat. "Whatever you say."

As he returned to the table, Jason wondered why he had got so angry. And why he had been so emphatic about Leah being his. When he saw her, though, he forgot about being angry.

Leah was in an animated conversation with several enchanted hockey players. "...so if the weak-side D filters down low," she was jabbering excitedly and moving a salt shaker, "how do you know who cycles out to cover the point?"

Jason sat down and listened as Leah debated strategy with his teammates. He noticed how lively her eyes were and how her smile seemed to light up the entire group. Then he saw his teammates. To a man, they were hypnotized, just staring at the vivacious young woman before them.

Jason thought about Leah, and about what he wanted. His mother? Leah? Both? He felt so confused and lost. He could plainly see that Leah was, well, wonderful. But his mother was—his mother. And his lover. Leah was just a kid by comparison. But still. Whenever he looked at her, he felt...

Suddenly, his head ached. He felt a little drunk and a little sick. And a lot confused. He put his head down on the table. Just a little rest. That's all he needed...

"C'mon," he heard Leah saying as she shook him gently, "you need to get some rest. You're still not back to 100% you know." Jason rose without protest. He still had trouble collecting his thoughts sometimes.

"See you guys tomorrow," he muttered as Leah guided him toward the door.

"Take it easy, Mills," Mike called, "we want you back soon."

"Hey Leah," someone called, "the doc said he's still not cleared for physical contact." Laughter rang through the room.

"Yeah," Mike added, "don't go bouncing him around all night." The laughter redoubled. Leah turned and faced them, still supporting Jason.

"Fuck you both," she said, giving it right back. "You wouldn't know what the hell to do with a girl if you had one. Of course," she added venomously, "it's pretty clear you won't be having to worry about that tonight, will you?" She smiled sweetly, turned on her heel, and guided Jason to the car as the laughter and shouts continued behind them.

He could barely stumble into his room, but she made sure that he got into bed. Alone.

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When Leah returned home, she found her father waiting up for her.

"My God," he scolded, "I thought you'd be out all night. I was frantic waiting for you."

Leah was not in a good frame of mind to be scolded: She was a little drunk, a little sad and a lot worried about Jason. "I didn't ask you to wait up for me," she replied, then added, "but thank you not phoning me."

Her dad slumped. He felt that he was losing her. He felt unmoored, adrift. Leah had been right: it had been a silly, careless mistake that allowed Beth to guess their secret. Worse, Beth had been so honest about her relationship with her son that he felt even more shame about hiding his romance with his daughter. That was when everything changed for them.

Leah had been attached to that young hockey player for quite some time, but since his injury—and that horrible night with Beth—she had seemed even more distant. She was obedient, but he knew that her heart was elsewhere. He felt that he needed to lose himself in her once again. That always made things better.

"Leah," he said softly, "let's go to bed, ok?" He watched as his daughter trudged wordlessly upstairs to their room.

Knowing what was expected of her, she got ready for bed quickly. She eased her nude body under the covers, and he soon joined her. Of course he was naked too. Leah sighed as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. As always, she could feel him becoming erect almost as soon as their bodies came in contact.

Leah loved her father and loved making him happy. She had begun this relationship expressly for that purpose—he had been so distraught since her mother had died. But now, as he kissed and felt her, she couldn't find the joyfulness of the early days of their union. She could only feel like she had her "wifely" duty to perform.

"Well, mom," she thought, recalling the days shortly after her mother had passed away, "we're still taking care of him." She knew that her motives were pure even though she was in a sinful relationship, and she hoped that her mother would think that she was doing the right thing by taking care of her father.

She kissed her father and allowed him to work her nipples. Soon, his hand trailed down and he began to stimulate her clitoris. Leah felt herself lubricating and knew that she was ready for him. Fortunately, their favorite position was doggy-style. That allowed Leah to be alone with her thoughts to a certain extent.

Silently, she got on her knees and offered herself to him, and he eagerly penetrated her and went to work. As he enjoyed himself, she was lost in thought, trying to make sense of her life. She couldn't. "None of this makes any sense," she told herself.

"Are you close, honey?" she finally heard him gasp, "I don't think I can hold off much longer."

"He'll never understand," she thought sadly. Instead of anger, though, she pitied him. He was so pathetic...not really a man.

"Oh God, yes, dad," she moaned softly, "I'm almost there, too." She thought she had given a B-level performance, but marked herself up to an A when she found that her words inspired her father to bang away at her vigorously.

Leah had never faked an orgasm in her life. "Well," she thought grimly, "there's a first time for everything," as she gave her best porn star imitation. Judging from the explosive effect it had on her father, she figured that she had done well.

As they lay together afterward, he stroked her face tenderly. "Leah, what's wrong?" he asked. Even he could see that she was not in a good place.

"Dad, um...I don't know," she mumbled, "I mean. It's difficult."

"What's difficult, darling? It's that boy. Jason, right? He's upsetting you—I can see it," he took his daughter's face in his hands. "Darling Leah, that boy is in love with his mother. He will never be yours," he told her softly.

Tears began to run down Leah's face. "I know," she said softly. "I just want to be normal and get married and have kids and all of that stuff. And now I can never do any of that. My life is over, really."

"Leah," he said, voice trembling, "your life is not over. It's hardly begun." He hugged her close. "Besides, Beth and I agreed that you should have your own lives," he reminded her.

Leah turned to face her father. "But you don't understand," she sniffled, "I don't have my own life. You...Our relationship. It's...complicated. For you, our being together means that you have... I'm like your new wife. I'm a substitute for mom." She paused and sniffed again, searching for words.

"But what about me?" She began sobbing. "I didn't gain a husband. We can't be married. I can't have kids. I can't do any of that." She cried, sad for herself.

"But that's not the worst part," she said, wiping her eyes. "I lost my father. My mom just died and my dad... I don't have one anymore. He's my... I don't even know what he is now."

As she found the words to express the grief that filled her, Leah began to cry harder. "Oh God," she wailed, "I want my daddy back. Please let me have my daddy again." She covered her face and shook with sobs, repeating, "I want my daddy."

Mark Rubin had many faults as a father, but he cared deeply about his daughter. Her happiness meant more to him than anything. Even more than their sexual relationship. Yes, she was the one who started things, but he certainly bore the responsibility for pushing them to where they were now.

He looked down and saw what he had created. There he was, a naked, middle-aged man lying next to his naked daughter. He watched his semen ooze from her and run down her leg as she cried, mourning for herself and for the father she had lost.

He closed his eyes and thought of his beloved wife. Of Leah's mother. "What would she think if she could see this?" he wondered. As his daughter continued to mourn her lost parents, he made a decision. He looked upward, above Leah's head. "I will not fail you. I promise," he vowed silently, "I will not fail...our family."

He held his daughter while she cried herself out. When she was exhausted, he gently roused her. "Leah. Let's go into the bathroom," he urged. She complied, too numb to resist.

He ran a hot shower and helped her in. "Take a good, hot shower," he urged, "you'll feel better. I promise." Again, she obeyed.

As she showered, he left for a few minutes, busy with other tasks. He returned, dressed, and with a pair of her favorite flannel pajamas and a clean towel. Leah turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

"Wow. You were right," she said, "I do feel better after that." She told herself that she could go on with their arrangement for a while longer. As long as necessary. She remembered what her mother had taught her, "You can do anything if you put your mind to it." Well, she thought, she had never lacked perseverance.

When she was dressed, she headed back to bed. Her father stopped her.

"No," he said firmly, "Not here. Come with me." Baffled, Leah followed him as he led her back to her old room. The light was on, and the bed was freshly made with clean sheets. The room had been straightened up and looked bright and cheery—just as it had long ago. Before...

Her father guided her into bed. He pulled up the covers and knelt on the floor next to her. "I think your daddy would like to tuck his daughter in once again," he said softly.

Then it was his turn to cry.

Leah reached out and put her arms around him. "It is so natural for her to offer comfort," he thought as the tears flowed from him. He tried to talk, to explain, to apologize, to beg forgiveness, but all that came out was an unintelligible jabbering amid the sobs.

"Why don't you lie here with me for a minute?" Leah suggested. He stopped crying but hesitated, thinking.

Then, cautiously, as if not wanting to disturb something new and beautiful and delicate, he joined her in bed, remaining outside the covers. Leah turned her back to him, snuggling deeper under the blankets.

"Do you remember how you held me when I had the chicken pox?" she asked softly.

"Of course I do," he answered. "You were so sick and you itched everywhere. I had to hug you to keep you from scratching."

"And mom was scared that you would get sick, too," Leah recalled, "but you stayed with me. Do you remember?"

"Yes. I never left your side," she heard him whisper. "But I stayed outside of the covers. So I wouldn't catch the germs." As he said this, his arms encircled Leah, cradling her as he had done so long ago. She sighed.

"This is just how I remember it," she murmured dreamily as she drifted off to sleep.

He stayed with her, vowing to take care of her. As she slept, a gentle smile crossed her face. She was safe again. At home.

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"You just woke up?" Leah asked incredulously. "It's like 2 pm. I've been phoning you all morning."

"uhm jus'..jus' kinda owvit today uh guess," Jason's voice sounded thick, as though he was having trouble forming words.

"Well, let's get your lazy ass up and moving, ok?" Leah giggled. "How about if I buy you a cup of coffee at the Spot?" she asked, referring to their favorite meeting place. "Great. See you in a few." She skipped downstairs.

Her dad had had breakfast ready when she awoke, and they had spent the morning packing her belongings back into her bathroom. She felt rejuvenated and joyful, and was impatient to see Jason. She put on some of her favorite clothes and actually used a little make-up—a truly rare event.

As she went to get her jacket she saw her dad at the dining room table. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm just sorting some old photos," he said, preoccupied. She went over to look. They were old family photos. He was setting aside the ones of her mother. When she neared, he picked up a picture and showed it to her.

"She was really beautiful, wasn't she?" he asked, sadly.

"Yes she was," Leah said, putting arm around him tenderly, "I miss her so much. I know you do, too."

"Yes, I do," her father replied. "I think that I tried to make the pain go away with our..." he broke off and looked down at his hands. "I never grieved properly," he continued, "and I think that caused us a lot of problems, Leah. A lot of problems." He shook his head.

He tapped the photo and looked up at her. "Your mother and I still talk, you know," he said conspiratorially, "she is never too far away."

"You can do anything if you put your mind to it?" Leah asked, recalling her mother's favorite saying.

"Well, yes, that, and some other things I won't repeat," he said with a little smile. "She's been giving me hell. You know how she could get when she was angry." Leah smiled and nodded, remembering a few epic blow-ups prompted by childhood indiscretions.

"Well, I've been getting an earful," he father told her. "All of it deserved." He turned and faced her, taking both of her hands in his. "Leah, I want us to have a fresh start. A normal, fresh start." He looked at the yellowed photo. "She wants that for us, too." Leah bent and kissed him on the forehead.

"It's unanimous. Count me in," she said softly. They hugged and she left to go see Jason.

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He was already at the Coffee Spot, sitting in their usual booth. When she hurried in the door, he spotted her instantly and waved.

"Hey you," she called across the room, "what do you want? This is on me!" A few minutes later, they were seated sipping their lattes.

"So, you seemed really out of it on the phone," Leah began, "how are you feeling?"

"Ok," Jason said, "my head feels like it's going to explode sometimes and I just don't feel good. I wish this thing would clear up." Leah frowned.

"You need to take better care of yourself," she said, concerned. "More rest, and probably no drinking." Jason scowled. "No. I'm not kidding," she said firmly. "This could mess up your whole future."

"Ok, mom," he teased. "I'll be good." Leah smiled.

"Well..." she let her voice linger, "not TOO good I hope." They fell silent.

Jason tried not to stare, but failed. Miserably. He loved the way her blonde hair framed her beautiful face, her grey-green eyes...just a whisper of lipstick. A thin, gold necklace fell gently between her perfect breasts. She just sat there. Calmly, it seemed.

Without really realizing what he was doing, he took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, and his heart leaped. For a second....an amazing second...time stopped as they looked into each other's eyes. Then Leah pulled her hand away.

"Jason," she said, lowering her eyes," Before this goes any further, I have to make sure that you know something about me."

"What's that?" he asked, knowing that she could not possibly have a secret as dark as his.

"Well," she said, "Um. You could probably guess this from my name, but..." she reached into her blouse and pulled out the small charm that she wore on her necklace.