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Why split the gas bill when oral is so much easier?

It made my knees weak, and I'm glad I was already sitting down. When she looked up at me, those same, wonderfully bright Spanish eyes that had caught me from the first moment, they had changed. It was as if the years had rolled off them, and they were the eyes of a young girl. I was entranced. She spoke, and even her voice had changed, become a little more high-pitched, not the almost throaty-smoky voice she had used earlier, but a voice as young as her eyes. I was seemed as if she had immediately thrown her mind back to when her father had still been alive.

"Papa, do you love me?"

It took me almost a minute to realize she was speaking to me, and not some disembodied spirit of her father floating behind me. I was her papa! I had to think about how her papa would've spoken, and since I'd obviously never met the man, let alone spoke with him, I had to improvise.

"Yes, my little Rosa," I tried it out, "More than the whole world."

"I love you too, Papa," she returned in her sweet, lilting voice.

I pride myself on a very vivid imagination, and I really put it to work, creating a whole world in my head, starting with the room. I made it a nice, Mexican-style room, with pottery, arched doorways and windows, and azaleas growing outside the windows, because, after all, that was one of Rosa's late mother's favorite flowers. Further out were her mother's other favorite, roses, winding up a white trellis in the yard. Back to Rosa, I imagined her as I thought she might look. She had that same flowing, glossy-black hair, growing down to the small of her back. She had on a pretty-patterned sundress, red and lavender flowers, her face the same, just softer, a bit rounder, with wide, bright eyes, the shade of milk chocolate, such innocence and vulnerability in those eyes. She had just begun shaving her legs, because I (Papa) had recently gotten her a razor at her request. She had even put on her mama's perfume, and she smelled like roses as she looked right into mine (his) eyes.

---from here on, I will speak as her Papa---

"Have you done your homework, Rosa?"

"Why yes, Papa, silly! You helped me with it, remember?"

"Oh, how could such a think slip my mind?"

Of course, I had indeed only helped her with her mathematics only thirty minutes ago!

"So, then, my little flower, what would you like me to make for supper?"

"I'm not hungry right now, Papa. Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something important."

"Important? Is something the matter?"

"You've been so sad lately. I was hoping I could make you feel better, but it's just made things worse."

"Oh, this is I'm so sorry, Rosa, but, well, I have been feeling such guilt about making you do what you have done. You are so young, and you are my own daughter. You should not know such grown-up things, and it is my fault that you know them"

"Papa," Rosa cried, "I wanted to know them, and I wanted to do them for you. I want to make you happy again."

I shook my head, "But Rosa, this is all wrong! Your Mama would not want me to do these things."

"But Mama would want you to be happy, and you're not happy!"

I looked away from her, wondering if this could even remotely be true. I had wanted children, and her Mama had done her best to honor my wishes, even giving her life to do so. And I wasn't happy at all. It seemed like no woman I had known could come close to the woman I married. Except, now, one had. The problem was that it was my own Rosa.

She sat in my lap and shook my shoulders, "Papa! This is not wrong! If it makes you happy, then it makes me happy, and that can't be wrong. I want you to have me, like you had Mama."

Shocked, I protested, "No, Rosa! You must not even think it! You are still pure, and that would take that pureness away from you. I am not the one who should do that. You must marry first."

I tried to hide the fact that her request had aroused me so much, but what now began to poke her bottom was proof enough for her.

"But I know you want to.

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