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She dragged her feat across the floor. Her head lolled low, rolling her chin easily against her breastbone. It felt like it'd been a short night. It felt like a blink of an eye from when she shooed her father out of her room to when this morning, and waking up to the blare of an impatient alarm clock. Time passed so quickly when you were asleep.

She yawned, and shuffled into the kitchen; flicking the light switches to the left. The florescent light blinked then came on.

She squeezed her eyes closed, *quot;aww gawd, I?m so stupid...*quot; trailing off into a mutter as the light flooded her silted eyes. Half-blind, she brushed back her curly black hair and hooded a hand over her eyes. Something mundane was in the works. Something to take her mind off the stunning failure of last night. She could still remember his padded footsteps, stalking across her bedroom floor, sneaking up till his presence loomed in her mind. He?d been ready to pounce---almost.

A tingle butterflied between her legs. She smiled---almost. Deadly aware of her underwear, she felt the white fabric curling into creases as her thighs rubbed together. Some things were so hard. Keeping quiet---pulling her lips shut before they opened and screamed her undying love or temporal lust---that was hard; very hard to not imagine him, hard and inside. A blush crept to her face. There was no one to see or judge, but the kinkiness of her thoughts still offended some lingering ?good girl? part of her brain.

?Screw it.? She cursed under her breath. ?I?m still good. Whatever I think; it?s not that bad. I could be thinking about murder, mayhem, or?. marriage.? A little titter escaped her lips.

?This is just incest.? The words came out softly; nervously she toed a spot on the ground. A second set of tingles blossomed through her. Her nipples started rising; the hardening points brushed against her plain cotton top.

?I have to? stop?.stop?.stop.? Incest versus stop. Both words had a kind of power over her. Idly, a detached part of her wondered which one would win today.

?Stop!? she whisper-screamed, gritting her teeth. She reached quickly between her legs, and tugged apart the knot of fabric wedged against her warm lips. Using both hands, she smoothed down the fabric and pulled it into a tight triangle.

The sight was alluring. Underneath the soft worn cotton triangle, between lines of downy black, she was so very, undeniably ?.

?Stop,? she sighed, ?I have to stop.? Her natural distractibility became a boon. Her eyes flickered up and fixed instead on random objects in the room---the bare lacquered table, the smooth rolling pin drying next to the sink, the glossy steel hood over the stove, the tiny black T.V. in one corner of the counter, and two teddy bear shaped jars in the other end of counter. The jars were supposed to be used for candy, but they had never been used appropriately. The first was a nearly empty honey pot, and the second was a sugar container.

Moving with lazy deliberation, she steadily worked on making a mighty breakfast of coffee, eggs, and cereal. She kept her cool, yet all the while, a thought teased through her mind: why hadn't it happened yet. It almost seemed like fate was teasing her; baiting her then pulling back the hook at the last instant. He'd come so close, nearly touched. She'd been ready. Why wasn't he?

She sighed, flopping into one of the cushioned chairs surrounding the kitchen table. Her hand teased over the hardwood of the table. The stainless steel spoon skipped furiously through the black coffee, swirling the milk till the mixture was a pale tan. She slurped lightly; jumping back at the bitterness. More sugar.

*quot;That's exactly what I need,*quot; she whispered in undertones, *quot;more sugar