Then I felt hands gently touching my knees, before wandering slowly up my legs, all hidden from view by the frothing waters."Err, lads, you seem to be...lying on my arms," I told them, getting rather warmer than the water usually was, "and I would rather like the use of them."The hands continued their slow exploration of my upper legs."Why do you need the use of them, Marie?" Tom asked. "Are we bothering you?"I squirmed as a roving hand stroked my nipple through the flimsy bikini top, my bust. I try to keep contact with him as often as I can – he's a lonely soul, really - and we often share a cup of coffee or walk down by the river, filling each other in on our day to day stuff – what's happening with us and so on – just Dad and daughter talk. I know he's looked a bit anxious lately, and, knowing him, he's probably hiding 99% of it, so I suspect he might actually be feeling pretty bad about something. I haven't been able to get anywhere with my ingenious questions, trying to find out. More

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