For the next two weeks, the words "find the bump and rub" revolved constantly in my head like the scrolling news banner on CNN. Every time I saw that Stephanie's bedroom door was closed, a vivid image played in my mind. My little girl lying on her bed. Eyes close, mouth slightly open. Completely naked. (Or maybe wearing only socks.) Knees up, with the backs of her heels against her thighs. Legs spread wide. Small fingers of her left hand separating the lips of her soft, bare sex. Delicate inner folds revealed. Index finger of her right hand methodically sliding over her tiny clit.

Her hand moving faster now. A furrow on her brow. Her slender hips rise in rhythm with the down thrust of her finger. Soft high-pitched gasps escape her with each stroke. Her face and chest flushed red. Her bottom clenching as she lifts it off the bed. Biting her lower lip. Her body spasms and goes rigid. And again. Her face a mask of pleasure. Her mouth opens as the waves pass over her. A moan signals the final release of tension. As she slowly relaxes, she turns over on her side, her hand still cupping her bald sex.

The picture was both obscene and irresistible. And while savoring the vision, I said to myself, she's thinking about me, about my cock. I had to shake my head to snap back to reality.

From time to time I also noticed Carol watching Stephanie's closed door. Like me, she seemed to be trying to see though it. Eventually our eyes met. She looked sheepish, knowing she'd been caught.

"I Googled it," she said, a little defensively. "Everybody says it's normal. Healthy, even."

"I believe you. You should stop worrying." I hesitated, but I couldn't resist teasing her a little. "What did you Google, exactly?"

She blushed. "I tried a few things. I really hope they don't monitor what you search on."

"They do. It's how they decide what advertising to show you."

"Really?" She looked concerned.

"Well, yes. But they don't know who in the house did the search."

"Aha! Credible deniability. As a lawyer, I'd have no problem pinning it on you."

I feigned outrage. "You're the one downloading all the porn."

"I skipped the porn. Well, most of it. It's pretty awful. But there's lots of parenting advice sites, and they all have these letters from concerned parents. 'Help! My child is masturbating, what should I do?'"

"And they all say not to worry about it, right?"

"Well, yes." She paused. "But they also say you shouldn't teach them how to do it. You're supposed to let them figure it out for themselves."

"Hmmm. Thinking back, I guess I was self-educated. Were you?"

She nodded. "But not until I was 12."

"We've always known that Stephanie is a gifted child," I offered.

"You're not helping."

"Sorry. But you're being silly. Someday she'll thank you. And it's not like you taught her. You just gave her a hint."

"Don't remind me." A long pause. "Do you think the Family Changing Room had anything to do with it?"

She's really, really smart, my wife. It's one of the things I love about her. I searched her face carefully to see what was behind her question. I was glad to see there was no hint of accusation - she wasn't thinking I'd done anything improper.

I looked a little shocked. It wasn't hard, given what I'd just been asked. "God, I'd hate to think that. Maybe you should talk to her about it."

Somehow, given everything that had happened I felt that I could really trust Stephanie to say the right thing if her mother asked. More than that, I felt I had to trust her. I had to trust her totally.

Carol looked thoughtful. Suggesting a talk with Stephanie seemed to steer her further away from any suspicion. "I have no idea what I'd say to her. But maybe you should stop using it, at least with Stephanie."

I nodded. "You're right." She was right. Shit, she really was right. "If she's thinking about these things, you're right." I felt relieved, actually. For the most part.

---

"You told her, didn't you." It was a statement, not a question. Stephanie was regarding me with a cold, angry stare. We were in the car alone. I'd just dropped Caroline off at kindergarten, and was taking Stephanie to her school a few blocks away.

"What? Told who?"

"Mom. You told Mom about us." Shit. I guess I should have expected this. Her tone was icy. And it was jarring to hear her call her mother "Mom", rather than "Mommy".

"No, honey. I didn't tell her. Believe me, I wouldn't."

She wasn't convinced. "Then why did she say I couldn't go in the room with you?"

I played the adult. "I think you scared her a little with your questions, Stephanie."

She continued to glare, but was quiet while she thought it through.

"I told her Andrea said it."

"I know, sweetie. She believed you. It was really good that you said it that way. But she thinks you're too young to be thinking about sex. And I guess she thought being naked with me was part of why you asked."

She seemed to accept this, but was still visibly annoyed. "Is she mad?"

"No, honey, she doesn't think we did anything wrong. She just doesn't want you to grow up too fast. And... well, neither do I."

She looked down. "But you let me watch you. When you had sex with yourself. You saw I was there but you didn't stop."

She sort of had me there. "I couldn't help it," I said plaintively. Who was the 8 year old here? She actually smirked in response. I knew I was in trouble.

"You know why I asked her, Daddy?"

"I'm not really sure, honey. Why did you ask her?"

"Duh. Cuz I wanted to know."

We both laughed a little. She smiled at me impishly.

"You could have asked Andrea," I offered.

"I did ask her. She doesn't know anything."

"Hmmm." An awkward silence. "You could have asked me, you know."

"I'm a girl," she said flatly. "You idiot," was clearly implied but not spoken.

"I know you are, honey. Believe me, I know." I actually blushed a little. "But I know a little bit about how girls work."

"Oh." I could tell she hadn't considered this possibility. "I thought Mom was the only one I could ask, really."

I nodded. "I can understand that, I guess. So tell me, honey - why did you want to know?"

"So that I could do it for you. Since you did it for me."

I swallowed hard. She went on. "I know we can't have sex together, Daddy. But I thought we could have sex with ourselves together."

With my eyes wide open, my vision of Stephanie on her bed projected itself in technicolor in front of me. Finding the bump. Rubbing. Christ.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Stephanie," I said after a time.

"But you want to," she stated, no doubt in her voice. She could read my face so easily now.

I tried not to nod, but I don't think I entirely succeeded. "But we shouldn't," was all I could manage to say.

End of Part IX.