The Bishop’s Hotwife: Part 3Gideon Gets it on.

Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 5 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Walking

around the impressive property, I was greeted by neighbors, some I

knew, others I had never seen before. I recalled several of them being

friends of my father.

Walking

by the pool, I found Gideon, Hannah's brother, who was the reason for

the party. He was coming up the pool ladder, enroute back to the diving

board.

"Gideon, congratulations on the mission. You must be very excited."

Gideon

stepped up to shake my hand. He was 18 and about to face adulthood

directly. I was glad I never went on a mission, but I was also impressed

by how much my LDS friends learned about life during theirs.

Gideon's eyes were locked on the pool, and it was easy to see she was distracted by the attractive moms in their bathing suits.

"Hey,

Ethan, welcome back home. I'm sorry to hear about your dad. He was such

a great guy and even came to all my baseball games." I guess my dad and

I both had some regrets. Dad was busy working hard and being a single

dad. And then I’ve stayed away at college for years, hardly even calling

my dad. It probably crushed him. And that’s what probably led to his

enjoying the Barton kids and investing in them.

"Really?

I don't think he was at one of my football games. So, Chicago, huh? Not

too bad for a mission. No need to learn a new language. Although you

might want to brush up on your colloquialisms."

Gideon was confused.

"If

someone doesn't want to hear you talk about the Book of Mormon, just

grab your balls and say, suck on this." It's like saying thank you in

Chicago speak."

Gideon

laughed. I knew men his age had issues with the church, and as exciting

as it might be to get away from home for a year, he was probably

wondering what it was all for.

"Which college are you thinking about? No, wait, let me guess: BYU."

Gideon laughed again. The chances of one of the Barton kids attending any school other than BYU were slim.

His

twin sister, Hannah approached. It was astonishing to realize how much

she resembled her mother. I didn't want to sexualize her, but she was

18, and in the Mormon faith, some girls her age have two children by

this point.

"The Bishop was asking for you." Hannah said with a warm smile. Gideon waved off and went back to the diving board.

It always amazed me that the Bartons referred to him as The Bishop, rather than dad or father.

"Me? Why?"

"He didn't say.” Then she changed the subject; “Hey, do you know the Kristensons? The two oldest sons?"

"Buck and Hank, yeah. Buck was my year."

"Could you introduce me to him? I know him kinda, from the temple, but you and he were friends."

"Of course. If that's what you want. Buck's a little wild, though."

"Hey, I can be wild too," she fired back with a devilish grin.

Naturally, that would be the moment Amanda would walk up.

"Excuse me, young lady," her mother glared.

Hannah turned beet red.

"I'm wild about skiing, too, Hannah. Too bad I'll be back at school when the mountains get snow."

Hannah smiled, appreciative of my giving cover to her story. She left, leaving me with Mrs. Barton.

"What did I tell you about talking to Hannah?"

"She was talking to me, " I said defensively. "Look, this isn't a good idea. I'm going to leave, Okay?"

Mrs. Barton looked at me and I could see she felt bad.

"I'm

sorry. I've been rude to you. It's just that I'm under all this

pressure, and I've got you and The Bishop, and then I have to wrangle

all my kids. I took a Xanax and I'm waiting for it to kick in."

"Hey, you're truly incredible. I mean, really incredible. I just don't understand how you do it."

"It's because I care too much. I like to please people.

"Well, you sure know how to please me."

I then tensed up and looked around to ensure no one heard that comment.

She gently touched my arm and gave it a slow, sensual rub. From her touch, I could tell she wanted to be in our bed in my house.

"I'm going to head out," I whispered.

She looked around and then leaned toward me.

"Follow me."

She started walking toward the car barn, and I followed.

The

Bishop had built the car barn to house his collection of cars, cars he

felt promoted his masculinity. The barn housed seven vehicles and the

family's Gulfstream trailer. I immediately spotted something special: a

19 75 green Ford Bronco in mint condition.

"Wow, is this what you wanted to show me? It's great. Look at the condition. This is wonderful."

She leaned on the hood of the vehicle like a car show girl.

"Want to see something even better?" She asked.

She

didn't wait for me to respond and turned so she was facing the front of

the vehicle. She leaned forward, and her skirt hiked up slightly, but

not enough to reveal anything. Reaching back and she flipped it up

revealing her soft white ass.

"You wore the red lingerie," I said with a smile.

"That's

not all," she replied as she put her thumbs in the bands of her panties

and pulled them down to reveal her bare ass punctuated by the bedazzled

handle of the ass plug sticking out of her clench.

I stood there in awe of this woman.

"All day. Just for you," she purred.

She

tipped further forward and pushed from her core; her anus dilated

slightly revealing some of the gold toy. She then relaxed, and her tight

ring sealed around the stem, keeping the toy where the sun doesn't

shine.

"Oh my God. How does it feel?"

"Full,

I feel wonderful, but full. It's the big one. I had a spontaneous

orgasm about an hour ago. I was sitting there, and it hit me when I was

talking to Sara Carlton. She asked if I was Okay."

"You're better than Okay. You're amazing."

I

knew it was time to leave. I also knew that what we were doing was

against our own rules, but she remained bent over the Bronco, with her

white ass glowing, punctuated by the jeweled handled of the ass plug and

below that a drop of dew forming on her backpussy. I had been in her

snatch so many times with fingers, my face and my cock, yet at this

moment I want her more than ever.

"Make it fast," she whispered.

Game fucking on!

I

had my cock in hand in seconds. It felt bigger than ever. But then

again, I'd never had an LDS mom lying on the hood of her husband's car,

in his garage, beckoning me to take her from behind.

My

cock was coated with her wetness the moment I pressed it against her

slit. I slid in fast and deep. The sensation of my cock and her stuffed

rectum was overwhelming, and she let out a whispering groan. I set a

rapid pace, and she responded with gentle signs of pleasure each time I

thrust inward. Her wetness increased and her pussy made loud slurps as

it swallowed my cock.

My

eyes were locked on her stretched hole, which fought to retain the toy.

She put her hands back, grasping her ass cheeks pulling them wide to

give me an incredible view of my cock entering her pussy clean and

coming out of her coated in glistening wetness.

I

decided to change things up, then pulled my cock out, dropped to my

knees and planted my face in her back pussy to let my tongue give my

cock a short break.

"We don't have time for you to;"

She never finished her sentence my tongue darted across her dangling clit.

"Oh, that motherfucking tongue of yours."

I

needed to get my cock back inside her because she was talking up a

filthy storm and it would probably only take one more "motherfucker" for

me to blow my lode.

I

stood and pushed my cock in hard and fast, surprising her. Her body

reacted, her core responded as I began to pump her pussy. In our

heightened state and the relaxation brought on by her Xanax, we were

both unaware her asshole was giving birth to the ass plug.

I glanced down to see the egg-shaped toy pop out, followed by a rush of lube and her anus snapping shut.

I

vaguely remember it hitting the ground with a metallic clang, but she

and I were now reaching our plateaus, and neither of us wanted to stop.

Her

empty brown eye opened and closed with each push and pull and when I

felt her body shake with pleasure, I unleashed a healthy flow of cum

deep within her.

She

moaned in pleasure as she felt herself being filled, and it was in that

moment of bliss we both forgot about the plug that had rolled under the

Bronco.

You

could smell our lust in the air as we slumped forward onto the dusty

truck. She was pressed against the hood, and I was pressed against her

back as we tried to catch our breath.

In

the distance, I heard something topple over. I'm not sure of what, but

the sound brought us to. She turned, putting a finger over her pursed

lips, shushing me.

She quickly pulled up her panties and flipped he dress down, and I pulled up my shorts and straightened up.

She guided me away from the area, walked me to the driveway, ensured no one was around, and gave me a deep kiss.

"I have to get back," she said, "but thanks for coming."

I wasn't sure if she was making a pun.

"My pleasure," I replied.

"Hey, the plug. It fell under the car," I reminded her.

"I'll get it, you go."

She

gave me a deep kiss, the kind that's hard to break and could easily

turn into another session. She then broke off and gave a wink.

I

walked through the bushes into my yard. We had broken our rules about

sex outside the non-kosher kitchen, and nothing had gone wrong. Maybe

some rules were made to be broken.

Chapter 4: Nothing Gone Wrong.

As

I kissed Ethan, I could feel his semen gently flowing from my cunt,

saturating the red fabric of his favorite panties. The warm fluid turned

cold against the breeze coming up my skirt.

When we were out of the garage and out of sight, I put my hand in his and left him with a kiss that promised so much more.

I gave him a little shove and watched his ass as he left. Our liaison in the garage was unexpected, but was it really?

I

had taunted him with the sex toy. I could pretend what happened was

spontaneous, but deep down, I wanted him to take me amid The Bishop's

favorite things. I wanted him to know he could have me anytime,

anywhere.

When

I entered into this agreement, it was about sex, but things were

changing rapidly. Now it was about my desire to be with Ethan as much as

possible.

We

had broken our rules about sex outside the non-kosher kitchen, and

nothing went wrong. Maybe some rules are made to be broken.

I'd

need to change my panties or risk his cum dripping down my legs. But

first I needed to retrieve the ass plug. I returned to the exact spot. I

could see the dust on the hood of the truck been wiped clean.

I bent over to look under the car and heard a familiar voice,

"Mom, we need to talk."

I turned to see Gideon holding the gold ass plug that I had ejected from my ass.

A cold trickle of Ethan's thick cum slid down my leg.

Chapter 5: Fucking Gideon.

It

was nice to sleep in on Sunday. I knew Mrs. Barton wouldn't show up

until after church. She usually made sure her kids had lunch and then

came here to prepare a meal for me.

We ate, screwed and then she left, returning home before The Bishop returned from the Temple.

There was something I learned to love about Sundays. A kink I didn't know I had until our first Sunday together.

Her daily routine was no different on Sundays, rise early, poop, shower and be perfect before the rest of the family was awake.

Sunday

mornings meant getting everyone fed and out the door for church. It

meant dressing nicely, and that included wearing her church

undergarments.

While

The Bishop was often indifferent to her wearing the church garments on

the daily, he was insistent that they be worn on Sundays and would

inspect her before leaving for church. She had come to mention that the

inspections were humiliating, but she obeyed, nonetheless.

On

Sundays, despite being fresh and showered in the morning, she would

come to me after spending several hours in a hot church wearing her

thick polyester undergarments. The church was hot; the service was long.

Her pussy, shrouded in religious garb that did not breathe, ripened

with pheromones and alkie, as thoughts of how she and I would please

each other later in the day.

We

jokingly called it her Sabbath savor, and if I had my choice, I'd ask

her to wear the garments more often so it could feel like Sunday every

day of the week. Her smell and taste on Sundays were never offensive, in

fact, just the opposite. It became an aphrodisiac, something I could

not resist.

If there was ever a question of the power of the Sabbath Savor, it was answered the day after Gideon's goodbye luncheon.

I

heard the door open. She was early. Maybe she got the kids some

takeout. Since it was 11:00 a.m., I decided to get up and shower before

our session.

She

walked into my bedroom wearing her conservative Sunday clothing. I knew

that beneath that dress, she had on the least sexy outfit imaginable:

thick polyester panties and a top; her LDS garments. And she had been

sweating for hours.

"Time to do some motherfucking," I said jokingly.

I then noticed the stern look on her face and how she was shushing me. She came over to me and pulled me into the bathroom.

"My son is downstairs, so perhaps ease up on the motherfucker stuff."

I froze as I processed her words.

"What the fuck is he doing here? Which son?"

"Gideon."

"Why would you bring him here?"

"He saw us."

"Saw us? Where?"

"When you bent me over my husband's car and fucked me."

My head was spinning as I tried to process what she revealed.

"He watched us; he watched you get;"

She nodded yes.

I

was experiencing an out-of-body moment. This couldn't be real. Closing

my eyes, I hoped it was just a dream. A terrible dream. But it was

happening.

She moved in close and spoke quietly.

"He's

eighteen, he's full of hormones and about to go off on his mission. He

made it clear to me that he'll keep our little indiscretion a secret."

"A secret?" I asked with a hopefully. "He won't tell The Bishop?"

"There's an if."

"He won't tell The Bishop if?"

"If we allow him to watch us have sex."

"Jesus Fucking Christ!"

"Would you please check your tongue? This is the Lord's Day, so there will be no blasphemy."

"No blasphemy? As if that's the most heinous thing we're discussing. What about the no adultery part?"

"In

this house, you're my husband, so I don't consider it adultery. I want

us to show my son how passionate people to make love."

"This is nuts. If he tells The Bishop, we're both fucked. And not in the good way."

"He won't tell The Bishop. All we need to do is make love, he watches, and then he's off on his mission for two years."

Fucking Gideon.

That

little shit had negotiated himself a hell of a strange deal. He gets to

watch his mother have sex, something he could hold over her head for

the rest of her life.

Of

course, since he would be on his mission for two years, I'd be long

gone when he returned. By then, I'd have sold my dad's house and be the

hell out of Utah. The emotional fallout wasn't going to be on me.

It's

funny how thoughts work. Here I was contemplating a crisis, and a

positive spin where I no longer lived here, and the Bartons were a

distant memory, I grew sad. I looked at Mandy and realized that I didn't

want to be apart from her. Even after this mess we were currently in.

But that was a problem for a different day.

I sat on the bed and rubbed my head, trying to stave off the growing headache.

"Okay,

all right, so how do we do this? It's like a cuck thing, I guess. He

sits and watches. Do we pretend like he's not there? This isn't a

three-way thing, is it? You're not inviting him in, are

you?"             

"Despite

all the complexities of the situation, he's my son, and he'll remain at

a respectable distance from us. He can watch; he cannot talk."

"Good,

because the fastest way to lose an erection is to have a conversation

with the son of the woman you're fucking while you're fucking her. And

to be clear, you're not inviting him in?"

I

saw anger in her face for the first time ever. It was hard to believe

there was a line with her that I could cross, but I just did.

"I realize my moral line is different from most women, but no, my son is never invited to my bed."

"Why not just tell him no? Is this some kind of blackmail?"

She sat on the bed to unpack the situation.

"Did

you know he's engaged to be married? The day he returns from his

mission in two years. Christa Martin, she's 17 now, but they'll be

sealed in the Temple when she's 19."

I was unsure where she was going with this.

"Umm, congratulations for them?"

"That night, he'll take her to their marital bed and make love to her for the first time."

"And this affects me how?"

"If he's an inadequate lover, it'll doom their relationship."

"Is that what happened to you and The Bishop?"

She shook her head no.

"The

Bishop learned by watching his parents make love. When he was 18 and

could make his own choices, they allowed him to watch. When he took my

virginity, it was transcendental."

I could feel pangs of jealousy at the mere mention of another man making love to her.

"It's important to me that Gideon become an adequate lover for his wife."

"So, you agreed to let him watch us? I've got news for you, what we have been doing is not normal."

"He needs to observe a loving relationship between a husband and wife."

"Then he should watch you and The Bishop."

She put her head down, upset that she could not convince me.

"He needs to understand how to bring pleasure to a woman. He has no knowledge of this. He'll watch us and learn."

"There is porn for that."

"Porn

is not a husband and wife making love for procreation, expressing love,

and strengthening their emotional and spiritual bonds."

"We do none of that," I replied. "We fuck. A lot."

"Are you telling me you don't feel an emotional bond between us? You call me your wife. I call you husband."

The

truth is, I felt a tremendous emotional bond with her. I loved having

her with me and hated it when she went back to The Bishop.

I

often imagined The Bishop next to her in bed and reveled in the thought

that my semen was inside her in his presence. It gave me an alpha

feeling.

She was waiting to see how I would respond to her question about our emotional bond.

"Look," I said, "you know I care about you. You know, I think about you day and night."

"Then tell me now if you think we have an emotional bond."

She was outstanding at getting me to do her bidding or say what she needed to hear.

"Yes, we have an emotional bond," I confessed.

"Very good. That wasn't too hard to say, was it?"

I

wanted to express much more. I wasn't even sure what an emotional bond

was. What I felt for her had to be love, but this wasn't the time to

mention that word.

I

thought I had the high ground, but as she stepped toward me and

embraced me with a gentle kiss, we both knew I would do anything she

asked. Anything.

I wondered if I could perform in front of another man. I knew he was a virgin, so anything I did would be inspiring.

"You do this, and I'll reward you."

"How?" With what?"

She quickly reached down my pants and grasped my cock.

"Anything you desire."

What

I desired was her, all day and all night. To have and to hold until

death do us part. I desired The Bishop to die. Not a desire I could say

out loud.

I

looked into her eyes, and she into mine. Our heads moved together into a

gentle kiss. She gently started to masturbate me. I suppose this was

inevitable.

My thickening cock told her everything she needed to know. I was ready, I was willing, and she knew damned well I was able.

"Gideon, get up here," she said in a loud, cold, scolding voice.

After

a few minutes, Gideon entered the room, still wearing his church

clothes. He was nervous, which made the situation even more awkward.

"Hey Ethan; "

Mrs. Barton was holding me with her hand down my underwear as I gave him a dismissive look. I wasn't in the mood to converse.

He quickly took a seat in a chair across the room as his mother continued to masturbate me with her right hand.

"It's

just the two of us," she said as we looked into each other's eyes. "A

husband and wife, making love on the Sabbath, as they should."

The Sabbath. It was Sunday, and it reminded me of what was beneath her clothing.

She

stepped back and began to unbutton her dress slowly from the top down.

With each button, she revealed more and more of her bland white LDS

undergarments.

Having seen her in every variety of lingerie, this was always my favorite sight.

Symbolically,

it represented her adherence to the faith, but to me, it was the

opposite; it symbolized her fallen faith, a good LDS woman submitting to

a sinner like me.

She

finished unbuttoning the dress and let it fall away. We stood facing

each other, me in my boxer briefs, she in her garments, and Gideon

watching our every move.

We

were three feet apart, and I could smell her Sabbath savor. It was an

intoxicating elixir that summoned me. No doubt, she had been anxious all

morning, thinking about her situation and the risks. I took a deep

breath and could practically taste her.

I

wanted to tear off the garments off and fuck her hard, but she wanted

passion in this session, so I let her lead. She came to me and we were

body to body. I put my face down by her neck, trying to get close to her

armpits. Using two hands, she pulled my underwear down, revealing my

throbbing erection.

I scooped her up in my arms, carrying her to our bed.

We

were on our knees on the bed facing each other as she held her arms up

and I gently pulled her white top over her head, exposing her large

tits, which bounced down nicely.

I was momentarily distracted by Gideon, who leaned in to get a better look at his mother's tits.

Mrs.

Barton took my head and guided it to her tits, where I began to suckle

her nipples gently, not enough to make her lactate. Gideon didn't need

to see that level of intimacy. She gently stroked my head.

She returned her hand to my cock, gently masturbating me, slow and steady so I didn't come prematurely.

Finally,

I lay her on the pillow. She raised her midsection, and I pulled the

white bottoms of her garments down. The strong smell of her excitement

filled my senses.

Despite

the fucked-up situation, she could not mask her desire for me and on

any given Sunday, driven by her enticing musk, I'd ravage her to both

our delights. But today, I needed to be reserved.

We

had not discussed what she was willing to do in front of Gideon or what

she would allow to be done to her, so I let her continue to take the

lead. She would set the limits, and I'd obey.

She

grasped my cock and guided it between her legs. This was to be straight

intercourse, no foreplay, no teasing. She positioned me against her

cunt, then moved her hands, giving me the authority to enter her, then

gently tapped my ass, indicating I should push in.

My

cock sank into her pussy, but the feeling was off. Normally, she was

soaked, so wet the sheets needed changing, but not today. It was

apparent she was self-conscious. She was showing Gideon how a good

Mormon wife has sex. Obedient. Reserved. But what she wasn't showing

Gideon was how a good wife has good sex.

I began a rising and falling rhythm, pushing in and pulling out, doing my best to escalate the feeling.

"What's wrong?" I whispered, knowing this entire situation was wrong; it was her idea, and it was failing.

"Nothing, just keep at it," she replied.

I could tell she wasn't in the moment. The distraction of Gideon was too much.

I

pumped her a few more times, then stopped, pulled out, and lay next to

her, gently stroking my cock. She looked at me, confused.

"Suck my cock," I demanded.

When she didn't move, I repeated it, louder.

"Suck my cock."

Instead, she reached down to masturbate me.

"Gideon, tell your mother to suck my cock."

Mandy froze, and Gideon looked like a deer in headlights.

"I was told to sit here and be quiet," he replied, unsure why he was being addressed.

"Tell your mother to suck my cock." I said again with the authority of being the man of this house. Which I was.

Mandy looked at me and Gideon, confused.

"Suck his cock; " Gideon said weakly.

"Tell her to suck. My. Cock."

"Suck his cock," Gideon said empowered by my permission to speak and his desire to see her do what I asked.

She

bit her lip and looked down at my throbbingcock. Enough of the vanilla

sex, if we were going to do this right, it was time to reset the table.

She

moved her head down gently taking my firm cock in her mouth. Sucking on

it gently she ran her tongue along the shaft savoring my taste and

enjoying the rough texture.

I

could feel myself thickening her mouth. She began to make muddled moans

against my shaft, a small indicator she was losing herself in the

action.

With

each lick she grew bolder, gently circling the cap with her tongue,

then down again. A few licks just below my balls then back up and took

my entire length in her mouth and throat, then up and out using her

tongue to trace a path to my heavy balls.

"That's a good girl," I said as she made hungry noises with her mouth.

"Tell her she's doing a good job, Gideon."

"Keep going, you're doing a good job," he replied, his eyes locked on her actions.

"How much of it can she get in her mouth?" he asked out of nowhere.

Mrs.

Barton didn't answer as she stopped licking and then positioned her

mouth and slowly took me in inch by inch. She relaxed her throat and let

the final inches pass until her lips were at my hilt.

I looked at Gideon with pride.

"All of it."

She remained there for a few moments, but I could feel her starting to gag and tapped her head, allowing her to come up for air.

The room was heating up, and the smell of her Sabbath savor was getting to me.

"Tell her I want to taste her pussy."

"He wants to taste you," Gideon instructed his mother.

She

was obedient, as she always promised to be in my bed and she turned her

body, so she was above my face with her pussy. The classic 69.

She

kept sucking my cock as she positioned her ass before me, her perfect

back pussy was waiting as I buried my face in her folds immediately

going to work on her overly fragment labia as she continued to work my

cock with her mouth.

Her ass was hiked up slightly to get me maximum exposure to her pussy. She was faced away from me, mouth on my cock.

Across the room, Gideon was in awe as he watched his mother getting and giving head and loving it.

I

sunk my face into her cunt and inhaled its essence. Today, it was

particularly strong, and she had created a more earthy essence.

I

both inhaled and tasted. It was dark, with musk. She began our session

dry, but now she was soaking and the flavors of her ass and pussy met in

perfect union, creating a potent elixir that I could not resist. As I

began to taste her from hole to hole and places in between, I realized I

was enjoying this moment more than I thought possible.

I

worked my tongue deeper into her folds. She always reacted to my

pleasure; if I groaned, she would moan. If I writhed, she would buckle,

and when my cock thickened, her pussy would water.

Knowing

Gideon could not see exactly what part of his mother's anatomy I was

licking; I gently pulled her ass down so my tongue could circle the

tight ring of her clenched anus, which responded by gently dilating. My

tongue went in deep, and I could see her pussy clench involuntarily,

desperate for friction and confused as to the point of origin of her

pleasure.

Mandy's

Sabbath Savor had invigorated and emboldened me. Gideon can see vanilla

sex anywhere, but here he was seeing a man and woman hell-bent on

pleasuring each other to the extreme.

"Up here," I commanded her and she shifted her body taking her ass from my face as it glistening with her leavings.

She crawled back up by body and brought her mouth to mine and began to lick her Sabbath savor off my face and mouth.

She

was now atop my body kissing and licking my face as she searched for my

cock and brought it between her legs. When she had it in position she

moved down and swallowed it with her pussy in a single motion.

She

released a long slow groan and then sat up to ride me cowgirl style,

enjoying the feeling of my cock pressing on the depth of her pussy.

Her

back was to Gideon, and she placed a hand on my chest to stabilize

herself. She had lost all self-consciousness and began to groan, letting

Gideon know she was being properly pleased.

She

was always wet, and this position created a juicy slurping sound that

added to the moment. With the sounds, the smell of her Sabbath savor

wafted.

I

could smell it, she could smell it, and I knew Gideon could smell it. I

knew it would do for her what it did for me, and our passion would

build. Gideon was in for much more than his imagination could

contemplate.

As

Mrs. Barton rode me, she began to massage her milk-filled pillow-soft

tits with two hands, then leaned forward, bringing her nipple near my

mouth.

She

cupped the tit, giving it a squeeze, and then pushed the fat of her tit

into my mouth and then out. I reached out with my tongue, desperate for

a taste.

She

gave her under tit a tactical squeeze, and drops of her milk began to

form. As her milk let down, she slowly inserted her lactating tit back

into my mouth as I continued to ride her from below.

Slowly riding my cock while she fed me from her thick nipple, we were both heading to a state of bliss.

"This is what a woman will do for a generous lover, Gideon," she said in an instructional voice.

"She will give him everything. She will serve him."

Her

pussy was swelling and constricting on my cock. It might have taken her

a beat to come to terms with Gideon watching, but now she was

performing for him. She was teaching and enticing, and she was showing

him how much pleasure could come from the coupling of two well-matched

people.

She tipped her head back causing her nipple to break free of my mouth.

"He needs to see your face when you finish," I said to her.

"Turn around."

She was so close to finishing, I feared she might just ignore my command and finish her climax.

I

gently tipped her to the side and withdrew my cock. You would think I

had already cum from the rush of fluids that followed my withdrawal.

She

was covered in a sheen of sweat, only adding to the sultry smell of

sex, which clouded the room. She positioned herself over my cock while

facing away from me, reverse cowgirl.

Reaching back, she guided my cock back into her waiting pussy, and we resumed our union.

I

lay back, head tipped up, looking at her incredible ass as she gently

rode my cock up and down. She would lean forward, bringing herself to

the tip of my cock and back down the shaft. Her tight ring would open

and close, looking like a whistling mouth as she rode me.

She made eye contact with Gideon, who continued to be surprised to be part of this.

She

placed her hands on my legs near the kneecaps, which allowed her to do

what I'd best describe as a twerk sliding up and down on my rod. I

always loved this position because when she would lean forward and let

my cock slide out it would shine as her pussy left it glistening with

juice.

I

placed my hand on her ass working my thumb toward her pouting

puckernut. She paused and looked back at me with a smile, my thumb in.

her as and my cock bent against her clit, she knew it this race was

coming to an end.

She

leaned all the way forward and I got a fantastic view of her elastic

pussy lips as they gripped my cock. I pressed my thumb on her anus, and

she gave me a gentle whimper of pleasure in return.

My

strokes were gentle and when my cock was pulling out, her lips created

an airtight seat, expanding with my pull, hugging my cock like a

turtleneck.

She

sat up again, her ass sank into my lap, her pussy swallowed my cock,

and she began to grind slowly as we began the last leg of this session,

which would end in a loud and wet orgasm.

"Together," I said gently.

Lately,

we have been able to sync up our orgasms so we can come together. There

is nothing that can explain the intimacy and intensity and a truly

mutual orgasm.

"Together," she replied, never taking her gaze off Gideon.

I

could feel my orgasm coming. It was moving fast from my extremities

toward my core. I could feel hers as well. Over the course of the

summer, I had learned to read her body, each twitch and shift. Her

muscles were starting to tense; her climax was coming.

If

she and I had any apprehension about having sex in front of Gideon, it

was long gone. All we could concentrate on at this moment was our mutual

orgasm.

She gasped gently, bit her lip, and braced herself as she locked eyes with Gideon.

"Watch closely, baby," she said softly.

I wasn't sure if she was talking to Gideon or myself. Either way, it took me over the edge.

I let out a loud groan as I fired off rope after rope of cum deep inside her. I could feel it coating the walls of her cunt.

Her eyes remained locked on Gideon as my semen searched her insides with instinctive accuracy.

She

continued to breathe and ride but finally, we came to an end. She

tipped her head down catching her breath then gently lifted her leg to

dismount me.

My

cum dripped hot from her folds landing on my torso. As my cock was set

free, her cunt produced a slurping sound, creating another rush of cum,

back flowing to my torso.

She turned and crawled back to my side, snuggling in under my arm and we held each other as we loved to do after climax.

She looked at Gideon with a stern look. Her demeanor changed from vixen to taciturn.

"You've seen what you wanted to see, now go."

It was apparent he had a raging erection.

"There's a bathroom down the hall," I added. "Take care of that before going home."

Gideon

stood to leave, turning to catch one last view of us, naked, spent and

in each other arms, then left to go down the hall and finish himself

off.

"We have given him enough masturbation images for a lifetime."

Mandy was silent.

"What's wrong? Did you enjoy that?"

"I

did. Maybe more than I should, it was incredible. When you took

command, when you made him give me orders, it was, strange and I just

let go. I wanted to please you both."

I

didn't want to discuss her maternal needs to please her son or her

desire to please her spouse, but these were hallmarks of who she was and

were no surprise to me.

"Can we trust him? Will he tell The Bishop?"

"No, he will always obey me."

Having

sex in front of Gideon didn't turn out as either of us thought. Deep

down, in that place where you think about things that you can't say out

loud, I realized how much I enjoyed it.

It

gave me a sense of dominance, with Gideon observing as an alpha male

mated with his mother. Secretly, I wished it were The Bishop who had to

watch us. I had been pleasing his wife all summer, and he should have

been forced to witness the virility I provided, something he could not.

I wondered if she felt the same. Judging how she blossomed sexually with Gideon watching, I assumed she did.

Chapter 6: This Thing We're Doing.

I

didn't see Mrs. Barton for three days because I was way behind on my

work. Besides, I needed some time to process last Sunday's events.

On Thursday, I woke up to the smell of coffee. She was back.

There

she was in the kitchen, sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee.

She was wearing a robe and slippers that she kept in the closet. To

better play wife, she dressed as if she lived here.

"I made you coffee," she said as I sat.

"Sorry,

I didn't come the last few days. It was a crazy couple of days. I had

to take Gideon for shots; there was paperwork, and then we had a family

dinner before we dropped him at the airport."

"He needed shots to do his mission in Chicago?"

"There was a last-minute change in his mission. He'll be in Ghana for two years."

"Ghana? He changed his mind about Chicago?"

"No, The Bishop did. He felt Gideon needed some life lessons, so Ghana is the best place. Challenges build a better man."

"You're okay with that? Ghana?"

"There

are things only a father knows. Decisions only a father can make.

Someday, you'll understand that. It's all part of God's plan."

The

Bishop had unknowingly made our lives easier. With only a few weeks

left in the summer, the one person who could expose our "relationship"

was on a plane to the other side of the world, I felt a burden lifted.

"I told The Bishop I needed some "me" time, so he took the family to St. George for the day."

"Me time?"

"Well, "Ethan" time didn't seem appropriate, so I went with "me" time."

She

casually opened her robe to reveal her heavy left tit. She played it

coy, revealing a glance of her areola, just enough to ensure she had my

attention.

"Would you like some 'me' time?"

With

that she opened her robe to further reveal the left side of her body

from her tits to her cunt to her bare leg. She stood there like some

half-wrapped gift.

I

focused on her heavy tit as I moved to her, wrapping my arms around

her, happy to have her back. She lifted her neck, and I went in kissing

and feeling her soft skin.

She

let out a gentle moan, an almost inaudible signal that she had

desperately missed this feeling. It had only been three days, but it

felt like forever.

I

held her face, and she touched my waist as we kissed. Usually, we would

already be on the bed, but I was in no rush, not wanting this time with

her to go by too fast. My hands moved to her arms, and she gently shed

the robe, leaving her naked and me clothed.

She

pulled my t-shirt up over my head and brought her flesh to mine. Her

tit pressed against my body, and I could feel her nipples pushing into

my flesh.

My head moved to her tits as I had the urge to feast on her, but she gently guided me away from her nipples.

"I'm weaning John-John. It's time for him to take the bottle."

"His loss," I said with a grin and again moved to her tits to suckle her.

"Sorry, yours too. I'm closing the dairy, so no suckling for a few days. I don't want you confusing my body."

I

realized that John-John's loss was mine as well. She had gotten me

hooked on her lactation, but now it was being taken away from me.

"Are you pouting?" she asked.

I totally was. Since she first tempted me with her milk, I was addicted to that pleasure. So, yeah, I was disappointed.

"I have to warn you, when I'm not lactating, I can get pretty horny."

I

laughed, but then realized she wasn't joking. We had sex several times a

week, sometimes multiple times a day. And suddenly, there was a chance

she might become more aroused? I wasn't about to question that

challenge; I'd only accept it.

"So, no tits for you, but I'm sure I can make it up to you."

She slid her hand down to my shorts and grasped by cock then began stroking it.

"There he is," she whispered as she peeled away the last of my clothing, leaving us both naked and wanting in the kitchen.

She reached into her bag and took out a bottle of skin lotion, then led me by the hand up the stairs.

Instead of going into my father's bedroom, with its king bed, she led me down the hall to my old bedroom.

I followed obediently.

The

room still looked as it did seven years ago when I was a high school

senior. Once I left home, the room became a time capsule.

She guided me to my bed, had me sit, then walked across the room to look out the window.

"You have a clear view of my house from here."

"Do I? I never noticed."

She turned and looked at me with an all-knowing smile.

"You never noticed?"

She turned back to look at her house, reached over to my desk, took my binoculars, and looked again.

"Never noticed you could see into my bedroom. My bathroom too?"

"Well, I might have noticed; "

She turned and smiled at me.

"And there it is; the truth. Did you ever see me naked?"

She must have known, or she would not be playing this game. I promised never to lie to her, so I simply nodded.

"Why did you watch me?"

"I was a teenager. I just wanted to see a naked woman."

"And did you masturbate while you watched me?"

I was turning beet red.

"Did you?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Show me."

I was confused, but she took me by the hand and positioned me in the center of the room, looking at the window.

She then slathered lotion on my cock then put my hand on it and prompted me to masturbate myself gently.

Then

she backed up to the window and stood there nude, not looking at me,

but gazing into the distance. She took the bottle of lotion and began to

massage it into her skin as if she had just stepped out of the shower.

Ignoring my presence, she pretended she was in her home while I watched

her as I had years ago.

Watching

her now was just like watching her then. I hadn't masturbated to

watching her just a few times; it was often. If her bedroom light came

on, I was at my window, binoculars in hand, desperate to see a glimpse

of skin or better.

She

gently massaged her tits, gently oiling each one, softly kneading it,

then turned bent forward slightly then massaged her ass, gently pushing

the buttery lotion across her pale skin. She never looked at me except

for a moment when she gave me a nod, urging me to masturbate harder.

I

responded with longer strokes. The thick creamy lotion squished between

my fingers. She finished lotioning her ass then turned again looking in

the distance in a dreamy way as her hand drifted down her stomach and

her fingers found her wet folds then her pronounced clit and began

gently circling it.

I

was transported back to when I had seen her masturbate, remembering how

incredible it was that she chose that spot to do something so intimate.

Standing

just a few feet from me, I could see her lost in concentration, as she

gently teased her clit, even bending her knees slightly so she could

finger herself better.

She

was in a different place in her mind. Not here, but in her bathroom,

the only place in her crowded house with any privacy, She brought both

hands to her cunt using both index fingers to caress her clit as the

rest of her fingers held her plentiful pussy lips wide. I had seen this

same routine so many years ago.

Her

eyes were closed as she tipped her head down, her fingers moving

faster. She jerked occasionally with jolts of self-induced shock and

pleasure and was well on her way to an orgasm, so I increased my

cadence.

She

moved her hand circularly, bending her knees to get her fingers in

deeper. Her heavy tits swung and bounced. Her face was a mixture of

concentration and pleasure.

There

was a pleasant odor she created whenever she was cumming, earthly like

sandalwood. It was a mixture of her sweat, wetness, and pheromones. When

I was inside her, I smelled it when we were done. If I was going down

on her, it often foreshadowed her orgasm. Here it was again.

She

bent forward, fingers going faster. Her knees trembled slightly, and

she looked ready to fall over. She steadied herself with her left hand

on the desk, then brought it back to join her other hand.

She

let out unladylike sounds, like a bark. She had begun this act as pure

theater, performing for an audience of one, but now she was close to her

climax, and like an actual act of masturbation, it was all about her.

I

had only seen masturbation in porn and through my binoculars. The porn

actresses never quite duplicated what I had seen in real life: sweating,

wetness, moans, something much more animal than beautiful.

She

grabbed the desk with her left hand, and I knew she was coming. Her

pussy began to flush out its moisture. Her frantic fingers were working

her liquids to a froth. Wetness running down her thigh. Then it hit. She

buckled down. Froze for a beat, held her breath. Then followed with

rapid breaths and confusion.

I'd

have gone to her to hold up, but I was the voyeur in the scenario. I

was the watcher. I stroked my cock vigorously. Years ago, I'd watch her

from this spot and let my cum hit the window and splatter.

Mandy

staggered forward toward my bed. I could tell she was in the midst of

her orgasm. She flopped face down, feet on the floor, ass up then

grasped her ass cheeks pulling them open revealing her perfect pink

asshole and her swollen backpussy. Her slit was covered in her frothed

pussy juices making it look like someone had spat on her. She writhed as

she held herself open.

"Inside me.; Inside," she begged.

I

knew what she wanted. She had her rule. Lying there, looking like a hot

mess, a rutting animal, and I couldn't have been more aroused. While

she was always so elegant, in this moment, bent over the bed, spreading

her ass so I could find her pussy, she looked desperate; and that was

turning me on. The woman was begging for my seed, humiliating herself

like a cocksleeve.

I

had four feet to cover to get to her, but being turned on as I was, I

could feel my load swelling and seeking exit. I fumbled forward and got

my cock in between her ass cheeks pressing on her anus, she tipped up,

causing my cock to track down to her massively swollen labia.

At

that point I simultaneously began to cum and sink into her swollen

pussy. My cock was positioned perfectly, and the fatness of her walls

created a pleasant friction is I entered.

I

could visualize my sperm splashing on her cervix. Washing its way into

the nooks of her pussy, painting her with the thick white batter. My

first volley was violent, and she reacted with an unladylike grunt. But

then again, there was nothing ladylike here. She was presenting herself

like cattle, and I was riding her like a breeding bull.

Finally,

we were done. I stayed inside her as long as I could until my cock

gently eased out. Free from me, she crawled onto the bed and collapsed. I

joined her, my wet cock laying on her thigh, the remnants of my cum

leaking from her swollen labia.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For what?"

"Spying on you way back then."

"I could have closed the blinds," she whispered. "I chose not to."

It dawned on me that this thing we were doing had started a long time ago.

It was only 9 AM as we both fell asleep, exhausted from what would be a day spent in each other's arms and each other's bodies.

Chapter 7: The Costco Run.

We

reached the middle of the summer, and I began thinking about my return

to school. With just a year left until my law degree, I suddenly felt

unmotivated to return.

Our

experience in front of Gideon continued to resonate as we both felt

emboldened to try new things. Nothing risky. Just deeper exploration.

It

was mid-afternoon, Mandy and I had finished having sex and lay in my

bed looking at the ceiling, our bodies glistening in the post-coital

glow. Mandy turned to me.

"So, I heard some great gossip at book club last night."

"Was it about the LDS mom who's banging the kid next door?"

"Ha,

they wish. No, it's about Kristi Haskett. You know her, big tits.

Fakes, by the way. So, it turns out she pegs her husband. They're

totally peggers."

"Really?"

"I'd never have pegged them as peggers," she said, laughing at her own joke.

I looked at her quizzically,

"You don't know what pegging is, do you?"

She smiled, knowing I had busted her.

"No idea. None."

"Just Google it."

"I

can't. The Bishop's nanny program won't let me see the result. Believe

me, I tried, and all I got were pegs to put on the wall to hold a coat.

Is that part of it?"

"No, not even close."

She rolled over and gave me a playful punch.

"Tell me."

I shook my head no, enjoying this moment with her.

"Tell me!"

Again, I shook my head no. She rolled on top of me, so she was looking down at me, her tits hanging just above my mouth.

Take a good look, because if you don't tell me, that'll be the last time you see these for a while.

I knew she was teasing and pulled her close to me.

"Okay, alright. So, pegging is when the woman wears a strap on dildo and then she; she fucks the guy.”

"In his ass?" she said with legitimate surprise.

"That's pretty much the only hole he has to offer."

She

rolled off me and looked at the ceiling. I know she was imagining her

friend Kristi wearing a dildo and fucking her husband Earl from behind.

"That's wild. And he likes it?"

"He? Well, I guess so."

But it goes against the reasons for having sex."

"The reasons for having sex? Isn't it about pleasure?"

"We'll of course, but a man's seed, it belongs in the cunt."

"That again. Well, in this case, there is no seed, it's just a plastic dick in Mr. Haskett's ass."

"Do you want to try it?"

Finally, this conversation was going in a direction I liked. But I had to play it off just a little.

"Me? I never thought about it."

She looked at me, peering right through me, then took my phone, opened my Amazon app, and typed in "strap on dildo.”

"Holy cow, there are so many to choose from. Look at all these."

She showed me the screen, with all sizes, shapes and colors.

Pulling

back the sheets, she looked at my cock which was slightly thicker than

my normal flaccid state, still having an excess of blood from our recent

session.

I think you're about seven inches when you're erect. Is that right?

"Seven and a half, I mean, maybe seven and a half. I never measured."

Again, she looked at me with her all-knowing smile.

"You never measured that beautiful cock? Right. I want this to feel the same in you as it would in me."

I panicked a little. Something of this size in me, I wasn't sure.

"Wait," I cried out.

"Too

late. It'll be here tomorrow. Let's see, I've got Garden Society at

noon, then Costco. Oh, that takes forever. You should see our Costco

haul. Fills the suburban. Not my favorite thing to do."

"I'll join. I'll help you at Costco."

She looked at me quizzically.

"It's Costco, I don't know what you think we can do to each other in a Costco;"

"No, I just want to help. You said it's a lot of work. I'm off tomorrow. I can help. Let me help."

She considered it.

"Well, I don't suppose it would be too odd for my husband's intern to be helping me at Costco."

"I want to help."

"Ok, fine. I'll be out front at noon. Don't keep me waiting. I have a crammed schedule."

"It's a date. We're going on a date to Costco."

"It's not a date. It's Costco."

I made a cute pouty frowny face.

"Fine. It's a date to Costco. You can buy me a hot dog. But believe me when I say, this is shopping only. No hanky panky."

"I have no problem doing normal things with you. I'm really excited about this."

She could see that I was sincere and smiled.

"My God, you're so adorable."

She then went back to her calendar and began to find a time to sodomize me.

To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 5 parts, for Literotica.

 

The Bishop’s Hotwife: Part 2It’s not a tryst when she’s training me.

Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 5 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"You can have me any way you choose. But you must always finish in my cunt. God's seed is never to be wasted."

I found it amusing, or perhaps ironic, that she somehow integrated religion into what was essentially just a wild sexual affair.

"What about The Bishop?"

"The

Bishop is a wonderful man-a great provider, a man of the temple, a

leader. But he's impotent in the bedroom; he has been for years. I, on

the other hand, have an insatiable thirst."

"Are you on the pill? Should I get condoms?"

"No and no. But Mandy needs frequent servicing."

"Um, who's Mandy? You keep saying her name."

"Me, I'm Mandy. At least here in the non-kosher bedroom. Amanda, Mandy. Get it?"

"I'm not even used to calling you Amanda; and now you have a nickname.

She wrinkled her nose at me.

"That

name is meant for our shared use; no one else. As for Mrs. Barton, you

should probably keep that up in public. We can't display any informality

around The Bishop; he's a very intuitive man."

Mrs.

Barton got on her knees and straddled my body. I hoped she was going to

shed the robe, which she did, but only partway. She took off the top,

revealing her tits.

"Now, if there are no more questions, I want to feel you inside me."

Her

tits were large for her petite frame and hung down with some weight.

Her areolas and nipples were surprisingly larger than I'd have imagined.

She was always tan, but her tits were milk-white, and I could even see

the blue of her veins.

She remained hovering over me, but when my cock began to stir, I could feel it pressing against something fleshy and wet.

She smiled.

"You like them. I can tell."

"They're amazing."

"They are. Now watch this."

She

took her left hand and grasped the nipple of her left tit, placing her

hand above the nipple and pushing down as she squeezed.

To

my shock and amazement, twin tiny streams of milk shot out of her

nipple, landing on my face; she continued to squeeze, and droplets of

her mother's milk followed.

I was amazed, and I continued to harden in response. I could feel my cock pressing on the wet flesh under her robe.

"This is for John-John. I can't get pregnant while I'm breastfeeding, so we won't need any protection."

"You sure? That sounds like some kind of myth."

I

have five children; I've nursed them all for over a year. I've made

love countless times and never conceived while I breastfeed. So, no, we

don't need any protection. We'll celebrate each other's bodies as God

intended, natural, skin on skin, intimate. I'll do anything you desire,

and you'll leave your seed in me. We cannot waste what the Lord has

provided.

She held out her tit.

"Now, would you like to taste?"

I

was unsure, but my cock was certain. It surged yet again against her

body. I could not tell where, but a small trickle of hot fluid dripped

from within her and drenched my glans let me know I was almost inside

her pussy.

She

bent forward, holding her left tit out, bringing it to my mouth. Her

purple nipple was saturated in the milk she had already produced, and

she gently guided it around my lips, wetting them.

I

opened my mouth wider, and she pushed her thick teat inside, like a

cock penetrating a cunt. She was forceful, and her tit flesh filled my

mouth as her nipple sought out my tongue and urged my mouth to latch on.

I could smell her clean body and the scent of her milk.

"Come on, Bryant, taste Mandy."

My

mouth closed on her tit, creating suction, and my tongue stimulated her

nipple, telling her nerves it was time to produce. There was nothing,

and then she gave a gentle sigh. I could feel a strange sensation as her

milk ducts contracted, followed by a letdown, and her breast milk

filled my mouth.

"There's a good boy," she said as she went from straddling me to sitting directly atop my cock.

The

warmth of her pussy enveloped my cock. I wasn't inside her, but her

cunt was around the length of my cock like the bun of a hot dog, sliding

back and forth, wetting and preparing it.

Slowly, she took her teat out of my mouth. I chased it slightly, but she pulled it away, drying it with the robe.

"That's all for you. The rest is for John-John."

She slid back and forth over my cock, using her pussy to sense how hard I was.

"You want me to take a shower first?" I offered.

"No,

I want to taste your sweat; I want to smell your animal scent. Now, one

more thing. Take off that lingerie. From here on out, you're in charge

of me. You tell me what you want. You tell me what you're going to do to

me. You can punish me if I displease you."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "That feels kind of, I don't know."

"Have

you heard the term Trad Wife? It means a traditional wife. That's me. I

serve my husband and my family. Cook the meals, get the children off to

school. Being a trad wife is my full-time job."

This wasn't the conversation I needed as I was about to enter her.

A

man should treat his woman with love and respect, but with a firm hand.

My job is to please my husband. In this bed, I am your property.

"But I'm not your husband."

"In this house, you are. I answer to you. You'll treat me as your wife, and I'll serve you as my husband."

And outside this house?

"I'm Mrs. Barton. Wife of Bishop Barton and expect you to honor that."

I was starting to comprehend her game and her rules.

I

had always heard the joke: When Mormon girls go bad, they go really

bad. But no one ever told me when Mormon moms go bad, they go

incredible.

I decided to test the waters.

"Ok, Mandy, take off that robe and let me see your body."

Mandy

complied by getting off the bed and dropping her robe, standing before

me unadorned and unabashed. At least now I could see her entire body.

She

was of average height, neither short nor tall, but she had a petite

frame. You wouldn't know she had given birth to five children when

clothed, yet her body revealed some signs of childbirth and early middle

age.

Her

tits, full and natural, bore the unmistakable signs of the milk she

carried. Still, they retained a sexy fitness that was undeniably

alluring.

She

had some flaws, and while they were few, they made her all the more

alluring. Her soft body bore the marks of her life. Her waist had a

gentle, elegant curve, and despite having given birth a year ago, her

skin remained tight. Her hips were full, and the only hint at the five

children she had borne was the slight softness of her midsection.

Her pubic hair was neatly groomed above her perfectly bare slit. I could see her labia lips were large and hung down.

"Do I please you?" she asked.

She was very intentional in her statements.

Sure,

she said I was meant to be in control, but I realized that she was

someone who understood her power and required no one's permission to

claim it.

She had orchestrated everything to lead us to this moment and was entirely unapologetic.

"You do."

I

got up off the bed and tore off the lingerie, ripping it in half until I

was standing before her naked. My cock was now fully erect.

I

guided her to the bed, and she sat and scooched back. I sat next to her

and slowly moved in. This incredible woman had masturbated me and then

offered herself to me without limits, and yet I hadn't even kissed her.

She

looked at me as I moved in for a gentle kiss. When our lips connected, I

could feel a true spark of passion. Putting her hand around my neck,

she pulled me in tight and opened her mouth to explore mine. Her hand

slid to my erection and began to masturbate me gently. I could tell she

wasn't trying to make me cum but was testing to see if I had refracted.

I

let my hand drift to her tit, gently rubbing her nipple with my thumb.

How we held each other and pressed our bodies together was strangely

intimate and felt right.

I didn't feel like an adulterer. I felt like I belonged with her, and she belonged with me. My non-kosher wife.

I

desperately wanted to feel her mouth on my cock. I knew I could tell

her to suck it, but I wanted this to be her choice. I gently pushed on

her head, letting her know my desire.

Far

more experienced than I, she began to kiss her way down my body. She

licked around my nipples and across my chest, taking in the salt of my

sweat.

When

she finally reached my cock she licked it gently, put the tip in her

mouth and ran her tongue around a band of rough flesh under the thick

cap. Looking up at me with a smile.

"I love a circumcised cock. So good-looking. So perfect. The Bishop isn't circumcised."

I

wasn't looking for a conversation or debate about the aesthetics of

circumcision, and I did not want to discuss another man's cock.

Fortunately,

she put her mouth over my cock and took it gently in her mouth. I could

feel her tongue working the underside of my shaft while she slid down

the base and gently pulled back.

She was taking her time, enjoying the thickness of my cock as it begged for more friction.

My girlfriend had never been keen on blow jobs, and more than once, she used her teeth, which was always a deal breaker.

But

Mrs. Barton; I mean, Mandy, came with all the care of an experienced,

passionate lover, and her mouth-work was sending shivers through my

body.

I'd

have been happy to cum in her mouth, but the build-up to this moment

was too intense, and I reminded myself I needed to finish deep inside

her per her instructions.

Mandy

moved her body, so she was down between my legs, my cock still in her

mouth, her eyes looking up at me as she continued to bob slowly in and

out.

I

could see the wet sheen her saliva left when she would pull up on my

cock, and then it would disappear as her mouth returned to the hilt.

She

then pulled back, and my cock popped out of her mouth and slapped

against my body with a wet, meaty sound. When she lifted my balls and

took her tongue to my perineum I could feel her cleaning my flesh and

teasing my anus, almost daring me to cum.

She

finally crawled forward, moving over my body until her mouth was on

mine again. Her weighty tits were pressing on my chest. She held my face

as she kissed me gently.

"Baby, I know you want to be inside me, but would you taste me first?"

While completely unabashed, she had a way of suggesting the most lurid things most innocently.

"Taste you?"

"Uh

huh. The Bishop won't go down on me. He considers it filthy. It's been

so long since I've had a tongue in there. I love a tongue inside me."

What

I wanted to do was fuck her, but the way she offered me to sample her

pussy was inviting. I pushed on her shoulder to roll her over so I could

go down on her, but she wanted to serve me.

She

held me down and sat up, straddling my lower torso so that the round of

her ass was just above the tip of my pulsating cock and she began to

scooch forward.

She

put a pillow behind my head and slid her wet pussy along my torso and

then chest, leaving a trail of her glistening essences behind her.

As

she shuffled forward, bringing her cunt to my face, I got a better look

at the object of my desire. She had shaved her labia lips, revealing a

pronounced pubic mound. Above the mound, she kept a neatly maintained

field of thin pubic hair. Her pussy was swollen, and I could see she had

surprisingly larger inner lips.

She

smelled clean and wholesome and held still, allowing a long, clear

string of her pussy juice to drip off her thick purple labia lips. It

just held there, waiting for gravity to claim it.

She gyrated gently, and the drizzle of her thick glycerin effusion dripped down to my waiting tongue like drool.

I ran her thick honey across my lips with my tongue.

She

lowered herself to my waiting mouth, leaving my nose free to breathe as

she ground herself against my face with a long moan of pleasure.

I

immediately went to work with my mouth and tongue. She took both hands,

leaned forward and began running her fingers through my hair. Rising

and falling methodically, she kept her hand in my hair, pulling it as

she rode my face with indulgence.

Her gentle moans were like music, and the taste of her cunt was as intoxicating as the strongest liquor.

Occasionally, she would clear her hair from her face and grasp her heavy tits, massaging them as she enjoyed the ride.

She

leaned in again, grasping my head, and, in doing so, brought her clit

to my mouth. It was large, and when my tongue found it, she let out a

moan and pulled on my hair painfully.

She widened her stance, pressing her pussy harder into me, making certain her clit was grinding against my tongue.

"Oh, my God, Bryant," she moaned and let out a cry that turned into a prolonged moan.

I attacked her clit again, and she shook her hands like she was bearing witness in a Baptist church.

Looking

up, her nourishing breasts heavily swayed with her body. Her nipples

were red and swollen again, and I could not resist the temptation to

reach up and knead them.

Despite

their density, they were butter soft. She brought her hands to mine. I

thought to move them from her sensitive nipples, but instead, she guided

me, showing me how she liked her tit touched and then brought my

fingers to her nipples, teaching me how to draw milk from her with my

fingers.

She leaned forward even more, positioning her clit right where I could suckle it like a third nipple.

"Oh my God," she moaned. "Please."

She

was unaware of her body's reaction to the pleasure and began squeezing

her legs against my head as she attempted to push the top of her pussy

into me.

"I'm going to cum, baby. I can't hold it; the tongue. I've missed your tongue so much."

She

didn't know what to do with her hands, so she placed them on her ass as

she let out long wails that sounded like she was crying.

I looked up at her, but there were no tears, just eyes closed in bliss and her mouth open with her tongue halfway out.

Putting

my hands on her ass I held her still as I moved my face from across her

cunt, attacking and painting her clit with my saliva.

She

put her hands up and cupped her tits, one in each hand, holding them

like two loaves of soft bread dough. Looking down at me, she smiled to

see me watching her.

There

was a gentle gush of her juices, and her taste changed, with a hint of

sweetness mixed in with the savory tastes I had been enjoying.

She was plateauing. Her breathing increased, I could feel her leg muscles tense, and the walls of her cunt turned purple.

Initially,

it wasn't hard to find her clit, but now this close to orgasm, it

retreated under its thick hood. I tried to chase it.

Turns

out that's a button a man needs to stop pressing at some point. Rather

than give me a lecture on proper clitoral attention, she scooched

forward, sliding her greased labia over my face and putting her clit out

of range of my mouth.

My old girlfriend had petite, quiet orgasms, but not Mandy. Her legs shook; her pussy began to flare.

My

hands were still on her ass as my forefinger found the dark star of her

anus. It was soaked from my saliva and her effluence, and when my

finger pressed, it dilated enough for me to enter her dark opening. Her

reaction was instantaneous.

"Oh, that feel so weird," she moaned.

Perhaps

I was the first to venture into that darkness. I'd have to ask later

because, at this moment, with my finger only a knuckle deep in her ass,

her orgasm gripped her like a bomb. She let out a loud wail, which would

have woken all the children if we had any, and then she went rigid. I

pushed my wandering finger deeper as her inner muscles clamped down

around it.

A

thin sheen of perspiration covered her body as she gently ground her

pussy against my face, careful to keep her overstimulated clit away from

further action. Her cunt was covering my nose and mouth, and if she

didn't dismount soon, I'd have to push her off to grab some air.

She

leaned right, broke the tight seal of over my mouth, and rolled off me

as her wetness and my saliva stretched in thin, glistening strands of

her elastic effluence.

My finger was still in her ass, and she gently reached back to pull it out.

"Easy on the finger, babe. It's been a while since anything's gone in that doorway."

Well, that answered the question. I wasn't the first to explore that passage.

She rolled to my side and lay there exhausted.

"So, you finished, right?" I asked amateurishly.

"I'm pretty sure I just rained right in your mouth. So, you figure it out."

I smiled.

"Nice move with that finger. I think you added about 30 extra seconds to that ride."

"You said it's been a while since you've done that."

The Bishop disapproves of ass play. It's not part of God's plan for procreation.

Well, neither is oral sex, I replied.

"You think The Bishop would let me sit on his face? Not a chance. By the way, thank you for that."

"You don't have to thank me. I loved it. Do you mind if I ask a personal question?"

Mandy snuggled in close to me.

"I'm an open book to you."

"Why did you marry him? I mean, he's a nice guy, but you seem so much more, I don't know; evolved?"

"I

was engaged to marry him when I was 17 and he was 30. My parents were

excited. I mean, he was on track to be a Bishop in the Church, and now

he is. We got married a week after I turned 18, and I started having

babies. We're a good LDS couple, doing our duty to the church."

I didn't want to question the word "good" as I lay naked next to her, so I changed gears.

"How much longer with the nursing thing? I mean, I like it and all, but;"

"It's time to ween John-John soon. The Bishop wants us to have two more kids."

"Two more? That's seven kids. Are you sure about that?"

"I love being pregnant. I love serving the church. I love serving The Bishop, and now I love serving you. It's what I do best."

I

did not understand this woman. She was as devout as they come, but when

she walked through the doorway to my house, she was a wild sexual beast

with no boundaries. At least none that I could discern.

I

bit my lower lip and was immediately reminded of her intimate flavors.

She noticed me licking around my mouth and brought her lips against mine

to join in.

She began to lick more aggressively, enjoying the now-drying silk her body had left on my face.

"I can be very wet at times. I should have warned you,"

She returned to kissing me and then gently began to stroke my cock.

"Will you make love to me?"

I nodded yes.

"Do you have a favorite position?" I asked.

We have got all summer to find which one we both like best. Maybe, since we're both LDS; " she let the sentence dangle.

She gazed at me with a smirk, fully aware that I was a jack Mormon, which is as far from the faith as one can get.

"Missionary. What I was going to suggest was missionary."

She

smiled and held her arms out for me. I gently rolled atop her body as

her heavy tits hung to each side of her torso. Her flesh, pressed to

mine, felt wonderful, and I would have been fine spending the evening in

her embrace.

She

brought her hand to my face and pulled me in for a kiss. It began

tentatively, both of us uncertain. But when her lips met mine, she

slipped her tongue and explored my mouth with hunger. My face glistened

with the remnants of my visit to her pussy.

She could taste the lingering tang of her arousal, and it stirred something in her.

My

cock was stiff and lying atop the rim of her slit, waiting for the

right moment to slip inside. I felt a hand and realized she intended to

guide me. She positioned the tip of my cock on the edge of her folds,

then gently put a hand on my ass and, with subtle pressure, urged me to

push in and drive myself deep inside.

I

could feel her labia part as my cock met her slick insides. I easily

slid in until my balls were resting on her perineum. Her inner walls

clenched and rippled in response to my invasion, grasping my cock and

massaging it. It felt amazing.

I

was inside her and pleasing her became my only goal. She was older and

more experienced and I was worried about being clumsy, about

disappointing her.

"It feels so good right now," she cooed. "So good."

I

felt myself stiffen. She kissed me some more, holding my face and then

licking off some of the flavors that glistened around my mouth. I began

to gently pump my cock slow in and out as she whispered.

She sensed my hesitation, brought her hands to my face, gave me a soft kiss, and whispered.

"There's nothing to worry about. Just let yourself feel."

"I want you to enjoy this," I replied.

"I already am. Yours is the biggest I've ever had inside me."

I

smiled, realizing I had at least one thing over The Bishop. Although it

wasn't a competition, I took it as a victory. That alone inspired me to

prove my worth as a lover to her.

I

began to push my hips toward her, thrusting, pushing my cock deeper

into her pussy. She matched my pace, meeting my push with a roll of her

hips. After three of these gyrations, I heard small groans of pleasure.

Bending her knees, she opened them wider, anything to help me go deeper

inside.

I responded with a faster pace. Her wetness created slurping sounds which mingled with rhythmic slapping of our flesh.

"I'm so close, Ethan," she said loudly.

There was no need to whisper or sneak about. In our non-kosher kitchen, she felt safe letting her voice be heard.

Those

gentle groans quickly grew into wails of pleasure. I could feel my

orgasm building. It began in my fingers, moving to my core. My balls

swelled, and I could feel the rush of semen as it raced through my

urethra, seeking exit into her moistness.

I

let out a primal grunt as my orgasm began. Instantly, her body met my

surges of semen with a grinding roll of her hips. She was a master at

this. No wonder she had been pregnant for most of the past 18 years.

I could feel pulse after pulse of cum leaving my body in exchange for a prolonged feeling of absolute bliss.

Mandy

was panting, breathing hard, but the moment she felt my cum splash

inside her, she let out a moan of pleasure that came from her core.

Deep

within her, my semen moved aggressively, looking for any place to

stick. Our bodies were now acting on instinct as my sperm-filled seed

pushed past her acidic barriers, seeking her cervix.

As

I gently slowed my gyrating, I pulled out halfway to see my cock

glistening with a generous coating of my cum. The smell of semen and her

intoxicating aroma, in addition to my unbathed sweat, filled the room

with the tell-tale odor of fucking.

When

I finally pulled out, a gentle backflow of her fluids and my cum,

trickled along the fourchette of her cunt, pooling on the sheets in a

thick puddle.

She lay there still, enjoying the last moment of her decaying orgasm.

"I

had forgotten how good it feels," she said to no one. She then reached

down and smeared the mixture of our union that covered her pussy inside

and out.

"Look at the mess we made." She whispered.

I dwelled on the statement.

What a mess we made.

I had just fucked the wife of my boss, my neighbor, a good Mormon woman, a pillar of the community.

What a mess, indeed.

I

knew the right thing to do was to end this here and now. We had fun;

this was the right time to end this game before it got any messier.

I

turned to her, determined to draw the line. She lay on the bed, glowing

in the moment looking incredible. I searched for the words.

"I think you need a shower," She said with a giggle. She smiled and ran her finger along the underside of my cock.

"Don't worry. I'm going to join you. I want to bathe my non-kosher husband. Would you like that, baby?"

I

could feel myself stiffen. If we were making a mess, I was happy to be a

part of it. My speech about drawing a line would have to wait.

Chapter 2: He's A Keeper.

Four

years ago, my neighbor, Wayne Bryant, was worried about his son, Ethan,

who was entering his senior year at Georgetown. Ethan was researching

law schools, and Wayne hoped The Bishop would provide guidance and

influence to navigate the application process and supply the necessary

letters of recommendation.

We

were in DC and had lunch planned in Georgetown. I was excited to see

Ethan again after several years away from Provo. At the last minute, The

Bishop was too busy to attend but encouraged me to meet with Ethan,

reconnect, and learn more about him; he would base his recommendations

on my feedback.

He

wandered into the restaurant, and I nearly gasped. The boy had grown

up. He hugged me and said I hadn't aged a day in the four years since

he'd last seen me. He, on the other hand, had matured and now exuded a

polished charm with a youthful glow that seemed almost unfair. He was a

blend of boyish mischief and adult poise, and I could picture him as the

kind of guy who could win over your parents and then convince you to

sneak out to a party.

We

talked about his future. He asked about his dad, whom he hadn't seen in

a while. He asked about my kids, all of whom were doing great. This

wasn't just conversation; this young man was deeply interested in what I

had to say.

I

got around to mentioning Harvard. He was still undecided about the

school, unsure if he could get in. But I assured him The Bishop could

make it happen.

I

didn't bother to tell him; we owed his father a debt of gratitude, so

getting Ethan into Harvard was our priority and if The Bishop wanted it

to happen, it would happen.

An older woman selling flowers from table to table interrupted our conversation.

"Would you like to buy a flower for your girlfriend?" she asked Ethan.

"Oh, I'm not his;" I started to say.

Ethan interrupted me and pulled out some cash.

"I would."

He chose a beautiful rose and handed it to me.

"Thank you, young man," she said then looked at me.

"He's a keeper this one," and then moved on to the next table.

"Well, I guess I'm your girlfriend now."

He smiled with that unending charm of his.

"At least until lunch is over."

"That was nice of you to buy that young woman’s flowers. She looks like she needs that money."

And you looked like you needed a flower, so everyone wins."

There it was. The one virtue that trumps all others; empathy. Ethan cared about everyone. Even me.

We

resumed our conversation about law school, home, and various other

topics, but I was lost in the moment. My mind wandered, as it often

does, and I envisioned myself as his girlfriend, enjoying lunch and

planning our future together.

A

text from The Bishop brought me back to my senses. Ethan walked me to

my Uber, and I left. I chose to leave the flower in the Uber when I

returned to The Bishop. There was nothing inappropriate about it; I just

didn't want to share that gesture with anyone else.

Though

I left the flower behind, I couldn't shake my thoughts of this

remarkable man. That encounter left a mark on me. With so much going on

in my life, the last thing I needed was a crush on my neighbor's son. I

thought time and distance would take care of it.

It did.

Until it didn't.

When

he returned for his father's funeral, it all came rushing back. He was

so sad, but carried himself with a quiet empathy. I watched as his gaze

often drifted toward the casket of Wayne Bryant, hallowed by the

finality of it all. He would be returning to Boston to finish his

degree, and I doubted he would ever be back.

The selfish side of me wanted him back here.

That's when I came up with the idea for the internship with The Bishop's firm.

It's

been a month since he came home, and so far I've accomplished

everything I set out to do. After just a week of flirting, we ended up

in bed. Over the past three weeks, we have made love fifteen times. It

would be more if I could manage it.

The

fantasies I created in my head when I sat across from him at our lunch

in Georgetown pale in comparison to the intensity of our recent bodily

unions.

I looked at myself in the mirror and fixed my hair. Ethan liked it when I wore it down, no ponytail.

"I'm

going for a walk," I yelled and quickly left. I started my walk,

stopping to talk to the Joyces as they headed out for the day.

When

I was sure no one was watching, I ducked into the woods behind Ethan's

house and made it to the back door using my code to enter.

Ethan

and I had been holding our non-kosher kitchen meetings for three weeks

now. He was a study in virility, and I found that he could rise to the

occasion two, and sometimes three, times a day.

Sometimes

I would enter through the front door with food deliveries or cleaning

supplies; nothing suspicious there. At other times, I slipped in through

the backyard. It was difficult to keep my visits to his home a secret,

but the rewards were incredible.

I

found a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me on the counter, with a

bottle of Kahlúa next to it. I poured a few ounces of the Kahlúa into

the coffee and noticed a small box with a bow beside the coffee.

A

gift! I love receiving gifts. Whether small or large, I've always

viewed gifts as a token of appreciation for my dedication to everything.

I took the box and the coffee upstairs to our bedroom, where I could

hear my young husband in the shower.

Bryant

had adapted beautifully to our game of playing house. I could see how

excited he got when I called him husband, and I loved it when he called

me his wife.

"I'm

home, baby," I shouted over the sound of the running water. I loved

watching him in the shower. His youthful body was strong and muscular.

The Bishop had a rather hairy physique and a soft belly, which I found

unappealing, but this young man was my Adonis.

Ethan

was hairless other than around his cock, and I loved the touch of his

skin. He was also so responsive to my needs, grooming his pubic hair

very short as a courtesy to me. Small efforts always meant the most to

me.

He

was always so focused on my pleasure, even though I had to remind him

that it was unnecessary. My faith required that my husband have a direct

covenant with God, and I was bound to obey my husband. Or, in this

case, my husbands.

The

church removed the "obey your husband" language a few years ago, but I

disagreed with that and continued to obey The Bishop, and now I also

obeyed Ethan, at least here in the non-kosher kitchen.

I

explained this to Ethan, who reminded me that he did not have a

covenant with God. But I did. Each time Ethan left his seed in me, it

was a spiritual experience, and through that intimate unity, I was

bringing him back into the church. By the end of the summer, he would

understand his role and place in my life.

"You got me a gift; that's not fair. I didn't get you anything."

Ethan looked out of the shower at me.

"I'm pretty sure you've given me almost everything you have."

I blushed. I had dedicated myself to pleasing this young man and was glad he noticed.

"It's jewelry," he said before I opened it.

"Ethan! I can't wear jewelry from you. People will ask questions,"

"This one you can. Open it."

I opened it to find a set of three gold ass plugs with jeweled ends, each larger than the last.

I looked up to him to catch his wry smile.

"You're a dirty boy," I said as I bit my lower lip like I used to in high school to drive the boys wild.

"Well, I didn't get you anything, but I think I can find a way to thank you for being so thoughtful."

I began to disrobe, slowly taking my top off and then unhooking my bra. I took my time, knowing he was hungrily watching me.

Turning

away I slid down my tennis shorts so he could look at my ass.

Obviously, it had been on his mind, so teasing him excited us both.

He reached out of the shower and pulled me in, pressing my body against his, his erect cock pushing on my belly.

"I love work-at-home days," he said as he kissed me.

I

loved his remote workdays. I'd spend most of my time in his bed, and

between his calls and work, he would visit me, make love to me, and then

return to his workstation, completing tasks for my husband.

I'd remain in bed, watching my shows and patiently waiting for him to return.

"So, this jewelry you got me; what do you want me to do with it?" I said as I helped lather his body.

"I want you to wear it when you're with him. I want you to feel me inside you, no matter where you go."

"Ethan, are you jealous of my relationship with The Bishop? He's my husband, too. You do understand the arrangement?"

Ethan

had begun to wash my sensitive tits, taking care not to cause them to

letdown and lactate. I had never met someone as thoughtful as this young

man.

"I

understand the arrangement, and perhaps I'm overstepping my boundaries,

but I'd appreciate it if you wore this. Don't you want to make me

happy?"

He

knew I did. The truth is that the idea of carrying a symbol of our

relationship into my public life was both exhilarating and terrifying.

I had my rules, and they were risk-averse, so why was I so excited about his suggestion?

I changed the subject.

"Gideon is leaving for his mission next week. We're having a send-off barbecue next Saturday. I really want you to attend."

Ethan bristled at the idea of a backyard barbecue. I could see he wasn't too interested.

"Those are for family," he said, looking for a way out.

"You are family, I replied. You're mine, and through me, you are family. I expect you to attend."

Of course, I had surrendered authority to Ethan when we began this summer fling, so I needed to sweeten the pot.

"I'll make a deal with you: I'll wear my special gift all day, along with those red panties you like. All day, under my skirt."

I stroked his cock to accentuate my point.

"Just. For. You."

Ethan bit his lip. I could see the wheels turning.

"All day?"

"All day, just for you."

I

had him. Men are easy to control when desire is involved. Having Ethan

over was going to be thrilling. However, adding the ass plug was going

to be a challenge.

There

was no time to dwell on the barbeque because Ethan had begun to gently

massage my ass with soap and water, while holding my body against him.

He ran his finger along my backside crease, stopping on the clench of my

sphincter.

His

gentle touch made my nipples harden, and I quickly forgot my concerns

about next week. Ethan was pressing his finger on my ass, silently

asking permission to enter.

"Tell me what to do," I whispered, urging him to take command.

"Let me in," he replied and pushed harder.

The

warm water had relaxed my sphincter muscles, with a second push, my ass

relented, and his finger sunk in up to the knuckle. The invasion sent

electricity across my body, and I let out a gentle sigh.

"You'll wear it at the barbecue," he started, "When that's over, you make an excuse to come over here, and I'll; "

"Say it. Say what you'll do to me," I pleaded. He pushed his finger in deeper.

"I'll fuck your ass. That's what I want and that's what you're going to do."

I was happy to see him taking control.

His single digit was gently massaging my anus from the inside.

"What if I say no?" I whispered.

He

stumbled; his finger halted probing my dark passage. He was too good a

man to ever ignore the word no. He respected women. His father had

raised him well.

I didn't want to ruin the moment.

"Don't worry baby, I'll never say no to you. If that's what you want me to do, I'll obey."

Crises of conscience avoided.

His finger resumed massaging my passage.

My hand was massaging his cock, and I could feel it stiffen at the mention of fucking my ass next week.

The finger felt good. I wanted more.

"Add a finger, baby, add a finger," I begged.

I wish he had done it without me asking. But I was training him. In time, he would stop asking for permission to do anything.

His

index finger entered with his middle finger, doubling the pressure in

my ass. I let out a small grunt of pleasure and bent forward to allow

passage.

If this was anything like what he would be doing to me next week with his cock, the pleasure factor would be incredible.

He could sense my enjoyment and gently widened his fingers in my bowels.

Suddenly, I felt the urge to pee.

Fuck, not now!

I wanted to cum, but the pressure to urinate was strong.

"I have to pee," I said to him. "I have to pee."

I wanted him to take his fingers out so I could run to the toilet.

"Go ahead," he said with indifference. "Pee."

"I've never done that in front of a man."

"I said, pee. We're in the shower, just pee."

He wasn't asking. He was telling. The pressure on my bladder was intense.

"Okay," I said between gasps. "Please don't look."

I remained leaning over, his fingers still in in my ass as I relaxed my pelvic floor and let a strong stream of urine go.

The warm pee hit the shower floor and splashed on our feet.

Inside

me, I felt the pressure leaving my body. Whenever I hold in a pee too

long, the feeling of relieving myself is one of the best, topped only by

an orgasm.

As

my stream flowed, the pressure on my bladder reduced, but the pressure

on his fingers increased, and the nerve endings surrounding my sphincter

began to fire.

The

euphoric feeling of emptying my bladder rolled directly into an anal

orgasm that I did not see coming. I felt my knees weaken and my legs

buckle. Ethan grabbed me, and I held onto him as my body shuddered

through the experience.

I

didn't need to narrate the moment. Ethan could see what was transpiring

and did his best to keep me from going to the ground as the incredible

feeling rolled on and on.

Finally, it ended. As I came down from the dual feeling of pleasure, I became self-conscious about what had transpired.

It was embarrassing to have relieved myself and orgasmed in front of Ethan.

"That was amazing," he whispered as he held me.

It

was the perfect storm. Three stimulations arriving at the exact moment;

the pleasure of relieving my bladder, the pleasure of his finger

stretching me from inside, and the pleasure of obeying his commands:

three pleasures, all mine.

I loved how it felt with him holding me as I orgasmed and didn't want him to let me go.

"How was that?" he asked.

"The best orgasm I've ever had," I said as I attempted to stand upright.

I reached out and turned off the water.

"Take me to the bed," I demanded.

I

probably could have walked, but I didn't want to. He took a towel and

wrapped me up, then carried me like a bride to the bed, depositing me

gently on the right side.

"You need to rest?" he asked.

"I've never tried anal," I confessed. "Have you?"

He shook his head no.

The

truth was, he caught me off guard with the toys. The Church frowned on

sodomy, but the Church frowned on a lot of things I had come to enjoy.

On the list of sins I was committing with Ethan, allowing him into my

ass, was probably not even in the top ten.

"I don't want it to hurt," he said. "That's why I got the set. We start small and build up."

"So, you want to train my ass to accept your cock?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so”

Ethan, what did I say to you when we first made love?

"You said you would do anything I desired,"

"Is this what you desire?" I asked.

"I think we both might like it," he said.

"Be gentle."

I then rolled over, so I was lying flat on the bed, face down. I opened my legs to allow him to explore my backside.

Face down, I could only feel and imagine what he was doing to me.

He sat next to me then spread my ass cheeks apart. I could feel his eyes studying my ass and focusing on my tight clenched hole.

"So, you and The Bishop never tried anal?"

"Never. The only fingers that have ever been in there are mine and yours."

I knew he was smiling, excited that there was a part of my body that The Bishop had never explored; virgin territory.

I reached back and gently massaged my sphincter to loosen it, but he moved my hand away.

Suddenly

I felt his tongue meet my anus as he greedily began to tease and taste

my forbidden area. The sensation of his tongue gliding over my wrinkled

knot made my heart rate increase. I squirmed slightly, but he held me

still.

I loved that feeling of being held down.

I

wanted him to understand that I was all in on his wishes and pressed my

body to his mouth as he kept my ass cheeks open with his hands as he

wet and tasted me.

My

morning cleaning ritual was thorough and deep. I'd sit on a bidet

pushing water deep inside my front and back. When it ran clean, I'd then

shower, soaping and fingering myself. I knew I was spotless back there

I could feel waves of pleasure as he circled and dipped his tongue in and out of my clench. Finally, he sat up.

"Toy time," he said.

I rolled over and looked up at him.

"Kiss me," I begged.

He gave me a look that said, You know where I just was.

"Kiss me," I demanded.

He

lowered his face to mine, and our tongues explored. I always loved

tasting myself on his face after he explored my pussy, this was no

different.

His kisses tasted tangy, with an essence of soil after a rain, rich and organic with a hint of burnt toast.

Our kiss ended and I returned to lying face down while he went to the side table where he kept all my toys.

The

next sensation was his finger, cold and slathered in cherry lube, as he

pressed it to my dark hole. After a few circles of my anus, he plunged

his finger in a single move. I reacted by kicking my leg out and making a

gentle cry of surprise.

He

grasped my leg and held it as he moved his finger gently inside my

bowel, tickling me from within. He pulled his finger out, and I had a

momentary feeling of loss. There was no time to linger as I felt the

cold metal of the smaller ass plug now pushing on my clench.

"Slow," I pleaded.

He

obeyed, pushing ever so gently against my sealed hole. He pushed again,

still my muscles resisted instinctively, knowing nothing should be

coming in from that direction.

Another push, and I felt pleasure overtake pain as my sphincter began to surrender and stretch open.

God,

if this was the smallest of the three plugs, there was no way I could

accommodate anything larger, and that included Ethan's cock.

I made an unladylike grunt as he pushed, and let myself relax.

He pushed again, and this time I felt the sphincter muscles relent, allowing the egg-shaped tool to slide past my max width.

I couldn't see it, but I could feel my tight hole being held open wide. I could probably push it out or it at this point.

I

contracted my core, and my muscles quickly pulled it inside me. My

sphincter snapped shut like a mousetrap leaving only the jeweled end of

the plug outside my body.

"Oh my God," he exclaimed. "That was incredible."

The

egg-shaped toy was in my dark canal, just resting there, feeling like a

balloon as it pushed on my muscles, demanding they relax.

I brought my hand back to the jeweled handle to feel it’s snugness. If I wanted this thing out of me, I'd have to push it out.

Ethan

crawled next to me keeping his hand on my ass, gently massaging my

cheeks. We rolled to our sides, so we were facing each other and resumed

our kissing.

The feeling of fullness was different, making our gentle touch more intimate.

I felt an exciting rush and realized my tits were lactating. No doubt, the new sensation had caused a letdown.

I pushed Ethan's head down to my nipples, knowing he loved to feed on me when I allowed it.

Rolling

on top of him, my tits swayed over his face. He moved gently from

nipple to nipple. Far below I could feel him gently massaging his cock.

I

was ready to turn over and allow him to continue training my ass for

his cock when he surprised me by driving his cock into my pussy from

below.

Unprepared

for his entry, I let out a gasp. His thickness was compounded by the

toy in my ass, filling me in an instant. Having never felt this feeling

of fullness and intense pressure; I let out a loud groan.

I

opened my legs, allowing him in me deeper which seemed to amplify the

pleasure. Ethan was making deep groans which told me my pussy must have

been gripping him like a vice. At this rate he would cum soon.

I

moaned loudly, as I often do at Ethan's house. I needed to let my

husband know that the level of pleasure he was providing me was unlike

anything I had ever felt.

As

he began to increase his rhythm, we were both on our way to orgasm. Our

bodies slapped together, and I could hear a faint wet sound, like a

gentle "plat, plat, plat.”

That

toy in my ass changed my physiology, and I soon realized the wet noises

were coming from me. Each thrust and pulled, was met with the noises of

air rushing in and of my saturated and strained labia. That sound was

me as my cunt trapped and released air.

I

knew if we stopped and repositioned, I could make the embarrassing

sound stop, but I was too close to finishing. The strained nerve endings

in my ass, his thick cock pounding my wet folds, stopping now to

readjust was out of the question.

My muscles tensed. It was the point of no return.

"Harder," I begged, He complied, heightening the sound he was forcing my pussy to make.

My vision blurred, and the rising orgasm filled my body.

My

inner walls began to clench and flutter as my cunt realized the

infiltrator was close to delivering his payload. His rich, life-giving

semen.

My heavy tits started to ache as they swung. But at that moment, I accepted the dull ache because my impending orgasm was close.

I

felt his strokes growing stronger. We were in sync, and I prayed we

would find bliss together. There is nothing more perfect than arriving

in unison with your partner, especially one as beautiful and perfect as

Ethan.

Suddenly

I felt a strange pressure, and realize as my orgasm was sweeping over

me, the anal contractions that were so closely associated with my orgasm

were pushing the ass plug out.

I

let out a loud groan as the plug was expelled from my ass triggering my

vaginal orgasm. I had little control over my body and despite an

embarrassing sound of from my ass due to trapped air escaping, I came

hard. Very hard.

Only

as I was on my way down did I notice the feeling of his ejaculation. It

was only a few seconds, but it felt longer. I was now being filled with

Ethan's semen, causing my elation to roll on and on as I let out a long

moan, audibly rewarding my man with gasps and moans.

Ethan

stayed connected to me for as long as he could. I could feel residual

pulses from his cock as my pussy did its natural job of squeezing every

drop of his release. He knew this was my desire and never failed to do

as I asked.

We came to a stop, and I looked down at him with a smile.

His

cock slid out, and I experienced that momentary feeling of loss when

his cock left my cunt, leaving me feeling empty but fulfilled.

Deep

within me, I could feel his semen warming my cervix. This was our holy

communion, and I remained faithful to God, determined to keep my man's

seed inside my vessel.

We lay there breathing hard.

"I thought you wanted to try it the other way," I asked my now spent young man."

"Today was your training day. When you're able to take the large plug, then you'll be ready for me."

That

small plug had pushed me to the limit, and I had no idea how I could

fit the medium one or the large one, and then Ethan himself.

But that boy did create anticipation.

It

was bad enough I could barely wait to get over to his house for our

time together, now I had the added layer of wondering when he would take

my anal virginity.

Chapter 3: Thanks For Coming.

I

arrived at the Barton house holding a tub of potato salad. This type of

family backyard event wasn't my preference. Adding to my growing

fondness for Mrs. Barton, I wasn't sure how it would feel to mingle with

her family in the presence of her husband and his boss, The Bishop.

The

door opened, and I was greeted by a blonde-haired young woman with an

endless smile. I recognized her, but it had been years.

"Hannah?"

"Bryant," the young woman exclaimed, giving him a warm hug.

This was Hannah, Amanda's oldest daughter.

"Wow, Hannah, I don't think I've seen you since like five years ago."

She took his hand, leading him through the large home.

"Oh God, that was my awkward phase. I wore braces for two years."

Hannah had always been the girl-next-door type, but now she had filled out and was a knockout.

"I've been meaning to stop by and tell you how sad I was about your dad. He was such a nice guy. So sweet."

"Thank you,"

"Every time I want to go over, my mom says no. She said to give you your space."

"Oh, well, your mom really means well. She's been a big help to me this summer."

She guided me to the backyard, where a large gathering of family, friends, and esteemed church members was taking place.

"Are you going on a mission as well?"

"No, just Gideon. I'm heading off to BYU in the fall. I'll do a mission later, maybe my senior year."

"Where are they sending Gideon?"

"Chicago," she then lowered her voice.

"My dad can pull strings, so none of us are going to end up in some shithole country."

"I looked at her, somewhat surprised by her language."

"My dad's words, not mine. Where did you do your mission?"

"I didn't. I kind of stepped away from the church in high school."

"Oh, a Jack Mormon. Be careful! Mom will do her best to bring you back into the fold."

"Oh, she's been trying."

Hanna spotted her mother.

"Mom, look who's here. Bryant!"

"Well, hello, Bryant," she said cordially.

"Hello, Mrs. Barton. Thank you for inviting me. "I feel blessed to be included."

"Hannah, it's almost time for John-John to nurse. Would you be a dear and bring him to the family room?"

"Sure, Mom. Hey Bryant, can I talk to you about law school? I've been thinking about”

"Hannah go take care of John John. Now!" Mrs. Barton said in a firm tone that resonated with her daughter. She smiled and left.

"So, you came." The hot milf said, turning her focus on me.

"I promised I would. Speaking of promises, did you; "

"If you think I'm going lift my skirt and show what's inside my ass, well, you'll need to trust me."

She was as firm with me as she was with Hannah. I had to remind myself that I wasn't her husband here. Here, I had no authority.

"Hannah sure has grown up. She was telling me about BYU."

She looked at me with a stern face.

"Please don't spend time with Hannah. She has priorities, but right about now, she's a bit boy crazy."

"I was just being polite."

"Oh, I know. But let's not distract her, shall we? Listen, I have to speak with the other wives. Will you be okay on your own?"

I

nodded in agreement and watched her leave. I wasn't offended by how she

spoke to me; this was her house and family, and I was a potential

issue.

To be continued in part 3. Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 5 parts, for Literotica.

 

The Bishop’s Hotwife: Part 1When Mormon mothers go wild, they go really wild.

Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 5 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Chapter 0: Gideon's Dilemma.

Despite living in a large home with four brothers and two sisters, Gideon Barton had little privacy. When you're 18 just about everything gives you an erection and most young men turn to porn for relief.

But in Gideon's strict Mormon household, his father, The Bishop, a respected pillar of the church, imposed restrictions on internet access, computers, and phones. Visiting sites like Pornhub or Literotica was nearly impossible.

But then again, nothing's as vivid as the mind of a horny teen, and Gideon could create fantasies from just about anything. He had masturbated to thoughts of the weather girl on channel 5, several of his teachers, and right now, his mother's good friend, Kristi Haskett.

It was the Barton's big summer backyard barbeque and Mrs. Haskett had just emerged from the pool with firm, erect nipples poking through her bathing suit. She went for her towel, but the image of her thick nipples tenting the nylon of her modest swimsuit would remain burned in his memory to be recalled for countless masturbation sessions in the days to come.

That's all it took to make Gideon's balls swell. He needed to masturbate right now. With two brothers and two sisters plus a houseful of guests for the cookout, jerking off in a bathroom wasn't going to happen.

That wasn't an issue for Gideon as he entered the spacious car barn to conduct his personal business. Much more than just a garage, The Bishop had built the car barn to house his collection of cars, cars he felt promoted his masculinity. The barn housed seven vehicles and the family's Gulfstream trailer.

Gideon noticed how dusty his dad's 19 74 green Bronco was. He coveted this vehicle, even if that was a sin. His mom was trying to convince his dad to let him take it to college after his mission. After all, he was an adult, and his mother believed he needed to take on responsibilities, like owning a car.

But right now, he needed to masturbate and quietly entered his go-to spot, the Gulfstream trailer.

This had become his favorite place to masturbate. It was private, and he could concentrate on his fantasy as he stroked himself.

Getting some hand lotion from the bathroom, he sat on the couch, pulled his shorts down, and lathered himself up. Gently grasping his cock, he began slowly gliding up and down the shaft.

He closed his eyes and imagined Mrs. Haskett taking him by the hand behind the garage and showing him her tits. She held them out for him, offering him one to feed on.

This wasn't going to take long. He could feel his balls swelling and then;

He heard the side door to the car barn open and someone entered.

Fuck, not now.

Mrs. Haskett's tits would have to wait. He could hear two people talking in hushed tones.

"Wow, is this what you wanted to show me? It's great. Look at the condition. This is wonderful."

The voice was familiar, and Gideon moved to the window to see who it was.

"Want to see something even better?" came a voice he recognized as his mother's voice. Why was she in here?

He peered into the car barn, trying to see who she was talking to and if they were going to leave.

Looking out, he saw his mother leaning back on the hood of his father's green Bronco like a teenage girl flirting on a date.

Whomever it was, Gideon felt he was way too close to his mother. She then turned around, leaned forward, and her skirt hiked up slightly, but not enough to reveal anything. Reaching back, she flipped it up exposing her soft white ass.

Gideon nearly fell over in shock. What was she doing?

Just then, he could see the face of the other person. It was Ethan Bryant. He lived next door; he was in his last year of law school in Boston and home for the summer, clerking for The Bishop. He was probably around 25 or 26 years old.

"You wore the red lingerie," Ethan said with a lascivious smile.

Gideon’s mother was always talking about Ethan's success at law school and kept encouraging Gideon to use him as a role model.

"That's not all," his mother replied to Ethan as she put her thumbs in the bands of her panties pulling them down to reveal her bare ass. Ethan's eyes were fixated on her behind. Gideon strained to see, but from his angle, there was no looking into that dark abyss.

"How long have you;"

"All day. Just for you," she interrupted.

"Oh my God. How does it feel?" Ethan asked.

Gideon's mind was racing. How does what feel? Did she get some kind of piercing? What was he looking at?

"Full, I feel wonderful, but full. I had a spontaneous orgasm about an hour ago. I was sitting there, and it hit me when I was talking to Sara Carlton. She asked if I was Okay."

Gideon remembered noticing his mother shivering earlier when she was talking to Mrs. Carlton. What the hell was going on?

"You're amazing," Ethan said in a loud whisper.

Gideon's mother remained slumped over the car.

"Make it fast," she replied.

Ethan had his cock in hand in seconds. Gideon's eyes were wide. This was it. He was going to see someone have sex. Not just someone, his mother. He resigned himself to worry about that later.

Gideon watched as Ethan gently inserted himself into his mother from behind. She let out a long, plaintive groan, enjoying the moment.

Gideon thought he should run out there and put an end to this.

But he didn't.

Above anything in the world, he wanted to see people having sex. And here it was, just fifteen feet from him, a man riding an older woman from behind. They were carnal, and they were desperate. Never mind that it was his mother; this was sex, raw and unbridled, and he began to masturbate as he watched.

His mother's pelvis hitched as Ethan began increasing his cadence. It started slow, but they were picking up the pace.

Her red panties were now around her ankles. Her torso lay flat against the Bronco, and her face was a portrait of bliss.

If there was any doubt his mother wasn't a willing participant, the wet sounds of her pussy, and her less than muffled moans testified just how much she was enjoying the moment.

Gideon continued to stroke himself, pacing with the couple, not wanting to blow his load too soon.

His mother put her hands back, grasping her ass cheeks and spreading them, offering Ethan a better view of his target.

Then, out of nowhere, Ethan pulled himself out, revealing his sizable cock, dropped to his knees and planted his face in between her ass cheeks. The sounds of his mouth on her pussy echoed off the walls.

"We don't have time for you to;"

Gideon's mother never finished her sentence as she froze with pleasure.

"Oh, that fucking tongue of yours. That motherfucking tongue of yours."

From his hiding spot, Gideon was about to hyperventilate, having never heard his mother say anything more substantial than "darn it.”

Ethan stood, wiped the wetness from his face and then returned to fucking Gideon's mother from behind.

Their body friction increased, and it was evident the two were to about cum, as was Gideon. Mrs. Barton groaned loudly, followed by a metallic clank on the floor like someone had dropped a tool.

The two lovers didn't seem to notice or care and kept at each other, intent on reaching a mutual climax quickly. While Gideon's only experience with orgasm was his own, he watched his mother plateau, determined to burn the memory into his brain.

Inside the trailer Gideon was about to cum despite slow strokes, just the visuals were enough to finish him off. When he heard his mother's final groan he felt his balls swell and his cock erupted in a geyser of cum spraying on the walls and window.

With his pants around his knees, he staggered back and knocked over a box of cooking utensils, making a slight but audible clatter.

Fuck!

Gideon looked out the window again. The sound had spooked the two as his mother pulled up her panties and flipped back her dress, while Ethan zipped his shorts and straightened up.

She then led Ethan out of one of the side doors.

When Gideon was sure they were gone, he quietly exited the trailer and walked to the Bronco. The dust on the hood was disturbed, showing the buxom outline of a woman's body. On the floor was a puddle of what could only be spent cum and his mother's fluids combined.

Gideon took a rag and wiped off the dust, wiping off any evidence, then took the rag to wipe up the fluids on the ground. On his knees, he noticed something shiny under the Bronco. Reaching for it, he held it in his hand; a metallic gold ass plug, covered in a sheen lube and a bejeweled handle.

He knew what he had to do.

Chapter 1: The Homecoming.

Two years of law school were behind me, and I was returning home to Provo for my last summer. I was happy to be going home and sleeping in my old room, and equally excited that my neighbor, Bishop Barton, had secured me a legal clerking internship in his firm.

There was no better way to finish a successful law degree than clerking for Utah's most prestigious law firm, Pratt, Collins, and Barton.

I can't remember the last time I heard anyone call Rob Barton by his name. He was known as "The Bishop" due to his high standing in the LDS Church. That's the term that Mormons preferred, with LDS meaning The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although they did use the term "Mormon," that name was sometimes used in a pejorative way. Thus, using LDS avoided any possible negative connotations.

The Bishop was a mountain of a man, imposing and always the center of attention. Despite having been our neighbor for as long as I can remember, I rarely spoke to him, but my dad and The Bishop's wife had secured me this internship last year.

Then the worst happened. My father passed away suddenly ten months ago. At just 25 years old, I had faced the loss of both my parents. My mother had died when I was only three, leaving Dad and me together all those years. Our relationship was rocky at times, but he always supported me and kept me focused on a prosperous future. I felt his absence deeply now that he was gone.

He was disappointed that I had left the Mormon faith. It wasn't that I questioned the faith itself, but all faith. Still, I was respectful of his beliefs and those of my LDS neighbors.

Living in Provo meant having LDS neighbors everywhere. Honestly, I can't think of a better place and better people. Despite the slurs and jokes about the faith, my LDS neighbors were some of the kindest people on earth. When Dad died, The Bishop and his wife, Amanda, traveled to Harvard to convince me to stay in school and finish. He reminded me how important it was to my Dad that I get that degree and assured me of the clerkship. Mrs. Barton promised to take care of my dad's home. They came through on both accounts.

These were good people, and I felt fortunate to have pillars of society in my life.

Mrs. Barton was younger than The Bishop and could have been a recruiting poster for Mormon wives. She was sporty, with blond, shoulder-length hair that framed her face effortlessly. She had an attractive figure, and her larger-than-average tits always caught the church dads' attention; and their wives. But if there was one feature that could stop me in my tracks, it was her smile. It made me feel welcomed and safe.

I grew up with the Bartons. I was seven when they bought the huge house next door. My memories of Mrs. Barton are that she was always pregnant. She had her first child, Gideon, that year, and then it seemed like she was always expecting right up until last year when she had her fifth child. Perhaps that explained her large tits, which I must confess, I'd sneak a peek at whenever I could.

Mrs. Barton was a traditional wife who began by having children to continually increase the LDS population. She was always busy, driving carpool, cooking meals, and doing everything necessary to support The Bishop's vital role as a community and church leader. The affectionate term for a woman devoted to her husband and family was helpmeet. As in, she was The Bishop's helpmeet.

Of course, being seen and at the center of attention due to her husband's status caused some jealousy, and some of the catty mothers called her the "More Mom," which is a bit of a slur, especially coming from other members of the LDS faith, demeaning her role to merely being attracted to the attention she received from her status.

I found an Amazon package at the door when I arrived home. After taking it inside, I turned on the lights. The place was clean and bright for a home that hadn't been lived in for several months. Mrs. Barton had undoubtedly ensured it was cheerful upon my return.

I sorted through the stack of mail, opening some items and throwing away others, and then remembered the Amazon package. Opening it up, I was surprised to see a delicate but revealing lingerie set. I held up the red thong and bustier top, wondering where they had come from. Looking back in the box, I found a sex toy, the Womanizer. It was a vibrating suction toy that only added to the mystery.

I looked at the box and noticed that it was addressed to me, but I certainly didn't order this. I put the items back in the box and set it aside.

A day later, I was finishing my paperwork for the clerk internship when I heard someone at the door.

I opened it to see Mrs. Barton, who walked into the house as if it belonged to her. I understood her actions because she had cared for it for so long.

"Come on in," I said with a joking smile. She looked at me with a smirk.

"Sorry, I just barged in, didn't I? I'm so used to coming over here and just decompressing."

She gave me a warm hug, pressing herself against me.

"Welcome home, Bryant. We have missed you. I've missed you."

I smelled toast burning and rushed to the kitchen. She followed me. It was burnt, so I tossed it out and poured myself a cup of coffee.

I had never tasted coffee until my first year of law school. Shunned by the LDS faith as a stimulant, I avoided it until midterms, but after my first cup, I was hooked.

"Coffee? Tisk tisk, what'll I ever tell The Bishop?"

"Law school, late nights. If this is a sin, let me be burned at the stake," I replied.

"I'm sure it can be overlooked. You know how many exceptions we must make to keep the faith. I had a Long Island iced tea a few weeks ago."

Mormons don't drink coffee, and they sure as hell don't drink alcohol, let alone a strong drink like a Long Island Iced Tea.

"I was out with some friends who weren't from church. They had wine, and I innocently asked for tea. Well, I said Long Island Iced Tea. I assumed it was like a tea and lemonade drink."

"That's an Arnold Palmer," I added.

"So, I found out. I took a sip and instantly realized it wasn't made with lemonade."

She leaned in with a conspiratorial look.

"Can you keep a secret, Bryant?"

I nodded yes.

"I drank the entire drink, and by the end, I was, well, my head was spinning. I think I did a pretty good job of pretending to be sober, but I wasn't. I returned to the suburban, crawled in, and fell asleep for three hours."

"Just from the one drink?"

"Well, I had a Xanax earlier, so that combo did not help."

I looked at her quizzically.

"It's a prescription for stress. It's allowed."

While Mormons don't use recreational drugs, many of the women I knew had prescriptions for anxiety. I felt guilty because my expression made her think I was judging her.

"Of all the drinks you could order, that's like a nuclear bomb."

"Do you drink, Bryant? You drink coffee; do you also drink at bars?"

I wasn't sure if this was a test. Was she doing some recon for The Bishop?

"Me? No, I don't drink alcohol."

That was a lie.

She looked at me and studied my face.

"You wouldn't lie to me, now, would you?"

"No, I don't; "

"Have you ever experienced something so intense, so incredible that you wonder how God would make it criminal to enjoy? Like wine, for instance. Jesus drank wine, why can't we?"

"The Catholics certainly do," I replied.

"Oh my God, even Catholics are having more fun than us," she bemoaned, "and they are always miserable."

"I don't usually question the doctrines of the faith," I replied.

I was attempting to evade the question. She was probing, and I wasn't sure what she was after.

"Of course not. Neither do I. So, we'll keep this story about the Long Island iced tea between us? I can trust you?"

"If you can keep my coffee addiction between us," I replied.

"Bryant, you can trust me to keep secrets. I'm a vault when it comes to this stuff. I know what it's like to have secrets, so anything you share with me. It's in the vault."

"Coffee in the vault. Got it."

"Can I try some?" she asked.

"Try what?"

"Your coffee."

"Are you sure? It's bitter. Kind of acquired taste. And I don't want to get you in trouble."

"I'm a big girl. Plus, I don't think my husband will cast me out into the wilderness for trying some coffee. He always encourages me to try new things."

I held out the cup, and she took it in hand, inhaling the rich scent.

"It smells so good. I sometimes wander into a Starbucks just to breathe the air. It almost makes me shiver with excitement. You don't think caffeine is airborne, do you?"

"No, I don't."

I was anxious to see her taste the coffee. There was something about witnessing a grown woman, a devoted believer, break her promise to her faith before me.

It was a far cry from any real sin; it was just a sip of coffee; but the fact that she was doing this before me held an unusual sensuality. I licked my lips as she brought the cup to her mouth.

She took a long sip, let it sit in her mouth, and then swallowed.

"Wow, that's not what I thought it would taste like. I was hoping for something like the Long Island iced tea."

"Well, if I had some Kahlua and vodka, I could make this more of a fun drink."

"Do you have any?" she asked.

"Uh, no. My dad didn't drink, so no."

"Too bad. I could like coffee if it had something fun in it."

Looking around the kitchen, she noticed the pile of mail.

"Oh, that reminds me. I had a package from Amazon sent here."

Oh shit! That was hers?

"I didn't see anything. Why would you send it here?"

"Well, nothing gets into our house without one of the kids opening it. They're just feminine products, so I sent them here. I don't need my kids looking through my tampons and breast pads."

I looked at her, confused. She could see I didn't understand.

"I'm still breastfeeding John-John. I know it's time to wean him, but I've been pregnant more than not pregnant this past 18 years, and so, well, I leak a lot."

"You leak a lot?"

I was still confused.

"My tits leak. Mostly if I don't express myself or feed John-John, it can be kind of embarrassing."

I realized I was getting the bio lesson in that I did not want to hear.

"I'm sorry, Bryant, I guess I just feel comfortable around you and start blabbering. You don't need a lecture on my bodily functions."

"No, that's fine. I'm glad you feel like that. I've always felt like you were someone I could talk to, so yeah, if you want to complain, I'm your guy."

Mrs. Barton looked at me with a smile.

"You're one of the good ones, Ethan. Never change. Well, I've got to get back to the house because I've been gone 20 minutes, and there is a good chance someone has set the kitchen on fire. You know that happened once."

"Mrs. Barton, anytime you need to decompress. Come on over. You've got the door code; lie on the couch and sleep."

"I will. Thank you. And we're all adults now, so how about no more Mrs. Barton and you call me Amanda?"

I smiled.

"Amanda. Amanda, it is."

"Oh, you'll let me know when that package arrives. Will you?"

With that, she left. I watched her walk away, somewhat enamored with her. She had been so open, so relaxed, and so honest and felt more like a friend than the mom next door. It was nice she could confide in me about the struggles of family and religion.

I picked up the open Amazon box, took out the lingerie, and held it up to the light.

There was significantly less clothing than what most devout LDS women wore under their clothing. What little cloth there was, was transparent, primarily mesh. The thong was crotchless, and the bra appeared to cover only below the nipples.

I couldn't help but imagine Mrs. Barton wearing this. For a mother of five, she was remarkably fit. She wore sensible clothing, including sporty attire from Brooks Brothers and Lululemon, always maintaining a certain degree of modesty.

The thought of her wanting to wear this outfit made me see her in a different light. Clearly, it was for her intimate moments with The Bishop, and I felt awful for invading her privacy.

I put the box back together and ran a fresh strip of tape down the opening. It wasn't nearly perfect, but I'd tell her it came that way and probably got damaged in transit.

I waited a day, then texted her that the package was here and that I'd bring it over.

I'll come to get it, was her immediate reply.

A few minutes later, she arrived at the door, carrying several containers of Tupperware. She brushed past me into the kitchen and began to load them into the fridge.

"I made some meals, so you don't just live on cold cereal."

"I can cook," I replied in mock defensiveness.

The truth is, I actually was living on cold cereal, and the idea of a home-cooked meal was a welcome invitation.

I had paused the movie I was watching on Netflix. She stopped to look at the TV set.

"Is this White Lotus?" She asked.

"I think so."

"I have a confession," she said. "When I came over to look after the house, I treated myself to watching Outlander on your Netflix."

"Outlander?"

I had no idea what that was.

"It's a series, a good one. It involves time travel and a woman who's married to two men at two different times: the 19 41 in England, and then Scotland in 17 10."

"Wow, that sounds complicated."

"Oh, it is. It's like a soap opera but with lots of gratuitous sex. I mean really good sex."

"Oh, well, now I'll have to watch it," I said, realizing how awkward the response was.

"Well, you can watch porn over here. So maybe the sex on Outlander isn't so wild."

"You can't watch the series at home?"

"No, The Bishop has all our TV sets filtered to PG-13 or less. Even if I try using my phone, he has all our phones filtered, and gets nanny reports if anyone searches strong words."

"Nanny reports?"

"Software that alerts him to anything against the teachings of the church. Which is just about everything. So, I come here to watch the show. You won't tell, will you?"

"Haven't we been through this? You have my promise that your secrets are safe with me. Remember, we shared coffee, so we're deep in. Oh, I have your Amazon package."

I handed her the box, which she examined, and noticed the fresh tape.

"Did you open this?"

"Me? No. It arrived like that. Perhaps it was opened by mistake. They must have resealed it."

She studied me like I was one of her children lying about eating candy before dinner.

"Great. I might have a few more deliveries. I'll let you know when they arrive. Are you okay with that?"

"More personal care items?" I asked.

Mrs. Barton looked at the box and then right into my eyes. She was using her mom's skills to discern the truth from me.

"Ethan, did you open this box?"

God damn, she was good. I had a million lies I wanted to tell, but the truth seemed the easiest path.

"I didn't know it was for you. I didn't know, and I'm sorry."

She laughed as she pulled open the tape.

"Lousy job trying to reseal it. Don't apply to work at Amazon."

She opened the box and took out the lingerie and held it up, showing it to me.

"Sorry," was all I could mutter.

"It's fine. It's just some underwear and a personal care item. You can understand why I didn't want this to come to my house. The Bishop would disapprove."

"You didn't buy that to wear for him?"

Mrs. Barton kept on admiring the skimpy outfit.

"I bought it for myself."

She put down the outfit and looked at me.

"You're familiar with the sacred garments, right?"

I was somewhat familiar. The sacred garments, which are often called magic underwear by non-Mormons, are a bland nylon top and bottom worn by LDS men and women under their clothing.

You had to have gone on a mission or been married in the church to qualify to wear them. I had done neither, nor did I desire to.

"My dad wore them," I replied.

"That's right. He did. Well, they're not very flattering. I do my best to stay in shape. I drop down to my perfect weight after each child, and my tits remain big and appealing. I put in the work. And I like what I get to see, when I look at myself in the mirror."

She lifted her shirt slightly to reveal the unattractive white garment she wore underneath.

"But then I have to put on this thing. It's uncomfortable, not flattering, makes me sweat, and sure as hell isn't sexy."

"You don't have to wear it," I interrupted. "I know lots of faithful people who don't."

"I wear it out of respect for my husband. The Bishop is a good provider. He has his rules, and we all obey them; one is for me to wear my garments. So, I do."

"So why the lingerie?"

"I don't know. It's my tiny bit of rebellion. When I would come here, I'd put on the lingerie, watch my shows, and sometimes use my personal care items."

Personal care? Is she talking about masturbation? I thought to myself.

She was sneaking off to my house to masturbate. My mind was reeling at the thought of this attractive mother of five, in her early forties, masturbating in my house.

"I hope you don't mind, but I keep it all in a drawer in your dad's room. I can't bring it home."

I wanted to race to the dresser and see what was hiding there.

Mrs. Barton held up the sex toy. It looked like a hairbrush with a small rubber circle at the end.

"The toys help me relax; and have a little fun."

I realized I hadn't asked her to explain any of this. She had unloaded. The woman wanted someone to talk to, and without asking me to listen, she was listing her issue with being a traditional wife.

"I'll take everything out of the drawer and throw it away," she said with a hint of shame.

"No, you don't have to do that. I go to the office several times a week. Come over, wear your outfits, watch TV shows, and do whatever you want with the toys."

She looked at me with a grateful smile, not ready to give up this small act of rebellion.

"I can trust you with this secret?" she asked.

"We have been over that," I replied.

Besides, who would I tell? Certainly not The Bishop. Giving her access to my house for her "personal care" time would not endear me to the man.

"Thanks, Ethan, I really need this. Your house has been my sanctuary, and I want to keep it that way."

So, we made our arrangement. She would come over when I was away and do God knows what, while I'd say nothing.

She gave me a tight hug, and I could feel her heavy tits on me. Perhaps it was no different than any other hug she'd given me in the past, but the talk of lingerie, masturbation, and our pact to keep it all a secret, completely sexualized the hug.

When she left, I took the lingerie and toy and ran to my father's room, opening several drawers until I found it; a drawer full of lingerie, each piece more decadent than the other. I also found a variety of sex toys and several bottles of flavored lube.

"Oh, Mrs. Barton," I said aloud, "what have you been up to?"

I felt myself harden and sat back on the bed. I pulled my pants down, slathered on some lube, and began to masturbate. I held up a crotch-less bustier and imagined Mrs. Barton wearing it. I brought the garment to my face, hoping it had not been laundered. It smelled of soap and softener, so no luck.

But my mind was able to create a scent for Mrs. Barton, and in a matter of minutes, I ejaculated into the garment. I probably shouldn't have, but I wanted to share myself with her, and leaving my semen in the crotch of her panties would suffice. Besides, it would disappear when it dried.

Two days later, I was working at my clerkship when my phone alerted me to someone at the door. I opened the app and saw Mrs. Barton coming in. This would undoubtedly be one of her private sessions. My mind raced, and I could not concentrate, thinking of the attractive middle-aged mom who was in my house wearing lingerie and masturbating.

When I returned home, everything was normal. However, I found a note on the bathroom counter and a new pair of lingerie. The note asked me to wash the garment on the delicate setting and hang it to dry.

I picked it up and inhaled. The pair was soiled. I could smell sweat, and as I moved my nose to the gusset of the garment, I smelled her essence. Mrs. Barton's pussy smelled rich with herbs; there was a dark floral smell that reminded me of figs. As the aroma filled my olfactory senses, my cock swelled with blood. I didn't want to clean it. I put my nose deep in the fabric and found it still wet. I inhaled it repeatedly, getting a forbidden rush with each huff.

I obeyed her wishes and put them in the washer. Although I did wonder why she didn't do that herself. Perhaps she was in a rush. I'd ask her the next time I saw her.

It was a Tuesday, my work-at-home day, when I returned from a morning run to smell bacon cooking in the kitchen.

"Mrs. Barton?"

I entered the kitchen to see Mrs. Barton preparing pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

"Happy birthday!" she said, running up and giving me a deep, warm hug.

"Oh, I'm so sweaty from the run," I declared.

Mrs. Barton's comings and goings at my house made the fact that she was randomly making breakfast hardly unusual.

"A little sweat is not going to stop me from giving you a birthday hug."

She held me tight; I could smell her fresh scent, making me more self-conscious about my sweaty body.

"The Bishop took the kids to his mother's house for two days. She's in St. George. I can't stand the woman and draw a hard line against seeing her. Anyway, I saw you take off for a run and wanted to surprise you."

"Well, this is a surprise. So, thank you. I'll take a shower, and I'll eat."

"It's ready now. Eat as you are, and we'll get you showered later."

We'll get you showered?

A slip of the tongue, perhaps? I scolded myself again for thinking untoward thoughts about such a generous person.

"Ok, fine. I'm going to make myself a coffee. I'll pour you some if you want."

"I have a surprise for you," she said, handing me a bag containing a bottle of Bailey's, Vodka, and Kahlua.

"You said this would make coffee taste better."

I looked at the bottles and Mrs. Barton.

"Really? Yeah, this makes for a killer cup of coffee."

"Well, I want to try that killer cup then."

"I don't think The Bishop would approve."

"You can let me worry about The Bishop. Everything I do is for the betterment of my family and our place in the Church, which requires endless work. If I want to enjoy a little coffee with a kick with my friend, I assure you, The Bishop will approve."

"Okay, fine. I understand, and I completely support you. You do so much for me; I'm not even part of your family. You deserve some time for yourself."

"Thank you. So, pour me a cup!"

I poured her a cup of coffee, putting in several ounces of Bailey's and Kahlua.

"Don't forget the vodka," she scolded.

I handed her the mug.

"Sip it. This is stronger than it tastes."

She took the mug, took a sip, and closed her eyes as she swallowed the warm elixir.

"Wow," she whispered.

We sat down and began to eat the magnificent breakfast she had prepared.

"I had a Jewish friend growing up, Shoshona," she began.

"Her dad was a rabbi, so they were very religious, and they were kosher. But there was a fine line. They had a kosher kitchen, but they also had a non-kosher kitchen downstairs."

She sipped the coffee, closing her eyes to enjoy the buzz.

"They followed their religion, but there were times when they stepped outside the strict rules and had a little fun. Like maybe pizza with pork sausage and other things that were not even close to kosher. They would cook non-kosher meals downstairs. Being the good little Mormon girl I was, I asked how they could justify this. The Rabbi reminded me that religion is complicated. No one is perfect, and we all stray from the path now and again."

She hesitated, then continued her story.

"He chose to have an un-kosher kitchen downstairs so they could bend the rules a little and have fun. But when it came to family and the ways of Torah, they always had the kosher kitchen."

"So, they used a second kitchen to cheat on their faith," I said with a condescending laugh.

"They used it to taste the forbidden fruit, and that kept their faith strong."

She took a long drink of her spiked coffee, savored it, and looked around.

"This is my un-kosher kitchen."

"Well, your kitchen isn't kosher either."

"No, I mean your house. It's where I can come and bend the rules a little. It's where I can let down my hair and not be the More Mom."

"You've heard that?"

"More Mom? Oh, yeah, I know they say that. Kristi, Sara, all my LDS moms, I know they call me that."

"Perhaps they're just jealous because of everything you have going for you. Perfect family, important husband; "

"I know they're being catty, but I kind of like the title. More Mom. If I'm making the other moms jealous, I must be doing something right."

"More is always better in my book," I added.

"I know, right? Like, let's have more fun coffee!"

"I just hope The Bishop never finds out because he's got my future in his hands."

"What happens in the non-kosher kitchen stays in the non-kosher kitchen, Ethan."

With that, Mrs. Barton tussled my hair and finished her spiked coffee.

"The non-kosher kitchen," I replied with a smile. "I like that."

"Such a smart young man. You're going to make a woman very happy someday. Now, how about a refill?"

She stood up with a slight wobble.

"Maybe you space it out a little."

She spotted a new Amazon box that had just arrived and tore it open with the excitement of a child on Christmas day.

"Oh yes, it's my red bodysuit! Oh, I can't wait to try this on. Look at those roses embroidered on it."

She held up the lingerie, a transparent mesh one-piece outfit in red. There were cutouts for the tits, the crotch was open, and there was no fabric other than a bow on the backside.

"You like?"

I sure as hell did and nodded my head.

"You want me to try it on? I so want to try it on."

"Well, you can try it in my dad's old room. Plenty of privacy there."

She took the lingerie and headed out with excitement.

"Bring me a fresh cup of non-kosher coffee when you come up."

"Come up?"

"Well, I can't come down with this thing on, so if you want to see it, you'll have to come up."

With that, I heard her rushing up the stairs. I went to the coffee maker and refilled her mug, then added the three liquors and realized my hand was shaking. She had just invited me upstairs to model lingerie. Or maybe I misheard. That's it; I must have misunderstood her.

I ascended the stairs and arrived at the master suite to find the door closed.

I knocked.

"Mrs. Barton. I brought up another cup of coffee. You want me to leave it here?"

"Bring it in," she said.

I steeled myself, ready to see her in that red lingerie. My heart pounded as I opened the door and.

She was in the master bathroom, which was off the master bedroom.

"You did not tell me that coffee makes you poop," she said from beyond the door.

"Yeah, it can have that effect."

I felt both let down and relieved. I sat on the bed and examined the lingerie, trying to imagine her wearing it.

I heard the toilet flush, and she emerged from the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

"I never poop outside of my home. Never. I need to take a shower now."

"A shower? Now?"

"I always take a shower after I poop. It's a cleanliness issue. I've trained myself to poop each morning before The Bishop wakes, and then I take my morning shower. I like to be clean down there in case The Bishop needs me to perform my wifely duties."

"Wow, you really are the More Mom."

She picked up her second coffee and began to drink it. I felt bummed because I was enjoying my morning with her and didn't want her to leave to take a shower.

"Hey," she said, giving me a playful whack, "I like to be clean. What's wrong with that?"

"Why don't you take a shower here?"

As soon as I spoke, I could feel how awkward it sounded.

But she didn't even flinch at the idea and drank more coffee.

"Look to see if your dad left any good shampoo."

I frantically opened the bathroom cupboard and rummaged through countless bottles of shampoo. Why my dad had so many shampoos remains an eternal mystery.

Um, there's Head and Shoulders, a bottle of Suave peach shampoo, and this, looks expensive; Biolage Hydra source shampoo.

"That's one I use," she said. "That's the one I need."

I handed her the bottle. She looked at me with a long, hard stare to ensure we understood each other.

"Non-kosher kitchen," she said.

"Non-kosher kitchen," I confirmed.

"Now, turn around and head back to the bedroom."

I just stood there, and I'm sure my face betrayed my disappointment.

"If you thought I'd give you a free shower show, you were sadly mistaken."

"Me? What? No?" I said in a panic. Again, I had red the room wrong.

"I'll wait downstairs."

"Just sit on the bed and close the bathroom door halfway so I can have some privacy, and we can talk."

I obediently followed her instructions, closing the door halfway, blocking my view of the shower.

She turned on the water, and I heard her step into the shower and close the door. Perhaps she wanted me to join her. Still sweaty and needing a shower, I stood up, walked to the door, and hesitated.

"So, when was the last time you went to church?" she asked.

"Other than my dad's funeral, not since undergrad. About five years."

"Oh, you're a bad boy. Would you like to join us at church? I'm sure The Bishop would be happy to see you there."

The last thing I wanted was to attend church. Not only had I left the LDS faith, but I had also lost my belief in a higher power. However, it was impossible to say no to her, and earning brownie points with The Bishop would be beneficial.

"Um, sure. Of course."

"Great, next Sunday, you'll join my family. We go to church in the morning and return home for a big meal. Of course, The Bishop has to go to the Temple in the afternoon.

The LDS temples were sacred and only open to members of the faith in good standing. While Mrs. Barton was qualified to attend the temple in the afternoon, her children could not, until they had completed their mission. As a traditional wife, she would stay home to care for her family.

"Tell me about law school." She asked from the shower. "You know, I didn't even ask if you had a girlfriend or something."

"No girlfriend. I did, but she left the school, and it ended."

"Well, now that you're almost in the real world. There'll be a lot of opportunities."

"I'm just focusing on my career right now. If someone comes along, that's great, but job prospects are my focus."

"Smart boy. That's why you want to keep The Bishop happy. He knows everyone. I had to beg him to give you this clerkship."

"Really? Doesn't he like me?"

"Not you; he wasn't a big fan of your father. I mean, he was very sad when he died. But they didn't get along very well. I was kind of the buffer between them."

"My dad always spoke well of you. He said you were the only person I should trust."

"He said that about me? My God, how nice is that? I miss him."

I could hear the shower turn off and the door slide open.

"I guess I owe you for making The Bishop take me on," I said. "I'd be screwed without this internship."

Mrs. Barton came out of the bathroom wearing my dad's old bathrobe.

"Fucked. You can say the big boy words here in the non-kosher kitchen."

"I'd be fucked," I repeated.

Mrs. Barton giggled and drank the rest of her spiked coffee, then came over and sat on the bed near me, her back propped up on the pillows, and let out a relaxing sigh.

"I love this. Just letting my hair down and having some innocent fun. I don't believe God would mind. Even though The Bishop and the kids are gone, I can't do this at home. I'd feel so filthy."

"Well, if this big old empty house can serve as your private haven," I said, "then I'm glad I still have it. I hope my being here this summer doesn't mess that up."

She sat up and leaned over to pick up the Amazon box.

"On the contrary, I love having someone to break the rules with."

She held up the lingerie and examined it.

"What do you think? Be honest. Is it trashy?"

"What are you going for?"

"Someone trashy who is not the More Mom," she replied flatly.

"Yeah, it's fucking trashy. But it's super sexy. I think it's great."

"How about you try it on for me?" she said matter-of-factly.

I froze. My heart began to race and I could hear my pulse in my ears.

"You want me to try it on? But it's women's lingerie."

"Please. I really want to see how it looks on a person. For me?"

She made an adorable pouting face.

"I don't know”

"After all I did for you. Can't you do me this small favor?"

"But The Bishop; " I said, trying to look for an out.

"Non-kosher kitchen. What we cook in this house stays here. Just give me a little fashion show."

She threw me the red lingerie. I held it up; it was sheer, lacy, and very sexy. There were no cups for tits, and the crotch was an open slit.

"I haven't taken a shower yet. I'm sweaty. I don't want to mess up your outfit."

"That's fine."

I had run out of excuses. There was a part of me that felt like she was daring me. So, I decided to accept the challenge.

I took off my shirt as she watched.

"I don't want to stretch it out," I said, looking for her to stop this.

"I'll get another."

I looked at the lingerie, unsure how to get it on.

"You step into it, put your legs in the leg holes, and then raise the bra and straps over your arms."

I was still wearing my running shorts, so I attempted to step into the lingerie with them on.

"No. Take off those shorts. Stop being such a prude and do this right."

I pulled my shorts down and stepped out, now only wearing some red Lulu Lemon briefs. My hands were shaking as I pulled them down. I turned away from her so that when I pulled down my underwear, she could only see my ass.

I had been sporting an erection off and on for the past 30 minutes. Since I was turned away from her, I was glad she didn't see my cock flop out angrily.

I heard her gasp and realized I was standing in front of a dressing mirror, and she had witnessed every inch of my grand entrance.

I quickly stepped into the bodysuit lingerie and pulled it up. It might be humiliating to wear women's lingerie, but at least I'd be clothed.

Pulling it up my torso, I put the straps over my arms. The two openings for women's tits looked odd. Of course, with no tits, it was just my flat chest.

But when I looked down, there was my cock hanging between my legs through the open crotch of the outfit. I stood there, embarrassed beyond belief.

"Turn around."

I don't know why, but I obeyed.

"Are you blushing? Oh, my God, why? You look great. Know what? You look like Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. You do!"

I turned away from her and could now see myself in the dressing mirror. There I was, six foot one, wearing a too-small women's one-piece open-tit crotch-less outfit with my cock and balls hanging free.

"Oh my God, your ass is perfect. I'm so jealous; it's tighter than mine."

I backed up and sat on the bed trying to cover my erection.

"Can I take this off now?" I asked. Not that I needed permission, but it sure felt like I did.

"Come up here next to me. Come on."

She patted the bed next to her, and I moved to her side, still wearing my dad's bathrobe while I remained in her lingerie.

"Wow, I can understand why the Church says no to coffee and liquor," she said, "look what it made us do."

She knew as well as I did that this had nothing to do with the spirits.

"What are we doing, Mrs. Barton? I don't know if I understand your game."

"Mrs. Barton? Really? I told you to call me Amanda. We're both adults."

"What are we doing, Amanda?"

"Are you upset with me?" she asked.

"Frustrated."

She leaned over and laid her head on my chest looking down my body directly at my erection.

"You smell so wild. It's almost animal-like."

"I need a shower," I replied.

"You need to relax. Can I help you relax?"

She kept her head on my chest, looking at my cock, which bobbed with each beat of my heart then brought her right hand down and gripped it.

Her hands were cool, and her touch felt great against the heat of my cock shaft.

At last!

This woman had been taunting me for days. But we were finally getting somewhere. I closed my eyes, and she stroked my cock, eliciting a long, drawn-out groan from me.

"There's a good boy. Let Mandy help you relax."

She lay her head on my chest, looking down at my cock as she masturbated it.

I wasn't sure if I should try to kiss her or push her head down to take me in her mouth.

I decided to do nothing and just enjoy the moment.

She gripped my cock tight, moving the elastic flesh up and down. My skin was salty from the run, and despite the enjoyment of receiving a hand job, I could feel my flesh chafing.

She felt it too and rolled to the right, opened the bedside drawer, and took out a bottle of cherry-scented lube, which she slathered on my cock and resumed masturbating me.

I looked down; my cock glistened and slurped as she was able to move her hand up and down the entire shaft with silky ease.

She swirled her hand, then moved into quick jerks and brought her other hand in and grasped my balls, squeezing them tight. I brought my hand to her head and began to run my fingers through her hair.

I felt like I needed to participate. She could sense my breath quickening and held my cock at the hilt with one hand while she stroked with the other. As her pace quickened, I knew I wouldn't last much longer.

I gave out an involuntary groan, and she knew I was close. The spongy underside of my cock was swollen, and my balls grew deep red. We could both feel my ejaculation beginning. She gripped my balls with her hand tightly.

"Let's see how much cum you have."

With that, she released my balls and gently massaged them. Whatever that trick was, the rush of cum created a sensation of euphoria and relief.

I fired off a long rope of thick cum that landed on my chest, soaking the red lingerie. A second rope of cum was even more substantial, and some of it landed in her hair. The third rope of cum hit her face, and the next two continued to soil the lingerie.

Despite being hit with semen, she never moved and continued to masturbate me slowly and see just how much remnant cum she could coax from my balls.

The pressure was relieved, and the remaining cum bubbled up from my cock and ran down across her hands. She gently pumped me until nothing was left.

Taking a finger to clean the semen from her face, she put the finger in her mouth to taste my ejaculate, like a chef seeing if the sauce was just right.

She looked up at me with a smile.

"You're one healthy boy. It's been a while since I've seen that much cum. It tastes perfect."

"I've never tasted it."

"Healthy semen tastes like a slightly salty mushroom with a hint of ammonia. But never unpleasant. You have excellent semen."

She rubbed her finger in a thick glob of my semen, then brought it to my mouth.

"No, thank you," I said, uninterested in tasting my sauce.

"No, try it. It's perfect. And so much of it, too."

"Mrs. Barton, I mean Amanda, should we talk about what just happened?"

She crawled up next to me, so we were almost face to face.

"Did you like that, Ethan?"

"I did. But”

"I liked it too," She said, interrupting me. "I want to keep doing this. And more."

"Well, that's just it. What was this?"

"That was a test. I wanted to see if you could follow my instructions. I don't have many rules, but I need you to follow the few I lay down for you."

"What kind of rules?"

I want to spend a lot of time with you this summer. I want us to share our bodies. I want us to make love. Often.

"You want to sleep with me?"

"We'll make love whenever I want, which can be often. You may not make love to any other woman for the rest of the summer. You are not to masturbate without my permission. Don't worry, you won't need to, I'll keep you satisfied.

Was this really happening? This was Mrs. Barton, the More Mom, telling me how many ways she would please me as her sexual partner.

There was more.

To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 5 parts, for Literotica.

The Funeral CourtshipAbandoned Childhood wishes, finally fulfilled.

Based on a post by secret sexy writer. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.

I had known Alex Newberry my entire life. He was the boy down the street during my childhood, the boy behind me throughout school, and the boy who I always wished would see me as more than just "one of the boys." Especially since I was a girl.

But I'd never pressed for anything more. I didn't want to ruin our friendship. His family was my second family. Even his nana considered me as her granddaughter.

We'd stayed in touch even after I left town to pursue a new career. Throughout the year, we would exchange Emails and sometimes the occasional text. Only at my birthday and on Christmas did I receive snail mail from him. They were always hilarious and always perfect.

The day I received the small envelope in early Fall threw me for a loop. It was written in Alex's neat print and had a pre-printed return label with his address, so I knew it was from him. I just didn't know why. I was even more stunned when I slid my finger under the flap and pulled out the single sheet of paper folded in half.

I had been standing by the sofa in the living room when I opened the envelope. My eyes scanned the brief note inside, and my knees gave out. I collapsed to the sofa, tears rimming my eyes.

Alex's grandmother, Nana Newberry, had passed away.

Visions played in my head like an old home movie. Mostly, they were of the summers swimming in the pond behind her house and the day-trips she'd invite me to go on with Alex. Both of my own grandmothers had passed away when I was still too young to remember them much. My loss was almost as deep as Alex's was.

Almost.

Once I'd caught my breath, I reached for my cell phone and pulled up his number. I tried to swallow my tears as I heard the line ring. I wasn't surprised to receive his voicemail. He was probably busy making arrangements and handling family.

"Hey, Alex. It's Jaynie. I got your letter. I'm so sorry. I'm booking a flight out tonight, and I'll be there as soon as I can. If there's anything you need, let me know. See you soon."

I was already halfway to my bedroom when I clicked off the phone and shoved it into my pocket. My brain was on autopilot as I dragged my suitcase from the closet and gathered the necessary toiletries from the bathroom cabinets and drawers. I was folding socks and panties when I realized I should call the airport.

Less than an hour later, I was in the backseat of a cab and leaving a message on my boss's phone telling him I would be out of town for a couple of days due to a family emergency. I arranged for a rental car and for nightly accommodations nearest to my hometown. I knew there was no place in town to stay, the population being barely just under five hundred. If anything had changed over the years, that definitely wasn't one of them.

It wasn't until I was seated on the plane, the city's lights fading into dots below me that I let myself think about Nana again. I missed her hugs the most. Her squishy arms always surrounded me with such love. I felt protected. Wanted. My parents were always busy working. Nana was so much more than just an adoptive grandparent.

My mind wandered, and I remembered Alex's hugs. I smiled, laughing softly at the memory of him hugging me tight with a toothy grin while Nana took our picture. Then he pushed me into the pond; with my clothes on. We were only six. But I was old enough to know that I liked Alex more than I liked other boys.

I was the only girl in the neighborhood, so I either had to adapt to being a tomboy or be left out. I chose the former, much to my mother's dismay. I allowed her to enroll me in dance classes when she insisted I act more like a girl, but I secretly enjoyed playing with the boys more. I didn't mind being the Indian the cowboys always captured and tied up. Or the robber they arrested with the plastic set of handcuffs. Or even Princess Leia, when they wanted to re-enact Star Wars, especially when Alex got to be Han Solo and rescue me.

I must have drifted off because the next thing I heard was the announcement to fasten our seatbelts and put seats and tray-tables in the upright position for landing. The plane was only half-full, so I was soon strolling through the nearly empty terminal and heading downstairs to collect my baggage and rental car. I grabbed a cup of coffee from the only open vendor and asked the information desk for directions to the hotel where I'd made reservations. There was nothing more I could do for Alex tonight.

But once I'd reached my destination, the last thing on my mind was sleep. My accommodations were comfortable, but not even a hot shower seemed to help. I crawled beneath the covers and turned on the TV, hoping I'd just fall asleep from boredom and get some rest before the hour drive to my hometown in the morning.

A ringing phone and the incessant chatter of a woman and man pulled me out of the strangest dream. I'd been fully dressed and standing by Nana's pond, but I was thirty-four years old, not six. Alex walked towards me, his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and he flashed his toothy grin at me. I reached for his hand, and I swear I stepped forward, but the next thing I knew, I was falling backwards into the pond. I struggled to swim, the weight of my clothes pulling me underwater. Someone grabbed my hand, and then I woke up.

An automated wake-up call answered my sleepy greeting, and I clumsily set the receiver back on the handset and rolled over, groaning. That's when I realized the morning news was playing on the TV. My body felt like it had been through a 5K run; or maybe it had struggled to stay above water. In either case, I dragged myself to the bathroom for another shower.

I decided on a simple navy pantsuit and crimson camisole blouse. It was cool but dark enough for the funeral, yet I didn't feel completely dreary in it. Plus it emphasized my curves and long legs. Today, I felt like I wanted to be a girl in front of Alex. Not that it would matter.

After securing another cup of coffee, I took a deep breath and pointed the rental car towards my hometown. I remembered where the only funeral home was, and I had plenty of time before the services started. Yet, I was suddenly nervous. I hadn't actually seen Alex in several years, despite our constant contact. I hated the fact that it took something like this to bring us together again. I promised myself that I would visit more often.

The parking lot was overflowing when I finally pulled up to the funeral home. I ended up parking half a block away on a side street and walking back to the large Victorian-style house that had been converted into the place where we said goodbye to our loved ones. Trees adorned with vibrantly colored leaves decorated the front yard. It looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, set right in the heart of my hometown.

I joined the throng of people who had come to pay their respects, and managed to find a seat in the back of the largest room that was always used for services. The belief in the community was that our two churches were for worship and weddings. Funerals were held at Thompkins & Sons, no matter if you were Catholic or Baptist.

I didn't recognize a single person near me, but I was sure that Nana had known most of the town and then some, and I'd been a teenager when I'd left for college. I settled myself in and made sure I had my tissues accessible.

The service itself was lovely, and there were lots of tears from everyone. Alex even got up and made a speech at one point. While I knew I was there because of Nana, I couldn't help staring at her grown grandson. His stature had reached at least six feet. He towered over me by at least five inches.

I don't remember a word he said, but I could describe him with my eyes closed. His short brown hair, his tailored black suit and tie, the dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. He had green eyes, and I could imagine them sparkling while he talked about his grandmother, the corner of his eyes crinkling with his laughter.

People were standing up around me and talking, and I blinked, realizing that the service was over. I wiped at my eyes and stood, not sure what to do now. I slipped out of the row and away from the crowd. It was then that I noticed no one was by the open casket. I quietly made my way to the front of the room and stopped before Nana's permanent expression of peace.

Tears tugged at the back of my throat, and I had to stop myself from reaching out to grasp her folded hands. The purple dress she was wearing went well with her silvery hair, and she looked as if she were asleep. I silently thanked her for all the good times we'd had together, for accepting me as one of her grandchildren, for making me feel wanted.

I don't know how long I stood there, but I had the feeling that someone was watching me. I needed to move on. I kissed my fingertips and gently pressed them to her rubbery cheek. When I turned to leave, blazing green eyes met mine, and I gasped.

"Jaynie, you came."

And then Alex's arms pulled me against his hard body.

I wrapped him in my arms and held him tight, resting my cheek on his shoulder. I couldn't believe how good he felt. Something deep inside of me stirred, and I had to force it back down. He was my best friend. It would never be anything more than that.

"Of course I came. I left you a message. I took the red-eye last night."

"I'm sorry, I haven't checked my phone. I hoped you'd come, but I wasn't counting on it. "

I pulled away to look at his face. Our eyes met again, and I groaned inwardly. "I wouldn't have missed this for anything. She was like my own grandmother. Thank you for letting me know."

"What about work?"

"They'll survive without me for a couple of days." I laughed and before I could wipe away my tears, his thumb brushed my cheek. I sucked back my breath and hid my surprise with a smile. "What can I do to help now that I'm here?"

Alex stared at me for a moment, a lopsided grin on his face. He blinked, and then his toothy grin came out full force, dimple included. "There's a dinner at Nana's house after we go to the cemetery. Do you have a car?"

"I have a rental. I'm staying in Rosewood at the Holiday Inn."

"Let me tell Mom and Dad I'll meet them. Do you mind driving?"

"No, lead the way." I smiled and even felt a little giddy when he grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd that was slowly filtering out the front doors. I barely had a chance to say hello to his parents before he was heading in the direction where I said I'd parked my car. And then we were pulling out to line up behind the black sedan his parents were riding in and the hearse idling before them.

It suddenly occurred me to that everyone else was going to be following me. I must have looked nervous because Alex grasped my hand on the gearshift between us and squeezed it.

"I'm glad you're here."

I swallowed heavily and turned to smile at him. He was watching me, something unreadable in those green eyes. I opened my mouth to ask him what he was thinking, but nothing came out. And then he let go of my hand and motioned that we should move.

I was in a daze as I drove to the cemetery, sat through the rest of the ceremony, and climbed back into my car and drove us to Nana's house. It wasn't until we were sitting in her driveway that I felt the tears return. I hadn't been here in so many years I couldn't count them. I had been a horrible granddaughter, adopted or not.

"I know. I miss her, too." Alex squeezed my hand again and then got out.

I swiped the back of my hand across my eyes and climbed out, automatically locking the car.

"No one's going to steal it," Alex laughed. It was a deep, comforting sound.

I shrugged. "It's just a habit."

He laughed again and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, guiding me up the drive. People were mingling on the wrap-around front porch, and the smell of fried chicken wafted out the screen on the front door.

It felt and smelled like home.

I had eaten my share of food and then some. At some point, Alex and I became separated amongst all the guests. I took the opportunity to sneak upstairs to use the larger bathroom. On my way back, I passed the room Nana used to sit in and work on projects. I remember her teaching me how to sew as I sat on a little cushioned stool.

I smiled, knowing I could sew a button back onto a blouse or a pair of pants, but that was all now. The sound from downstairs grew fainter as I moved closer to the window on the far side of the room. The pond in the backyard glittered back under the noon sun. Weeping Willows outlined the oasis of my youth, and for a moment, I longed for those days.

I longed to have Nana hug me one more time. The last time she had, I was leaving for college. She told me to be a good girl and make my parents proud. I couldn't remember the last time I'd hugged my parents. Or seen them face-to-face. We talked about once a month, but they were always traveling now that they were retired. I bit back a laugh at the irony.

I wandered back downstairs, smiling and nodding at people who recognized me, although I couldn't say who they were. That was the problem with small towns, and with moving away. All of the elderly people remembered when you were born and whom your parents were, but you rarely remembered anything about them, much less their names.

The crowd was smaller now, and I heard several women in the dining room and kitchen cleaning up the dishes. I hugged my arms to my chest and slowly walked down the long hallway to the back of the house. Framed photos hung on both sides of the wall, and I suddenly wished I'd had a grandmother growing up who'd had pictures of me on display. As much as Nana had tried to make me feel accepted in her home, I really wasn't a part of her family.

I pushed pending tears away and stepped out the back door and down the steps to the yard. The sun was warm, and the pond beckoned me to it. I found myself standing on the small wooden dock Alex's dad had built. One of the boards was broken, and the weather had done a good job fading the stain, but otherwise it was still sturdy.

A warm breeze blew up off the water, rustling through the switches on the Willow. I stretched out my arms to feel it, and took a big sigh. I hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time. While I didn't mind my job, I didn't love it. While I loved traveling, I didn't like having to do it for work.

What I wouldn't give to be able to come home at the end of the day and sit out on a porch like the one at Nana's and watch the sun go down instead of watching it from the sixth-floor balcony of my high-rise in the city. To hear the sound of crickets in the evening instead of the rush of traffic.

A board creaked behind me, and I spun around. Someone grabbed my hand as I stepped back, and I was suddenly back in my dream. I gasped and struggled to regain my balance. Instead of falling backwards into the water, I was jerked forward and into Alex's strong embrace.

"Whoa! You okay, Jaynie?"

I caught my breath and swallowed, blinking away the remnants of my dream. "Yeah. Thanks. I must have slipped."

"Everyone's gone home." He dropped his arms but didn't move away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize. I'll be on my way." I started to walk past him, but he grabbed my wrist.

"Stay." He released my hand and cleared his throat. "Please stay."

I lifted my eyes to his and held his gaze. I wanted to reach out to touch him, to caress his cheek, to run my fingers through his hair. But I refrained and kept my hands at my sides. "Okay."

His smile lit up his whole face, but there was a shadow in his eyes. He stared at me a moment longer and then said, "Let's go back to my place so we can talk."

I blinked, realizing what he'd said, and then I brushed away any ulterior motives. Of course, we'd go back to his place. We couldn't stay at Nana's. He'd be most comfortable in his home. And I wanted to see it. I really did.

We said goodbye to his parents inside, and then I followed his car across town to his small house. I parked behind him in a gravel driveway overgrown with weeds and stared at the weather-beaten boards of the house, the crooked front steps, the boards over one of the windows.

"It's just a rental," Alex laughed. He climbed out and ran his hand back through his hair as he headed back to my car. "I've actually been living with Nana, taking care of her. When she had to go to the hospital, I got this place. We weren't sure what to do with her house."

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"It's okay, Jaynie. This place was a steal. Besides, Nana left me her house in her will, so once we clean the place out, I'll be moving back there."

"What? That's wonderful! Congrats, Alex. I know you love it there." I couldn't stop myself from hugging him. Or feeling the slightest bit jealous. When our eyes met again, I stepped back and shut the driver's side door. I cleared my throat and my thoughts. "So, let's see what we've got."

"Be careful of the first step." He held out his hand and helped me up to the front porch. He wrestled with the lock on the door and then it swung open into a clean living room. The carpet was definitely dated, and the walls needed a good coat of paint, but his modern leather and oak furniture minimized the noticeable eyesores. "Want something to drink?"

"Sure, whatever you're having." I glanced around, setting my purse on an end table. Typical masculine knickknacks decorated the few shelves on the walls: various sports paraphernalia, photos of Alex and his buddies, a couple of dusty mugs from a tavern in Florida.

My eyes stopped on a photo of two young kids. A boy and a girl. The glass was cleaner than the rest of the photos, and the metal frame was brushed nickel rather than the standard black plastic frames on the others.

"That's us at Nana's pond." Alex handed me a glass of cola and picked up the frame. He took a sip of his own soda and put the frame back after a moment, snorting softly. "I shoved you into the water after she snapped the picture."

I gulped. I had forgotten that part. That when Nana had lifted her camera, she'd told Alex to put his arm around me and smile. He hadn't wanted to hug me. Maybe I'd pretended all along that he liked hanging out with me.

But he'd kept the picture. He'd kept it clean and prominently displayed.

I took a sip of my drink and moved to sit on the sofa. The leather squeaked as I sank into the corner with a soft sigh. It was comfortable. So much so that I toed off my heels and curled my legs up underneath me. The heat of the afternoon sun streaming in the bare window behind me warmed the material, and I laid my head back for a moment and breathed deep.

"It's quiet here." I kept my eyes closed and smiled sadly. "I miss this."

The sofa squeaked again, and the weight on the cushion next to me shifted.

"Me, too."

For the longest time, neither of us talked. The only sound was the clinking of ice in our glasses and the occasional car driving by outside. I didn't want to move. I wished I could just curl up and take a nap right where I was. And when I woke, I wouldn't have to go back to the city. Back to my hectic life. I wanted the tranquil days of my youth again.

I frowned. Were they ever really that great? Alex always made them better, but maybe that's because I could escape from reality when I was around him.

"What's got you thinking so hard, Jaynie?"

My eyes fluttered open to stare into his only a foot away. His head lay against the back of the sofa, just like mine, and a soft smile turned up the corners of his mouth. I shrugged and finished off my soda, setting my glass on the coffee table. "Trying to remember why I thought my childhood was so happy."

"It wasn't all that bad. You had me."

I made an unladylike snort and smirked. "My point exactly."

He raised his hand. "If I didn't know you better; "

I flinched, expecting him to smack my arm. Instead, his fingers brushed my temple, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I held my breath and my heartbeat picked up when his fingers lingered. They grazed over my cheek when he finally lowered his hand, and I wished he'd put his hand back.

"Well, you made my childhood better." He sat forward and deposited his glass beside mine. "It was nice having a girl around. Even if it had to be you."

"Hey!" I really did intend to smack him, but he turned and caught my wrist. I saw the flash of his eyes. He leaned towards me, and his other hand cupped my jaw.

"I'm glad it was you, Jaynie."

And then he kissed me.

It happened so suddenly that I just gasped. His lips were warm and soft, and I couldn't believe he'd actually done it until he wasn't anymore. I blinked and stared at him, unable to find my voice.

"I'm sorry, Jaynie. I had to. I've always wanted to. And I; I; I just had to."

I let out a small cry, unable to form any words. All I wanted was for him to kiss me again. But when his eyes dropped from my face, I realized he thought I was offended.

His grip loosened on my wrist. I took advantage and twisted my hand so I could pull him to me again. I moaned when our lips touched. And when he pulled free of my grasp to cradle my jaw again in both hands. And when I slid my fingers up into his hair at the back of his neck. He moaned in response.

For the longest time, we just kissed. At first, it was awkward, as if we'd never done it before with anyone else. Maybe we were just too tense, and we eventually relaxed. All I know was that one minute we were struggling to get the right angle, and then our mouths were moving against each other like we'd been doing it together all of our lives.

When his tongue flicked at my closed lips, I opened my mouth to him. One of his hands slid up behind my neck, his fingers tangling in my auburn layers as he held my head still. His tongue swept into my mouth and teased mine.

Our moans mingled, and I tightened my hold on his neck while he helped me slide down onto the couch. He lay on top of me, his arms framing my head, his fingers diving back into my locks, his tongue into my mouth. I brought a knee up to his hip, my barefoot rubbing against the back of his calf. His thigh pressed high in between mine, and I gasped, pressing back.

He pulled away first, panting. "Jaynie."

I stared up into his glossy eyes. I ran a hand along his cheek, my fingers tracing his lips. "Alex."

He sucked my index finger into his mouth and groaned, his eyes drifting close. He took my hand in his, guiding my finger in and out of the moist heat, his tongue rasping against my sensitive fingertip.

My heart raced now, and breathing was difficult. I was concentrating so hard on what he was doing to my finger—what I was imagining him doing to other parts of my body—that I didn't realize his other hand was caressing my tit through my suit jacket. I moved my hand down to unbutton the jacket, but he knocked it away; and then his hand fumbled between us.

I whimpered as his hand squeezed my tit through my thin top and bra. Even through the material, the brush of his thumb against my nipple lit sparks deep within my body. I arched up to him, begging for more.

He broke our second kiss ever—and the longest thus far—to attack my neck with his lips and tongue. Shivers ran down my back, and I felt my skin prickle with goosebumps. I grabbed onto his arms, holding him to me, my hips bucking as I dry humped his thigh.

I whispered his name over and over again, and I half wondered if he was going to make me orgasm with my clothes on.

Suddenly, he was still. I was panting and couldn't see clearly. I blinked several times, and then I was staring into his darkened eyes. "Alex? What is it?"

"Oh, Jaynie." He kept whispering it, again and again, his fingers brushing at the hair around my temple. He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead, his breath warm against my skin.

"You're scaring me." I relaxed beneath him, but I gasped as he shifted on top of me. His erection pressed hard against my dress slacks. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Please."

He said nothing. He just kept running his fingers along my face, as if he were trying to remember every detail. As if;

"No, Alex. Please don't." I gulped and forced my eyes open. Forced myself to look at those emerald orbs that were watching me so intently. So sadly. My grip tightened on his arms. "Don't end it like this. Not after—"

He kissed me softly. Then he pressed his erection against me again. His next words cut off my groan. "I have no intention of ending this, Jaynie. In fact, I intend to make love to you like you've never known. Like I've always wanted to."

My brain went fuzzy for a moment. I cried out when he bit my lower lip. Whimpered when he sucked it into his mouth.

"I just; " He dipped his tongue into my mouth and moaned. "I just don't want to do it on my living room couch."

I gasped when he stood and pulled me up by my arms. I tripped over my shoes on the floor and then stumbled after him down the hall.

His room was dark and cool, the curtains drawn against the afternoon heat. He left the door open and led me directly to the bed. With one hand, he clasped me behind the head and pulled my mouth to his. I heard and felt him pulling back the covers on the bed with his other hand as he kissed me, my thoughts turning to mush like my legs.

The back of my knees hit the bed, and I sat down when he finally released me. It took a moment, but my eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, and I could see his profile standing above me. I felt his eyes watching me as he loosened and removed his tie. Unbuttoned his shirt. Unbuckled and released his belt. Lowered his zipper and then his pants.

I held my breath as each part was bared, leaning back on my hands for support. Even in the dull light, I could see the outline of his abs. The V between his hips as it disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers. The muscles in his strong arms and legs. He was no longer the boy I'd imagined in my dreams.

"Your turn, Jaynie." He laughed softly.

I couldn't move. For a moment, I though he wanted me to strip for him as he'd done for me. But then he leaned toward me and pulled my jacket open, sliding it down my arms until it pooled behind me on the bed at my wrists. He reached around to my back, removing the jacket completely. It joined his clothes on the floor. I was going to tell him to hang it up so it didn't get wrinkled when he spoke again.

"Raise your arms."

I blinked but obeyed. The sleeveless camisole I'd chosen to wear today for its cooler material sent shivers across my skin when he pulled it up and over my head. I was suddenly shy, fearful for him to remove my bra, but he pressed against my shoulders and I lay back on the bed.

My heart beat wildly in my head as I felt his hands move to my waist, unbuckling my belt, lowering my zipper. And then he was sliding my pants down my legs. When I was just in my bra and panties, he turned me sideways and climbed into the bed beside me.

I'd spent many nights lying awake, imagining this same situation. But I'd never thought it would come true. And now that it had, I was more nervous than I had been my first job interview. I'd puked twice at home before that incident. I'd always seen myself as a poised individual, and I hoped I would be that way in bed as well. Apparently, I was a good liar.

"If you don't want this, please, tell me now. But I pray you won't stop me."

Alex's hot breath brushed my ear and brought me back to the present. To his body covering mine. To his hand cupping my tit through my bra. To his mouth trailing kisses along my jaw line. To his erection that throbbed against my panty-clad groin.

Somehow, from somewhere, a shot of courage raced through my veins, and I found my wits. I grabbed onto his hips, shifted my legs so I could gain some footing on the mattress, and then pressed up hard against him. Our eyes met, and by the sliver of light peeking through where the curtains joined above our heads, I could see his eyes blaze.

"I want this more than you can know." My voice sounded husky, braver than I felt.

I ran my fingers slowly up his sides, feeling him shudder on top of me, and then grabbed the backs of his arms, pressing my tits against his chest. I sucked in my breath when he pressed his erection back against me. His mouth smashed down on mine again.

For the longest time, we repeated the encounter on the couch, moaning through one continual kiss. His hand slid down my side, caressing my hip, my waist, and then moved back up to cup my tit again. I pressed into his hand, tugging on his lower lip with my teeth. Whimpering my desires.

He pulled away from me and looked down, rolling off me to lay at my side.

I wanted to complain. I missed the feeling of his body on mine. But if this continued as we both planned, we wouldn't be apart much longer.

"I want to take your bra off." He spoke the words but didn't move to try to remove the article of clothing. Instead, he traced his finger along the edge of the satin cup encasing my left tit. My breath hitched, and he let out a soft growl when the swell of my tit rose. His finger dipped below the edge of my bra, and I whimpered again.

His hand slid down and cupped my tit once more, squeezing gently. The next thing I knew, he had lowered his mouth and sucked my nipple into his mouth, right through the material.

"Alex!" I gasped, writhing beneath him. My hands found his head, my fingers weaving through his hair just as I felt him pull the material away and his tongue rasp against my skin. I cried out as fire shot down between my legs.

He moaned, and my tit suddenly felt wet as he kissed and licked all over it like a starving child. He sucked my nipple back into his mouth, gently nibbling it with his teeth.

I found my voice again, suddenly urgent to end thirty years of torture. "Please, Alex. We can play later. I need you. Now!"

He chuckled. It was a deep rumbling sound that echoed against my chest. He released my nipple with a final lick and then slid his hands behind my back to release my bra. "Oh, trust me, we will definitely play later, my dear."

My hand slid down his back and under the waistband of his boxers. I couldn't resist squeezing his ass, my body shuddering. Cool air brushed against my freed tits, my nipples hardening painfully. I groaned and shifted so he could lay between my legs.

"I would like to see you with the lights on, but right now, I don't want to waste the time." His lips brushed my cheek, and then he rose up on his knees. His fingers slid under the waistband of my panties and slowly pulled them down.

I arched up to him, sucking my lower lip in between my teeth, wondering if he could see the desire in my eyes.

He glanced up at me. Then he leaned down to the apex of my thighs and inhaled deeply. He let out a groan, and then removed my panties completely, tossing them to the floor. When he went to remove his boxers, my eyes stayed on his face. I didn't want to lose my nerve.

"You tell me if I hurt you. At all."

Those were the only words he said, and then he was lying down over me again, our mouths melded together. It seemed as if we'd backtracked, though, our kisses hesitant again. But it was more of a need to remember the moment, not to rush it, than a sense of being unsure, as it had been not too long ago.

My hands roamed down to his hips, up his sides and over his back, coming to rest on his shoulder blades. Our tongues outlined each other's mouths, licked at each other's tongues. I tilted my head back and to the side when his mouth trailed down my chin and over to my neck, nuzzling just below my ear. My tits felt heavy, my nipples stiff and aching as they rubbed against his chest.

His hands slid under my arms, holding my shoulders from behind. My legs spread, my knees rising to frame his hips. My hips arched up, and then I felt his erection press up against me. It was as if our bodies knew exactly what to do.

I focused on his mouth on my neck. His little nips and licks. His deep breathing. But it was impossible to ignore reality when he finally pushed into me. I gasped and moaned and tightened my grip on him. When he paused, I clenched my eyes closed.

He pulled out and slid in again in a slow rocking motion. After doing this several more times, he pushed in hard all at once until our hips touched.

I bit my lip and felt tears in my eyes, but I didn't say a word. Neither did he. He just kept kissing my neck. His hold on me tightened a bit, and he began the rocking motion again.

I relaxed beneath him, hugging his hips with my knees, and let him be in control. Fire and passion swirled through me, and my hips took on a life of their own, arching up to his gentle thrusts.

He propped himself up with his elbows on either side of my head, his fingers buried within my hair, cradling my head. I finally opened my eyes and stared up into his dark eyes, my own hands rising to lace through his hair. He lowered his lips to mine, kissing me softly, nipping at my lower lip.

It was several minutes before I felt the dull ache building deep inside. It started faint and then grew the more he stroked within me. My tits ached to be touched, as they no longer rubbed against his chest. I whimpered. He gave me a soft kiss and then lowered his head so he could suck on my nipples.

I had never felt so happy as I did at that moment, finally making love to Alex. When he caressed my side, my hip, his fingers lightly pressing into my back, I moaned from the sheer joy of him touching me. Everywhere. He filled me so completely I felt like I wanted to bust.

And then the pressure grew more, and a tingling feeling at the base of my spine insisted that I need to reach something. I groaned and grabbed Alex's shoulders again.

He unlatched from my tit and kissed my mouth. Then he thrust faster, a little harder, and whispered in my ear, "Come on, sweetie. You're almost there."

I was gasping and crying and wondering how much more I could take when I felt something break inside me and I yelled his name. Though my brain was fuzzy and my body shook, I knew he hadn't stopped. He didn't even slow down.

Suddenly he paused, his hips pressed against mine. If possible, he got harder inside me. He growled, calling out my name, and a warmth filled me.

Then he was stroking slowly again. More shudders rippled through me, and I tried to hold onto him. After another minute, he stopped and collapsed on top of me.

I felt hot and sweaty and a sweet smell filled my nostrils. His lips brushed against mine, and then he buried his face against my neck.

We held each other loosely, trying to catch our breath. He shifted, slid out of me, and then pulled me tight against him, kissing my forehead.

"Oh, Jaynie, why didn't you tell me?"

I sighed and smiled, tilting my head back so I could look up at him. "What? Admit that I was still a virgin because the only man I ever wanted never wanted me?"

"I've always wanted you, Jaynie. I always will." To prove it, I felt him twitch against my thigh. "I was just too blind to see what was right in front of me."

I couldn't help laughing. "I think Nana saw it."

He kissed my nose. "Yes, she did. And I think that's why she left me her house. She knew we'd eventually come to our senses."

"Took us long enough." I nuzzled my head into the crook of his arm and sighed when he tightened his hold on me.

"We'll find some way to make it work. I promise. I'm not letting go of you this time."

"You'd better not, or I'm pushing you into the pond this time!"

We both laughed so hard that my tits rubbed against his chest, and I felt the heat and desire puddle between my legs again. When his hand brushed my hip, I groaned and rolled onto my back. I was just thinking that I should cancel my hotel reservation when his fingers slipped between my legs, and I lost all thought of anything besides the here and now.

And soon, I lost all thought completely, as Alex Newberry brought me to the edge.

Over and over again.

Based on a post by secret sexy writer, for Literotica.

 

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 4Finding real love, at last.

Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.

Driving

home the next day felt like waking up from some kind of dream until I

pulled into our driveway and Munchkin came running out to greet me. As I

was getting out to reassure him that he hadn't been abandoned, the

reality of my life settled right back in. I went inside, and Lane and

Mary grunted their hellos without looking up.

Ah, home.

I

texted Erin that I made it back safely, and she replied almost

immediately saying what a great night she had, and how much she missed

me already. It was going to be a long three weeks until she rotated back

to the hospital in Petoskey. Luckily, life was as busy as always, and

time flew by. For the first time since I was a child, I could honestly

say that I was happy.

My happiness lasted until the day before Erin was scheduled to return.

I

got my first inkling that something might be wrong when I called to see

if Wilma wanted me to pick up any groceries for her from town. She

didn't answer, which was strange, and the call went to voicemail. Even

if she was napping, she was a very light sleeper and would normally

answer by the third ring. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach,

so I went straight to Wilma's to make sure she was alright.

Everything

seemed fine when I pulled into the yard, but there was no answer when I

knocked on her door. I tried again, but there was nothing but an eerie

silence. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the spare key from its hiding

place and went inside. I called Wilma's name and, hearing no reply, went

quickly through the house trying to find her. When I got to her

bedroom, I could hear a low moaning sound from the attached washroom. I

ran in and found Wilma collapsed by the bathtub. She had slipped and hit

her head, injuring her hip and arm in the process. She didn't have her

phone with her when she fell and had been unable to move, so who knows

how long she had been lying there.

I

called 911 for an ambulance and then called Erin and suggested that she

meet us at the hospital. It took forever for the paramedics to arrive,

and longer still to get Wilma loaded into the ambulance. By the time I

got to the hospital, she was already being triaged by their emergency

team.

I

took a few minutes while I waited for an update on Wilma's condition to

call the rest of the family and give them the news. Alison came

directly to the hospital after class, and Sharon brought Mary and Lane

as soon as they got home from school. Erin arrived a few hours later and

broke down when she saw me. Finally, just after nine, the doctors gave

Erin an update. Wilma was in rough shape; she was badly dehydrated and

had a moderate concussion, a fractured wrist, and a bone bruise on her

hip. It would take her weeks to recover in the hospital. The good news

was that she would make a recovery, given enough time and support.

Erin

and Mary decided to stay with Wilma in the hospital while Sharon

dropped Alison at her dorm and drove Lane back to the house. By

midnight, Mary had nodded off in a chair in the corner of Wilma's room,

while I waited outside with Erin.

"You

should go home, Davis. There's nothing else you can do tonight. Thank

God, you found her; I am not sure what I would have done if you hadn't. I

already lost Grampy; I am not ready to lose Gran as well. They are all I

have."

I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her close.

"You

have me, now, too. And the girls. And you know Lane would do anything

for you, you just need to ask. I was serious about what I said in Grand

Rapids, Erin. I love you."

Erin pulled me closer but didn't reply.

The

following week was a rollercoaster of emotions. Wilma was improving far

quicker than the doctors had anticipated, but she would still be in

rehab for at least another two weeks. It was impossible to hide Wilma's

accident from the rest of the family, and they descended on the hospital

like vultures; or, more accurately, their lawyers descended on the

hospital while, for the most part, they stayed far away where it was

warm. The one exception was Erin's stepfather, who flew in the next day.

"For

Christ's sake, Erin. Haven't you done enough harm as it is? Do you want

your Gran to die alone on the floor of that dingy old shack of hers?

It's time for her to move into a care facility that can look after her.

Be reasonable!"

When

he failed to persuade Erin to act on his behalf, his attorneys

requested an emergency court order, alleging that Wilma lacked the

capacity to make her own medical decisions, that Erin was not acting in

her best interests, and that one of Wilma's children should be appointed

as her legal guardian. Wilma was furious when she learned of his

actions, but there was little she could do to stop him until she was

discharged from the hospital. Both sides knew that her doctor's

recommendation would hold a lot of weight with the judge, and it was not

good news for Wilma when it came.

"If

Mrs. Anderson is to return home, she will require around-the-clock care

and company. If such care can't be arranged, then I recommend that she

be placed in a long-term assisted-living facility that can treat any

lingering effects from her fall, and from her late-stage cancer."

Erin

took the news like a physical blow, and she staggered backward to a

chair. We didn't have the resources for 24-hour nursing, and it would be

impossible to arrange it with such short notice even if we did.

"I'm sorry, Davis. I need to be alone for a while to think."

She

left without looking back or saying goodbye to Wilma, and I just let

her go. I wanted to ease her pain, but I knew that there was nothing I

could do. She had lost, and her family had won. I was despondent as I

made my way towards the exit, so much so that I nearly ran into Alison

who was finishing up her shift at the hospital.

"You look terrible, Brother, what happened? Is Wilma alright?"

I explained to her about the doctor's recommendation and Erin's reaction.

"No one has had the heart to tell Wilma, yet. She's recovered from the fall, but this news is going to kill her."

Alison looked at me for a minute, before her mouth quirked upwards in a smile.

"I'll do it."

"What do you mean?

"I'll

do it. I'll look after Wilma. I am wrapping up my clinical practicum

tomorrow, and I was planning on working this summer. I will look after

Wilma instead. Mary can move in with us as well, and I can teach her

what she needs to know to care for her when I'm not there. Once her

school year is done in June, she and I can spell each other off, and I

can still pick up some shifts here and there."

It was an amazing offer, but I couldn't let her do it.

"Alison, I can't ask you to give up your job for the summer. You need that money for your living expenses at school."

"You're

not asking; I'm offering. And since you've paid for my tuition so far, I

am debt-free and can take out a loan to cover my last term."

"I didn't cover the tuition, it was your;"

"Davis.

Really? Our mother, who never met a five-dollar bill she couldn't snort

or inject, left me a college fund? Please. I am not an idiot. I love

you, Big Brother, and I love what you have done for me and the others,

but it's my time to step up now as well. Let me do this."

I felt a heaviness lift from my chest as I hugged Alison and lifted her off her feet.

I

tried to reach Erin to let her know about Alison's offer, but I drove

to her apartment, and she wasn't there, and she must have turned her

phone off. I figured she must have gone to Wilma's, so I headed that

way. I pulled in just as the sun was setting and found her SUV parked in

the laneway, crosshatched by the lengthening shadows of the trees.

I

parked and saw a lone figure at the end of the dock, still wearing her

scrubs. I could see whitecaps on the waves as they smashed into the

dock, and I knew she must be freezing, so I grabbed my jacket out of the

back of the truck and went to join her. The footing was treacherous,

with patches of ice hidden by the gloom and spray, but I made my way

carefully to Erin and wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. She closed

her eyes and leaned back against me.

"Am

I doing the right thing, Davis? Gran could have died. She would have

died if not for you. Can we risk that happening again? Am I just holding

on to the past?"

When she was finished, Erin lapsed into silence.

"You

are doing what Wilma asked you to do. I know your stepfather says that

she isn't mentally competent, but I tell you, if she's not mentally

competent then none of us are."

"But it doesn't make a difference anymore. You heard what the doctor said, and I can't go against her recommendation."

"You

don't have to, Erin. Alison has offered to move in with Wilma to look

after her, and she will teach Mary to look after her as well. Between

the two of them, Wilma can stay in the house until the fall, at least,

and then we can see."

Erin

turned towards me in her excitement but lost her footing on the

slippery dock and fell backward into the water, pulling me with her.

Now, in the summer, that kind of accident might be cause for some

laughter and an embarrassing story around the dinner table. In late

April, however, spending any time in the frigid waters of Lake Michigan

could rapidly prove fatal.

The

shock from the cold when Erin hit the water caused her to gasp

involuntarily, and she took in a mouthful. I had a half-second longer to

prepare myself and managed to keep my mouth closed as I submerged, but I

could immediately feel the cold in my extremities. The ladder that

would normally have been at the end of the dock had been taken out for

the winter, so we had no choice but to make for shore.

Time

compressed as I struggled to pull us through the water while Erin

coughed and vomited. Finally, we dragged ourselves onto the shore, wet

and shivering. I felt clumsy and weak from the cold, and my clothes felt

like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I wrapped my arm around Erin's

waist, and we started stumbling toward the house. By the time we got

there, we were both shivering uncontrollably and my hands were numb from

the cold.

I

knew we needed to get warm, but it was like my brain was in a fog and I

couldn't get my limbs to move the way they were supposed to. So, I did

the first thing that came to mind, and started feeding paper and

kindling into the fireplace, while Erin went to the linen closet and

grabbed a stack of towels. She stripped off her wet scrubs while I got

the fire started, and then she helped me get undressed as well.

When

I felt a little feeling return to my fingers, I fed a larger log onto

the fire and then went and got a large comforter which I wrapped around

us as we shivered in front of the fire. Eventually, our shivering

subsided as our bodies warmed up, and Erin laid her head back against my

chest.

"I'm not ready for her to go. I'm not ready to be all alone again."

"You're not alone anymore; not unless you want to be. I love you, Erin."

I felt her relax back against me.

"I love you too, Davis, and I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For pulling you into the lake like a dumbass; fuck, that was cold."

Chapter 6.

Wilma's

family insisted on taking their emergency petition to court, over

Wilma's continued objections, but once the judge learned that Alison, a

trained nurse, was going to be staying with her, their decision was an

easy one. And let me tell you, Wilma's mind was still sharp as ever, and

she made it clear both to her doctors and, eventually, to her family

and the judge, that she wanted to go home. Erin's stepfather was beside

himself with anger after they lost the hearing.

"Why

do you insist on delaying the inevitable like this? Wilma is dying. We

know it, she knows it, the doctors know it. You're the only one who

won't accept it. She would get better care in a facility with real

nurses here in town, rather than relying on a student, a little girl,

and whatever time you can give her at home. The next time she has a

crisis maybe we won't get so lucky, and it will be on your head."

Outwardly,

Erin looked as smooth and unbothered as glass as her stepfather

screamed at her, but her hand was squeezing mine so hard that I thought

she might break a bone. Luckily, before I could say anything to make

matters worse, Wilma intervened.

"What

is it that makes you so damn sure that you know what's best for

everyone else? You're right, I'm dying. There is nothing that anyone can

do about that. If I happen to fall again and speed the process along,

so be it. But don't you dare pretend that you care one iota about my

health or happiness, or your stepdaughter's happiness for that matter.

The only thing you care about is getting your wife's inheritance faster.

Is your business doing so badly that you can't wait until I die?

It

seemed like she had scored a direct hit, as his face turned solid red

as he started to stammer out a response, but she dismissed him before he

could even begin.

"Now

go away and leave us in peace. You will be back here for my funeral

soon enough, and no one wants you hovering around, hoping to speed it

up."

A

week later, Wilma was released from the hospital, and we brought her

back home. Alison moved in right away, along with Munchkin, and Mary

soon followed. On most days, James would come by to pick Mary up for

school and then drop her back afterward. Alison stayed with Wilma during

the day, and Mary covered most of the evenings. Erin came by to help

whenever she could, and I did my best to keep them stocked with

supplies.

It

wasn't perfect, but it worked and, more importantly, it made Wilma

happy. She didn't talk much about her cancer, but it was clear that it

was getting worse. Mary noticed that she was eating less and resting

more and that she had begun to take her pain pills in the morning as

well as in the evening before she went to bed. Wilma was still adamant

that she wanted to stay in her home, however, and continued to teach

Mary all she could about art and life.

In

early June, I had stopped by to visit Wilma and the girls late in the

afternoon and I was still there when James dropped Mary off from school.

He escorted her into the house but then stood awkwardly in the

entranceway rather than leaving.

"Mr. Crawford, could we talk for a minute, if you have the time?"

I shook my head in amusement. No matter how many times I told him to just call me Davis, Mr. Crawford, I remained.

"Sure,

I was just finishing up with Wilma," I replied as I gave Wilma a gentle

hug. She felt more like a bird at that point than a person, just skin

hanging on fragile bones held together by her indomitable will. James

looked worried as we went outside.

"This

may not be any of my business, but yesterday, when I got home from

school, Calum and my dad were on a conference call with some officials

from the county and Wilma's son and one of her granddaughters, the

lawyer. I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but they were on

speaker, and it was loud enough that I could hear them in the kitchen.

"They

were saying that when Wilma dies, her estate is being divided up

equally amongst all of the children and grandchildren, but there is a

part of the will that states that the land by the lake can't be sold or

developed. From the sounds of it, however, once Wilma is gone, the

county is going to seize that land, using eminent domain, to create a

public boat launch, since Wilma's dock is the only four-season dock for

at least ten miles in either direction. They will fix it up and then

sell the rest of the land to the McDougals for development.

"So,

Wilma's family will get their money when the county forces the sale,

and the McDougals will get their land. The only person left who might

make a fuss would be Erin, but they figure she will fall in line once

she sees the big fat check from the county."

Listening

to James' story made my blood boil. I hated the kinds of rich pricks

who used their money and their purchased politicians to run roughshod

over the rest of us. I just wasn't sure if there was anything that we

could do to stop them. I thanked James for the heads up and went to

speak with Wilma once he left. I expected Wilma to be as filled with

rage at her family's treachery as I was, but she seemed remarkably calm

about the whole thing.

"Thank

you for sharing this with me and thank James for his candor. He must

have been deeply conflicted between his loyalty to his family, and his

desire to do the right thing. Now, as to what we are going to do about

this, we are going to do nothing. I don't want you to mention this to

Erin or Mary, it will just worry them and make them upset. And you have

more important things to do than to rage against a bunch of duplicitous

assholes. Leave this one with me.

"Now,

why don't you go outside, take that shirt off, and start chopping some

wood or something equally manly? Erin will be here soon, and you know

how she likes to see you when you have worked up a sweat."

I

didn't know exactly what Wilma had planned, but for the next few days,

she spent a lot of time on the phone. Towards the end of June, a very

well-dressed older man in a tailored suit was leaving her house just as I

was pulling in. It was clear that he had been there before since

Munchkin ignored him and came over to give me an enthusiastic greeting

instead. The man gave me a friendly smile as he put his briefcase in his

top-of-the-line Lexus SUV before walking over to introduce himself.

"Brantford

Sage," he said holding out his hand. "You must be Mr. Crawford. Wilma

has told me a lot about you. With everything she said, I was kind of

expecting you to be seven feet tall and wearing a cape."

I laughed at the image.

"It's nice that she thinks so highly of me, but she gives me too much credit. And please call me Davis."

"Well,

Davis, and please call me Brantford, I have known Wilma for more years

than you have been alive, and I have never heard her talk about anyone

the way that she talks about you, except for Phillip, of course. And we

all know how she felt about Phillip."

I

knew that it was none of my business why Mr. Sage was visiting Wilma,

but my desire to protect her overrode any hesitation on my part about

speaking out.

"I

am sorry if it's rude of me to ask, Mr. Sage, but what is your business

here with Wilma? As you may know, her own family, along with a local

family of some prominence, have been waging a campaign to get Wilma to

sell this land. You are not here on their behalf, are you?"

"I

can assure you, Davis, that I am only here as a favor to Wilma. I

normally split my time between our offices in Detroit, New York, and

London, but when Wilma calls, I make it a priority to answer. I am sorry

that I can't say more about my business here, attorney-client

privilege, but you can ask her yourself if you would like."

"It's

all good. Wilma is still sharp as a tack, and even if she has lost a

step or two, she is still twice as smart and four times as wise as I

will ever be."

"Well, I should be going. But sadly, I am sure I will see you again, soon enough."

By

the end of the summer, it was clear that Wilma's adventures were almost

done. When she worked with Mary, she would often fall asleep in the

comfortable chair in the corner. She had never had a large appetite, but

recently, it had dwindled almost to nothing. Erin was very worried and

suggested that it was time to move her Gran into hospice, but Wilma

wouldn't hear of it.

"This

house has been my home for more than 60 years; I am not going to leave

it now. It would miss me too much, and I can't have my home pining away

over me. There is nothing more depressing than a sad home."

Even Munchkin, the dog with boundless energy, became more subdued and often sat a quiet watch over Wilma while she slept.

Finally,

on the last Sunday of August, I got the call I had been dreading. I

could hear Mary's voice on the other end of the line, holding back

tears.

"Gran

says she's too tired and it's time to stop fighting. She told me to

call you and Erin, and ask you to come;" I could hear the sobs building

in her as she spoke, "to say goodbye."

"Is James there with you, Mary?"

"I called him. He's on his way."

"I will call Erin and then go and pick her up. She won't be in any condition to drive."

I

figured the odds of there being a speed trap on the highway to Petoskey

before 7 AM on a Sunday were slim to none, so I made it to Erin's

apartment in record time. She must have been watching for me out of her

window, as she threw herself into my arms before I was fully out of the

truck.

"I

am so sorry, Honey," was all I could say, and I just held her in

silence until the waves of grief that wracked her body had subsided.

"We

should get going," I said, not knowing what else to say. Maybe I should

have told her that "Everything would be alright," but I suspected that

it would be a while before that was true. But that was okay. People

grieve in their own time. Erin held my hand tightly as we started the

drive to Wilma's.

"Why don't you tell me some of your favorite memories with your Gran and Grampy?"

Erin

remained silent for a few minutes, but once she started talking, the

floodgates opened wide. She told me about the first time that her

parents dropped her at the airport when she was only seven. How scared

she was of these strange older people she didn't know. Phillip had seen

her fear, and rather than trying to comfort her; how do you comfort a

child whose parents have abandoned them; he had taken her for a long

walk down by the lake. She remembered the sound of the wind blowing off

the lake, as Phillip told her stories about their past.

She

remembered the summers she spent with Gran and Grampy as a teen. By

that point, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, and her parents

wanted to show her off to their important friends in Europe and places

further afield. But she had already chosen to spend her time with the

people that she loved.

She

spoke of coming to see them when she was in college. Of the awful year

that Phillip got sick, and her grief at his passing. She said that her

parents came to Good Hart for the funeral, but it felt like she and Gran

were the only people to truly grieve his loss. She fell silent as we

pulled into Wilma's laneway.

"Go and see your Gran. Let me know what you need, Honey. I am here for you."

Despite her grief, Erin looked at me as she took my hand.

"What about you? What do you need, Davis? You love her too."

"People

show their love in different ways. I never really got the chance to

give or receive love as a child, at least not in the way that most of us

think of it. But being with you has made me realize something important

about myself; I take care of the people I love. So, let me take care of

you, Mary, and Wilma, one final time."

By

that point, Mary and Munchkin had come outside. Mary's eyes were red,

and you could see the tracks that her tears had left on her cheeks. I

got out of the truck and just held her for a minute. Erin came up behind

me and enveloped her as well. Munchkin, mourning in his own way, stood

watch for us, keeping us safe as we grieved.

"Mary,

you don't have to be here for the end if it's too hard. You can say

goodbye, then take the truck and go and meet James. We can let you know

when it's over."

She just shook her head.

"Where is she?"

Mary

led us into the living room. The wisp that remained of Wilma was in the

comfortable chair by the fire. She had been a very small woman when we

met less than a year before, but now she looked almost ethereal. Like

the wind could slip right through her collecting her stories as it

passed. She beckoned me over with one of her curled hands.

"Davis,

I am glad that you're here. I know I am a greedy old biddy, but I have

three favors to ask, and I don't have a lot of time left to do the

asking."

"Of course, Wilma. You know I would do anything for you and Erin."

She closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts.

"The

first favor is that I need some time alone with my girls. I am sure

James will be here in a minute; he is a good boy, don't hold those

assholes in his family against him. He loves our Mary. Go outside, and

when he arrives, I want you to go down to the lake and set up the five

Adirondack chairs, so they are all together and facing out over the

water. Then come back up to me."

"Of course, Wilma."

I

went outside and sat on the front steps, scratching Munchkin's ears as I

waited. James pulled up less than ten minutes later and I explained

what had happened, and Wilma's request. When we were finished at the

lake, we walked back up to the house, with Munchkin following quietly on

our heels. We let ourselves in and saw Wilma, Erin, and Mary pulled

together in an embrace. I was hesitant to interrupt, but Wilma saw us

and called us over.

"There's

your big, strong men. Girls, could you get some of the outdoor blankets

for James to carry down to the lake for us? And Davis, my second favor

is for you to carry me down to the lake one last time. Would the rest of

you give us a few minutes before you follow?"

I

picked Wilma up from the chair and wrapped her in my arms. She felt

almost weightless, but I saw hints of her mischievous smile as we

started walking.

"You know, the last time a man carried me like this, the journey ended very differently."

I couldn't help but smile, even at the end Wilma was still quick with the teasing and innuendo.

"I bet you wish it was that other man carrying you now," I joked in return, but Wilma just rested her head against my chest.

"No.

No, I don't, Davis. I will see that other man soon enough. I am well

content to be here with you. I am so proud of you. You are such a good

and faithful man. It is a lot to ask of you, but for my third favor,

will you look after my girls when I am gone?"

By that point, we had reached the shore, and I set Wilma down in the middle chair of the five.

"You

don't need to ask, Wilma. Of course, I will look after them. Because

you asked it of me, and because I love them just like you do."

Wilma

smiled and reached out to take my hand while she pressed three small

objects into my palm. I looked down and saw that she had removed her

engagement and wedding rings and given them to me. They were joined by

an almost identical wedding band that must have belonged to Phillip

before he passed.

"You

will know when the time is right for these. I would have liked to have

been there to see it, though. Through these rings, maybe Phillip and I

can continue to be a small part of your love for each other, even once

we're gone."

James

and the girls had started down the path to the lake and would reach us

in a minute. Before they arrived, Wilma gave me a final serious look.

"All

hell is going to break loose when they read my will after the funeral.

Be there for Erin, please. The mistakes I made with my children are all

my fault, but Erin will be left to bear that weight for a little while

longer once I'm gone. It would mean a lot to a dying woman to know that

she won't have to carry that weight alone."

"I'll share that weight with her, for as long as she needs. For as long as she will let me."

Wilma patted my hand.

"That's good. I love you, Davis, but I think it's time."

Mary

and Erin arrived with James, and they made sure that Wilma was bundled

in warm blankets as she looked out over the lake. Mary and Erin sat on

either side of her and held her hands, while James and I sat at the

ends. Munchkin settled against Wilma's feet, to keep them warm.

After

a while, Wilma started talking. She told stories about her life with

Phillip; how they met, when they first came to this place, building a

home, and raising their family. She spoke of their success as artists,

and their failures as parents. She spoke of her regrets but also about

her deep love for Erin and Mary, and how much she appreciated what they

had done for her. She paused for a moment as the wind began to pick up,

but we heard her last words before the wind carried the rest away.

"You are all artists, and you are all worthy of love."

She fell silent, and we sat for a long while listening to the wind off the lake.

Epilogue.

As

always, Wilma was right. The reading of her will did indeed set off a

firestorm, but she had made sure that we were ready for it.

Do

you remember Mr. Sage, that man in the suit who came to visit Wilma not

too long before she passed? It turns out that he wasn't just an old

friend, he was also a named partner at the largest law firm in the state

and one of the most powerful firms in the country.

It

seems that Phillip didn't just paint portraits for the richest family

in the state (you would recognize their name from the hospitals,

museums, and other cultural institutions where it is featured

prominently), but he also became a close family friend. You would never

have known it, though, since Phillip refused to even acknowledge their

friendship in public so that he didn't inadvertently trade on their

name. Mr. Sage was also a good friend of that family and, over the

years, became close with Wilma and Phillip, as well.

After

James told Wilma his story, she called those old family friends and,

for the first time in their long friendship, asked for their help. She

would never have done so for her own benefit, but she couldn't bear to

think that Phillip's legacy would be lost because of the greed and

treachery of his children. Within a day, Mr. Sage was working on a

solution to Wilma's problem, and everything was signed and sealed well

before Wilma passed on.

The

day of the reading of the will would have been comic if it hadn't also

been so tragic. In the weeks after Wilma's death, her remaining children

and grandchildren had gathered to express their deep sadness at her

passing. Many black outfits were worn, and many sad faces were made.

Not

surprisingly, the entire McDougal family also showed up both to the

funeral and to the smaller gathering at Wilma's house afterward. James

stood with Mary, his arm around her shoulder, both to comfort her and to

protect her from his own family, as best he could. The rest of the

McDougal clan stood with Wilma's family and made sure to avail

themselves of the free wine and hors d'oeuvres.

As

per her wishes, Wilma was cremated, and her ashes were scattered from

the deck behind her house so that the wind could carry them towards the

lake. Again, as per her wishes, the will was read immediately

thereafter.

The

first surprise of the day came when Mr. Sage, who everyone thought was

there merely to express his condolences at Wilma's passing, informed the

family lawyers that the will in their possession had been revoked

earlier that year. Both Wilma's family and their lawyers began to

protest until the man formally introduced himself as a named partner at

Sage, Bentley, and Carstairs, and as the new executor of Wilma's estate.

The

second surprise was the size and extent of that estate. The property by

the lake was considerably larger than anyone had known and included a

number of additional houses and cottages that Wilma and Phillip had

acquired over the years. Unlike the previous will, however, that had

left an equal share of the land to each of Wilma's descendants, the new

one protected the entire property, in perpetuity, as part of a land

trust that was established for the benefit and use of artists, local

residents and even the Fudgies, when summer came to the lower peninsula.

As

part of the land trust, the dock was to be extended and reinforced and a

public boat landing and park were to be built and maintained on the

land, again, in perpetuity. Erin and I were named as trustees of the

land trust, along with Mr. Sage and Mary, when she came of age. Given

Michigan's strict laws around the use of eminent domain for private

gain, there was no chance that the McDougals and the county would be

able to move forward with their plans to seize the land.

The

third and final surprise was that Wilma and Phillip had done much

better with the sale of their art and with their investments over the

years than anyone had thought or expected. In addition to the property

that was now in the trust, they had amassed a fortune in the low eight

figures. Most of that money was left to manage the land trust, but a not

inconsiderable amount was set aside to fund the college education of my

brother and sisters and to pay off Erin's considerable student debt

from medical school. The will also stipulated that the estate would pay

for any costs that Wilma's family had incurred to attend the funeral

(with receipts, of course.)

Wilma's

paintings were left to the public gallery in Grand Rapids and galleries

further afield, with a few notable exceptions. Mary was given three

paintings of her choice from the collection, that weren't otherwise

named in the will. After much thought and consideration, she chose both

the first and last works that Wilma had painted, both of which had been

hanging in the living room, along with a small study of the house that

Wilma kept in her bedroom beside a picture of Phillip and her on their

wedding day.

Erin

was given Phillip's portrait of her as a young woman, and that portrait

still hangs above our mantelpiece alongside his portrait of Wilma as a

young woman, which she left to me. The only time they left our

mantelpiece was when they were featured in a retrospective exhibit of

their work at a museum in New York, but the house felt strangely empty

when they were gone.

Erin's

family was furious at the changes in the new will. They threatened to

fight it with every resource at their disposal. They tried every dirty

trick they could think of, questioning Wilma's mental capacity in the

months before her death, fighting the legality of the land trust, and

trying to impugn our characters implying that we were gold diggers who

wormed our way into Wilma's life to steal the family inheritance. In the

end, though, the family's lawyers were no match for Brantford and his

firm.

When

none of their ploys worked, Erin's family and the McDougals turned on

each other, and the ensuing lawsuits are still ongoing to this day. I

would love to say that that was the end of the McDougals, or that Erin's

family came around in the end. Unfortunately, they are still just as

terrible as ever. But at least their arrogance and corruption are now

far enough away that we can safely ignore them.

On

a similar note, my mother is still absent from our lives. I don't

honestly know if she is even still alive, although I assume that someone

would have tried to find her next of kin if she had died. Sometimes, I

am charitable and hope that she managed to face her demons and turn

what's left of her life around. But most of the time, I am just glad

that she is no longer able to hurt the people I love.

After

things settled down, Alison finished her schooling and became a nurse

practitioner, as she had always dreamed of. In her last year of study,

while she was doing a clinical practicum at a hospital in Detroit, she

met a lovely internist who fell madly in love with her. Luckily for him,

his feelings were reciprocated, and they are now married and living in

Grand Rapids. They split their holidays between our family and her

husband's family in Detroit, and they stay with us for a few weeks each

summer. Their son is as thick as thieves with our daughter, and their

imagination carries them through endless adventures together.

Sharon

was successful in her ambition to leave the peninsula and see more of

the world. She finished her undergraduate degree in creative writing in

Chicago before setting out to see the world, and she is still out there

wandering. But she sends us lots of pictures when she gets the chance,

and recently, Erin noticed that many of her pictures have the same very

attractive woman smiling in the background. I think it was probably a

coincidence, but Erin thinks otherwise. I sure hope Erin's right. There

is nothing I want more than for my family to find love and happiness.

When the spirit moves her to come home to us (with or without her

friend), she will be very welcome.

Mary

spent months grieving her loss, but rather than turning inward, she

channeled her emotions into a triptych of paintings that firmly

established her as an upcoming talent in the world of art. She lived

with us for several years until James proposed, at which point they

moved into one of the cottages owned by the trust.

Unfortunately,

James' family found out that he told Wilma about their plans, and they

disowned him. He had a few tough years, but Mary helped him through, and

when he turned eighteen, I took him on as an apprentice. He now runs

one of my crews. I used to worry that he loved Mary more than she loved

him and that the imbalance would lead to heartache. My worries were put

to rest when she painted her first portrait. James was her subject, and I

have never seen a painting more suffused with love and desire. A few

years later, a collector offered her an eye-watering amount of money for

it, but she politely declined.

As

for Lane, well who knows what he will do with his life, but he is

carrying a 4.0 GPA, and the world is his oyster. He was sure impressed

by the lawyers who rained hellfire down on the McDougals, though, so I

suspect that he might be leaning that way in the future. He is also

building quite a following as a DJ, combining classics from the 40's and

50's with new beats.

He

recently started dating a new girl, and she is a real sweetheart. We

haven't told her about the day that he met Erin for the first time; yet.

But trust me, that time will come. But until it does, Lane is more than

happy to keep up with his chores and help out around the house. But

what he loves more than anything is to carry his rod out to the end of

the dock and fish, while the wind off the lake plays through his hair.

And

then there is Erin and me. I have to say that things have worked out

pretty well for us, in the end. It took less than a year for me to make

use of Wilma's last gifts, and Erin and I were married the next summer

in the new park down by the dock. Wilma left her house and a few acres

of land to Erin, separate from the land trust, and we spent several

years fixing it up and expanding it so that my brother and sisters know

that there is always a place for them if they need it; for a day, a

week, or a lifetime.

I

am still not the best at taking orders or following instructions; but

gentle requests from the woman that I love, sealed with a kiss on my

cheek? It turns out that I am more than fine with those. And I am still

not always sure what a beautiful doctor sees in a plumber like me. But

rather than let my insecurity get the better of me, I have learned to

accept my good fortune with a smile.

One

tradition that we've adopted as our own is that we make time to dance

together every Friday night. If we have guests, or family who are home,

they know that they will be joining us as well; Wilma's 'no wallflowers'

rule is still in full effect. Now that she is old enough, I am teaching

our daughter to dance, and her favorite thing in the world is to twirl

around the living room in her mommy and daddy's arms.

Some

nights, when it's just the three of us and our daughter has gone to

bed, we let the soft crackle of Wilma's old 45s take us back. We dance

together with the lights down low, the music threading through the quiet

night like a whisper from the past. And when the music fades, we hold

each other close and listen to the voices of those we have loved, as

they linger in the wind off the lake.

Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

 

 

 

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 3How did we ever get here?

Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.

"When

I was fourteen, Mr. Johnson introduced me to a friend of his, Henry

White, who was a master plumber. Henry was a high-functioning alcoholic

whose temper had driven away all his old apprentices and journeymen.

Luckily, I was always big for my age, and Mr. Johnson assured Henry that

I was seventeen, turning eighteen in the next few months, so he took me

on with the promise to make me an apprentice as soon as I was old

enough. By the time that Henry learned my actual age, he had come to

rely on me so much that he kept me on."

"But what about school? Don't you need a high school diploma to become an apprentice?"

"One

good thing about growing up in a small town is that most people know

the score. I made it to school when I could, and Henry and I worked a

lot on the weekends, while Alison watched the rest of my siblings. Most

of my teachers let me through with C's and D's, even though I must have

missed half of my classes. Everyone knew that I was working with Henry

and that I would need my high school diploma to become an apprentice, so

they just kind of let me slip through.

"I

had well over 6,000 hours of experience plumbing before I even turned

18 and could formally become an apprentice. By that point, Henry was a

significantly less functional alcoholic, and I was doing everything for

his business; all the plumbing and all of the invoicing. He just signed

off on the work. If anyone had ever looked into it, he could have gotten

into real trouble, but we did smaller jobs for folks who didn't have a

lot of money, so no one ever noticed or cared.

"Just

about the last thing that Henry did before he passed was to swear out

my application to become a master plumber. Then one day I showed up for

work, and he had died in his sleep. He didn't own much of anything,

other than his tools, and he didn't have any family that I knew of, so I

just kept on working."

After

a few minutes spent lying together in silence, I thought that Erin

might have drifted off, but she had one more question for me before she

did.

"When did your mom leave?"

I

had never told anyone that part of my story; even my brother and

sisters thought that Mom had just left one day, leaving me in charge.

The reality was so much worse.

"By

the time Lane started school, Mom had already left us. Not physically,

but in all the other ways that matter. She didn't work, and she

regularly brought her 'boyfriends' back to our house to trade sex for

drugs. Any support she got from social services went straight into her

arm or up her nose. I was working long hours by then, to pay the rent

and put food on the table, so sometimes that meant that Mary or my

brother would be at home with Mom when I wasn't there. I knew it was

playing with fire, but there was nothing I could do about it other than

pray.

"Normally,

when I got home, I would blow my horn as I pulled into our drive and

Lane would come running out to hug me and tell me about his day. So, I

knew something was wrong when I came home late one evening, turned off

my truck, and he still hadn't come out. I went inside, and Mom was

sitting stoned in the living room watching TV. I asked where Lane was,

and she just waved toward the back of the house. Alison and Sharon were

out, so Mary and Lane were home with her by themselves. I found him in

the room that we shared, cowering in the corner, with little Mary

guarding the door. She was only eight at the time.

"After

a few minutes, I got Lane to tell me what was wrong, and he showed me

his arm. Earlier, he had been in the kitchen and had bumped into Mom

while she was cooking something on the stove. In a burst of rage, or

maybe just evil, she grabbed his arm and held it against the burner. You

can still see the scar on his arm today.

"That

was the end of it. I asked Mary to stay with Lane in our room, I packed

Mom's things into the one suitcase we owned, and I drove her to the bus

station. I bought her a ticket to Grand Rapids, gave her all the cash

in my wallet, and waited with her until she boarded. I told her I would

call the police if she ever came back.

"Before she left, she spat on me and told me she wished I had never been born."

I

marveled at how flat my voice sounded, but to my surprise, my cheeks

felt wet. I thought I had lost the ability to cry long ago.

"Can

you imagine that, abandoning your own mother? I'll probably burn in

hell, but it was the only way I could think of to keep my brother and

sisters safe. I haven't seen her since, although she used to call a

couple of times a year asking for money. I didn't feel too bad about

hanging up on her when she did, though, since she was still collecting

family benefits for us all. Lane barely remembers her, which is likely a

blessing, so I made up the story about Mom going away for the weekend

and never coming back.

"Since

then, I have done what was needed for us to survive. When Alison

finished school, she wanted to stay home to help look after the others,

but I convinced her to go to college. I said that Mom had put aside some

money for her tuition, but of course, that was a lie. I have been

making the payments for her, but I wanted her to have the chance to just

be young, for once. To get away from all of this, at least for a

while."

"But what about you, Davis?"

"I don't matter."

"Well, you matter to me."

While

I was speaking, Erin had wrapped both arms around me and was now

holding me tight against her body. When I finished, my body was wracked

by waves of uncontrollable grief, but she held me through it all.

Eventually, as I started to calm down, she gave me gentle kisses on the

nape of my neck and whispered to me in a soft voice.

I don't remember what she said, but I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The

power came back on early the next morning, and Erin and I were the

first people to wake up. She lay beside me with a small smile on her

face.

"You've had some hard times, Davis Crawford, but you have come out the other side. You're pretty amazing."

I felt a sudden burst of both elation and fear as I returned her smile.

"Thanks for listening and not judging me. I've never told anyone some of the things I shared with you."

"It was my pleasure. Now let's get up and make some coffee."

Looking

out the window, the snowdrifts were over two feet high in places, but I

knew they weren't going to get any lighter as the sun came out and they

started to melt.

"I am going to get started on the shoveling if you want to start on breakfast."

Erin gave me a bemused look.

"Or maybe, I am fully capable of shoveling snow, and we can get it done twice as fast by working together."

A

few minutes after we started, Lane came out to help. At one point, when

Erin was on the other side of the yard, he started to speak.

"I heard some of what you said to Erin last night. I never knew what Mom did to you, what you did to protect us. Thank you."

"Ah,

Bud. I never wanted you to worry. Mom wasn't well for a long time, and

she made some terrible choices. But she's gone now, and you will always

be safe with me."

By

the time we finished, we had worked ourselves into a lather, so I

suggested to Wilma that she get a snow plowing service for the winter.

She gave me a look that implied that somewhere there was a village

searching for its idiot; and that idiot was me.

"Oh, I have a service, but they take so long to come that they are useless if they bother to show up at all."

Erin jumped into the conversation, looking pissed off.

"It's

part of my family and the McDougal's ongoing campaign to get Gran to

move. I have told them how dangerous the game they are playing is, but

they just don't seem to care."

I thought for a minute, before walking a little ways away and making a call. When I returned, I had some good news for Wilma.

"Go

ahead and cancel your current service. If they aren't going to do the

work, they shouldn't have a problem with not getting paid. I called an

old friend of mine from school who runs a snow removal company out of

Harbor Springs, who owes me a favor or nine. From now on, you will be at

the top of his list."

Erin

and I texted just about every day between Thanksgiving and Christmas,

and we talked most nights when she wasn't working. We were both insanely

busy; Erin was providing pediatric coverage for two hospitals that were

three hours apart, and I was working as much overtime as possible, to

save up for Christmas. Some weeks, the only time we had to meet in

person was Sunday afternoons at Wilma's.

Mary,

in turn, was flourishing under Wilma's guidance. It seemed like she was

channeling her emotions into her art, and I began to see the kind and

thoughtful sister reemerge that I thought I had lost forever. She

wouldn't show me the painting she was working on, but Wilma said she was

making good progress, and that was all I needed to know.

As

it got towards mid-December, our thoughts turned to Christmas. Since

Wilma's family was still boycotting the holidays, we decided to have a

joint celebration like at Thanksgiving. Erin was going to be working at

the hospital in Petoskey on Christmas Day, but we promised to keep Wilma

company and to bring her a Christmas meal that she could eat on her

break. In typical fashion, she tried to convince us that she would be

fine with cafeteria food, but we would hear nothing of it.

When

we got to Wilma's house for lunch on Christmas Day, she had stockings

laid out by the fireplace with a present for each of us. Santa must have

had a very healthy budget, because he brought Lane a new fishing rod,

Mary a set of expensive paints and charcoals, Sharon a contribution to

her college fund, and Alison a specialized nurse's bag with a

personalized stethoscope.

Rather

than a present, my stocking came with a small envelope that contained a

pair of tickets to the traveling production of "Moulin Rouge" that was

playing in Grand Rapids in March. Although I was happy to get a present

of any kind, Wilma must have seen my look of confusion at the choice.

"I

was talking to Santa, and he mentioned that Erin loves musicals.

Phillip used to take her to them when she was younger. He would put on

his best suit, and she would get all dolled up in a dress with some of

my jewelry, and they would go out for a fancy dinner before the show and

have a grand old time."

I looked at her in amusement, before replying.

"Well, it seems that Santa is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. But I will have to say thanks, next time I bump into him."

Our

present to Wilma came in three parts. First, we included her in our

Christmas cookie exchange, and Mary even gave her a double portion of

the chocolate chip cookies she had baked. Second, the five of us

committed to helping her catch up on the yard work and house repairs

that had fallen by the wayside since Phillip passed. And finally, we

pledged to do everything in our power to make sure that she could stay

in her house for as long as she was able.

Wilma hugged and thanked each of us with tears in her eyes, then looked over at Mary.

"Why don't you get your present for your brother."

Mary went to the studio at the back of the house and brought back what looked like a small painting, wrapped in Christmas paper.

"I wanted to make you something to say 'thank you' for everything you have done for us. And for not giving up on me."

When

I unwrapped the painting, I was stunned. It was very different from

Phillip or Wilma's more realistic works and had vibrant streaks of paint

that burst across the canvas, meeting, seemingly at random, in

explosions of color. The entire piece was chaotic, except for a single

corner that was shielded from the turmoil by a solid arc of paint that

was the exact color of my eyes.

After

lunch, Mary and Sharon kept Wilma company while Alison, Lane, and I

went to see Erin at the hospital. Things were pretty quiet, so she had

time to sit and eat her dinner with us. While she ate, I showed her

pictures from earlier in the day. She laughed at one, in particular, of

Wilma with her arm around Mary while they were wearing festive paper

hats from their Christmas crackers.

"Thank

you for taking such good care of Wilma, Davis. She would never admit

it, but the holidays would have been very lonely for her this year

without you. It means the world to me that you could be there for her."

We

chatted a bit longer before I pulled out my present for Erin. It was a

small flat package which she opened slowly. Inside was a framed drawing

of Wilma's house, as seen from the docks, as she looked out the picture

window in her living room.

"This is amazing, who made it?"

"I

used to draw quite a bit in school. Since Mary has been working with

your Gran, I thought I might give it another try, and I particularly

liked how this one turned out."

"It's beautiful, Davis. Thank you."

She

started to blush as she glanced over at Lane, before she slid a card

over to me, and whispered, "Maybe you should wait to open this until

later when you're alone."

Inside

the card was Erin's two-part gift to me. First, an invitation to visit

her in Grand Rapids, and second, a night for the two of us in a suite at

a very nice hotel.

New

Year's Eve was even quieter than usual at our house. Erin was working

in Grand Rapids and was on call that evening. I spoke with her earlier

in the day, however, and wished her a Happy New Year, and we sent each

other kissing emojis at midnight. The rest of us spent the night playing

board games. The only real excitement came a few days earlier when Mary

asked if she could invite a friend to join us.

"And is this friend a boy, by chance?"

As

far as I knew, Mary had never had a boyfriend, so this was a new

development. Mary didn't have to answer, since her blush did the talking

for her.

"Do we know this boy?"

"It's; It's James McDougal. But he's not like his brothers. He's a good guy."

I

had my reservations about all of the McDougals, but I was willing to

give him a chance. I had only met James that one time at his parent's

house when I had gone to get Mary, and he seemed polite enough. But

since he was a McDougal, he was starting with two strikes and was in

danger of going down swinging.

To

give Mary credit, James passed the first boyfriend test before he even

made it into the house. When he drove into the yard, Munchkin was the

first to greet him. He wasn't growling or barking like he sometimes did,

or showing his teeth, but he was plenty intimidating. James waited

patiently for him to approach before carefully scratching behind his

ears. After Mary came out to greet James, Munchkin decided he was

alright and fell in behind them as they came inside. Just after

midnight, as he was getting ready to leave, James took me aside.

"I

just wanted to say, sir, that I am sorry for what happened with Mary a

few months back. I should never have brought her over to my house

without your permission, and I should have brought her right back home

once I saw that my brothers were home. I promise you, that despite my

bad judgment, I would have made sure that nothing happened to her, and I

won't ever make that mistake again."

I had to admit that James was growing on me.

Chapter 5.

It

wasn't long before Mary introduced James to Wilma. I had to work on a

Sunday in early January, so he offered to drive her to Wilma's in my

place. I could tell he was nervous, and he was wearing a nice, collared

shirt with some clean jeans, under his winter jacket. By the time he

brought Mary home, his shirt was soaked in sweat, and he looked a little

like a young man returning from war. Later that week, I asked Wilma

what she thought of him.

"He

seems like a nice, polite boy and he sure is besotted with our Mary.

While Mary and I worked on her latest painting, he did some chores for

me, including chopping and stacking the entire half cord of wood you

dropped off last week. But he didn't complain, and he was still smiling

at Mary when he was done, so I think he will do."

Wilma's

relationship with the rest of the McDougals, however, remained tense,

and they made it clear to me that continuing to help her would come at a

steep cost. I ran into Calum one evening at the grocery store and he

made their position crystal clear.

"We've

got a big job coming up in Indian River that you might be interested

in. Starts in a week, and it would keep you busy for the better part of

the next year, solid. The job is yours if you want it."

"What's this job going to cost me?"

"It's

yours, no strings attached. But you wouldn't have time to help old lady

Anderson anymore. You know, and I know, that it's time for her to move

on from that land. It's what her family wants and it's what's best for

her. I am sure that doctor down in Petoskey would understand, I figure

she must be tired of looking after that grandmother of hers all the time

anyway. Think how much more time the two of you would have together if

you were working a regular nine-to-five kind of job.

"On

the other hand, if you don't work with us on this project, my family is

going to take it pretty hard. Hard enough that we might reach out to

our friends and neighbors to let them know that you are not a team

player and that they may not want to do business with you."

There

it was. They were threatening to ruin me if I didn't do what they

wanted. I knew they couldn't cut off all of my business since there were

too many people in the lower peninsula who had been screwed over by

them in the past. But they could sure make things tough for me. I am

really bad at taking orders, however, particularly from dickheads like

Calum McDougal.

Calum

had a cynical smile as he walked away. He didn't value decency or

loyalty, so I was sure he thought he had won me over. All he had done

was harden my resolve. I felt honor-bound to reach out to my friend who

was clearing Wilma's driveway, though, to let him know that he might get

some heat from the McDougals. He was surprisingly poetic in his

response.

"Fuck those arrogant worm-drowners and the horses they rode in on."

Valentine's

Day was never a big deal for me. Over the years, I hadn't had time to

date, and I wouldn't have had any money to do anything special if I did,

so the Hallmark holiday passed me by without too much fuss or bother. I

had hoped things might be different since I was with Erin, but she was

on call at the hospital in Petoskey, and I was pushing hard on a large

multi-unit build that was on a tight schedule, so I was working six or

even seven days a week until it was done. My work hadn't completely

dried up since my run-in with Calum, but it had certainly taken a hit,

so I was not in a position to turn down jobs, no matter how

inconvenient.

My

one consolation was I knew I would see Erin in a couple of weeks when I

visited her in Grand Rapids for the show. I had some flowers delivered

to her at the hospital anyway, to let her know that I was thinking of

her. That earned me an emoji-filled text and an enthusiastic video call

when she was done with her shift.

As

the date of the show got closer, I started to get anxious. I had never

been to a live performance of anything, except the occasional high

school assembly, and I worried that Erin would be disappointed in my

lack of manners and refinement. Wilma noticed my growing nervousness and

decided that I needed a pep talk.

"Listen, Davis. Erin likes you for who you are. She doesn't need or want you to act like some slick yuppie from the big city."

"I

know, Wilma, but I don't even know what to wear. The nicest outfit I

own is still just a collared shirt over a pair of jeans."

"Hmm, I can help you with that. I still have some of Phillip's old suits and ties, let's take a look and see what might fit."

Half

an hour later, Wilma had picked out a heavier dark charcoal-colored

suit, a lightweight linen suit suitable for warmer weather, and a dark

grey suit with tight pinstripes for me to try on. She had some shirts

for me, as well, from when Phillip was younger.

"Phillip

wore that pinstripe suit the first time that he took me to the movies.

I'll never forget that night, he looked just like Cary Grant. If you

bring these suits to the tailor in Indian River, he should be able to

take in the jacket and hem the pants to fit you perfectly. A good tailor

can make these suits look like they were cut just for you."

I

didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I couldn't help but wonder if I

would look funny in a decades-old suit. Wilma dismissed my concerns out

of hand.

"Let

me tell you a little secret. If you buy a cheap suit, it will quickly

begin to look tacky and dated. If you invest in a quality suit, it will

age gracefully and become a timeless classic."

Finally, Wilma selected a half dozen ties for me to try on and spent an hour teaching me how to tie a half-Windsor knot.

"Get

these suits altered, grab yourself a pair of polished black leather

shoes, and you'll have those snooty pricks at the theatre thinking they

are underdressed. And try to have fun. Erin loves the theatre, so if the

two of you continue to fall in love, you will be going with her at

least a couple of times a year, so you might as well enjoy it."

I stood there in shock for a moment.

"Do you really think Erin is falling in love with me?"

"Well,

yes, I do. And it's clear as daylight that you're in love with her too.

But don't overthink things. Just go to the show and have a great night

together. And here, take this with you as well," Wilma said handing me a

navy blue pocket square with a distinctive paisley pattern.

"Most

men don't bother wearing a pocket square anymore, but I think they

complete the look perfectly. You should wear this one on your date with

Erin."

Wilma took a final look at me and then slipped a twenty-dollar bill into my pocket.

"That's

for you to get a haircut before the show. Your normal 'shaggy mutt lost

in a forest' look is adorable but not for your big date."

The

day of the performance approached with both aching slowness and

relentless speed. We hadn't discussed it, but I knew (or at least

strongly suspected) that Erin would have some expectations about how we

spent our time together after the show. Unfortunately, I had no

experience when it came to women other than a single kiss with Brittany

Johnson back in my sophomore year of high school. I was terrified that I

would disappoint her.

To

make matters worse, I had the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Grand

Rapids to overthink things. By the time I arrived at Erin's apartment

complex, I was a bit of a mess. My nerves were somewhat allayed,

however, when Erin came running out to greet me with a huge smile on her

face.

"You

made it! How was the drive? Wow, I love the haircut! I hope you're not

too tired. I can't wait for tonight. I have been telling the girls all

about you, and they are dying to see if the man lives up to the legend!"

I guess Erin could see the sudden swell of anxiety on my face, so she took my hand.

"Don't

worry, the girls will love you, Davis. Why don't you grab your bag and

come inside? I thought we could get changed here and then check in to

the hotel before dinner and the show."

Erin's

housemates were really sweet, and the three of us chatted for at least

an hour while Erin got ready before I excused myself to do the same. I

put on Phillip's charcoal grey suit along with the crisp white shirt

that Wilma had recommended. It took me four tries to tie my navy blue

tie, but even I could tell that it made the colors in my paisley pocket

square pop.

Despite

my nerves, I was still ready before Erin, so I rejoined her housemates

in the living room while I waited. They kept sneaking glances at me when

they thought I wasn't looking, so much so that I thought I must have

done something wrong. Rather than second-guessing myself, I decided to

take the bull by the horns and ask; better to be embarrassed in front of

Erin's housemates than in front of her.

"It's;

it's not that you did anything wrong. It's just that you look; well,

amazing; like an old-time movie star or something. Erin is going to

swoon when she sees you."

"You really think so?" I asked, still not sure of myself.

Just then, I heard Erin's voice from behind me.

"I'm sorry I took so long; we should head out before we're;"

Erin

went silent as I turned to look at her. She was wearing a floor-length

emerald-green dress, which seemed to flow around her and mold to her

curves, gathering delicately at her neck while leaving her back bare.

Her sandy-blonde hair was styled in an elegant updo, while a few strands

floated loose, framing her face. But, as always, what captured and held

my gaze were her amber eyes, which danced and sparkled as she moved. My

hands began to tremble, and I didn't trust myself to speak.

"Do I look alright, Davis?"

I took a deep breath that sent oxygen coursing through my body, as I found my voice.

"I had no idea that anyone could look as beautiful as you do right now."

Apparently, she liked my response, since her face broke into a wide grin.

"You look mighty handsome yourself, Mister," she said while making a small adjustment to the knot of my tie.

"Is

that one of Grampy's suits? It looks amazing on you, and I love the tie

and the; Oh; Oh, Davis. Is that Grampy's pocket square?"

I could see tears forming in her eyes.

"Wilma

thought you might like it; that it might remind you of Phillip and the

times he took you to the theatre when you were younger. I don't have to

wear it, though, if you don't like it," I said reaching up to take it

out of my pocket. Erin stopped my hand with hers, however, and then

lightly ran her fingertips over the colorful square.

"Gran was right. It reminds me of Grampy and now it will remind me of you. Please, I want you to wear it. For me."

I

felt a bit self-conscious pulling up to a fancy hotel in my ratty old

truck, but it didn't seem to faze Erin in the least, so I decided not to

worry about it. The suite she had booked was by far the nicest room of

any kind that I had ever been in, but I tried not to seem like a country

rube as I looked around.

"Do you like it?" Erin asked a bit nervously, as she tried to gauge my reaction.

"Honestly, I thought that rooms like this were just for celebrities and movie stars, and folks like that."

"Normally that's the case, I guess, but for one night; tonight; it's ours."

Dinner

was lovely. I kept expecting people to see past my suit and realize

that I was an imposter; just a plumber from the peninsula; not the kind

of man who should be spending the evening with a woman like Erin. But

she seemed to be having a wonderful time, so I began to relax. My

anxiety was further abated when she leaned over the table and said in a

low voice.

"Jesus,

the women in this place can't stop checking you out. I'm kind of

wishing I had brought my bear spray now to keep them away. I need to

excuse myself for a minute, but I wouldn't be surprised to find one of

them trying to take my place when I get back."

"Erin, I would never;"

"I know, Darling. And frankly, they can look all they want because I know who you're going home with tonight."

After

that, I looked around the room with a new eye and noticed the subtle

glances in my direction, and the shy smiles and blushes. I guess Phillip

really did have good taste in suits.

After

dinner, we walked arm-in-arm to the performance hall, which was very

impressive, with its soaring ceilings and plush velvet upholstery. Our

seats were in a box on the right-hand side of the hall, which gave us a

commanding view of the stage. As the lights went down, Erin took my hand

in eager anticipation. I don't remember much about the performance that

night; I spent more time watching Erin's childlike wonder than what was

happening on the stage.

Erin was still holding my hand at the intermission, and I felt a warm sense of contentment wash over me.

"Oh,

I forgot to mention, some of the largest donors to the hospital are

hosting a reception after the performance. Would it be alright if we put

in an appearance before we head back to our hotel?"

I agreed without hesitation; a decision I would second guess before the night was over.

It

was close to 10:30 by the time the performance ended, and Erin held my

arm, while resting her head on my shoulder, as we made our way through

the hall to the reception. We each grabbed a drink, and we drifted

through the small crowd until Erin was greeted warmly by a

distinguished-looking older couple. Erin introduced them to me as the

hosts of the reception, Mr. and Mrs. Wendel.

"Please, just call us Tom and Martha. And you two make such a lovely couple. What do you do, Davis?"

"I

am a plumber, Ma'am," I replied, wondering how that news would be

received by this obviously well-to-do couple, but I needn't have

worried.

"What kind of plumbing do you do?" Tom asked with genuine interest.

"Mainly

residential at this point, since I just got my master's license last

year. A lot of the larger builders want to see some gray hairs on the

heads of their skilled tradesmen, so right now, I am just doing what I

can to pay the bills."

"Amen,

to that brother. I remember those days well. I started out, over 30

years ago now, as a dry Waller, and I spent more years than I care to

remember doing whatever jobs I could get, just to get a foot in the

door. It paid off for me in the end, though. Say, I am working on a

development on the south side of town and was wondering;"

Before

Martha could stop him, Tom launched into a long and technical question

about a challenge he was having with the plumbing for his new

development. When I started an equally long and technical response, Erin

kissed me on the cheek and whispered that Martha and she were going to

go to the bar to get another drink.

A

few minutes later, I was still talking with Tom when a movement at the

bar caught my eye. I looked more closely and saw that Erin was speaking

with a tall, arrogant-looking man who kept trying to put his hand on her

lower back, while she forcefully pushed it away.

"My apologies, Tom, but could you give me a minute?"

Without

waiting for a reply, I walked over to where Erin was standing and

slipped my arm around her waist, just as the man reached for her for a

third time.

"Hey,

now," I said, trying to defuse the situation with a bit of humor. "At

least buy me a drink before you make a move on me like that."

His

hand recoiled like it had been scalded, and his cheeks colored in

anger. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from where I was

standing.

"Well,

if it isn't the plumber," he said in a mocking tone. He must have been

eavesdropping on my conversation with Tom, and he clearly wasn't

impressed.

"What

did you think of the show this evening? Actually, that's hardly a fair

question since you've probably never been to the theatre before. So, how

about something more your level? I wonder what you would think of the

bathrooms in my new penthouse. I am sure you would find them very

impressive. I will give you a call the next time my toilet gets clogged,

and you can come and check them out."

He seemed very pleased with his insults, so he continued, a condescending grin on his face.

"Anyway,

Dr. Anderson, as I was saying, it was charitable of you to let the help

see how the rest of us live, and I am sure he is having a good time and

all, but it's past time for him to bring his daddy's suit home, don't

you think? Why don't you leave him to it, and you and I can go have a

drink? And then; who knows?

I

had dealt with people like this prick for my entire life. When you grow

up with one abusive parent and no money, you get used to just about

everyone feeling like they are better than you. There was nothing I

could do about that, but I learned to use humor as a shield to protect

myself and deflect attention. But sometimes humor just wasn't enough.

And when humor failed, a more direct approach was called for.

"You

know, if you're trying to insult me, you're going to have to work a

whole lot harder than that. But I doubt that hard work is something that

you're too familiar with. I have been working since I was twelve to put

food on the table for my brother and sisters. I have been a plumber

since I was fourteen; by the time I was fifteen, I am sure I had already

spent more time ankle-deep in shit than you've spent doing honest work

in your entire life.

"I

didn't borrow this suit from my father because I don't know who my

father is; that's right, I'm a bastard. But I am a bastard by

circumstance and not by choice. I was born this way, what's your excuse?

And since you asked, the suit I'm wearing belonged to Erin's

grandfather, and you're right, I would never be able to afford a suit

like this myself. But it's an honor to wear a suit that belonged to a

man who loved Erin more than anything in this world. If I am really

lucky, maybe she will let me love her just as deeply one day.

"I

may not know that much about musicals or the theatre, but anything that

brings that much joy to Erin is more than fine in my books. So, I am

going to continue to have a wonderful time with Erin this evening. Why

wouldn't I? I am here with the most beautiful woman in the place, or;" I

swept my gaze over to Martha, who was still standing beside Erin, "tied

for the most beautiful, anyway."

The

man's face was now distorted with anger, and he took a step towards me.

I stepped forward to meet him, my eyes never leaving his. Before, I had

been speaking loudly for the benefit of those around us, but now I was

speaking in a controlled voice, pitched for his ears alone.

"You

can say what you want about me, you prick. I have no respect for

arrogant shitheels like you, so I just don't care. But before you ever

think about putting your hands on Erin again, without her consent, you

would do well to remember the Pipe Wrench Incident.

"When

I was fourteen, two of the men my mother was having sex with, in

exchange for drugs, decided that my sister Alison should join in their

fun. She was just nine years old. Luckily, I was home at the time, but I

was just a kid, and they were fully grown men. When it was over, they

were in the hospital, and I was cleaning my pipe wrench with some WD-40

and a rag."

I looked him up and down once, dismissively.

"Remember that story the next time you're tempted to touch someone I love."

I turned to Tom who had come over to stand with Martha.

"I'm

sorry I interrupted your lovely event, and please don't hold my bad

manners against Erin. I don't want to cause any more trouble, so maybe

we should be on our way."

Tom held up his hand indicating that we should stay.

"Dr.

Allen, you're drunk and making an ass of yourself. Please see yourself

out. On your way home, please consider what you would like me to say at

the next Board meeting regarding your behavior tonight."

As a chastened Dr. Allen left the reception, Erin leaned over and whispered in my ear, "So, I'm someone you love, am I?"

Before

I could stammer a reply, Erin kissed my cheek and led me away to get a

drink. We avoided the topic of Dr. Allen for the rest of the evening

until we were on our way back to the hotel.

"Did you really put two men in the hospital with a pipe wrench?"

I chuckled softly before responding.

"That

part of the story is 100% true. What I didn't mention, though, was that

they were both stoned at the time and facing the other direction. They

would have killed me in a fair fight."

It

was close to midnight by the time we made it back to the hotel. We held

each other's hands as we walked to the elevators, and Erin leaned

against me as the doors closed.

"Davis, how would you like this evening to end?"

My heart started racing and my hands trembled.

"I; I want to be with you. But, I have never;"

"Are you still a virgin?"

"I

kissed a girl once, back in high school, but it was nothing like

kissing you. I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my

life, but I don't want to disappoint you."

Erin tried to stay calm as she replied.

"So, you think that I am some kind of floozy who is going to compare you to all my past conquests?"

"No, that's not it at all, I;"

"Or do you think that I am so shallow that I will get mad at you if it takes a little while for you to learn what I like?"

"No, I don't think that either;"

"Okay,

then. Here is what's going to happen. When we get to our room, you are

going to move some of the furniture out of the way, while I put on some

music. You still remember how to dance, right? And then we will take

things slowly. I will let you know what makes me feel good, and you will

let me know what makes you feel even better. And we will be together,

and that's all that matters."

And

that is what happened. Erin started a playlist of songs that she liked,

and we slowly danced together in our room. After the first song ended,

she nuzzled into my chest as she loosened my tie and undid the first two

buttons of my shirt. When the next song started, she started gently

kissing and then licking my chest, causing my manhood to stiffen almost

painfully.

"Well,

hello, my rather large friend. You need to be patient, for now. But if

you're good, I may kiss you as well before the night is done."

Her sensuous voice, and the image it evoked, were definitely not conducive to patience, and I let out a low moan of pleasure.

"That's

what I like to hear," she murmured as she untucked my shirt and

continued to undo my buttons until she could run her tongue over my

nipples and tweak them with her teeth. She looked up at me with sultry,

half-lidded eyes.

"It's

okay for you to touch me as well if you want," she said, as she took

one of my hands and slid it under the back of her dress and down to her

silky-smooth cheeks. She slid my other hand under the front of her dress

so that it cupped her tit, and she sucked in a breath as I stroked my

callused thumb over her nipple.

"Now some women like it when you;"

I kissed her before she could finish her thought.

"Erin, I don't care what some women like, the only woman I want is you."

"Oh,"

she replied in a breathy voice. "Well, I like it when you're a bit

rougher with my tits. Not right away, I need to be in the mood; like I

am now;"

She

lost her train of thought as my hand enveloped and massaged her tit,

squeezing her nipple lightly between my thumb and forefinger as I lifted

it away from her body.

"Mmmm, yes. Just like that, baby."

I

felt a wave of heat roll up the fingers on my other hand, so I slid it

further down until I felt a small triangle of material, that was slick

with liquid heat. I slipped my finger a little further and felt her long

smooth cunt open at my touch.

"Oh, Baby," Erin whispered huskily into my ear. "We are going to have so much fun tonight."

It

was strange going back to my regular life after my night with Erin. The

time with her was so incredible, and so beyond anything I could ever

have imagined, that it didn't seem real. To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

 

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 2Dancing, and other forms of sentimentality.

Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.

 As we finished the prep work, I asked Wilma about her day with Mary.

"She

is a good kid but is carrying a lot of anger and shame. We spent most

of the day getting in touch with that anger. It takes some people years

before they can express their emotions through art; it took her about

five minutes. But we had to take some breaks to clean up the paint

splatters afterward before they stained."

"Oh shit! Sorry about that. I can pay to replace anything that;"

"Nothing to apologize for; I asked her to express how she felt, and she did it in the way that felt right to her."

"Well, I appreciate your taking the time. I am just her big brother; I feel so lost when it comes to parenting."

"Being

a parent doesn't mean that you know any more than anyone else, and it

certainly doesn't mean that you know any better. For what it's worth, I

think you are doing a fine job with your family. I know that you don't

have your parents around to say it, but this old woman is mighty proud

of who you are and of how you have stepped up for your brother and

sisters. They are very lucky to have you."

I

turned away so that Wilma wouldn't see me getting choked up. I couldn't

remember the last time that someone had said they were proud of me.

Soon enough, though, it was dinner time, and Erin came into the kitchen

with that same look of amusement on her face.

"Sorry to bother the chef, but Lane needs some help that only a big brother can provide."

When I gave her a quizzical look, she blushed.

"It

seems like he is going through puberty, which can pose; some new

challenges. When I was assessing his ankle, he; well, indicated his

interest in me in a way that can be difficult to hide, particularly

while wearing sweatpants. It's natural for his body to react that way at

that age, and it's nothing for him to feel badly about, but he was

mortified. I think he could use a bit of brotherly guidance and

understanding."

I went to the living room and saw that Lane was curled up on the couch and looked like he was fighting back tears.

"How are you doing, Buddy?"

He couldn't even look at me he was so embarrassed.

"I

am so sorry; I just couldn't help it. I don't know why it started to

get bigger, and I wanted it to stop, and it wouldn't and then she saw

me, and;" he continued as he fought back a sob. "Can we just go home?"

"Erin

is a doctor. She knows how the human body works and has seen that kind

of thing a hundred times. She isn't mad at you or embarrassed. She just

feels bad that you feel so bad. This is just part of getting older and

growing up.

"Did I ever tell you about what happened in Miss Iron's class when I was a freshman?

Miss

Iron was a bit of a legend among the male students at our local high

school. She was the youngest and prettiest teacher, by far, and even

though she always dressed professionally, the clothing style had yet to

be invented that could fully conceal her bountiful natural endowment.

"Well,

I liked Miss Irons a lot. She was one of the few teachers who looked

past my difficulty with reading and writing. So, I developed a little

crush on her, which was fine until the inevitable; hmm, physical

demonstration of my crush; happened in class one day, just before she

asked me to collect everyone's quizzes. I tried to delay, I tried to ask

a friend to do it instead, but eventually, I had to stand up. It took

me until my junior year to live that one down."

As

Lane listened to my story, he turned to face me and his second-hand

embarrassment for me helped to push his embarrassment to the side.

"So, what happened?"

"Miss

Irons was lovely and kind like she always was, but I wanted the floor

to open up and swallow me or to get hit by a bolt of lightning. Things

would have been fine if she hadn't mentioned what happened to the

principal, who called Mom. She didn't find the story funny at all."

I

hadn't thought of the aftermath when I started telling Lane this

particular story, but as they say, might as well put it in four-wheel

drive and keep going.

"Mom was mad?"

"By

then, Mom was pretty much always angry. I did my best to keep her away

from you and the girls when she got that way, but yeah; she was mad."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No,

Bud, I'm not. In a few years, once your embarrassment has died down a

little, I will tease you mercilessly about this because that's what

brothers do; and maybe threaten to tell your girlfriend, if you fall

behind on your chores or homework. But I will never get mad at you for

something that you can't control. And I promise that Erin isn't mad at

you either."

Just then, Mary poked her head in to tell us that dinner was on the table.

"Are you safe now, or do you need a few more minutes."

"I'm good. Thanks, Dad."

After

I helped Lane hobble into the dining room, we got down to the business

of eating and teasing each other, but not necessarily in that order. It

felt good; almost like what I imagined a real family would feel like.

Eventually, the conversation turned to more serious matters, though, and

Erin led off the questions.

"So,

how do you know Gran, and why are you wearing Grampy's favorite

sweater? And, for what it's worth, I don't remember him filling it out

in quite the way that you do."

I blushed a bit as Wilma jumped in.

"If

Phillip had filled out that sweater like young Davis here, it wouldn't

have stayed on him for very long, I can tell you that."

"Gran!"

Erin exclaimed, laughing while sounding scandalized. "I didn't need

that mental image. Heck, none of us needed that mental image."

"Oh, don't you worry, Dear. He still filled it out well enough, and it looked equally good on our bedroom floor."

We were pretty much all blushing at that point, which I think was Wilma's objective, so I quickly changed the topic.

"I

am just your mother's plumber. I came out to fix her boiler and then

finished the job earlier this week when a couple of parts came in that I

needed."

Wilma jumped in at that point and added her two cents to my story.

"He also brought me my groceries and we had a lovely conversation. He is a real Renaissance gentleman, a rarity these days."

Erin looked grateful but concerned.

"Did you have enough money to cover the bill, Gran? You know I can help if you need;"

I tried to jump in before Wilma could reply.

"No need to worry, the bill was paid in full;"

"Hogwash," Wilma exclaimed as I tried to finish, turning to Mary before she continued.

"Your

brother wouldn't let me pay him a cent for the work that he did. Not

even for the parts that needed to be replaced! He is a very nice boy but

a terrible businessman."

I turned to Erin for support.

"I figured your Gran has enough going on right now with her health and all. It was the least I could do to help her out."

Erin

looked at me with a strange expression on her face. I didn't have much

experience with women, so I figured I must have made her angry somehow.

Most of my interactions with women, including my sisters, seemed to end

with them being upset with me for one reason or another, but she didn't

sound angry when she spoke.

"Thank you, Davis, that was very sweet of you."

"Yeah, well; you see, it's just; pass the fish, please."

"That still doesn't explain why you're wearing Grampy's favorite sweater.

When

I was a little girl, I used to curl up in Grampy's lap and snuggle into

that sweater as he read to me. He was wearing it when I danced my first

dance with him in front of the fireplace. Do you remember that old

record player, Gran? You used to bring it out and we would waltz around

the living room to Moon River."

"I still have that record player here somewhere, let me go see if I can find it."

Erin started to protest, but it was too late.

"To

finish answering your question, Erin, we were here today because your

Gran offered to mentor Mary. I tried to politely decline, but your Gran

is pretty persistent when she wants to be."

"That sounds like Gran. Most of the time when she makes a suggestion, it is really a command."

"While we are asking questions, how is Lane's ankle?"

"It's

pretty badly sprained, and he will need to use crutches to walk for the

next couple of weeks. You should bring him to the hospital to get some

X-rays done as well, to make sure that he doesn't have any fractures."

I could feel myself deflate as she mentioned X-rays.

"I'm

not trying to be cheap, but are the X-rays absolutely necessary? We

don't have the best insurance; we got it through the exchange. I guess

it's better than nothing, but the deductible is pretty high, and my

other sister, Alison, her college tuition is due soon. But if you say

it's important, I will put in some extra hours to make it work."

It

didn't usually bother me that we were poor. Heck, most everyone we

knew, except the McDougals, was poor. But it hit home when you had to

tell a beautiful doctor with bright amber eyes that you couldn't afford

an X-ray for your little brother unless it was urgent.

"Tell

you what. I will be working at the hospital in Petoskey tomorrow, so

why don't you bring Lane by, and I will take care of him? I will make

sure that he gets a pair of loaner crutches for as long as he needs

them."

"You don't need to do that for us."

Erin gave me another one of her looks, this one I was more familiar with; I was pretty sure it was annoyance.

"So,

just to be clear, you can look after my Gran, fix her boiler for free,

and bring her groceries whenever you feel like it, but I can't look

after your brother and make sure that his ankle is treated properly?"

"Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a bit of a jackass. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Come by the hospital at 11 AM tomorrow."

Before

we could continue, the sound of a 45 playing on an old record player

filled the house. You could hear the hisses and pops before Ella

Fitzgerald's voice began to sing "Dream a Little Dream of Me."

Chapter 3.

We

got up from the table and followed the music back to the living room. I

helped Lane out of his chair while he half-hobbled and half-hopped

along beside me. Wilma had set her ancient record player up in the

corner beside a stack of old 45s, and she had a faraway look in her eyes

as she looked out the picture window toward the lake.

"I think it's time for me to ask the prettiest girl in the place to dance," I said, as my eyes swept across the room.

"But unfortunately, it's a three-way tie. So, will you do me the honor?" I said as I held out my hand to Wilma.

"I

haven't danced since Phillip passed. You know, we used to dance

together every Friday night. It didn't matter where we were or what we

were doing, we would always make time to dance at least one song

together, even if the music was only in our heads."

"I imagine I will be a pretty poor partner compared to Phillip, but I will try not to step on your toes."

Wilma

and I ended up dancing a slow foxtrot to "Unforgettable" by Nat King

Cole. She smiled at me as we slowly circled the living room.

"You're a very good dancer, young man."

"Our mother taught me when I was very young."

Before

she began with the drugs and men, our mother had been a showgirl in New

York and then Las Vegas. When she got pregnant with me, she moved back

to Mackinaw City and started teaching ballroom dancing at a local

studio. By the time I was five, I was her practice partner of choice,

and she always insisted that I lead, despite being only half her size.

"The man always leads, Darling, that's just the way of the world."

I

was hardly a man at the time, but I never disagreed with my mother when

she was in a good mood, because I knew it could shift in an instant.

So, I learned to dance, and I learned to lead. The memories came

flooding back as I guided Wilma into a soft over-sway, and she smiled

with delight.

"Oh my, you do know how to dance!"

I couldn't help but smile back.

"I can't take all the credit. I think Phillip must have infused this sweater with his fancy footwork."

As the song ended, I took a step back and did my best to give Wilma a gracious bow.

"It was a pleasure dancing with you, my lady."

"The pleasure was all mine, good sir."

I turned toward Mary and held out my hand. She hesitated before Wilma declared, "There are no wallflowers in this house."

Mary slowly stood but looked anxious as I took her hand.

"Davis, I don't know how to dance. Mom was; she was too far gone to teach me by the time I was old enough to learn."

"That's

okay," I reassured her. "If there is anything that Mom made sure of,

it's that I know how to lead. Just relax, and I will guide you through

it."

Wilma

helped Lane, who had taken over as DJ, to choose a slower song so that

Mary would feel more comfortable, and I heard the opening bars of "What a

Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. I started to lead Mary through a

slow rumba, and she picked up the steps very quickly. She was a natural.

I felt a sudden stab of regret as we moved together across the floor.

"I'm

sorry. I should have made time to teach you to dance. But the last few

years, it has just taken everything I have to keep us;"

"It's alright. You've had other things on your mind. And look; you are teaching me how to dance, now."

As

Mary grew more confident, I guided her through a simple underarm turn,

and we ended with a dip, which made her giggle and earned a round of

applause from the others. Finally, I turned to Erin, who was sitting on

the couch beside Lane. I suddenly felt very shy and, for the first time

that evening, she looked nervous as well.

"Would you dance with me, Erin?"

She

didn't reply but stood and took my hand. We waited for a moment while

Wilma and Lane chose a new 45 and then listened to the pop and hiss as

it started to play. Soon, an alto saxophone introduced the Henri Mancini

version of "Moon River," and we started a slow waltz. Although there

was space between us, it was bridged by an electric charge that

connected and drew us together.

Even

though I spent most of the dance looking over Erin's shoulder, every

detail of her beauty was etched in my memory, and I felt a warm breeze

pass between us, raising goosebumps on my skin. We barely noticed the

pause as the song ended, and a new one began until Etta James began to

sing.

At last, my love has come along

My lonely days are over

And life is like a song

The

song was in 4/4 time, so I switched to a foxtrot and Erin followed as

we glided across the smooth wood of the living room floor. I was so

caught up in the moment, and in Erin, that I led her through a turn that

transitioned into an over sway, before I stepped backward, allowing her

to gently pivot into me. Our eyes met and I was lost in them again.

Before we could break the spell, a heavy gust of wind shook the house,

and the power flickered out.

The

room went dark, which sharpened my remaining senses. Suddenly, the

warmth of Erin's breath on my neck felt like wildfire across my skin. We

were motionless for a three-heartbeat eternity before the lights

flickered and came back on. I let go of Erin and felt all of my longing

and awkwardness rush back in.

"Thank you, Erin. That was;" I couldn't finish; words didn't seem enough to express how I felt.

"I

should check the breakers and make sure that everything is alright, and

then we should go. Why don't I wash these clothes and drop them back

for you later."

Wilma just smiled and shook her head.

"If you like them, please keep them. Otherwise, they will just grow old and musty like me."

A

little while later, we said our goodbyes, but I promised to bring Lane

to the hospital the next morning. Wilma told Mary that she would see her

on Wednesday after school and again the next Sunday. I was expecting

Mary to protest, but she just gave a meek, "Yes, Wilma."

I

was nervous when I took Lane to the hospital the next day. The

deductible on our insurance was high enough that we paid for pretty much

anything less serious than a severed limb out of pocket. Erin, however,

was as good as her word. After the X-ray confirmed that there were no

breaks or fractures in the bones around his ankle, she re-wrapped it and

arranged for a pair of loaner crutches that he could use for as long as

he needed them. Before we left, Erin asked me if I wanted to grab a

coffee in the cafeteria, to which I readily agreed. I gave my phone to

Lane so he could amuse himself while Erin and I talked.

"I

just wanted to say how much I appreciate what you did for Gran. I do

what I can, but I spend half my time at the Children's Hospital down in

Grand Rapids right now and I am often on call while I am here. I just

don't have the time to give her the help that she needs."

"Honestly,

it's no big deal. I do a lot of work around Good Hart since the bigger

plumbing companies don't like to travel that far, so I don't mind

looking in on her while I am there. And she seems to have taken a real

interest in Mary, so the least I can do is to bring her some groceries

and help around the place a bit."

Erin pursed her lips and looked like she had just bitten into a lemon.

"The 'least you can do' is more than the rest of our family can be bothered to do put together, so thank you."

"I meant to ask you about that. What did your Gran do to end up so isolated from the rest of your family?"

"The

rest of my family is; there is no nice way to put it, they're snobs.

None of them have any interest in spending time 'up north' as they call

it, and they can't wait for Gran to move into a retirement home and die

so they can get their money and forget about this place. That's why no

one comes to visit Gran anymore, even for Thanksgiving; it's part of

their campaign to convince her to sell her land to the McDougals. Before

you came along, I thought they were going to succeed."

"Well,

excuse my language, but fuck them. I don't know Wilma that well, but I

will do what I can to make sure that she gets to spend her remaining

days in the place that she loves."

"That's

easy to say, but harder to do once the McDougals and their minions

start coming by your place, offering you money and making threats unless

you back off."

"Well,

if they do, they will find out what every teacher who ever taught me

learned the hard way. I am bad at taking orders and even worse at

following instructions. I am not afraid of the McDougal boys."

My

exclamation brought a smile to Erin's pretty face. I decided that I

would be willing to do quite a lot to see that smile on her face again.

But there was one thing I still didn't understand.

"Why

aren't you on board with the rest of your family? You must be under a

lot of pressure to abandon your Gran like the rest of them."

"My

father, Gran's youngest son, Max, died shortly after I was born, and my

mother moved the family to California where she remarried into a family

that had a little money but a great deal of pretension and ambition. My

mother picked up that insatiable need for money and status like it was a

virus.

"When

I was a child, my mother and stepfather spent summers and holidays

traveling the world, staying in places where children weren't welcome.

Although they wanted nothing to do with Gran and Grampy and their

'vermin-filled shack in the middle of nowhere', they were more than

happy to leave me with them while they were away.

"They

would put me on a plane to Grand Rapids while they jetted off to their

spas and their fine dining. Gran and Grampy were the only people who

cared for me, and they became my whole world.

"When

I was 14, I was staying with Gran and Grampy, and I caught a fever that

was so bad that I nearly died. It was a pretty grim time. My parents

even thought about flying home from Monaco to be with me. They didn't,

but it was the only time in my entire childhood that they considered it.

But I will always remember how kind the doctors and nurses were to me

when I was sick. That's why I became a pediatrician and moved home."

"Isn't California home?"

"Home is where the people that you love are, and so this will always be my home. Or it will be until Gran passes on, anyway."

We sat in silence for a while, sipping our coffee. Before long, it was time for me to go.

"This

might sound crazy, but since the rest of your family aren't going to be

here to celebrate Thanksgiving with your Gran, how about you and I try

to give her one more Thanksgiving to remember."

Erin brightened at the idea, and the smile returned to her face.

"That would be amazing! Why don't I give you my number, and we can figure out how to make it happen!"

Chapter 4.

For

the next few weeks, Mary continued to meet with Wilma on Wednesdays and

Sundays. I would often take the opportunity to bring her groceries or

other supplies while I dropped Mary off and, if the weather was

agreeable, do some fishing. Once he could walk without crutches, Lane

came along as well, in quest of another monster steelhead.

Unfortunately, all he caught was some yellow perch and rock bass, but it

was nice to spend the day with him down on the dock.

I

saw Erin a few times at Wilma's as we made plans for Thanksgiving. She

seemed to particularly enjoy talking with me while I split firewood out

by the shed. It was hard work, and I was often drenched with sweat by

the time I was done, but she didn't seem to mind. And she worked while

we talked, helping to stack the larger pieces and collecting the smaller

ones for kindling.

The

one point of contention in our plan was how Erin would get to Wilma's

on Thanksgiving Day. She was slated to work a 12-hour shift the evening

before, ending at seven in the morning, and she worried that if she went

home to rest, she would sleep through the entire day. Her solution was

to drive out to Wilma's after her shift and catch a few hours of sleep

when she got there. I thought that driving that far after working all

night seemed like a terrible idea, so I offered to give her a ride

instead. She did not like that one bit.

"I don't want you to make an extra trip when I am perfectly capable of driving myself."

It sounded like she was digging in for a fight, so I tried a different tactic to convince her.

"I

need to stop at the hospital anyway, to return Lane's crutches. I can

kill two birds with one stone and pick you up at the same time."

She didn't buy that rationale either so, reluctantly, I resorted to the truth.

"I

am sure you're a great driver, but if you drive yourself, I will be up

that morning anyway, worrying that you are safe. I know it doesn't make

sense, but I have been looking after my siblings for so long its second

nature for me to worry, and I can't seem to turn it off. So please, let

me pick you up. But for me, not for you. And do you know how rarely I

get to be gallant these days? I will feel like your knight in shining

armor."

That finally got a laugh from Erin.

"Alright,

you win. Why don't you pick me up at 7:15 at the hospital? You can

sweep me up onto your trusty steed and carry me away to Gran's house."

"If by trusty steed you mean rusty old GMC truck, then it's a deal."

The

morning of Thanksgiving dawned chilly and gray, with a cold wind

blowing in off the lake. I was up early to make sure that I made it to

the hospital on time, and I was listening to the local AM country

station as I drove when the DJ started his break.

"A

happy Thanksgiving to all our listeners. If you're on the roads today,

be aware that there is a severe weather warning in effect for the area

north of Cadillac and into the upper peninsula. We're expecting a

combination of high winds and lake-effect snow to make driving

hazardous, and you should be prepared for possible power interruptions

and outages."

I

was relieved that Erin had agreed to let me pick her up and that I had

invested in good snow tires for my pickup. The snow had already started

by the time I reached the hospital, and I pulled my jacket tightly

around me as I went inside. I dropped Lane's crutches with the duty

nurse and waited for several minutes before Erin arrived. She looked

exhausted, and the gentle smile that I loved was nowhere in evidence.

"Hey, Erin. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just had a long shift, but I am ready to head out."

She came up to me and gave me a hesitant look.

"Actually, I could really use a hug if that's alright."

Without

a word, I wrapped my arms around her, and she buried her face in my

sweater. Hidden from the world by the folds of my jacket, I felt her

body start to shake. The tremors lasted for a minute before they gentled

and then finally stopped. I looked out the window at the falling snow

to give her a moment to compose herself.

"Let's head to Gran's house. This weather isn't going to get better any time soon."

With that, we got in my truck and started the drive up to Good Hart. Erin sat in silence and looked out the window.

"If you want to talk, I probably can't help with doctor problems; but I am a good listener."

It took Erin a minute before she opened up.

"Most

of the time, I love being a pediatrician. Kids come to me scared and in

pain, and I help them to get better. But sometimes, it's just too much.

Around midnight last night, an ambulance brought in a mother and

daughter. Her boyfriend had been drinking; and he got violent. The

little girl tried to protect her mother and; and;

"It's

one thing to treat a grown woman, you know. I mean it's still pretty

bad, but; that little girl. Fuck. One thing I've learned from this job

is that monsters are real."

I wanted to give Erin another hug, but since I was driving, I just reached over to take her hand.

"I'm sorry."

My words seemed so incredibly inadequate; considering what she had just dealt with; but she squeezed my hand.

"Thanks for listening."

We

drove on in silence, and by the time we pulled into Wilma's laneway,

Erin was gently snoring with her head against the window. I stopped as

close as I could to the house before lifting her out of the cab. She

tucked her head into my shoulder, and I carried her inside, where Wilma

was already busy in the kitchen. She came out to greet us, and I spoke

to her in a low voice.

"Erin had a very tough night. I think some rest will do her a world of good."

Wilma

helped Erin out of her boots and coat and then showed us through to the

guest bedroom, where I laid Erin on the bed. The room was filled with

pictures of Erin from when she was younger; standing on the dock with an

older but handsome man who I guessed must be Phillip, curled up in a

ball on the sofa, book in hand, and smiling in her cap and gown as she

graduated. In each picture, I could see hints of the beautiful woman she

would become.

By

the time I returned with the rest of my family, the storm had begun to

pick up. Snow drifts were accumulating against the house and shed, so we

brought everything with us into the house that we might need for the

evening. It took some convincing, but Sharon and I took over in the

kitchen while Wilma, Alison, Mary, and Lane started a game of Scrabble

in the living room.

Once

the preparations were well underway, I laid in as much wood for the

fireplace as I could. With the high winds and heavy snow, I was worried

that we might lose power, and I wanted to make sure that we prepared,

just in case. The radiators and boiler would provide almost no heat if

there was a prolonged power outage, but the fireplace had a

high-efficiency insert that would keep the house warm, as long as we

built up a good bed of coals.

Lane

insisted on helping me with the firewood, and after a half dozen trips

to the woodshed and back, we both looked like live-action versions of

the abominable snowman. Wilma showed some sympathy for our plight, while

our sisters had a good-natured laugh at our expense.

By

the early afternoon, dinner was almost ready, and Wilma sent me to wake

Erin. She had barely moved since I had tucked her in and seemed so

peaceful in her sleep. I leaned over and spoke softly to her until she

opened her eyes. After a moment of confusion, she broke into a shy

smile.

"I guess we made it to Gran's."

"That we did, we got here close to six hours ago."

Her eyes flew open, and she tried to get up until I reassured her.

"We've

got things under control. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.

Take your time; and maybe give yourself a few minutes for that pillow

line on your cheek to fade."

I turned to leave, so she could have some privacy, but she reached out and took my hand.

"I

just wanted to say thank you again for earlier. I am not used to having

someone I can talk to; someone I can trust. It's only been Gran and

Grampy, and me for so long, and I didn't want to burden them. But I

shouldn't have dumped my troubles on you like that, we barely know each

other."

"I

was just glad that you felt comfortable enough to share how you felt

with me. Today was probably the worst day of that little girl's life. I

am sure she was terrified, confused, and in a lot of pain. But what

she'll remember is the angel who comforted her and treated her with

kindness and love.

"I

need to get back to the kitchen, or I will burn something. Fair

warning, this is my first time cooking a Thanksgiving turkey, so you may

want to load your plate up with fixings and sides, just in case."

As

it turned out, the turkey wasn't perfect, but it wasn't that bad, and

the gravy was tasty as heck (probably because Wilma made it.) We had

mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, and peas as sides, with the obligatory

cranberry sauce (from a can). The conversation at dinner was a chaotic

mixture of laughter, stories, and the kind of teasing that you only get

when you bring five siblings together over a hearty meal.

It

didn't take Erin long to choose a side in the battle of the siblings,

and soon, it was the four girls against Lane and me, with Wilma as our

impartial referee. I don't know how Lane felt, but for me, it was worth

being ganged up on just to see Erin and my sisters smiling and laughing.

Although he tried to hide it, it was clear that Lane still had a bit of

a crush on Erin, so I imagined that he was just fine with making her

smile as well.

For

dessert, Erin brought pumpkin and apple pies that she had bought at the

bakery in Petoskey, which we ate with some vanilla ice cream from the

local creamery. I was sure there would be some dessert left over, given

the amount that we all ate for dinner, but somehow, we finished it all.

Everyone pitched in with the dishes and then we moved to the living room

where we played cards and some more board games.

As

we played, Mary asked Wilma about some of her more memorable

Thanksgivings, and she got a faraway smile. For the next hour, she

regaled us with stories of humble times with the kids by the lake and,

in later days, fancier celebrations with some of the families that

Phillip befriended while they sat for portraits. As our last game of

Scrabble ended, Sharon looked at Wilma with a mischievous grin.

"Mary

was telling me about the dance party that you had a few weeks ago here

in your living room. Rumor has it that my big brother can dance! I was

hoping, if you asked him nicely, that we could all see him in action."

Wilma got up from her chair and started to move toward the hall closet.

"Lane, come along and help, please. I am far too old to be carting around a heavy record player."

Lane

hopped up and went to help Wilma, while the rest of us began to move

the furniture out of the way. As Lane set up, Wilma admonished the rest

of us.

"Remember, there is only one rule about dancing in my house: no wallflowers."

With

that, Lane started the first song, and I asked Wilma to dance. Alison

followed suit, asking Lane to dance, and soon she was teaching him how

to lead. Finally, Erin stood as well and gave a deep bow to Mary.

"It would be my honor, enchanting lady, if I could have this dance."

With

a laugh, Mary stood, and soon we were all moving around the room,

trying not to bump into each other or step on each other's toes. For the

next hour, we danced, laughed, and pretty much forgot about the world

outside. Lane even got up the courage to dance with Erin, although he

stayed so far away from her that you would have thought she was

radioactive.

I

took a couple of turns with Erin and was amazed at the way she melted

into my arms. When we danced, there was a wave of knowing smirks from my

sisters and a pleased smile from Wilma, but I didn't care. I could have

danced with her all night. Unfortunately, during my third dance with

Erin, the real world decided to interrupt our festivities.

Erin

and I had just started a turn when the power went out. I instinctively

pulled Erin into my arms to protect her, and then I leaned in through

the darkness and kissed her. She returned the kiss, ran her hand through

my hair, and let out a small moan.

"Do you think the power will come back on?"

Lane's question cut through the fog of my lust and longing.

"Probably

not until sometime after the storm has passed. So, we should all plan

on spending the night here and then figuring things out in the morning."

With

Wilma's agreement, we got settled in for the evening. After some

protest, Wilma agreed to sleep in the guest room since it had a direct

line of sight to the thermoelectric stove fan that helped circulate the

heat from the fireplace. My three sisters slept in Wilma's bed, both to

share body heat and because it was the larger of the two beds in the

house. Lane slept on the couch, while Erin and I slept on the floor in

front of the fireplace.

Erin

laid out an older sleeping bag, for comfort, with some bedding and

blankets on top. In deference to Lane, she waited until she was under

the blankets before she shimmied off her pants, while I stoked the

fireplace. I made one more pass through the house, to check on Wilma and

my sisters, but it seemed they had already fallen asleep. Even Lane had

passed right out, despite his proximity to the pants-less Erin.

I

set a quiet alarm on my phone for two-hour intervals so that I could

get up and add wood to the fire, ensuring that it would last all night.

Looking down at the makeshift bed where Erin was watching me, I suddenly

felt incredibly shy and anxious. I took my sweater and pants off as

quickly as I could and set them on a chair before crawling under the

blankets next to her. I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I stayed as

far over to one side as I could. I had just settled in when I heard

Erin's soft voice from behind me.

"You can come a little closer. I won't bite, you know."

My

brain froze with indecision, but my heart knew the score and it started

beating at a furious rate. I heard her shifting behind me, and I felt

an arm wrap itself around my chest. My senses were on fire. The faint

scent of lavender from her hair washed over me like a field of

wildflowers.

"Was everyone safe when you made your patrol?"

I

slowly rolled over so that my forehead was lightly touching hers, and I

could see the flickering of the fire reflected in her eyes.

"I

know it's silly, but I can't sleep until I know that everyone I love is

safe. Even when she is away at college, Alison texts me each night to

let me know she is okay. I will make another round later after I stoke

the fire."

"It's not silly at all; I feel safe when I'm with you too.

 Why don't you tell me your story, Davis Crawford."

She must have felt me stiffen, and she started to lightly brush her fingertips through the hair on the back of my neck.

"You don't have to if you're not comfortable with me yet, but I would like to hear it someday when you're ready."

We

sat in silence for another few minutes, while the tension slowly

drained from my body. It had been over 15 years; since before the drugs

and alcohol got too bad with my mother; since someone had touched me

with kindness and love, and I was helpless before the gentle onslaught

of Erin's fingers. Eventually, I started talking.

"Things

weren't always bad with Mom; I remember there being more laughter than

anger when I was little. She was very beautiful, and there was a

procession of men in her life, even back then, but most of them treated

me well. I guess they wanted to make a good impression on her. When I

was four or five, though, she took up with a man from a rougher crowd.

She started in with the drinking and drugs, and they never really

stopped. She got pregnant with that man, and Alison was born. From

there, it was like a rock sliding down the side of a hill. It starts

slowly, but soon it's rolling downhill in leaps and bounds.

"After

Sharon was born, fewer men came around. My mom was still beautiful, but

how many guys are interested in a single mother who has three kids from

three different men? I had just turned ten when she left me in charge

for the weekend and flew down to Vegas with some friends from the club

where she waitressed and danced. A bit more than nine months later, she

had Mary.

"The

one thing I can say for my mom is that she mostly managed to stay clean

while she was pregnant. But once Mary arrived, the hill got steeper,

and the rock started plummeting downwards. As fewer men showed an

interest in her, Mom had to blame someone, and we kids were handy

targets. That's when the hitting started. I learned pretty quickly that

she didn't much care who she hit, so I made sure that I was always close

at hand, to try and spare the little ones. If she was going to throw

plates at someone, I figured it had better be me.

"By

the time I was 12, I was the only one caring for my siblings. When Mom

came home drunk or stoned after her shift at the bar, I would steal

enough of her tip money to buy food for my sisters' lunches. That was

the worst of it, and I didn't think that we would make it through. I am

not sure we would have without our landlord, Mr. Johnson.

"He

lived in the apartment below us and would take us in on the weekends

when my mother was out with her boyfriends, feed us dinner, and let us

watch a little television. I never found out why he lived such a lonely

life, but he helped me keep our family together until I was old enough

to handle things myself, so I will always be grateful to him."

I could see tears starting to pool in the corner of Erin's eyes.

"You don't need to hear the rest of this;"

Erin stopped me mid-sentence by kissing my lips.

"You

never got to be a kid, Davis. My whole life I felt sorry for myself

because my parents didn't want or care for me, but at least I had Gran

and Grampy. You had no one."

Even

though we were lying on an old lumpy sleeping bag on a rough hardwood

floor with only a fireplace for heat, I had never felt safer in my life

than I did with her right then.

To be continued in part 3. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

 

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1Love, bastards, and what we leave behind.

Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.

The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the LakePrologue

I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told.

In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother.

In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one.

In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question:

Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully.

While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push.

I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade.

So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart.

Chapter 1.

It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing.

At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done.

The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway.

The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap.

I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief.

"Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?"

Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look.

"I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma."

I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately.

"Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it."

I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look.

"Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn.

"My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around."

"I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;"

"Wilma, please."

"Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it."

On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls.

"You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful."

Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied.

"Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection.

"So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see."

As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued.

"That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work."

I couldn't help but agree.

"Who's the model? She's beautiful."

"That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me."

"Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace."

Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response.

"All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?"

"Do any of your children live nearby?"

"They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly.

"We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral.

"My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away.

"But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?"

"It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12."

"Where are your parents?"

"I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us.

"My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter.

"As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college."

Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever.

"Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat."

I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient.

"I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week."

"What's all that going to cost?"

"It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you."

"Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis."

It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback.

"I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in."

Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face.

"Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?"

"If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip."

"Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night."

"I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure."

I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me.

I'm glad that someone was.

I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry.

"Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen."

"The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James.

"I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them."

"Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro."

The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone.

As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess.

I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway.

"Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?"

He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house.

"She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home."

James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut.

Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air.

"Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister."

Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me.

"That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time."

I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'.

"Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night."

Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips.

"Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?"

James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary.

"Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me.

"And you. Just get the fuck out of our house."

It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke.

"You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know."

"The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that."

"James is different. He isn't like the rest of them."

"Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute."

After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me.

"You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do."

And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess.

"I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough."

We sat in silence for another minute before she replied.

"I wish it was too."

Chapter 2.

It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up.

"Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you."

"That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there."

A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot.

"Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind."

"It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?"

"I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own."

"What happened to him? Did he move away?"

"No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance."

"What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you."

Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story.

"I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island."

"Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer.

"If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?"

"Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying."

I let out a low whistle.

"That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest."

"At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom.

"With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years.

Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there.

"I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake."

"It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday."

"What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?"

"Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done."

"I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love."

With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her.

"It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three."

Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke.

"Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me."

It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock.

By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking.

"There are three things that I know are true.

"The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist.

You are an artist too.

"Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost.

"Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too.

"My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win.

"Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you."

With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me.

"It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck."

Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence.

"Do you think it's my fault?"

"Do I think what's your fault, Bud?"

"That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?"

I sighed as I thought about my answer.

"No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you."

Lane thought about my answer before he continued.

"But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home."

I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line.

"Dad! Help;"

The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight.

As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached.

"Nice work, Son."

He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end.

"Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?"

With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead.

A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him.

When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house.

"I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further."

Wilma looked at me with concern.

"Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you."

A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen.

"It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone."

I thought for a moment.

"We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all."

Wilma looked at me with a sly smile.

"He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch."

"I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner."

It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside.

From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes.

"You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul.

"It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother."

"Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays."

"No," I replied more harshly than I intended.

"No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps."

There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity.

"That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on."

"That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch.

"Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood.

Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease.

I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her.

"Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself."

Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven.

To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

 

Being PreparedGirl Scouts Venture Into A Boy Scout Camp.

Based on a post by Dimension Of Desire. Listen to the Podcast at My First Time.

It was Summer in the early 70's, and I was away at Boy Scout camp. I was still a virgin. The camp was large and sprawling, located deep in a remote forest. Aside from the main camp building that stood adjacent to a large lake, there were individual campsites for each troop. The camp was so large that it required a fair hike to get to the next troop's campsite.

My own troop was camped high on a ridge in the forest. Roughly a dozen boy scouts with raging hormones shared six over-sized tents, two campers per tent, with each tent mounted on a large wooden platform. Nights were spent talking about girls of course, which only stoked those raging hormones. The talk was explicit, as long as our scout leader, who was camped slightly downhill from us, wasn't within earshot.

Two weeks of camp in the remote forest passed painfully slow. I was quite tall and lean, not as athletic as my counterparts, and took a bit more ribbing and abuse than average from my peers. We were among the more senior scouts. It was the summer between high school and my first year of college. I had just turned eighteen and was looking forward to autumn when I could enter the next phase of scouting, which was called Explorers. I loved scouting, but the thought of becoming an Explorer was intriguing, more so because Explorers were co-ed.

The ribbing got so bad one day that I went for a hike alone in the forest. I came upon an unoccupied campsite with a large platform tent that had a steel cot with a thick, clean mattress. Over the next several days I made it my own secret getaway. It was a comfortable escape where I could enjoy solo time with a few books that I had brought with me. I was a bit of a bookworm back then.

Back at camp we sat around the fire after returning from lunch at the mess hall. The mess hall was on the second floor of the main camp building which overlooked the massive lake below. The Director gave announcements and recognized several schouts who complete merit badges and a bunch of us who’d successfully earned our mile swim badges.

We sang the scout motto song as we cleared our tables and departed.

Be be be prepared,

The motto of the Boy Scouts.

Be be be prepared,

The motto of the scouts!

Prepared! Prepared!

The motto of the boy scouts.

Prepared! Prepared!

The motto of the scouts. Hey!

After an uneventful lunch we headed back to our campsite which required a two mile hike. There wasn't much to do that afternoon. The lakefront had been shut down to prepare for a camp-wide water competition the next day.

Time passed slowly. Back at our campsite we noticed another troop hiking through the other side of the ravine at a distance, but didn't take much notice. It was probably just another group of campers passing through for their backpacking or Orienteering merit badges.

But then I noticed that something was different about the hikers; they weren't boys!

I snatched a pair of binoculars from my tent. Sure enough, they weren't boys, they were Senior Girl Scouts. My heart raced, and I felt something automatically stirring down below. I could hardly get the words out of my mouth to my comrades; "gurr; ga ga, girls!"

In an instant there were twelve horny boys hanging precipitously over a long rock ledge, each with binoculars, spying about a dozen or so very cute girls hiking down slope from us. Their trajectory led right towards our scout leader's tent. From a distance, the girls looked pretty, about the same age range as ourselves, guided by a pretty blonde Girl Scout leader that appeared to be in her mid- to late 20's.

To describe the boys as being excited would be an understatement. Their eyes were glued to their binoculars. One boy even set up a telescope on a tripod to get a better view. He positioned himself in a prone position, and looked like a machine gunner preparing to fire. I am sure he wanted to fire his live bullets up inside their fertile bellies.

Of course the discussion quickly turned to sex. Most of the boys were focused on the hot blonde Girl Scout leader who wore rather tiny, tight green shorts. Her white short-sleeve blouse was tied under her large tits, exposing her incredibly narrow, bare waist. Every one of boys had some sort of comment, each expressing essentially the same thing; they all wanted to fuck her. I could see one boy stroking himself in his sweatpants, and trying to hide it. He never did live that one down. Suffice to say, every one of us had a massive hard-on.

What seemed to be a typical hot, boring, mid-summer afternoon isolated deep in the remote forest had suddenly become every teenage boy's fantasy come to life. We had a perfect view of some of the cutest girls we had ever seen. We were all high on the thought of what each one of us imagined we'd like to do with them. Our primitive male instincts naturally kicked into high gear.

We scurried back to our tents as soon as we noticed our scout leader heading for our campsite. We did a good job not being caught spying. He called to wake us from our supposed siesta, and sat us around the camp fire. He explained that a troop of Girl Scouts were hiking through the area en route to the far side of the lake where other Girl Scout troops were holding their summer camp several miles to the East. Aware that we were a cauldron of hormones ready to erupt, he issued strict orders to keep our distance from the girls. He had arranged to put the troop of girls up for the night at an adjacent campsite about a quarter mile from ours. Anyone caught anywhere close to the girls camp site would result in immediate termination of their summer stay.

As if that was going to work; ha! He left us and returned to his own camp site. The troop of girls had disappeared by then, but about an hour later one of the boys noticed the Girl Scout leader returning, alone, to our scout leader's campsite. The two of them sat side-by-side on a large log and talked. We were beyond earshot to hear anything except the rustling of the leaves around us. Of course we all high-fived each other about our scout leader, who was single and in his late twenties. A good-looking stud in his own right, he was studying to become a minister. We just couldn't see him as one, and don't think he became one after that event.

The pair disappeared into his tent. We were beyond giddy imagining what they might be doing with each other, but quickly realized that it was the perfect opportunity to go find the girl's camp. We knew that it wouldn't take long for the news of the girl's presence to spread like wildfire throughout the rest of the camp, after which the area would become strictly off-limits, and guarded like Fort Knox. We had to act fast.

We made our way through the backwoods and quickly found the girl's camp. We made sure to wear backpacks to make it look like we just happened to come upon their camp while hiking. It worked. When we emerged from the trail, there, in the isolated camp site, stood twelve of the prettiest girls, all dressed in their regulation Girl Scout uniforms, and us boys wearing our regulation Boy Scout uniforms. I don't think you could find a single girl or boy at that moment that was disappointed. At first the girls looked slightly alarmed, but after they huddled for a few moments their frowns quickly turned to big smiles. The girls then scurried to offer us a place to rest and pampered us with snacks, drinks, and lots of attention.  I even charted our compass settings and paces, under the guise of preparing for a test.

We mentioned that when we left our campsite, their Girl Scout leared was still in our scoutmaster’s tent, with just him. Eyebrows raised and girls chuckled.

It was the only time in my young existence that I can recall a place where a group of teen boys and girls were practically drowning in a sea or raging hormones. It was difficult to conceal the large bulges in our Boy Scout trousers. We wore the classic tan Boy Scout pants and tan short-sleeve shirts, complete with badge-laden sashes, canvas belts, neckerchiefs and clasps. Be Prepared was our motto, but we were certainly not prepared for this! That garb was only worn at official ceremonies, but we were too stupid to know the girls figured we were just trying to impress them. They played along.

After a bit of banter, the boys and girls naturally split up into pairs or foursomes, having conversations with each other. Flirting was on display, but nothing else happened at first. Everyone was on the lookout for the scout leaders; thank goodness for walkie-talkies.

One Girl Scout in particular sparked my interest. To me she was a little goddess. I was tall, approaching six feet, and she was a petite little thing, standing all of five feet tall, if that. I felt my heart drop into the pit my gut when our eyes met. She appeared to be about my age with big green eyes and silky straight auburn hair with long, straight bangs.

All of the girls were Senior Girl scouts. Senior Girl Scouts were more mature Girl Scouts that wore dark green skirts with the Girl Scout emblem prominently displayed on the left waistband of their skirt. They all wore tight white button-down short-sleeve shirts with the green Girl Scout clover embroidered on the shirt pocket, very sexy. Some of the girls were more developed than others, but the one that caught my eye was clearly well endowed.

I knew our time was short. After some initial talk and innocent flirting, it was clear that the two of us had made an instant and powerful connection. Our hearts raced, practically beating right through our uniforms. My cock was rock hard and throbbing. I practically came when she leaned into me and placed her hand high on my upper thigh only an inch or so from my crotch. She uttered something about primitive camping in the wild. That's exactly what I was thinking; wild!

We were fortunate to enjoy almost two full hours with the girls. Some of the boys began making out with the girls in their tents. Mine leaned in for a kiss; I was more than happy to oblige. As her lips made contact with mine I discovered heaven on earth. Her lips were soft and thick; utter perfection as mine melted into hers. Her name was Rebecca. She asked me to call her Becky.

The fun didn't last long enough. We were alerted that the scout leaders had emerged from their little nookie nest. That was our cue to make a quick exit and evacuate before the enemy returned. As we concluded yet another long, slow kiss I peered into the deep pools of Becky's bright green eyes and informed her, regretfully, that we had to part. We were resigned to the notion that this would be the first and last time we'd ever see each other, but as I prepared to bid her farewell, I took both of her hands in mine and told her about my secret enclave. I explained where it was in the unlikely event that she could break free later that evening.

Behind a large tent I gave Becky a final farewell kiss, told her that she was the most beautiful and amazing girl I had ever met, and then bolted in an effort to catch up with the other boys. We escaped just moments before the Girl Scout leader returned.

Back at our camp we gathered around the fire once more; boys feeling they had become men in just a short time. The boisterous talk was instantly curtailed when our scout leader approached, clueless about our afternoon shenanigans. We kept our secret well, and ribbed him about his extended visit with the hot-looking Girl Scout leader. One boy that acted as our lookout said that the Girl Scout leader appeared quite disheveled when she emerged from his tent, and he had been tucking his shirt and zipping up his pants. He insisted that they had only talked and discussed scout leader things, but we had fun insinuating more, after which he abruptly shut down our conversation and barked orders to prepare for the long hike to the mess hall for dinner. The mess hall was in the main building where roughly a thousand boys converged for meals twice daily.

I suggested a friendly game of ‘capture the flag’ between the two troops. But our scoutmaster strictly forbid any contact with the girls.

We arrived at the mess hall. Scouts were required to show-up in full dress uniform, well pressed, and well groomed. When we entered the soaring mess hall with its massive wooden beams, there was a rather unusual hush. There, not far from our assigned table, sat the group of Girl Scouts. Hundreds of young guys and a handful of pretty gals, all dressed in their official Girl Scout uniforms. You could hear a pin drop. One of the boys sitting an adjacent table leaned over to me and muttered something crass about what he'd like to do to a few of them. I just smiled in response before returning to my meal, trying conceal occasional attempts to catch a glimpse of Becky.

I was quick to arrange a swap of KP duty. That’s kitchen patrol. We volunteer one person from each table, to help clean up and scrub the dishes.

Looking toward the girl scout table, our eyes met and the two of us fell into a trance. I could visibly see the want in Becky's eyes, and a bit of sadness in her pouty lips. The sound of utensils clanging on dishes and discussions receded into the distance, becoming only a faint echo in my head. Only a few feet separated me from my entire world; though it might as well have been half a world away. There was nothing I could do to get any closer. My mind began to wander.

I thought, if only I could muster enough courage to make some sort of grand gesture. I imagined myself pushing away from the table, walking straight over to Becky, lifting her high into my arms, and kissing her while the entire legion of boys erupted in cheers. Then again, I knew I'd more likely end-up unconscious and horizontal on a stretcher if I did, or worse.

Whack! A slap from one of my buddies snapped me back to reality from my zombie state.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked, for which I had no ready response. As Becky's face came back into focus I could see her laughing. I blushed with embarrassment.

I went back to the counter for a refill of my drink. That’s when Becky decided she too, needed more fluids. As I stood at the dispenser, she silently stood next to me. I mumbled just loud enough; “Volunteer for KP duty.”

Dinner ended and I sadly found out the girls were honored guests, not required to serve KP. Oh well, it was a long shot. But the camp cook gave the girls a guided tour of the lodge, so I did get to wink at her twice, while washing down the tables and sweeping the floor.

I made my way back to camp. When dusk began to fall I exited the rear of my tent with my day pack; and slipped undetected into the thick forest. The scout with whom I bunked had gone to the infirmary after becoming ill from dinner. That allowed me to escape unnoticed. I made it to my private enclave just as dusk settled in.

Night was falling and I soon realized that I was going to remain there, alone. I began to pack up my things to return to my troop's campsite. Just as I emerged from the tent, there stood Becky, like an angel from heaven wearing a smile larger than the full moon that softly lit the landscape around us. Becky approached me, slowly, held out her hands, and grasped both of mine.

"I couldn't bear to leave here tomorrow without seeing you again." she said in a soft and sincere voice.

There we stood, our hands clasped, and our eyes fixated upon each other. She was the ultimate image of sexy standing there in front of me. She wore the classic green socks embroidered with the Girl Scout emblem on each side, along with bright yellow flash garters that held them up. Her black patent Mary Janes were so shiny they reflected a little bit of her white panties from beneath her green Girl Scout skirt, which was now much shorter than I had recalled earlier that day.

Becky looked up at me with those big green eyes which were slightly covered by her long silky straight bangs. Around her neck she wore a Girl Scout locket. I could partially see down her blouse and caught a brief glimpse of her cleavage.

There we stood, silent. We didn't want to move, we just stared at each other and drank each other in. The look in her eyes was dreamy. That a girl could gaze upon me with such adoration was mind-blowing. I was falling in love for the first time in my young life.

I had packed my tent lantern, but a fire within me was far hotter than any fire I could ever make with conventional wood. I took her hand in mine and gently led her into my tent. The tent was roomy and cozy. I had made it quite homey with a sleeping bag, blankets, and two pillows on the sturdy cot. We sat side-by-side, both feeling a little awkward, not knowing where to start or what to do next.

I slipped my hand into hers, lifted my other hand, placed it gently on her cheek, and then brushed back her soft hair while bringing my lips close to hers, but not yet touching. My hand slipped down to her neck. Only our hot steamy breath separated our parted lips by mere millimeters. She closed her eyes; there wasn't anything either of us ever wanted more than to feel each other's lips touch at that moment.

And they did. Our hearts connected as our lips met. We felt one with each other. Our sweet soft kisses said everything that needed to be said. Our kisses became deeper, longer, and more passionate as our tongues gently entangled. We never wanted this evening to end.

She slowly raised her hands up to each side my face, paused, and made me look directly into her eyes. Now face-to-face, she pulled back slightly.

"I want you!" she asserted with absolute certainty.

Becky stood up, her tight young body only inches in front of me. I remained seated. She backed away slightly, still grasping both of my hands. There she stood, the cutest, sexiest young lady that was beyond any divine creature I could ever conjure up in my dreams.

I couldn't believe that this incredible sexy girl was standing there, right in front of me. Her cute round face, small slightly upturned nose, flawless complexion, and perfect body glowed in the moonlight. Her perky round tits protruded through her tight-fitting white blouse, partially obscured by the long green Girl Scout sash laden with merit badges that stretched from the top of her shoulder on one side, down to her opposite hip. She also wore the classic green Girl Scout necktie. Becky teasingly pointed to a patch on my own uniform that read "Be Prepared" and asked me if I was. Completely entranced and under her spell, I nodded to affirm.

She began to dance in slow motion, teasing me with her tight curvy body, first moving in closer, then further away, almost like a seasoned stripper but remaining fully clothed. She leaned one shoulder into me. On the crest of her shoulder attached to her white blouse was a patch that read Girl Scouts U.S.A. I thought to myself, thank God for Girl Scouts!

"Do you like Girl Scouts?" She quizzed in a teasing and seductive tone.

"I, I love one Girl Scout, I mean, I love this Girl Scout." quickly correcting myself.

"Right answer!" Becky shot back, moving in closer and sporting a broad smile.

Truth be told, I always had it in for girls in uniform, especially girl scouts. I had attended private school for most of my youth, and the girls were allowed to wear their uniforms on days when they held meetings after school in the gym. I couldn't help but notice them every time. I am certain they knew the effect that they had on us boys. I would often head home after school and masturbate to the thought of fucking at least one of them, and I am sure that was par for most boys my age. And now here was my dream Girl Scout standing right in front of me, alone, on a warm summer night. My cock was rock hard, massive, and throbbing with only one desire, to impale this little vixen on it.

Her writhing body made me melt. She spun around and leaned her back into my chest, slid down and then settled her tiny round ass squarely in my lap. She began grinding her cute bottom into my groin, leaned her head back to steal a kiss, but then feigned and pulled away. She did that repeatedly, teasing me, and taking me to the brink. This girl was quite the skilled temptress.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked.

"I have two older sisters, they showed me how to be with a boy" she shot back with a carefree chuckle.

She spun around and pushed her tits into my chest, slithering up and landing a deep, wet kiss on my lips before standing up again between my parted legs. She then placed her hands on my knees and leaned down just far enough to make sure I could see her cleavage, then gently dropped to her knees between my legs. Her hands began to caress the bulge tenting through my trousers. Becky looked up at me through her long bangs.

"Hmmm, what do we have here?" asked the little temptress, rhetorically, as a wicked grin broke out on her face while her tiny hand caressed the erection in my pants.

Becky slowly unzipped my trousers, pulled out my large, long cock, and began to stroke it. Her eyes bulged wide when she saw the actual size of my Boy Scout gear. Quite pleased, she lowered her head and wrapped her soft lips around it. Becky slid both lips over the tip of my tool and encircled it with her young skillful tongue. At one point she looked up at me with my cock in her mouth, her eyes peering through her long straight bangs, and then plunged back down on it. She did that repeatedly, sucking my cock with wanton delight, slowly at first, then faster.

"Hmm!" she moaned as her hungry mouth devoured my cock.

Becky's moans were muted with her mouth full of my manhood, but the vibration only served to make me even harder. I was amazed watching this little girl take all eight inches of my hard cock down her throat. I did all I could to keep from ejaculating but it was mighty difficult. Becky had a skillful tongue that brought me to the brink of ejaculation multiple times. It became a bit of a game and challenge between us. She giggled because she knew I was about to explode. I resisted by resting my groin muscles each time I reached the brink, but she was determined to make me cum.

Becky suddenly stood-up again, lifted my legs sideways, and stretched me horizontal on the mattress. She then straddled my hips, lifted her short green skirt, and pulled aside her white satin panties exposing her perfect teenage Twaut. The folds of her moist womanhood hovered only millimeters above the head of my cock, just waiting to be split open by it. She rolled her head back over her shoulders and played with her Twaut using two fingers, exhaling with pleasure. She then lowered one hand and gripped my hard shaft while simultaneously caressing her tits over her Girl Scout blouse, which appeared to be at least a size or two too small.

We both remained fully dressed, maybe because we were worried that we might have to make a quick exit in the event an unwanted intruder should happen upon us, but we were quite remote and far from where anyone could see or hear us. She continued stroking my cock and looked directly into my eyes with steadfast determination.

"Do you want this?" she asked mischievously.

"Are you sure? Have you ever done this before?" I shot back, aching to feel the warmth and wetness of her budding womanhood.

Becky laughed and admitted that she had never actually had sex with a boy, but had practiced using her older sister's toys on more than one occasion. I was the one she wanted to do it with the first time. She asked me if I had a condom, but I didn't.

"I thought you were prepared?" she scolded me with a girlish pout, but then quickly brushed it off.

"Oh fuck it!" she blurted out as she slowly lowered her cunt onto my cock, pushing the head of my cock between her moist cunt lips, pausing momentarily, then sliding the rest of it up inside of her silky-smooth Twaut. Becky let out a gasp of pure pleasure. "Ah! Now I know what my sister meant!" she uttered as her hips began to writhe from side-to-side and then back-and-forth.

I remained buried to the hilt. For the first time I felt the incredible rush of carnal pleasure as Becky's tight little cunt engulfed my cock. It fit like a glove. Her feet remained flat on the mattress; she supported herself by pressing her hands firmly against my chest and rode me effortlessly. I looked down at one point and could see my glistening shaft disappear into Becky's tight young cunt. Her wetness bathed my stiff tool. Again and again I had to resist cumming; I wanted to erupt inside of her, but also wanted to make it last as long as possible.

We fucked like that for a quite a while. She leaned back, thrusting up and down on my shaft, her round tits bouncing in sync under her white, skin-tight blouse. Her shoulder-length hair rocked back and forth in unison with her grinding hips. Becky enjoyed several loud, convulsive orgasms. Each time her body shook violently. She occasionally took short breaks between orgasms to catch her breath and to enjoy some passionate kissing, leaving my cock buried balls-deep inside of my uniform-clad goddess. She was clearly earning her Reproductive Sciences merit badge to add to the long green sash straddling her tight little body.

I then took control. She was so small it was easy to flip her over in one motion and remain buried inside her. She enjoyed me taking control and dominating her. I might have been a virgin, but with older brothers and lots of salacious talk with my peers, I knew exactly how to handle a girl that wanted it. She wrapped her legs around my hips like a vice, rested her heels on my ass, and wrapped her hands around my broad shoulders. We looked deep into each other's eyes.

"I love you, take my body, own me!"

I had fallen in love with this angel from heaven. It was love at first sight. Casual sex would have been wonderful, but the mutually feelings for each other took our sex to another level altogether. I wanted this girl, and was unleashed. I began pounding Becky with everything I had. I wanted to become part of her and make her mine.

"Harder!" she demanded, "Faster!"

Her words of pure carnal desire were music to my ears. I gripped her hips and drilled her like a jackhammer. Becky thrust her hips up to meet mine with every stroke. I couldn't tell if I was fucking her or she was fucking me, probably both. My huge, cum-filled balls slammed repeatedly against the base of her Twaut, making a loud slapping sound as I bottomed out with each stroke.

"Fuck me! Fuck my brains out!" she screamed. Thankfully no could hear us that far out into the forest, but that is exactly what I proceeded to do.

"Take it bitch!" I demanded with authority, to which she reacted even more positively than I had expected.

This little girl was obviously no saint; even as a virgin she obviously had a great deal of carnal knowledge and coaching. Becky was in heat, and had the skill of a woman far beyond her years. We fucked like animals for at least an hour non-stop. We didn't want to stop. I wanted to cum badly, and had resisted successfully up to that point, but she then took off the brakes completely.

"It's OK baby, do it! cum inside me, I want you to give me everything you've got."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This girl wanted me to shoot my load deep inside of her fertile young belly. I thought, who am I to argue? There was clearly a risk that she could get pregnant, but neither of us cared. We were engulfed in pure desire, and there was no turning back. I could feel the pressure building in my groin as I continued to fuck the tiny Girl Scout pinned beneath me, slowing only occasionally to steal a kiss before resuming my relentless pounding. The look on her face was evidence that she was loving every moment.

"Don't stop this time, OK?"

Becky had given me a green light to deposit my load inside her, and I was ready to make a special delivery. With each thrust I could feel cum welling up in my balls, like mercury rising and falling in an erratic barometer. She wrapped her legs even more tightly around my hips and pushed her heels tight against my ass, pulling me deeper with each stroke. In just a moment I was going to release my baby-making seed into Becky's young fertile womb. The thought of knocking up this incredible beauty was hotter than it was scary. Images of her small frame bulging with a large pregnant belly flashed through my head. I imagined how erotic it would be to fuck her in that state repeatedly. Hell, I didn't know if I'd ever see her again after this night, but I wanted to make her mine forever. I took several deep, steady strokes and looked into her eyes with determination.

"I'm going to cum" I warned her for the last time, ready to pull out at the last moment if necessary.

"Yes! Shoot it! She demanded, "Shoot it in me!"

Becky's words sent me over the edge. My face knotted up and my balls tightened as I reached the pinnacle of ejaculation. I slammed my cock all the way into the depths of her love nest and held the head of my cock firmly up against her cervix. My cock swelled up huge as the muscles in my groin fully retracted, momentarily suspended like a roller coaster does as it stalls at the top of a steep climb just before it plunges in a free-fall; I was ready to fire everything I had into Becky's fertile young womb.

My ripe Girl Scout was ready to be inseminated. Suddenly, I felt an incredible release. Becky's eyes became huge. Her mouth opened wide and her chin dropped to her chest, but she couldn't utter a word. I felt a thick stream of warm liquid shoot up from deep within my balls, travel through my long stiff shaft, and spurt violently into her virgin Twaut. My first blast of cum caused her hips to visibly buck-up in a double motion to accept my sperm. Her body shuddered and convulsed with a massive orgasm of her own. She let out a faint squeal as my sperm bathed her teenage womb. Wave after wave of pure carnal pleasure engulfed us both as I forcefully bred her, she achieving her desire to be bred.

Our first orgasm seemed to last forever. I never imagined I could come so hard and with so much force. My orgasm was so powerful that I felt it from my head through my toes. My balls recoiled, preparing to fire again as my cock swelled up even larger, fully stretching Becky's young cunt. She rolled her head from side to side in delirium and fully arched her back, her body begging for more.

"I can feel it!" she screamed, "It's so warm!"

I was just getting started. I plunged back into her impatient cunt and pulled the trigger again. My cock jerked violently back and forth as I fired another hot burst of pent-up semen into her young female depths. Becky's convulsive orgasms kept coming as her eyes rolled back into her head. I kept cumming non-stop. Jet after jet of hot cream filled Beck's cunt, so much that a river of cum began to gush out of her tight, tiny hole. I continued to cum until her body went limp and I collapsed into hers.

My cock remained buried deep inside of her cunt, throbbing and pulsating, not wanting to pull out. I didn't. We held each other tight, both gasping for air. After catching our breath, we made out passionately. My cock remained in the tight grips of her young womanhood. Hot semen coated her uterus as my virile seed invaded her ovaries. We both lay there basking in the afterglow of what we had just shared.

My cock continued to pulse in her cunt long after she had drained my balls. We didn't rest very long. I could feel Becky tighten her vaginal muscles around my cock until she got me hard again. This little girl now owned my cock, and we continued to fuck all night until we heard the distant sound of a trumpet at dawn.

We had never fully undressed, and quickly gathered ourselves to make an escape. My legs felt like jelly, trembling and unsteady. I could barely walk. That little vixen had drained my balls so completely that a river of cum ran down her legs when she stood up. We held each other tight once more. I told her that I loved her. I did. It was love at first sight as much as it was love at first fuck. We kissed one last time, then grudgingly parted. I could see tears welling up in Becky's eyes. It was obvious that we'd likely never see each other again.

I made it back to camp just in the nick of time. That morning, on our hike to the mess hall for breakfast, we ran into the troop of Girl Scouts once more. They were about to make their way back onto the trail that led to their own camp across the lake. There, in the back of the group standing directly across from us, stood Becky gazing at me with a look of satisfaction and adoration that I'll never forget. The girls around her whispered to each other while one pointed towards me and looked at Becky. Becky didn't flinch, her eyes were locked upon mine.

My buddies had a perplexed look on their faces. As the group parted they badgered me trying to find out what that was all about, but I played dumb and kept our secret safe. I turned and looked over my shoulder one more time as the two groups marched off in opposite directions. We caught one final glimpse before losing sight of each other through the thick forest. Knowing she was carrying my seed was all I needed to know, and I was certain she was content carrying a piece of me inside of her.

The remainder of that summer I dreamed of my goddess dressed in green. I imagined my seed making her belly bulge through her tight skirt. Each day I reeled in ecstasy one moment, only to plunge into depression the next knowing that sort of love and desire comes only once in a lifetime. My heart was filled with incredible joy and ache at the same time. The first of September brought the end of summer and marked a bittersweet ending.

A Fateful Reunion.

There is an epilogue to this story though. Becky didn't get pregnant from our night of lovemaking and total sexual abandon. How do I know? As fate would have it, we ended up attending the same college that September. The look on Becky's face when our eyes met at registration was priceless. There we stood, motionless, and in utter disbelief. Once again, time stood still.

We became an inseparable couple, later married, and have been together ever since. We now have several grown children; my summer daydreams of fucking my pregnant dream Girl Scout fulfilled over and over again. Today, Becky remains as cute and sexy as ever, with an eternal youth and ageless look about her. Many decades hence our sex has never ceased to be amazing, especially when I find Becky waiting for me each year on the anniversary of the night we first met, wearing her Girl Scout uniform.

It's our anniversary, tonight.

Based on a post by Dimension Of Desire for Literotica

 

Chaos at Cahokia State Park: Part 3Keeping the continuum undefiled.

Based on a post by ThreeFathomsDeep and  Atomica24. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.

 

Timmy

was full of questions and Phillip answered the best as he could, Anna

watched him interact with the youngster and thought, I bet he was a

great dad like Paul. I hope someday I can be as good a mother as Beth. I

miss them terribly already.

She

was brought out of her contemplations when she heard Timmy say "can I

stay here with you Phil? This place seems like a lot of fun."

No

Tim. You have to go back to Mum and Dad and as soon as possible. You

live right down the road from here. You can't meet your current self

here or it will mess up the Time Continuum and you may both cease to

exist. Your older self knows you are here right now. Now excuse me, I

have to get the door, it's Andrew and Sarah." He looked sorry that he

had to deliver that news as he stood up, before there was even a knock.

Just

as he opened the door two Jaguar warriors shoved their way inside the

door to the modest four bedroom rambler. Armed with the same style of

obsidian spear point club but now looking more like a Cricket bat from

the set of Mad Max than any sort of ancient Aztec war club.

Rushing

towards the kitchen, Phillip let out a tired and disgusted sigh. "Damn

it! Not you Buggers again! "There was an electrical crackle and one of

the warriors dropped as he started to grab Timmy. His partner, who had

been focused on Anna, now spun around to confront the threat that had

taken out the first warrior and did so just in time to receive a similar

blast from Phillips other taser, which dropped him as well. Phillip now

reached into the closest drawer to the pantry and pulled out premade

cable tie hand cuffs. "Do me a favor Anna, roll them over and put their

hands behind their backs. Thank you." which Anna did gleefully

Having

trussed up the warriors Phillip said with a rueful smile "Well this

moves our time line a little." And with that he said "Anna would you be a

dear and open the house door to the garage?" As she did she noticed

that sitting on the hard cement floor of the garage were six more Jaguar

warriors all wearing the same cable tie handcuffs. "I'm running out of

places to put these wankers!" Phillip said as he dragged the newest team

through the door to the garage.

"Excuse

me I couldn't help but notice your Land Rover and the name on the mail

box.." said a younger version of Beth with the same English accent "I

was wondering if you knew.." interrupting her now Phillip said.

"Paul

Cotswold is our father, Sarah, please you and Andrew need to come in

quickly. It's not safe out there for the two of you." as he grabbed the

young woman by the arm and dragged her in before doing the same to

Andrew.

"Anna! Timmy! Yelled Andrew with joy as he leaped across at Anna and little Timmy.

Sarah

just stood wide eyed as she stared at Anna and Timmy. Sarah was

completely shocked when unexpectedly, Andrew and Anna were suddenly

devouring each other's mouths and battling the other tongue for

supremacy of their counter parts oral cavity with gusto. Obviously

wanting to shag the others brains out now. A side effect of recent jumps

through more than one gate. Sarah had long ago learned to control this

impulse and also had learned to manipulate to some degree where she went

in time and space.

Unnoticed to either of them someone else had entered the room.

"Ahem,

Young lady!, Ahem, Anna Louise get control of yourself right this

instant. Andrew William Cotswold! Get and keep your hands off my

granddaughters bottom and keep your tongue out of her mouth!" said

Anna's very displeased grandmother, as she shook a very sturdy looking,

brass handled cane, like either of the young adults might receive a

thwacking from it.

We

need to have tea earlier than planned. Celeste and Cecil have arranged a

special accommodation for you three Cotswold siblings, to travel

together to the exact same point of origin through a restricted

Continuum Gate as it took special permission from The Prime. Therefore,

we really don't want to dilly dally about it. This one was last used

when wooly mammoths walked down Main Street."

"How do you know my name madam?" asked Andrew thinking she sounded familiar.

"Andrew,

we will meet in College at Leeds University in 1972. We will have a

torrid affair for two years; I will steal your heart, and you will steal

my car. Now take your hands off our granddaughters buttocks!" said

Anna's grandmother.

Anna sprung away from Andrew like he was suddenly made of electricity.

Phillip smiled at the reaction of both parties.

"Let's

go. Celeste and Cecil want everyone co-located for the trip and I

promised them I wouldn't send you off without something in your bellies.

Here are some house shoes that should fit well enough to travel to my

home next door. Anna, I will need to talk to you in a few minutes in the

meantime, I want you to get a shower here at Phillips before you come

next door. I will bring you clothes to change into"

"Andrew,

Sarah, and Timmy this is my next-door neighbor Mrs. Smith. She is

Anna's Grandmother, and she would like for the three of you to have Tea

with her. Anna and myself will be right along, as soon as she has had a

shower. Anna has a specific scent to her which is what those jaguar

warriors are responding to and are able to track just exactly where she

is. Now then put the shoes on and follow Mrs. Smith.. that is, Before we

have to deal with any more uninvited guests!" Said Phillip as he

finished the last part with an exasperated sigh, he reached into a

drawer near the back door to the kitchen. Everyone observed that Phillip

had retrieved a fairly large canister which he began to shake

vigorously as he opened the door to the back yard. Where by

happenstance, four more Jaguar warriors charged the house. In not more

than a millisecond, Phillip activated the button on top of the canister,

spraying in a wide arc as he did so, the powerful Mace spray completely

stopping the assault of the burly, coppery brown men, that now screamed

and writhed in pain from the chemical. Phillip said "Anna in my shower,

the rest of you next door. Right now! Thank you." and after having

secured the coppery skinned thugs with more cable tie handcuffs, left

them in the grass of the back yard.

Anna

had no idea why she couldn't go to her grandmother's house to shower,

but she figured that Mr. Cotswold, and her grandmother knew best and did

as she had been instructed.

Anna

had finally found the right temperature setting. She removed the

nightgown Beth had given her and could definitely smell the burnt copper

stench of a jump.

"Anna,

Don't be alarmed Luv. I have to get the Mace off of me as I forgot that

sometimes the chemical lasts for a bit. I got it on me when I secured

those ruffians in the backyard." Said Phillip as the curtain of the

shower retreated from the back toward the front, along the edge of the

rather large claw foot tub.

Anna had expected to see a wrinkled old man body joining her. What she saw took her breath away.

Lord! Have Mercy! He was without a doubt the most handsome man she had ever seen!

A

well-muscled and defined chest gave way to a washboard stomach, and

between those well-toned thighs was a quite handsome looking cock. Where

she had expected to see gray hairs on his chest, he sported a nice if,

somewhat thin patch of black downy curls trailing down to his southern

thatch.

Anna

felt butterflies in her stomach as she openly stared at his manhood. He

noticed and smiled at her. He reached over her to acquire the soap and

body sponge that was behind her on the ledge. And as he did so their

bodies came in contact with each other.

Anna

couldn't help it! She wanted Phillip! She wanted to taste him. Anna

reached for the back of his head, and pressing her lips to his, she

invaded his mouth, tasting the Oolong tea that he'd consumed earlier.

Phillip,

hadn't been kissed in more than a decade and certainly not like this

ever! He could feel the stirring of his Talley Whacker as she continued

to duel with his tongue. He had to break it off or he would embarrass

them both. Phillip had never come this close to orgasm from just a kiss,

but he realized his hands were caressing the back of her buttocks, the

back of her neck where it met with her hairline and back again. As God

is my witness I want to fill her with my children! Damn she feels better

and tastes better than any woman I have ever had before!" He thought.

Her

other hand wasn't Idle either she had stroked his strong back feeling

the brawny shoulders before sliding down to a manly flank.

"Anna

we need to stop for a couple of minutes or it’s going to get

embarrassing for both of us." He gasped against the soft feeling of her

barely exited lips.

"I

don't care Mr. Cotswold I want you to open me." Anna said as she felt

that feeling all mature women have. The need to be stretched, penetrated

filled with the urge to quench the burning fire of need deep within

their body.

"Mr.

Cotswold is a name for a child to use with an adult Anna, you are not a

child and haven't been for some time. Call me Phil." He said stepping

out of the shower. Pulling her out, turning off the shower as they went.

Phillip led her to his bedroom.

She

stopped right before the bedroom door. "What's wrong luv?" asked

Phillip sensing that something was amiss with her. Was she having cold

feet? He wondered for a few seconds.

"Um,

we, um, I'm sorry but we aren't married. I want you, but You're not my

husband. I promised my grandmother that I wouldn't have sex until I was a

properly wed woman. Sorry," Anna said in the clearly conflicted voice

that Phillip was hearing. "Plus, your oldest brother Andrew, is my

grandfather, that makes you my great uncle, or something."

Phillip

roared with laughter now. Much to Anna's confusion. Turning beet red

with the lack of oxygen before getting control of himself.

"Oh,

Anna my lovely young woman. Andy is not your grandfather! He was a

randy, arrogant young man when he was younger. Your grandfather was his

best mate! When Andy took your grandmother's car to go see the Grand

Canyon in Arizona without asking, she shagged his best friend as a form

of revenge. That resulted in her getting pregnant by and marrying your

grandfather. Andy was never very good at reading maps back then, so he

thought it was just a quick little afternoon pop over there, you know

back in a couple of hours sort of thing. Not realizing that it's several

days of driving."

"Then why did she say that silly thing?" Anna questioned as she stood in front of the bedroom not believing Phillips' story.

"Well,

it really has to do with two issues. One to use the Ultra Restricted

Prime Continuum Gate all parties have to be pure., That is, they must

all be Virgins. And two Your grandmother and Andy will deflower each

other in 1972. If he were to take you now, then he would not be allowed

through the gate, and it would alter the time continuum, .It was rather

comical to see your reaction to each other when she made that

announcement, though I must say."

"Okay

but I still want to be married before,” Anna had started to say as a

coppery hand had been placed over her mouth. Phillip seeing Anna was

quickly being dragged down the hallway sprang into action. Charging

naked down the red plush path to the front room of the house. Phillips'

patience now having been tried beyond all measure. Those berserker genes

now came to the fore.

Grabbing

the first warrior by the hand that was covering her mouth Phillip spun

the wrist of the smaller man and with a snap broke an elbow and after a

shriek of pain, saw the man fleeing out of the backdoor. With a vicious

side kick, he dislocated the knee of yet another, that man hollering in

pain and screaming in an unknown tongue, limped out of the kitchen door

to the back yard, where he joined the others that Phillip had trussed

up. Phillip then gave chase to a third throughout the house, eventually

finding their way back into the kitchen where he received a quick

glancing blow to an arm from the non-obsidian side of the war club.

Spying a mop still in the bucket from where he had used it earlier on

the floor, Phillip used it to parry and then thrust it in to the mid

riff of the warrior before bringing it in an upward manner, first

connecting with the ching of his adversary and then like Andy had done

back in England poked the poor fellow in the face with it. Philip must

have struck it just right, as blood went everywhere. The warrior who had

never had his nose bloodied before dropped the war club and ran

outside. Hearing a commotion behind him Phillip saw Anna with the big

bowie knife he had given her all of those years ago. Glad that he had

managed to retrieve it from the car before it was impounded by the

police. The big knife had been sitting in a place of honor on his mantel

ever since.

However,

now Anna had a young warrior backed into a corner near the front door,

clearly he was fighting for his life. Anna had cut him multiple times

already without suffering any cuts herself. Phillip walked over to the

front door, opened it, and in the same manner as she had witnessed from

Paul, dealing with Andy, said one word. "Leave.'

The

young warrior threw the war club at Anna and leaped out of the front

door as though he were about to be chased by devils. Phillip closed the

door to the front room locking it and all of the exterior doors before

he said.

"Marry

me Anna, let me give you children. I know I'm probably old enough to be

your father, but I have loved you for decades as a man and I never had

the courage to tell you until now that I desire your company, terribly.

The day before you disappeared I was going to give this to you and ask

you to marry me." Phillip said as he pulled an old shortbread tin down

from the mantle. From out of the tin, he pulled a once white, now faded

to cream, box with a faded and defunct jewelers name in gold and silver

gilded lettering advertising the business.

From

inside of the old box Phillip extricated a beautiful, slender gold,

diamond and emerald engagement ring. "The day before your parents were

killed I went to your father while you were in your classes. I asked

your father for his permission to marry you." Phillip slipped the ring

out of the box and onto Anna's finger. Your father, mother and

grandmother were in complete agreement that I should pursue you and

propose when the time was right. It just never seemed right until now.'

we aren't to go over to your grandmother's house until the others have

left. Or you have been opened and your body holds the seed of a man

within your womb. Otherwise, you could wind up like Sarah, sucked in to a

Continuum Gate because of your purity. The other issue we have is that

these wankers will continue to try seizing you with the intention to

drag you back to their era until your time signature changes."

Anna

was absolutely speechless as she looked at the ring on her finger.

Tears began to fall now as her heart felt like it would burst with the

joy of knowing for sure. Thinking back to all of the fun she'd had with

Phillip. Board games, picnics, kayaking, Canoe Camping ( Philip would

later confess that the army had ruined camping for him but her and her

brothers had made it somewhat enjoyable again) sledding in the winter.

Ice skating, rock climbing, horseback riding, long bike trips with her

and her brothers and of course the all American Barbecues with her

family. He had been her rock when her parents died. She realized that

there was an incredible amount of Beth and Paul that had been poured

into Phillip.

Maybe

that is why, I felt so comfortable around them and I had missed them,

even before I left England. I really missed Phillip all along. Anna

thought as she stared at the ring. Without another word she snatched

Phillip’s hand and said "Come" as she dragged him down the hallway

toward the bedroom.

"Anna

what are we doing? You haven't said yes or no." said Phillip with the

same expression she had seen on Paul's face when he was annoyed.

"I

need you to open me and get me with child!" Anna said as she threw back

the covers on the king-sized bed. Smiling she added "I should be very

fertile today, Husband."

"What

about a minister, a priest, or some sort of clergy?" asked Phillip

shocked that all he had to do was slip the ring on her finger.

She

replied "Just shag me already! We'll get the rest sorted later. I need

your tally whacker deep inside me." as she placed herself in the center

of the bed.

"Ahem!

Excuse me, Philip? Might I see you for just a second before you

deflower Anna?" Asked a man with a strange looking black shirt and white

collar.

Damn

it! Tim! Can't you knock? I didn't give you a key so you could waltz

in, anytime you felt like it!" Declared Phillip as he now pulled the

covers over Anna's nude form.

Going

to his closet now Phillip extracted a robe, donning it and tying it

closed. He met his older brother Timothy out in the kitchen.

"Okay what the bloody hell is it!" said a red-faced Phillip as he stood in the kitchen. next to the stove.

"Mrs.

Smith called my cell phone and said she will, be right over with the

clothes for Anna and didn't want to interrupt you mid-shag. Our siblings

have gone now, but the gate is still open, so it would be best if Anna

stayed away until it closes. I also recall a promise being made, for

which I am here to insure that it doesn't get broken." Tim looked at his

watch. "Arm yourself."

Phillip

seeing A large copper bottom frying pan said "Ready." And just as Tim

opened the door the satisfying clang and thud of another Jaguar warrior

striking the kitchen floor rang out down the hall.

"I

have clothes for Anna." said her grandmother as she viewed the

unconscious warrior that was now sprawled across the threshold of the

kitchen door. His jaguar skin apron flipped up revealing his masculine

equipment for all of the world to see.

"That's

a pity, I wonder who he plans on pleasing with that, Other than

himself, hum? Well, are we still on for Tea? And have you shared that

special tin of biscuits with her yet?" Winking at Phillip.

"Um,

Er, I was just about to slip her some sausage to finish off that tin of

biscuits when Tim here came calling." Replied a red faced Phillip.

"How are you doing this evening Father Timothy?" asked Mrs. Smith.

Tim

looked at his watch now and said "I am marvelous sister, please step

this way for a second. You really don't want to be in the strike path of

Phil's frying pan." As he pulled the elderly lady gently by her arm

across the still unconscious warrior's body smiling as he did so.

"Ready?" Tim asked still looking at his watch

"Ready!" Phil responded getting into a proper cricket batters stance.

"Should be three in three." Said Tim as he began "Three, two, one swing now"

"Aye!"

from Phillip was nearly drowned out by Clang! thud, Clang! thud, Clang!

Clang Clang thud. As three more Aztecs were laid out cold.

"That

last one was a little hard headed, he-was!" said a slightly winded

Phillip. Should we tie these one's up too? Do you think? Asked Phillip.

"You

really need to change her time signature, if you want this to stop."

said Tim as he looked at his watch. "Get ready four in four"

"Oh

Crikey! My pans all done in mate." Said Phillip grinning as he saw the

dents placed in the copper bottom skillet from the defending of the

home.

"I'll

just take these clothes to her while you boys have fun." said the

grandmother as she started to move toward the bedroom. "By the way, did

she say yes, like I suspected she might?"

"Aye!

we were just about to see about making offspring when we were

interrupted." Replied Phil as he scowled at his older brother.

"Okay." Said the elderly female as she wandered down the hall to the bedroom.

Anna had heard "Clang thud," ring out repeatedly before her grandmother appeared in the door way with an armful of clothes.

"Get these on quickly! Reverend Tim is here to perform the ceremony."

Reverend Tim? Who's that? a puzzled Anna asked as the clang had changed to Bong Bong Bong! Thud and seemed further away.

"Yee haw!" was yelled as though a bunch of Texas cowboys had suddenly been turned loose in Phil’s driveway.

"I got the next one!" Yelled another masculine voice. Followed by "hey batter. Batter. swing!"

"They're going, going, gone!" yelled somebody else.

"Grandma what the hell is going on out there? Anna questioned as these voices definitely did not belong to Englishmen.

"Oh,

I told your brothers that you had returned from your trip abroad and

you had some weirdo's that were stalking you." she said with a

mischievous smile and wink. I also told them that you and Phillip had

decided to get married.

Anna almost felt sorry for those elite warriors having to deal with her wild brothers., Almost.

"Oh my! What did they say?" she asked nervously.

"To

a one of them, they all said, well it's about bloody, damn time!" her

grandmother continued "Everyone, but you could see how much that man

loves you! and has for years! Now get dressed and say I do."

The

whole process was quick. Her oldest brother served in her father's

place; her youngest brothers served as Phillips grooms men. The ceremony

was completed in less than five minutes. The bound and gagged Aztec

warriors were witness to the exchange of vows. The ones in the back yard

served as warning for any other would be abductors that this place was

well defended.

Though

Phillip wasn't in a suit of any kind he was decently attired for the

process. Of course, it goes without saying that "little Timmy" made sure

to get the first kiss with the new Mrs. Cotswold. After he had

pronounced them husband and wife, and the first married kiss ended, Tim

took Anna in his arms and said, "Get ready, My Anna!" as he dipped her

like an old time movie star. She expected a lovers kiss. What she got

was the longest peck she had ever had, and it started her to laughing.

He laughed as well returning them to an upright position. At that point

Father Tim said. "Go shag your bonnie bride rotten Phil! Myself and the

other lads will see you at Tea next-door."

Phil just said, "yes sir!" before he threw Anna over his shoulder, as he charged down the hallway to the bedroom.

They drowned each other in kisses. All but tearing the garments off of their new spouse.

Phillip couldn't remember the last time he was this hard.

Likewise, Anna couldn't remember when she had ever been this wet or open before.

Anna

knelt on the bedroom carpet, her face only an inch from Phillip's dick.

This was her only second close up encounter of a fully ready to go

man's cock, and Anna decided she would be daft to let this opportunity

go to waste.

Anna

sniffed, his aroma was clean with an edge of, perhaps, musk? Anna, put

her finger and thumb around his dick and held it. It was very hard,

surprising to be so hard without an actual bone inside it, she thought

but the skin was very soft, oh for such soft skin! Anna wrapped the rest

of her fingers around his dick and squeezed. It felt good, Lord knows

why but it did. She moved her hand down, easing his foreskin down over

the head of his dick, it was fascinating to watch it unfold. The end of

his dick was bigger around the rim of his dick than the shaft was, and

his foreskin would tuck behind the rim. The end of his dick was a

reddish purple and as Anna eased his skin up and down, a drop of whitish

juice appeared at his hole.

Anna

didn't know why, but she leant forward and wrapped her mouth around his

dickhead, sucking the juice onto her tongue. Slightly salty, a little

metallic, she thought, as she heard it cause Phillip to gasp as she

sucked. Anna began to move her head up and down, as if she were shagging

him with her mouth. Just like she had seen her mum do to her dad all of

those years ago. It now gave Anna a feeling of control, just as her

mother had told her it would, when Anna had confessed to her mum of

having watched her parents make love out by the pool. Phillip was just

standing there gasping, his fingers tangled in Anna's wheaten locks.

Anna pulled back and let his dick out of her mouth and into the air of the bedroom.

"Wow."

Anna said, "I knew I haven't really done much, but the feeling of

control was amazing!" Phillip stood on trembling legs on the verge of

shooting his seed, as Anna stood and then lay on Phillips bed, her head

on the pillows, her legs apart as she smiled at Phillip beckoning him

with her index finger.

"My turn now Phil. Explore me."

Phillip

knelt between her legs, Anna's knees bending to give him more access in

to her fanny. She pressed her head into the pillow and closed her eyes.

Anna wanted to feel what he did, to sense him rather than watch. Anna

could feel his breath, he must have been close, looking at every part of

her. A finger slowly moved between her lips, his fingernail running

along her valley up to her clit. He touched it and an incredible feeling

almost overwhelmed her, Anna's breath caught, gulping air in, not

breathing out.

"Oh

shit, he licked me, I have never felt that before, That was so intense!

Anna thought along with the fear that she would collapse. As Phil

expertly licked her clit, a finger edged around the entrance, circling

her fanny, slowly pushing inside, deeper and deeper, electricity

building up, her buttocks clenching tight, Anna's knees tightening,

feeling as if she were going to raise into the air at any second.

"Oh, jeez," she managed in a shaky sort of voice.

Phillip

eased his finger out, pulled back and moved up Anna's trembling form,

kissing his way up until he was now hovering over her.

Anna

could feel his dick at her crotch. She leant down to line it up with

her entrance, Phillip pressed forward, and Anna felt his dick entering,

her as of yet, untried passage.

Anna's

very next thought was "Oh my, what a strange sensation. I can feel him

opening me, stretching me, no pain, no discomfort, just a feeling of

being filled. He stopped and she felt a small tension inside, along with

ever increasing pressure.

"Anna?" He asked.

"Do

it, Phil!" Anna replied and Phillip pressed harder, there was a

stinging, pinch like ping inside her. "OW!" she shrieked and then there

was no resistance as he slid all of the way inside of her, to the root

of his shaft. Anna from that point really didn't notice what it felt

like as such for a few seconds afterward, just that she was being

filled. His balls were on the area beneath her fanny, his belly was on

her own and he was leaning back, his arms straight so as not to crush

her with his chest. Anna felt for a few seconds as though she was filled

from hip bone to hipbone with Phillips member making it hard to

breathe. "Damn! He's huge! "Anna thought for those first few seconds

My

God, this is without a doubt, the tightest channel I have ever been in.

thought Phillip. I may not last very long, she is so exquisite!

He

began to ease out, and this time Anna was able to concentrate on what

she was feeling. His dick moved back and as it did her fanny began to

feel empty, a strange feeling, it had never felt anything before, full

or empty, but now she was feeling empty, that strange feeling that

something was missing.

Anna

felt him slip out completely, his dick floundering in the valley of her

fanny not inside her. Anna reached down feeling the slickness of her

essence on his shaft as she put his dick into the right place. Not

needing any instruction he pushed, sliding inside her again, and yes,

Anna loved the filled feeling as he reached the depth of her fanny. Anna

draped her legs around his buttocks, with her hands around his back,

fingernails digging in, not too sharply she hoped. He moved back, this

time not so far and then quickly back in and due to her extreme virginal

tightness, his body took over, thrusting very hard and deep as Phillip

exploded against the mouth to her womb. "Oh, Uh, Oh, Anna!" He moaned as

his balls released their copious seed into her depths. Anna felt his

throbbing at her entrance, moments before a nearly scalding warmth

filled her deeply in a counterpoint rhythm to the throbbing at where

they joined.

"Please

tell me, that isn't all, there is." said Anna feeling Phillip lose some

girth within her as some of the seed he had injected began to flow out

around his shaft and down her perineum to the mattress below. "It was

really starting to feel good and then you just stopped."

For

Phillip this was a success story. This was the first virgin he'd taken

that hadn't demanded he stop from the pain. Kissing her again, as he

stroked her body, still deeply embedded in Anna, he had regained some

rigidity. Briefly breaking off the kiss he said "No luv. this is merely

the intermission between acts." When she smiled he began to move within

her again.

As

this was Anna's first time. She had nothing to compare it with. She

could feel him moving within her, the end of his dick pressing at the

depth of her fanny, a sort of internal drumming, his balls bouncing off

her buttocks and a sort of slap or smack sound as his pubis smacked

against her mons as Phillip pressed fully in. Soon enough, Anna realized

that she was gasping as he filled her, and sort of panted as he

partially withdrew. Building up speed, soon he was shagging her in

proper fashion. In out in out, repeatedly like a metronome Phillip moved

within her body.

Anna's

clitoris was humming, and her whole crotch felt as if it were

tightening. There were electrics building, but more, so much more than

when she had secretly rubbed herself, and she knew that her bottom

cheeks had clenched in ecstasy. Anna had never felt this, this was

gloriously very new to her.

Anna

screamed; it came out of nowhere as an orgasm exploded through her.

Jolts of electric like sensation shot out from her crotch, hitting her

nipples, ears, fingers and toes, her fanny spasmed from her entrance, up

his shaft in concentric ripples. Suddenly, her entrance gripped

Phillip's dick extra hard as the shots of pleasure rumbled through

Anna's body and her back arched high in the air pushing her pelvis to

curl toward him, deepening his thrusts into her body encouraging, his

release within her.

As

Anna slumped back on the bed, gasping in the aftermath, Phillip

shuddered, changing his hands from having cradled her head, to

aggressively, possessively grasping her buttocks as he pushed in hard

squashing her pleasure nub with his pubic bone. Anna could feel his dick

spurting inside her, pulsing at her entrance as he orgasmed too.

Feeling like an old fashioned sprinkler had detonated deep inside her

now with liquid heat as she continued to clinch on him in delight.

Phillip

slumped down, not quite placing all of his weight on Anna, he kissed

her as they continued to throb against each other for the next several

seconds. "My God Phillip! Your huge and amazing! I should have, No! We

should have done this, way earlier! When can we do this again? Anna was

energized and Phillip was knackered! He struggled to stay awake while

she rambled on. Deciding that he didn't want to crush her and destroy

the mood he withdrew from her body.

It

was just as that happened that Anna observed, the slimy, shiny slight

red smear on his tip. At first confused she came to the correct

conclusion that it was the residue of her maidenhood. She really and

truly could call herself a woman and she would no longer be in danger of

being sucked into a Continuum Gate. "Yes I like being a woman now!"

Though she felt really impossibly open and a little sore now.

It

was just then he rolled to the side, his dick falling limply to one

side and Anna feeling the small stream of pinkish semen leave her body,

as it anointed her crinkle on its downward trek toward the mattress

below.

"Come

Luv, Let's have a shower before we dress for tea. We can't arrive

completely starker's at your grandmother's house and we both smell like a

brothel." Said Phillip as he offered her a hand.

Anna

smiled and accepted his hand as he pulled her out of the middle of the

bed. Her labia leaving a bit of a trail across the sheets. Anna stood

now and as she did felt the wetness at the top of her thighs start a

slow movement toward her knees. As she turned to look back at the

location of their mating she observed the moist pink outline of where

her buttocks had been during the process, simultaneously feeling the

line continue down to her ankles, she cupped her sex and giggled as she

hurriedly waddled towards the shower. "Damn it! Phillip! I'm no expert,

but that feels and looks like you shot a lot of baby gravy in me! Do you

always cum that much?"

With

a cheeky smile Phillip replied, "Only when I haven't had it in a long

while or when I am shagging a beautiful, and fertile young woman such as

yourself."

Stepping

into the water they both made sure to gently scrub their spouse clean

of any secretions, Of course this led to a make out session that nearly

led to another bout of lovemaking.

Phillip's

cellphone ringing interrupted the newlyweds. It was Anna's grandmother

informing them that the family was holding the food for them as the

guests of honor.

Quickly

dried and dressed they stepped out of Phillips' house and crossed the

driveways to enter her grandmother's house. Anna was practically gang

tackled by her brothers.

"Is

Cecil and Celeste still about?" asked Phillip as he took the offered

plate of food from the elderly woman in the kitchen. He loved her

cooking almost as much as his mother's. He would have to run another

couple of miles tomorrow to burn off this meal, so he would thoroughly

enjoy it tonight.

"Yes

they are. I believe they are in the library enjoying lapsang souchong

tea, Cecil, said that they really like the smokey flavor." She now

stepped towards a pocket door across the hall from the kitchen where she

opened it. There hovering in two of the chairs were those blobbish sort

of creatures, Anna had seen before, that she acquainted as "the rainbow

people". The same musical sounds filling the room. Tea cups hovering in

midair threatening to spill the contents onto the mostly red Persian

rug.

"Excuse

me! Celeste and Cecil I have asked you to remember to set the cups down

on a coaster, on the table if you aren't actively drinking from them.

It may not unnerve you, but it does make me very nervous to see them

just hovering like that. Now if you don't mind, Phillip would like to

have a word with you." Said Anna's grandmother in a somewhat tired and

frustrated tone. Muttering about being ignored as she walked back into

the kitchen. A female voice responded "C'est un excellent thé!" Before a

male voice continued. "Comment pouvons-nous vous aider? oh désolé, ce

n'est pas la bonne langue!"

There

was a crackle of static and then the male sounding BBC English style

voice returned. "Mid twentieth century English, That should be the

proper setting for this location. My apologies Phillip. How can we help

you?"

"Yes,

Thank you Cecil. There seems to be the rather important issue of my

garage and back yard. At the present time both locations happen to be

full of jaguar pelt clad, little brown men with nasty dispositions.

These buggers as you know, have been coming through one of the red

adversarial gates. So, I reckon I really have the other issue of not

only getting rid of the uninvited wankers, but how do I prevent them

from coming back with more of their mates?" stated Phillip as the food

wafted up to his nostrils enticingly.

"Very

good questions. Let me set the teacups down first. And then we will

assess the situation." The tea cups disappeared from the library

appearing milliseconds later in the kitchen drained of their contents.

One of the rainbow blobs vanished with a blink at the same time.

"Votre

prostrée montre que vous vous êtes accouplé récemment. Tu dois te

sentir beaucoup mieux maintenant. Stated a female voice, before a

corresponding crackle was heard and then "Sorry about that Phillip. I

thought Cecil had set the translator for both of us. I said I performed a

quick scan, and your prostate shows that you have mated recently. You

must feel much better now."

Phillip

turned beet red with embarrassment now, but smiled as he said, "Yes I

do feel much better, thank you for being concerned for my health,

Celeste."

Anna

now walked back into the hallway seeing Phillip standing talking to the

rainbow colored blob. Stunned that it was the same sounding voice as

she had experienced before in that one weird space. She stared at the

blob for the longest time before speaking. In an almost angry tone of

voice she asked, "Are you one of the rainbow people that were being so

mean to me while I was examined in all of those uncomfortable

positions?"

"Adult

Human female, I haven't given you permission to interrogate me in such a

manner, be, very careful. In fact, you shouldn't even be able to see me

or hear me without suffering harm." Stated Celeste as the blob moved

away from the chair.

"Now

Celeste, it was one question not a series of them. When you and Cecil

use the translator it picks a generic male or female voice. Anna didn't

know that until just now. She won't ask that question, in that way

again." Stated her Grandmother.

"Wait,

analyzing Deoxyribonucleic Acid" stated another voice this one male.

Remain standing and motionless Young Adult Human Female until the scan

is complete."

Anna

started to turn towards her grandmother when she was subjected to a

strong electrical shock on her left flank. "OW! Damn It! That Freaking

Hurt Ass Hole!" shouted Anna, as she rubbed her butt cheek before

receiving another shock on the other side. "Damn It! Would you knock it

off already!" She demanded as she jumped with an even stronger pulse.

"Compliance

is required. Young Adult Human Female. Disobedience is punishable. You

have seven seconds to comply or be punished again. Starting now

7.6.5.4.3.2.1." a crackle and zap to Anna's other butt cheek was applied

with an even greater force. Anna now Looked at Phillip and her

Grandmother who were smiling as though in on a secret inside joke

between them and whatever it was that was hurting her.

"Compliance

is required. Young Adult Human Female. Disobedience is punishable. You

have seven seconds to comply or be punished again." The voice stated

again.

"Wait!

That freaking hurt! I don't know what you want me to do. Why are you

doing this?" demanded Anna still defiantly moving around.

""Compliance

is required. Young Adult Human Female. Disobedience is punishable. You

have seven seconds to comply or be punished again. Do you wish to comply

with the directive?" Responded the voice.

"Go

to hell ass hole!" Yelled Anna at the voice. "As you wish, duly noted

that you have chosen to disobey the directive. There were now dual

crackles and a Zap on both side one right after the other. Anna was now

filled with rage from the ever increasing pain which was quickly

followed by "Compliance is required. Young Adult Human Female.

Disobedience is punishable. You have seven seconds to comply or be

punished again. Starting now 7.6.5.4.3.2.1."

"You

want to punish her, then you have to punish me as well you

interdimensional arse." With that Phillip wrapped Anna in his arms.

"As

you wish Phillip.. Disobedience is punishable. You have seven seconds

to comply or be punished again. Starting now 7.6.5.4.3.2.1."

"Program

stop punishment phase. Compliance is achieved. Scan female pelvis

only." Stated the blob known as Cecil. "Excuse us for a moment" loud

heavy metal style music poured out of the red, purple and dark blue blob

that was known as Cecil.

"Scan

complete. Female reproductive tract has recently been altered. Hymen no

longer present or intact. Cervical is open. Multitudinous human male

gametes present throughout vagina, cervix, uterus and both fallopian

tubes. One female gamete has been fertilized in the right fallopian

tube. Implantation is imminent within the next twenty four hours. Left

fallopian tube has single female gamete released two hours ago from

ovary. Female hormone levels at optimal stage for continued mating.

Respiration of young adult human female indicates,”

"Thank you. End scan results, Program." Said Celeste.

"Phillip

we have a company of retrieval teams enroute to take care of those time

jumping wankers. I also would like to extend my apologies for the

unnecessary pain your spouse had to endure from the unauthorized use of

an unstable program. Congratulations on your nuptials ( is that the

proper word?) and the successful consummation of such. The scan that was

performed indicates; you will be receiving offspring nine months from

today" Cecil paused as there was another sound almost as though an old

fashioned microwave timer was announcing the completion of the task.

"Preliminary results are that the other female gamete has just been

fertilized. You were both incredibly fertile. So, As I was saying

unfortunately the adversarial gates will remain where they are until

Prime removes or destroys them. Your driveway in times past was a

sacrificial plaza. In the same way that some of the Continuum Gates in

Cahokia are triggered by bloodshed or death, so is your driveway. To

return the jaguar men to their realm we have to use a neutral gate as

they can't use a Prime Gate. Prime gates normally, only go forward in

time.

"Wait, can I ask a question Mr. Cecil?' Anna said stymied by the conversation.

"Mr.

Cecil?" then everyone heard metal wind chimes. With a laugh in his

voice, he replied "You don't have to call me Mister. I am simply Cecil,

but please ask your question."

"Well, I didn't want to get in trouble." Anna now looked around noticing that the other blob was missing.

"Celeste

is not going to hurt you any more Anna she is being counselled by The

Prime for her conduct towards you. Please ask your questions." The blob

was suddenly not a blob but looked like a man with light blue glowing

skin. "Does this help?"

"Yes it does, so I traveled backward and forward in time through the gates how did that happen?

"Okay,

your next question is really easy I believe your first one is a little

harder to explain what happened. Let's start with the last one. Our

scans picked up that your time signature changed you are now not a

virgin, and both of your eggs have been fertilized indicating the your

endeavor to breed was very successful. Nine months from today you will

give birth to children. Does that answer your question?"

"How

do you know?" Anna was now incredulous. It had only been a couple of

hours since Phillip and her, had made love, surely that isn't possible

to know so soon after the act Anna thought.

More

wind chimes. "My Dear young woman!" She clearly heard the amusement in

his voice now and saw him holding his belly as the wind chimes sounded.

"If we were mere mortal humans as you and Phillip, are then yes, you

would be right. However, we are not, and nothing is impossible. Indeed,

all things are possible with The Prime. However, I encourage you to keep

shagging your husband"

Now come sit down and let me explain it in detail.

Anna

learned that red gates were adversarial gates and those could only be

opened with either bloodshed or death in a holy place or in a cursed

place. In most cases they would only allow someone to go backwards in

time. Green Neutral gates were set in both holy and cursed places and

would allow time travel in both direction, but they were unstable as to

location. Prime gates are only opened by an outstanding amount of purity

and in most cases they typically only launch a single person forward in

time. Prime restricted gates are alternating gold and purple. Those

Gates take a lot of energy and are meant to transport a family of

virgins or an entire monastery of monks all simultaneously, to a very

specific place and time within the Continuum. Normally only two gates

will open at the same time. Either a red and green or a blue and green.

That night in Cahokia five gates opened.

"Wait

now! You only named four of those gates what was the fifth one?" Asked

Philip as he had finished devouring the last slice of lamb shank with

gravy.

"That

one was a very rare Chaos gate." Said Cecil "The perfectly awful

conditions have to be met in order for it to be present. All six hundred

and sixty six of them are controlled by the Negative Force. Bloodshed,

death, fertility with purity all have to meet at the same time and

place. The hands you felt on top of the mound were the hands of the

cursed that are trapped within that Chaos gate. Prime was not going to

let you be trapped. That is why retrieval team after retrieval teams

were sent for you. Anna, The gate that brought you here was set for this

specific time and place."

"Are you and Celeste a retrieval team? And if so where am I going next?" Anna asked still confused by the information.

More

of the metal wind chimes sounded as Cecil smiled. "No. My dear, I am an

accommodation and coordination director. Celeste is my pupil. She has

only been around for the last nine million years or so. Therefore, she

still has a lot to learn. As I said before, your time signature has

changed. You are no longer a Virgin; your body has been altered and

added to in a holy ceremony. You will most likely not see another

Continuum Gate open for you, ever again. I believe our work here is done

for the time being. No pun intended!"

"Cecil,

can't we stay a little longer?" asked the blob that was a little

smaller now as it materialized through the book shelf in front of them.

The blob that was Celeste, hovering no more than six inches from a

terrified Anna edged ever closer.

"Celeste,

Humans are not real fond of having us as close as you are in your

present form. Either back away, change to something less intimidating or

cloak yourself. You are making our friend very uncomfortable in your

current form. If I have to tell you again, I will send you to The

Prime." Said a very stern looking Cecil.

Those

random musical notes could be heard for several seconds, before the

blob moved away and now took the form of a pale blue skinned young woman

with flowing neon rainbow shimmering hair.

"I take it you have other business to attend to Cecil?" asked Anna's grandmother.

"Yes

dear Martha, our work here is done for the present. Thank you for the

Tea it was excellent as usual. Hopefully, Prime willing, we will meet

again under better circumstances. Until then remember to keep the tea

pot half full just in case you have company. You never know, who may

just pop in for a cuppa." He said with a wink.

With a flash of bright blue, white light they were gone.

"Why

can't we stay? You said that they had to go back to England. Weren't we

supposed to help them do that?" Came the disembodied voice of Celeste

"Right

you are! Thank you for reminding me! Phillip, in the attic over the

garage, is a satchel. Anna's father placed it there hours before he

died. Read the note and do as it says."

"I take it we are going home?" Said a rather sleepy Tim as he yawned.

Phillip and Anna just smiled.

"I'm Knackered Luv, I've had a busy day!" came Phillip's thoughts, down out of the ceiling.

"How do you turn it off?"

"Well certainly not like that!"

"Oh! here it is"

A pop and a crackle followed by static again. And those metal wind chimes really loudly now filled the whole house.

"Don't tell Prime, Please!" whined Celeste.

"Prime already knows!" Cecil guffawed.

With a stifled chuckle Tim said, "We can still hear you!"

"Oops!" came both voices simultaneously. Followed by another pop and more static before another louder pop sound was heard.

"England?" questioned Celeste.

"Yes,

West Yorkshire, seems as though there is a Faerie uprising happening

there in the Dales, that Prime would like us to deal with, I'll tell you

more along., the way. Oh! Bugger! You can still hear us, can't you?"

asked Cecil.

A resounding "Yes" from everyone in attendance was returned.

"Right!

Well, I guess we may see you there Mr. and Mrs. Cotswold., now as I was

saying, Celeste, one must remember to place the dampener on the

Continuum Warp Accelerator before,”

The cupboards doors suddenly swung open as the Celestial BOOM! Drowned out Celeste's teacher's instructions.

The local News channel would say that a Comet had briefly entered our atmosphere creating the "sonic boom."

But we know the truth.

 Based on a post by ThreeFathomsDeep and  Atomica24, for Literotica.