The Making of a Gigolo (9) - Amanda Griggs

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Chapter Three

November and December came and went, with the Dalton family holiday gatherings, which now included Prudence, Constance and the twins. Tim too, since he and Constance had become engaged.

Bev was three months pregnant, and radiant. Bill was bursting with pride. Mary was five months pregnant with her second child, and happy that this one was conceived with Fred, her husband.

Linda had Paul over for Thanksgiving dinner, and it was obvious they were completely caught up in each other. Repetitions of her oral love for him had convinced him, beyond doubt, that she was completely honest about how she felt for him. The rise in his level of self confidence had led him, on his own, to offer to reciprocate, which she had gleefully accepted.

Ted, at various times, sat with various women. An observer would have thought he belonged to Prudence at one dinner, to Mirriam at another, and to Flo, if they'd been there when he sat with her. Her younger sisters, long used to the odd relationships that the Dalton women had with men, took everything in stride.

Suzie was sixteen and, like Flo had at that age, seemed to have no interest in boys or men whatsoever. She was very serious about her studies because, of them all, she wanted to go to college. A scholarship was the only way that would ever happen and she pursued grades that would hopefully get her a scholarship, with single-minded attention.

Suzie did show an interest in Paul, but it didn't threaten Linda in the slightest. Suzie simply saw, in Paul, the brilliance and capable mind that made him at the top of their class. They also had hundreds of things in common, in terms of interests. Suzie was fascinated with Biology, and Paul was, more and more, thinking of going into Medicine.

Negotiations, of a sort, were conducted, as Mirriam, Prudence and Flo debated Ted's future fate. Ted was even there for one such session, but his opinion was not asked for. Somehow, all of them knew that he would formalize his relationship with Flo. What shape that would take, was all that remained in question.

When Mirriam opened her Christmas present from Bobby, she thought it was going to be jewelry, because it was a tiny box. She unfolded the paper inside, to see a set of keys. She looked around, bewildered, and Bobby calmly led her to the window. Outside, parked in the yard, with a big red ribbon wrapped all the way around it was a brand new 1973 Chevrolet Impala.

"The truck will work fine for farm stuff," he said, his hands on her hips, as she stared at the beautiful car. "But with the baby and all, I thought this might be a little more comfortable."

"You can't afford that!" she gasped.

"Yes, I can," he said. "I'm doing just fine, and you deserve this."

By December, Flo knew she was pregnant, but hadn't told anyone. She went, by herself, to the doctor, who sat for a moment, and stared at her when she told him why she was there.

"I'm just going to open a branch clinic in your house," he sighed. "You Dalton people are going to provide for my retirement, and I just want you to know I appreciate it."

Florence giggled, and they got down to the business of confirming what she already knew.

"There's something I need to talk to you about," said Flo. It was New Year's Eve, and they were having a quiet celebration at the farm, except for Bobby, who was at a party at Chumley manor. They were sitting, and watching the New York City countdown on TV.

Ted turned to her, smiling. "Shoot," he said.

She pulled him up and took him into the dining room, which was, at the moment, empty. She sat, and gestured to the chair next to her. He sat too.

"It seems that I should have been more regular about taking my birth control pills," she said. She hadn't had sex with Bobby since Halloween night. She'd avoided it completely, based on her examination of her pill case, the next morning. And, she'd taken her pills ... finally ... religiously every day since.

He blinked. He'd been through this with Mirriam, before, and his hopes had been dashed. He didn't have any reason to believe that Flo had another lover. The thirty or forty times they'd made love since out behind the barn, had suggested she was dying for him ... each time.

Florence, though, was well aware that, throughout her mother's pregnancy, Ted had hoped that the baby was his. It had been obvious to them all that it was not. It had been obvious to Flo that it was Bobby's. That was another reason she had stayed away from him. Besides, he was busy with other women, she suspected, and with Linda, which she knew.

"There is no chance that this baby is anyone else's but yours," she said, her voice quiet.

The hope in his eyes made her want to drag him off to her bedroom that very instant, but she controlled herself.

"How long?" he asked.

"My due date is July thirty-first," she said.

She smiled as she saw him do the calculations in his head, counting backwards. His eyes got big.

"Star gazing with you is apparently very dangerous," she said, smiling.

Then she got more serious. "I know how you feel about getting married again - I'm not asking for that - but I just thought you'd want to know."

He stood up and paced, his hands in his back pockets. This was no new thing he was thinking about. He had thought about almost nothing else for the last month. Spending more and more time with Flo had made him re-think his casual attitude about the relationships he had with Mirriam and Prudence. The negotiations had resulted in him still being welcome in both women's beds, though with much less frequency than he'd been there in the past. Both women accepted him only when they knew they were at their lowest chance of fertility. He hadn't minded, because Florence had taken over everything else, basically.

But the tentative, if comfortable relationship he had with Mirriam and Prudence was also missing something. Basically, he had finally realized that it lacked commitment. He hadn't thought he needed that, or that he'd want to give it, either, for that matter.

Flo made him feel differently. He turned to her.

"Look," he said softly. "I know what you're going to think, when I say this, but it's not what you think, okay?"

"Okay," said Flo.

"I know how ever since I've gotten here, I've catted around, and talked about how bad marriage was and all that. But time changes all things. I've been thinking about this a lot, Flo. It isn't because of what you just told me. It's that too, but not all that. I want to know you'll be there. I want to come home to you ... sleep with you. I want you to think about giving me a chance to show that I can be a decent husband."

The women knew him better than he knew himself. That was one of the things that had bothered both Mirriam and Pru. They had seen this evolution in his attitude, and both were, at different times, afraid he'd ask them to marry him. Their attitudes about that had not evolved. So Flo wasn't as surprised as he thought she would be. She stood up, put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"I'd be proud to be your wife," she said.

Before he could say another word, she pushed him away.

"Don't you go anywhere!" she yipped. "I'll be right back!"

She all but ran to the kitchen. Shrieks of female joy erupted. It sounded like someone's favorite football team had just scored the winning touchdown in the last ten seconds of the Superbowl.

Then there was the stampede, as Mirriam, Prudence and Florence all ran back into the room to envelop him in soft, female flesh.

It was about one in the afternoon, and New Year's day, that Flo opened the door to Bobby's room, and saw that he was there, still sleeping. She'd gone to bed ... with Ted ... before Bobby had gotten home. Ted had gotten up and eaten breakfast with those who were up, but needed to go check his furnace, which had been giving him trouble lately. He'd had to re-light the pilot light twice, now, and it was bitterly cold outside.

Most of the others had gone back to bed. The twins were watching a football game on TV.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Bobby's bare chest. She had always been amazed at how warm he was, even in winter, like this, with only a sheet over half of him. He woke up, and rubbed his eyes.

"Haven't seen much of you, lately," he said, yawning.

"I was too busy getting pregnant with Ted's baby," she said, as if she had only said "I've been busy."

He blinked, and his eyes came open wide.

"You're kidding!" he said.

"Nope," she said, still tracing her fingers over his chest. "If you'd have been here, it probably would have been yours. I forgot to take my pills three days in a row."

"When did all this happen?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Halloween night," she said.

"But that was your first date!" he said.

"Uh huh."

"Wow. How's Mamma taking it?" he asked.

"She's delirious. She was afraid he was going to ask her to marry him, instead of me."

Bobby did a double take. "He asked you to marry him?" His voice was up an octave.

"See what happens when you neglect me?" she said, smiling.

"I know," he said. "This thing with the Chumley women has really been taking a lot of my time."

"I'm going to want to hear about that some day," she said.

"Maybe," he said. "So what did you tell Ted?"

"I told him I'd marry him."

Bobby grinned. "I knew you had a brain in that head somewhere."

She slapped his chest.

"It's complicated. I'm not taking him away from Mamma and Pru. They still get him sometimes, but I'm not sure he'll let us ..." She didn't finish.

"Sweetheart," he said, taking her hand and kissing her palm. "I only gave you what you needed. If you don't need that any more, I'm happy for you!"

"But I still love you," she sighed. "I'll always love you. I'll always love what we did. I'm going to miss that. He's so different from you." Her finger traced the shape of Ted's bent penis on Bobby's stomach. She wasn't aware she had done it.

"We'll see what happens," He said. "Don't worry about that. You have everything to be happy for."

"Okay," she said. "Can I at least have another kiss?"

They should have known better. The kiss turned into a grope, which turned into her shirt falling open and, since she was braless, her nipples getting sucked. In no time at all she was heaving up at him, pushing her pussy up onto his long stiff prick, that felt so completely different in her than Ted's did.

"I wish it had been me," sighed Bobby, as he gushed into her.

She didn't say it out loud, but her thought was, "Maybe someday it will be you," as she felt him spurting.

She got up and got dressed just in time. She went downstairs, as Ted was coming in the back door, complaining that his furnace had gone out again. Flo simply went back to Bobby's room and asked him if he could fix that.

"It's New Year's Day," said Bobby.

"You owe me," said Flo.

"That's not what I meant," said Bobby. "It's probably the thermocouple, and I can't buy a new one today."

"You don't have one?" she asked, expecting him to be able to do miracles.

"I've got a used one in the tool shed," he said. "It came out of a furnace that got thrown away. I can try putting that one on."

She kissed him soundly, and then stood back up.

"Well get up then. My fiancée needs you! I don't want to go to a cold house tonight, when I go home with him."

They all trooped over to Ted's house. Fifteen minutes later Bobby re-lit the pilot light.

"Now we wait," he said. "We should know in ten or fifteen minutes."

It stayed lit, and Flo just stayed there, when Bobby left.

There were two more "last times" for Florence, as she did very little planning for a very simple ceremony that would take place in the farmhouse where she grew up. They had no reason to wait, as far as Flo was concerned, so they set the date for the last day of January.

As scandalous as it would have been, if people had found out about it, Flo basically just moved in with Ted, during January. She stayed there at night too, which was the scandalous part. She only spent two nights of the month at the farm.

Both nights, she slept with Bobby.

"It's like I have to have sex every single day!" she moaned, as she came to him the first time. "I'm not supposed to be doing this with you!"

He shushed her and then made her wiggle with passion. They slept and he made love with her again in the morning.

The second night, she just came in, stripped and climbed on top of him. She hadn't figured out yet, with Ted, how to delay her orgasms ... how to stay at the peak of pleasure, without tumbling over the cliff. With Ted, when the tip of his prick scraped her G-spot, she just had orgasms ... for as long as he kept going.

That was the night before the wedding, when she decided she'd do at least one thing traditional about getting married. That one thing was not letting the groom see her before the ceremony.

She was the second Dalton woman to walk down the aisle, to meet her groom, with her brother's sperm in her. She was the first, though, who was walking down the aisle pregnant with a baby that actually belonged to the groom.

February of 1973 was a cold month, and people stayed outside in it as little as possible. Bobby stayed busy, because the cold froze pipes that had to be thawed, and broke pipes that had to be repaired. He had three customers who couldn't shovel their own snow, mostly elderly folks. He never seemed to remember to charge them, when he was finshed, and moved on to another job.

His Friday nights were the same, each spent at the Chumley manor. Felicity and Annie were now about five months along, showing nicely. Naked, their gently swelling bellies were almost mesmerizing to Bobby, and he spent hours stroking those bellies, and talking to the children inside them. Both women, of course loved it when he paid homage to their ultimate femininity, and then slowly abandoned the baby, to pay homage to their other feminine parts as well.

Both learned to ride him, often doing so for an hour at a time, talking to him about all kinds of things. Both learned how to inflame him, and make him spurt, even when he didn't want to, yet.

Chester had never seemed healthier. At eighty-one, he walked more, and spent more time on the grounds of the estate, planning a garden that he intended to plant in the spring. He, too, ran his hands over his wife's swollen abdomen, as he kissed her for hours and thanked her for giving him this gift. That it was another man's baby didn't faze him at all. He knew that the child in that belly would grow up believing he was its father. Later, when he was gone, perhaps Felicity would tell the truth about it. He wasn't worried about that. He'd get his chance, however belated, to be a father ... to act like a father.

Chester also quit worrying about the relationship between Felicity and Bobby. That she loved Bobby, he knew. But when she was with her husband, she made it very clear that she loved him more. If it took an hour to make his balls give up, she spent it, sucking him until he came. She made it plain that she needed his lips on her nipples, and his fingers in her pussy, giving her pleasure.

Now, more than halfway through her pregnancy, Chester was thinking how nice it would be to have two little ones, running around, calling him Pappa.

On one of the Friday nights in February, when it was Felicity's turn with Bobby, she lay with him, resting her belly against him. Annie had left, looking glassy-eyed, and Felicity had just cleaned all the spunk Annie had left behind off of Bobby's prick, by the simple expedient of sucking it clean. It was only semi-hard, and she knew they would spend some time cuddling and talking, before he would fill her to the brim and make her squeal.

"I met a woman the other day," she said, between soft kisses. "I gave her your number."

"Oh you did, did you?" asked Bobby, tweaking one of her stiff pink nipples.

"She needs you very badly," she said. "Much worse than I did."

"Oh she does, does she?" he responded.

"Yes," she said, reaching to feel if he was getting hard yet.

"Did she say so?" he asked.

"Goodness no," said Felicity. "Well, in a way, I suppose. She said something that made me think of you."

"What was that?"

"She said she needed to get laid."

"You have the most interesting conversations with people," said Bobby, laughing.

"Well," said Felicity, getting ready to slide down and suck him back to life, "I met her at the fundraiser I sponsored for the kids ... you know, my little project?"

"I know," he said, stroking her cheek. She had started a small foundation that paid for transportation and lodging expenses for the parents of children with cancer, who were getting treatment. That let parents be with their children during hospitalizations. Her "little" project had raised half a million dollars in four months.

Felicity fondled his balls, while she kept talking.

"She owns a radio station in Hutchinson, or runs it or something. She offered to do some public service announcements for us. We were just talking about the rigors of doing business, and she seemed very tense. I think she got a little frustrated or something, while we talked. It just popped out. She was embarrassed by it."

"So you embarrassed her even more by giving her my number?" he laughed.

"She seemed sweet, and wasn't wearing a ring," said Felicity, taking his prick in her hand. "I've never met a woman who was that tense. Now hush. I have work of my own to do."

She closed her mouth over him again and sucked, using her tongue to push at his foreskin and twirl it around the glans. She massaged his balls ... the balls that had produced the sperm that had made her belly swell ... and which held a special place in her heart, while she felt him stiffen. She put Amanda Griggs, the woman she had been talking about, out of her mind.

At that moment, in a town sixty miles away, Amanda Griggs was lying in her own bed, in her father's house, which seemed very empty to her. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, and felt exhausted. It was the same, tonight. Even exhausted, she couldn't get to sleep.

Amanda had been a happy child, growing up in a normal family. Her father, Ron Griggs, was the owner and General Manager of KDEF radio station, which went from being WFY on the AM band, to KDEF on the FM band, when she was a teenager. She had, therefore, been held in high regard by most of her friends, who thought it was just too cool to have a father who played the music they loved, on the radio.

That music had been Big Band, with all the greats, like Tommy Dorsey, and Glenn Miller, as well as a ton of lesser known artists. Amanda had, of course, taken an entry level job at the station when she got out of High School, in 1963. Eight years later, when she was twenty-six, her father had a stroke.

She knew every facet of the business by then, and it just seemed obvious to her that she should be the one to take his place at the helm of the station. The rest of the employees saw it differently. She didn't have nearly enough experience to run the station, and they all knew it.

If she had called on them, some of whom had worked at the station for fifteen years or more, things might have gone better for all of them. The problem was that, by then, Amanda was convinced, as many people with a type A personality are convinced, that she knew everything. If people would just listen to her, everything would be fine.

It was ironic that her employees felt the same way. If she would just listen to them, everything would be fine.

In the end, they had to listen to her. Her father made that clear, even though he couldn't talk, because of the stroke.

In the years since, revenues had steadily fallen, listenership was down, and the station was close to being in trouble. What her father had taken thirty years to build, she managed to let decay in two. She didn't understand it.

That was because she wasn't looking at things with objectivity. She ran the station the same way her father had run it, in every detail. He had been successful for years. Why wasn't she able to continue that success?

Rodney, her program manager, gently tried to tell her that Big Band music had had its day, but had fallen from favor. He had tried to tell Ron the same thing, almost ten years earlier. Neither had listened to him. Rock and Roll were dirty words, according to them. Noise! That's all it was. Where were the clarinets ... the trombones ... the saxophones? No, from Ron's perspective, the problem was that new cuts weren't being produced in numbers large enough to bolster the play list, with new tunes. That was the problem. His employees weren't looking hard enough for new artists, new groups, and new recordings.

Ron had, in fact, been in the middle of such a rant, when the stroke hit.

He was doing better. He could get around in his wheel chair. As he had so many times in the past, he wished his wife were still alive. She'd be a great comfort to him now. He couldn't talk, and couldn't write legibly either, which meant that he couldn't tell poor Amanda about all the thinking he'd been doing, the last two years.

Ron had plenty of time to sit by the radio, moving the dial by brushing one unruly finger against the knurled knob that changed the reception. He'd listened to the three dozen stations within range of the home radio set for hours. He'd listened to his own station too. That was when it finally sank in how sadly out of date KDEF was.

The commercials were flat, and the same ones, time after time, all day long. The music was still vibrant, but he recognized now that other stations had gone on without him. He had, before the stroke, thought of himself as a preservationist, going against the grain, to make Big Band music available to people who couldn't find it anywhere else on the dial. Now he realized that all the other stations had to be right. They were all playing the same stuff, either country or rock and roll. It still grated on his ears, but that was obviously what the paying customer wanted to hear. And, they had lots of advertisers who, he knew, were paying lots of money for their ads to be broadcast on the air.

It was only worse when Amanda came home each night and assured him she wasn't going to change a thing. She did that regularly, telling him everything was fine, and that the station was exactly the same.

That, Ron thought dismally, was the problem. He wished he could tell her that.

He also wished he could tell her that, by sinking herself heart and soul into the station, she had left something else behind. As the boss's daughter, she had been a social pariah when she first started working there. She had worked hard to overcome that, but it hadn't worked. Now, as the General Manager, she was still a social pariah. She still put in long days, didn't date, and had no boyfriend.

And that meant that, as long as he was alive and trapped in this broken body, Ron would have no grandchildren, to watch, to be entertained by, and to ease his suffering by introducing joy into his life.

Though Ron Griggs didn't know it, as his daughter lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, she was thinking along the same lines. She wasn't thinking about giving her father grandchildren, but she was thinking about how, with no man in her life, and no prospects that met her rigorous standards, she felt empty. She also felt horny.

That part, she was used to ... almost. Since being a teenager she had played with the man in the boat between her legs. She had done that routinely, almost efficiently, using two fingers held stiffly, and whipping them back and forth between her spread legs. She didn't insert anything in her pussy. That wasn't what brought the tingling relief. Her clitty, almost trained, by now, yielded up an orgasm within about four minutes, usually. It was quick, it brought relief, and then she was done. No man had ever been able to satisfy her the way she could satisfy herself. She had tried, like most young girls try, to find a man who made her tingle. She had even let two boys get her naked and push their stiff adolescent pricks into her. That had felt good, she had to admit, but on both occasions, they had satisfied themselves, and not her. Her girlfriends all told her that, with time, that would change ... that older men were better at taking care of the needs of a woman.

Then, when she started working at the station, she didn't have time for men. They were disorganized, and impetuous. They took too long, playing mind games, and sexual games. They also wanted to be satisfied, which she didn't know how to do. Men were just too much trouble.

Amanda was the kind of woman who paid attention to her conscious thoughts. Logic and reason were her bywords. That was why, as she lay in her bed, that mid-February Friday night, she couldn't understand why she felt so jittery and uncomfortable. She had whipped her clit into shape, as she thought of it, and the orgasm was over. She should be able to go to sleep, but she couldn't. It was almost like she needed to do it again. That wasn't how things were done, though, so she ignored that possibility.

Her mind wandered back to the woman she'd met at that fundraiser, where she had thought she might be able to find some new advertisers. Instead, she had given away valuable time on the air for public service announcements. Felicity Chumley had been very smooth, and urbane. She had talked with surprising insight about the challenges of doing business, and the pitfalls for women doing business. She had seemed to understand Amanda's complaints about her various difficulties. Amanda had found herself sharing information with Felicity that she would never have planned to share.

Later, as she'd examined what had happened, she thought she knew the answer. With that gently swelling abdomen, the pregnant woman had been almost mesmerizing. Nobody could resist a pregnant woman, especially when she was beautiful and rich, like Felicity was. Amanda knew something about the Chumleys, and, looking at that belly, it had been clear to her that Chester Chumley was not the man responsible for it. The Guiness people would have been flocking around him if that were the case, so they could enter him into their book of world records.

Whether it had been Chester Chumley's baby or not, Felicity had been the poster woman for happy, carefree femininity. She just radiated the persona of a well-fucked (obviously) and satisfied woman. It had been that almost overwhelming persona that had caused Amanda to blurt out: "I need to get laid!"

Amanda had been so mortified that she almost fled, but then! The woman had calmly pulled out a piece of paper and written down a name and phone number. She'd smiled and handed it to Amanda, saying that the man whose name was on that paper could take care of that little problem.

Amanda had been floored. The woman had all but admitted that she'd been unfaithful to her husband ... though, come to think of it, that pregnant belly already made that clear.

Amanda sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. Her purse was out in the dining room, on a table in one corner where she kept her keys and other things she needed to take with her each day. She padded out there, staying barefoot, even thought the floor was cold, so that the scrape of footwear wouldn't wake her father.

She went to the pocket where she put papers like the one Felicity Chumley had handed her. That pocket was to be gone through, occasionally, and mined for valuable information. Anything not valuable was thrown away.

She discarded three notes then and there, since she was going through them. Efficiency was important. When she looked at the last piece of paper, without finding the man's name and number, she felt something akin to panic. Where was it? It should be there! That's where she put things like that.

She ended up dumping the purse, even though it wasn't scheduled to be reorganized until next Wednesday. She finally found the little wadded piece of paper in with her cosmetics, which was not where it was supposed to be! She frowned, wondering how on Earth that had happened.

Ignoring the clutter on the table, she smoothed the wrinkles out of the paper.

"Bobby Dalton", she murmured, staring at it. Bobby Dalton was the man who, at least in part, was responsible for Felicity Chumley's relaxed and happy countenance. She recognized the number prefix as being a Granger exchange. That didn't made sense. Surely, if Felicity was running around on her husband, she wouldn't do it with a town man. She would import a man for something like that, who wouldn't be known in town. Or go to him. One of the two.

She frowned, and stared at the name. Bobby. A childish name ... one that suggested a childish man. Surely he was a man, and not a boy. Could he be just a happy bumpkin? Maybe he was one of those men who had no drive, or ambition, and who could be manipulated to do whatever a woman wanted. That would be nice. She wished there were more men around like that ... men who would just do as they were told.

She suddenly recognized the ache in her loins for what it was. She was still horny. Her private ritual hadn't worked, this time.

She left the clutter on the table, including the note, and went back to her bed. Pulling up her nightgown, she lay back and brought her two stiff fingers into play. Four minutes later she shuddered and let out a hiss of air, just like always.

She covered herself, and lay, taking inventory. She felt better.

But, with a soft moan of frustration, she also knew that it hadn't worked again.

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