Serendipity - Version Charlie
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | Epilogue
You hear about how makeup sex is really great. But you have to remember that all generalizations are bad ... including this one.
The fact is that even after a minor argument, like the one we'd just had, becoming intimate again can be a little weird. Maybe complicated is a better word. Part of that is because the emotional level you're on after a disagreement has you in fight or flight mode. That doesn't lend itself to being all lovey dovey, for obvious reasons. Another component is that, after having just annoyed your lover (even if it wasn't your fault!) you don't want to annoy her again by doing a less than adequate job in the sexual department.
In other words, if you think about it too much, makeup sex can turn out pretty poorly.
So the key to good makeup sex is to remind yourself that you are in love, and to have faith that love will win in the end. Then you pay attention to making her forget she was angry a little while ago by replacing her fight or flight hormones with passion hormones.
Happily, we both went about things with an eye towards forgetting the spat, and moving on with the loving part.
I confess I didn't keep track of the time. I was sort of distracted by a young woman who was trying to cram as much sex into the time she had left as possible. She started by sucking me stiff again and then she mounted me in her favorite position. I wasn't all that horny, probably because of those fight or flight hormones I mentioned, so I concentrated on trying to stimulate her as much as humanly possible. Don't get me wrong. I was having a good time too, but that was based on watching her have orgasms. I counted six of them and my penis actually got kind of numb before she flopped over and lay beside me, panting and limp.
For some reason I had the urge to give her a full body massage. Maybe it's because that was one of the fantasies I'd had about her for the last couple of years. In my fantasy she got a cramp in the pool and I worked it out by massaging the affected area. That was her thigh, in my fantasy, and as I massaged the skin, my hand bumped her camel toe. One thing led to another until I was feasting on her pussy as she writhed under me. I rarely got farther than that, as I masturbated to that fantasy, but once in a while I ended up on top of her, buried in her and all that.
She didn't have a cramp, so I just started with her foot. I knew from experience that a good foot massage can do things to a woman. She was already willing, but she was also satisfied, for the moment. Perhaps, by giving her a massage, I could get her ready to go again, like she'd gotten me ready to go again.
It worked rather spectacularly. She moaned as I worked on each foot, working the bones back and forth and digging my fingers between them. Then she murmured about how good it felt as I worked my way up her legs. I bypassed her pussy, but spent five minutes just stroking her abdomen, knowing there were thousands of nerves there, just over her ovaries, that would stimulate them to do what they were intended to do. I also spent a lot of time on her breasts and rib cage.
"I love you so much," she said.
I looked up to see her glittering eyes.
I knew it was crazy, but right then biology took over. I was hard as stone again, after having gone a little soft when she got off of me. I had the urge to make a baby.
"Do you love me enough to have my baby?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, softly. There was no hesitation.
"Yes!" she said instantly, and spread her legs.
"That's crazy," I said, but I got between her thighs anyway.
"I know," she said, reaching for my penis, and bringing it home.
She groaned as I slid into her in one, long thrust, and pushed my pubic bone against hers.
"I want to do this forever," she gasped. "Please don't leave."
"I have to," I said, as I moved back and forth. Suddenly I was ready to spew.
"It's not fair," she whined. "I just got you, and now I have to let you go."
"I'll be there when you need me," I said, flexing my penis inside her. I was close now.
"I need you now!" she whimpered.
"Then here I am," I sighed.
I let go, and the soothing flow of my semen felt so wonderful I wished, again, that there was a faucet I could open and just let run for ten or so minutes. My balls flexed and my penis jumped in her in the typical short bursts of joy.
"Ohhhh," she sighed. "I love that feeling so much. I wish you could cum in me forever."
"Me, too," I groaned, already empty, but trying to push more into her.
I let myself down on her slowly, and her lips reached for mine. It was a different kind of kiss, a less passionate one than usual, but it carried her gratitude for what had just happened.
I finally rolled off of her, to let her breathe. She sat up and stood to reach for her cell phone, which was on the night stand. She punched buttons and then reached with those fingers to pinch inflamed pussy lips, closing them, obviously trying to keep my spend from leaking out of her.
I wondered what she was doing.
"I need another hour."
I could hear a loud voice issue from the speaker on the phone. When it went quiet she spoke again.
"We wasted almost forty-five minutes arguing about him leaving and your stupid rules for me. Please? Just one more hour?"
"Okay, I'll tell him. Thank you. I really mean that. See you then."
She lay the phone down and pressed one fingertip against it, disconnecting the line, all the while holding my sperm inside her. I wanted to believe it was because she didn't want to lose what I'd given her, rather than that she simply didn't want to have to clean up a mess.
"You weren't supposed to tell me about the dating thing," she said. "My mother said I should spank you."
I laughed. "Spank me? As if."
"Oh, I have to," she said. "She gave us another hour, so I have to do what she said."
"You can't spank me," I scoffed.
"Oh yeah? Watch me, mister!"
With that she jumped on me, trying to roll me over and slapping at my hip. I fought back and soon we were rolling around on the bed.
"Stop! Stop!" she giggled. "I'm starving. I didn't get breakfast."
"You got another hour and you want to eat breakfast?"
"Are you hard?"
"Well ... no."
"Then I might as well do something worthwhile, until you get hard again," she said.
She jumped up and ran out of the room, apparently thinking I would try to catch her, or stop her or whatever. I got up and casually walked, naked, to the kitchen. On the way I passed her parents' bedroom, and another quick fantasy popped into my head, which involved Hannah saying goodbye to me like her daughter just had. I felt a twinge of shame at how completely amoral I seemed to have become. At the same time I felt a lurch in my groin, and marveled at how quickly I was recovering. It had been years and years since I'd tried to see how many times I could cum in one day, but I remembered it had been six.
Of course that had been six orgasms over a sixteen or so hour period.
Still, as I walked into the kitchen and saw my naked niece cramming something into her mouth, I knew that it wouldn't be long before I could service her again. I might not be as hard this time, but I'd be hard enough to get the job done.
It turned out she was wolfing down hard boiled eggs and tomatoes, of all things.
"The breakfast of champions," I noted, as she shelled another egg. Before she bit into it, she quartered a tomato and ate two slices, ignoring me.
I watched as she polished off her second egg, and then demolished the rest of the tomato. Then she got a piece of white bread from the package, and ate it without anything on it. She stuffed the whole thing into her mouth and looked like a chipmunk. Opening the fridge, she pulled out a half gallon container of two percent milk and drank right from the spout. By the time she put it back and turned, she was swallowing the sodden contents of her mouth.
"Are you hard yet?" she asked, saucily.
"Not yet," I said.
"Then maybe you need the breakfast of champions, because I'm ready to go, big boy."
She used every second of her extra hour. Of course part of that might have been because, when we returned to her bed, to begin anew, she tried to spank me on the sly. We wrestled again, but this time strength triumphed over desire, and she ended up over my lap. I reddened her butt too, slapping it hard three times while she squealed and screamed and begged me to stop.
I rubbed her already pink skin, and then slid my hand through the crack of her ass. She jerked, but then spread her legs. It was odd, touching her like this, feeling her slippery pussy lips with her thighs clamped on my wrist. She was making little sounds as I rubbed and stroked and dipped a finger inside her. Then her legs were open and she was falling, to land on the floor. She hopped up with the agility of youth, and pushed me down on the bed.
"I want you in me," she panted.
I spent the rest of our allotted time being in her. I think that when I finally spurted in her for the last time, it was partly from panic when I heard the front door slam and Hannah sing out that she was home.
She was smart enough not to open her daughter's door to check on us.
I remember parts of the drive back to Oklahoma. You can't miss some of the scenery. But there were hundreds of miles that I did on autopilot, as my mind relived the last week, and particularly the last four hours I spent in her bedroom. I was pretty worn out, so I cut that day short and stayed in a motel. I slept way past bedtime in California, so I didn't call that night.
I felt lost when I got back home, and tried to resume my normal routine. I was a little amazed at how thoroughly this new relationship had taken over my life. It had always been a little lonely after Kat left for the summer, but I had always adapted pretty quickly in the past. It had been easy to think of her, have one of my little fantasies, jerk off and go on with life. But beating off had lost it's glow. I'd had the real thing. I'd actually felt her hot, naked skin sliding against mine for hours at a time. And anything else simply paled by comparison.
Still, I reminded myself, I was an adult, and I was supposed to be able to deal with adversity. I wanted to call her, but felt like I should be able to last more than three or four days. I mean I was going to have to make it an entire school year, and I couldn't call her all the time.
It was two days before I went into the guest bedroom, looking for something or other, and found a pair of her panties lying on the bed. She'd left them there for me on purpose, as a reminder of her tennis accident, not knowing that, by the time I'd found them, seeing her pussy would be just a fond memory.
She called that night and told me to Skype her.
I was wearing the panties on my head when she called.
That might have worked out well, except the laptop was on the dining room table, instead of in her bedroom, where I had assumed she'd call from. I saw her mother approaching Caitlin from behind, obviously intending to say hi to me. I managed to get the panties off my head before she could see me. Kat was still laughing, though, and that led to Hannah asking what was so funny.
"Nothing," said Caitlin. "He was just being silly."
"How is everything?" I asked.
"Wonderful," said both of them at the same time.
Such conversations are a little frustrating for me. When people call each other, they converse in a way that is very different from being face to face. The information exchanged in phone calls is truncated, and banal, usually. You get caught up on things quickly, and then there's nothing left to say. Face to face is a different kind of thing, but Skype, even though it seems like a face to face interaction, is actually more like a phone call. At least that's my experience.
In any case, pretty soon Hannah disappeared from the screen. Her father was home, so Caitlin couldn't engage in phone sex. I was glad about that anyway.
She did manage a quiet, "So ... are you thinking about me?"
"All the time," I said. "I can't get anything done."
She looked furtively toward the living room, where I assumed Phil was sitting. She lifted one of those gaily decorated gift bags into view, and reached into it. Glancing toward the living room again, she pulled out a dildo. It was one of those kind that is supposedly anatomically correct, with balls and everything, except it was too large. She grinned into the camera and dropped the thing back into the bag quickly.
She leaned toward the screen.
"Mom went shopping for it with me! She helped me pick it out! Can you believe that?"
"They let a seventeen year old girl into one of those places?" I said, pretending to be astonished.
"Mom actually bought it," she said, still close to the screen.
She glanced toward the living room again.
"I love it," she said.
"I can't wait to use it."
She looked toward the living room again and leaned toward the screen to whisper.
"We named it Bob."
Long range relationships are always difficult. Always. The old saw about absence making the heart grow fonder may be true in some cases, but "out of sight, out of mind" has validity sometimes as well.
We started out Skyping every night, and then she had a back to school sleepover at a friend's house one night, so we skipped that one. Then there was something else she had to do, and we skipped that one, and pretty soon our Skype dates were two nights apart. And that was before school started. Once she was back at school, she had homework and extracurricular activities, including the fact that some woman named Mrs. Thompson, the cheer coach, found out Kat surfed, and she asked her to try out for cheerleading because she wanted athletes instead of girls who want to be popular. So Kat became a cheerleader because she figured that would keep her busy and she wouldn't miss me so much.
It turns out that cheerleading is time intensive.
And then there is the fact that Skyping itself is time intensive, because even though the lag between you saying it and her hearing it is small, all those small lags add up. And they cause you to step on each other's comment, so the comment has to be said again, and there's a lot of "you go ahead".
Plus, it's just very frustrating to see the woman you love, and want in your bed, and know that you're not going to get your wish any time soon. A phone call is easier, sometimes.
On the other hand, you can't see her in slinky night wear, or even naked, over the phone.
And then she started dating.
It's a complicated dynamic, and I won't go into the boring details of all our conversations. I do, however, want to illuminate a couple.
The first time dating was mentioned just happened to go like this:
Caitlin: I have to go now. There's something I have to do.
Bob: (looking at his watch and doing the time conversion,) It's eight in the evening. Don't you have homework?
Caitlin: (glancing off to the side, as if somebody was there, and then back at the camera,) Well ... I sort of have a date.
Bob: Sort of?
Caitlin: Okay, it's a date. With a boy.
Bob: And you were going to tell me about it when?
Caitlin: I wasn't sure you'd want to know.
Bob: Smart girl. The idea of some pimply faced boy putting his arms around my girl isn't one of my favorite images.
Caitlin: Oh, he's not pimply faced. He's a jock.
Bob: I know you're a cheerleader, and all that, but I also know about the tomboy hidden in that beautiful body. You've always competed with boys, especially in sports. Why do you want to go out on a date with a jock?
Caitlin: I don't want to go out with anybody, but you and my mother are making me. And I don't get to choose who asks me out, and jocks always ask cheerleaders out, so there you go.
Bob: So, is this boy some minor functionary on the team?
Caitlin: He's the quarterback.
Caitlin: What do you mean?
Bob: All quarterbacks think they're great cocksmen. He'll try to get in your panties.
Caitlin: Of course he will. All boys will. I knew that, but I still had to go through the whole agonizing lecture about it from Mom.
Bob: So what will you do when he tries something?
Caitlin: I don't know. You two are insisting that I find out what different men are like, and the only man I've ever let touch me is you. So I might just let him. He is kind of hunky.
Bob: Are you mad at me?
Caitlin: I wasn't when you called, but I am now.
Caitlin: Because he is cute, and you're making me go out with him, and I'm horny and that's your fault and I have to go because Mom just yelled that he's here.
Bob: Wear panties.
Caitlin: You know what I learned today? I learned you can be a real asshole.
Then she disconnected.
Those kinds of conversations aren't any fun, for either member of the relationship. It's worse for me, of course, because while she's going on that date, my imagination is running wild. But that only happened the first few times, because she got into the habit of calling me when she got home from a date, and after she was ready for bed.
If she had a good time, and the boy was fun to be with and she liked him, she used that dildo (and later a vibrator) while she told me all about her date, including that she was sometimes tempted to let that boy do this or that thing. And all the time she's sliding that dildo (and later a vibrator) in and out of her pussy, and telling me how much she missed me, and pretty soon I was jacking off with her. And when I told her I was ready to cum, she demanded that I put my cock where she could see it spurt. And while I did that, onto a towel I laid across the keyboard, she'd say things like "Yeah, that's it. That's my sperm. Nobody gets that but me, and if I can't have it, it gets wasted."
If she had a bad time, I got very little. She'd call and just talk on the phone, instead of telling me to Skype her. She was usually in a bad mood, because she'd had to endure spending time not having fun. She blamed that on me.
But the point is that she made a habit of calling me after every date, and telling me what happened, one way or the other. Some of you might think that would drive a guy crazy, hearing that his girlfriend had fun with some other dude. But I stopped worrying, and my imagination calmed down, because I knew nothing was going on, and that if it did, I'd hear about it.
I did hear about it, by the way. Here's an example.
Caitlin: I went out with Jerry Zimmerman again tonight.
Bob: He's that kid you're helping with math, right? (Caitlin was a peer tutor in math)
Caitlin: Yes. He's actually very smart. I think he just had a bad teacher in the past, and got behind. But he's picking it up quickly.
Bob: And he asked you out?
Caitlin: Well duh.
Bob: So did you have a good time?
Caitlin: (looks to the side and displays body language that I recognize as worry or anxiety) I had a very good time.
Bob: What did you do?
Caitlin: He took me to a poetry reading.
Caitlin: Some of the poems were by him.
Caitlin: And they were about me.
Bob: He wrote poems about you?
Caitlin: They were beautiful. Nobody's ever written a poem about me before.
Bob: I see.
Caitlin: No you don't. I kissed him.
Bob: And did he kiss you back?
Caitlin: Oh yeah. And it turns out he's a pretty good kisser. I got so horny I wanted to do more.
Bob: That's natural. I take it you didn't?
Caitlin: Of course not!
Bob: How'd he take that?
Caitlin: I don't think it mattered. It was a long kiss and I think maybe he had an accident in his pants.
Caitlin: He went to the bathroom, and when he came out he was all embarrassed and said he'd take me home.
Bob: You gonna go out with him again?
Caitlin: I don't think so. I kind of liked that kiss.
Bob: Well, now you know why Hannah and I wanted you to get this experience.
Caitlin: Why can't I just be with you. If I was with you, I wouldn't have to use this. (She waves her dildo at the screen, and I realize she just pulled it from her pussy, where it was the whole time we were talking!)
As it turned out, she shared this kind of information with her mother too. That could have worked out badly for me, if Hannah would have encouraged her daughter to "explore" more in depth. She might have let things get out of control and done something that could have broken us up. Had Caitlin actually let some boy get into her pants, she'd have felt guilty enough about it that it would have poisoned our romance. I would have looked at it a little differently, assuming it was a one time slip, or something like that. At least I think I would have been willing to forgive and forget. I don't know for sure, because that never happened.
It never happened because Hannah did not try to split us up. With time, she found some way to accept her daughter's choice of a man. Some of that might have been because every mother wants her daughter to find real love, and she knew us both well enough to recognize that what we felt for each other was both genuine and passionate. And then there was the other conversation they had about my future. That was a conversation I was unaware of, because they intentionally kept it from me. I could tell you about that conversation (and the plan they hatched) now, but let's wait until the point where I found out about it, instead. It will fit in with the story better, then.
But, as a result of all the things listed above, around Christmas, Hannah decided to lift the requirement for her daughter to date as many boys as possible in her senior year.
And after that, Caitlin turned down all offers, saying she was too busy, or had too much homework or whatever. Pretty soon, somehow, a rumor got circulated that she had a boyfriend in college somewhere.
When asked about that, she just smiled, but refused to talk about it.
During your junior year of high school, that is when you apply to colleges. That makes no sense to me, but that's how they do it these days.
Caitlin had already applied, of course. I was vaguely aware of that, but it hadn't come up in any conversation I was privy to. I assumed it would happen, but hadn't paid any attention to where she applied to.
It is important to remind the kind reader, at this point, that Caitlin had been making plans, both for her and for us, for a very long time. College was part of her plan. She would have made a wonderful chess player, because she planned years ahead in an effort to realize her dreams. You have already seen the results of some of those plans.
I learned about all this one evening after she had gotten an acceptance letter offering her an academic scholarship at Texas Tech. The scholarship covered only books and tuition, but that's still thousands of dollars. That also fit in with her parents' desire to minimize student loans, what with all the horror stories about them that had been in the media over the last couple of years.
Of course that left room and board to fund, which meant that Phil expected Caitlin to get a job during the summer between high school and college, to save up some money. He was willing to pay her room and board, but if she wanted anything else, she had to pay for it herself.
Which meant, of course, that there would be no month long vacation at Uncle Bob's house that year.
That disappointment had been expected, of course. But things were rock solid between us. And, there were compensations, of a sort, that happened because Hannah got all the same information about boys and dates that I did. Probably more. And, because she knew what her daughter thought of all those boys, she also knew what her daughter thought about me. What she learned, convinced her that, as abnormal as most people would think the relationship was, it was still genuine, and of maximum importance to Caitlin.
Which is why Hannah entered into a conspiracy to let her daughter spend spring break hiking in the mountains. I say "conspiracy" because Phil wasn't so hot on the idea of his daughter going alone where there were dangers and might be predators, both animal and human. Hannah simply suggested Caitlin take his .45 with her, even though that was strictly illegal in most of the parks she said she wanted to hike in.
I also say "conspiracy" because Hannah knew the only parks Caitlin would visit that week were the ones she drove through on her way to my house.
To say we were glad to see each other in person is like saying cool water tastes "okay" to a man dying of thirst. She had driven straight through, and she was exhausted. She needed sleep immediately, but I still got a passionate kiss that lasted long enough that I tasted the cheeseburger she'd had an hour earlier. She ended up by grabbing both my ears and pushing my head away. Then she stared at me, with my ears still firmly in her grip.
"What are you doing?" I asked, feeling my penis stiffen in my pants.
"Seeing what you'll look like without any ears," she said.
"Why do you think I might not have any ears, in the future?" I asked, grinning.
"Because when I wake up from my nap, I'm going to fuck your ears clean off."
"I thought the phrase was to fuck one's balls off," I joked.
"I don't want your balls gone. They're full of yummy sperm, and I want every drop of it. And then I want them to make more so I can have more. No, sir. No fucking your balls off. It's going to have to be your ears, I'm afraid."
"What will hold my glasses up?" I asked, sliding my hands up to fondle her breasts through the T shirt she was wearing. I already knew she didn't have on a bra, because during that kiss my hands had explored her back.
"You don't wear glasses," she pointed out.
"I will when I get old and gray," I said.
"You'll never get old and gray," she replied.
"And how do you figure that?"
"Because I will have drained you to a dried out husk long before you can get either old or gray. I only have a week with you, and I intend to have your lovely penis inside me, spurting happily, for the entire week."
"That's a little ridiculous," I suggested.
"I know," she sighed. "But that's what I intend."
"Well, then. While you nap, I shall sally forth on my trusty steed and procure prodigious amounts of condoms. Unless your mother has, indeed, installed you on the pill."
"She tried," said Caitlin, rubbing her loins against my bulge. "Apparently I'm allergic to something in them. The doctor tried me on two different kinds. Daddy said I didn't need them anyway, and said we weren't going to waste any more money."
"Condoms it is," I said.
"Condoms it isn't," she said firmly.
"We were lucky last time," I said.
"In two months it won't matter if I'm all knocked up with your baby. And nobody will even know about it, except my mother, of course, until after I've graduated. So I'm willing to take my chances. I want your penis in me, not something that feels like a dildo. I've had plenty of that in the last eight months."
I tried to sound grave.
"Caitlin, honey, as much as I'd love to spurt you full of babies, you have to go to college. Your mother is helping us out right now, but I suspect that would come to a screeching halt if that interfered with you getting a good education."
"Oh, I'm going to college," she said, breezily. "I have a plan for that. I'll tell you all about it after my nap."
"Okay, then. Go to sleep."
"Promise me. No condoms. Okay?"
"I promise. Go to sleep."
"I need to take a shower first. And brush my teeth."
"Then I'm going to go to the store and pick up a few things."
"You promised no condoms," she said.
"Milk, eggs, pork and beans, New Orleans dirty rice, hamburger. That kind of things," I said.
"You can do that while I sleep," she said.
"If I stay here while I know you're naked, in my shower, I'll want to help you get squeaky clean, and you won't get any sleep," I said.
"I'm not as tired as I was when I got here," she said.
I kissed her again, but this time it was just a firm parting kiss.
She was still standing there, pouting just a little, and trying to look puppy dog eyes at me as I got my keys and went to the front door. I turned for one parting shot.
"Go to sleep. I can't wait to start losing my ears."
When I got back from the store, she was in bed, asleep, lying on her side and snoring softly.
She was also naked.
Now, this presented me with a quandary. I stood there, staring at her. I literally couldn't take my eyes off of her. I could see evidence that her body had matured a bit, since the last time I saw her this way. It's hard to describe, but if you've ever compared a sixteen year old girl to an eighteen year old girl, you know what I'm talking about. One difference I noticed didn't have anything to do with her level of maturity, though. Her nipples were so flat I had to look closely to even see them. It was like they had melted into the areolas. Apparently, every time I'd ever seen them prior to this, they'd been erect.
The quandary I mentioned was that I wanted to wake her up. I was hard as a rock in my pants, and I wanted to make love so badly I actually quivered. But she needed her sleep. And she'd be there for five days, so there would be plenty of time for bedroom games.
I tried leaving the room and doing some work. That idea was doomed to failure, though, and I ended up back in the bedroom. I decided to beat off while I watched her sleep. But when I got my cock in my hand, I suddenly felt like a pervert. Go figure.
In the end, I got naked and carefully laid down behind her. She muttered something, but didn't wake up. Slowly, I tried to spoon her, but it was impossible to do that without touching her a dozen places, which was sure to rouse her. Finally I gave up and just moved against her, putting my arm under hers so I could cup one of those soft, warm breasts.
"Mmmmm," she said.
"Go back to sleep," I told her.
She reached back, found my cock, and then lifted one leg so she could tuck it in next to her pussy. Then she wiggled ... and went back to sleep.
I laid there for at least an hour before I finally dozed off.
About two minutes later (which she swears was actually four hours after she laid down) I was awakened by something hot enveloping my penis.
She was awake. And she was horny.
I reached and stroked her hair, letting her inflate my cock, telling her how much I'd missed her, and how much I loved her. The sudden, overwhelming urge to fuck her had passed, and this was delicious.
I found out where that sudden, overwhelming urge to fuck had gone when she abandoned my prick with her mouth, and climbed on top of me to sheathe me in her even hotter pussy.
"Ohhhh yes," she groaned, sinking down on me. "I've needed this soooooo bad."
I spent the next ten minutes wishing I was bigger, and longer, and could spurt continuously, like a fire hose. I wished I could extend my mouth to get to her nipples, even though the way I was twisting and squeezing them obviously made her happy. I felt totally inadequate, even though she had two orgasms. It was so odd. I felt like I should be more of a man than I was, because she deserved more than I felt like I could possibly give her.
Maybe part of this feeling was brought on by her repeated requests for me to wait, like she was afraid I'd cum too soon and she'd be left high and dry. Or maybe the several times she moaned, "Not yet ... don't stop ... I need to go a little longer" were just her way of communicating to me that she was having a good time. I don't know. What I do know is that all my doubts vanished like smoke when she had gone as long as she wanted to.
That's because, after her fourth orgasm, she rolled, pulling me with her, until I was on top of her. Her legs were spread wide, and she bent her knees, which put her heels on my ass. She pressed with her heels, and pulled with her hands, making it crystal clear she wanted me inside her.
Then she pulled my face down to hers and, after a kiss, she said, "Okay ... now you can make a baby in me."
It was sad. I was a grown man. I owned my own business. My opinion was sought by many people, some of them movers and shakers in the community.
And yet, for the next five days, she pushed every button I had. I ran after her like a puppy. She couldn't get enough of me, and I couldn't get enough of her. It took hunger and thirst to drive us from the bedroom. It was like I'd always thought a honeymoon might be like.
There was surprisingly little talk while we made love. She always wanted kisses, whether we were in the act, or resting between sessions. And what was said were the kinds of things that are usually said once, but which she said over and over.
"I missed you so much."
"I love you so much!"
"I don't ever want to stop this."
"We can eat later. Right now I want you to love me."
Then there were the things she said that pushed the buttons I mentioned earlier. I know I've made it sound like the seventy hours we had together was entirely in the horizontal position, never rising except to choke down some measure of sustenance. Of course that's ridiculous. We didn't actually spend twenty-four hours a day in bed. It just seemed that way.
For example, we'd eventually get up to go to the bathroom, or prepare a meal. But she stayed naked. I did too. It was like that, for five days, we were nudists. We just never left the house. And while I was putting dishes in the dish washer, she'd come up behind me and touch my ass and say something like "You have a nice butt, mister." And then she'd do something like reach around to grab my cock, and say, "but I'm more of a penis girl, myself."
Or we'd be eating and she'd say, "This is good." She'd take another bite and then say, "But I wish we were in bed."
Once, from another room, she shouted, "Uncle Bob?" When I responded, she yelled, "I fucking love your penis!"
In bed, as I lay exhausted, she'd put her face down by my cock and talk to it.
"Hey, little buddy!" she'd say, cheerfully. "Wake up. I need you." Once, after she sucked me back to life, she spoke to it, saying, "There's my big, strong boy. I knew you'd come back to me. We're depending on you. Now. Attenshun! You have a baby to make!"
"You don't really mean it," I said, one time as I lunged into her.
"Mean what?" she panted.
"About the baby thing," I gasped.
"Why? Are you about to spurt in me again?" She made it sound like she was exasperated.
"Yes," I groaned.
"Good," she said, pulling me into her with her hands and feet.
"What does that mean?" I gasped, unloading a stream of hot spunk into her belly.
"It means I can't wait for my tummy to get big, so I can touch it and know our baby is in there."
"You're insane," I groaned, slumping down on top of her.
"I'm in love," she corrected, clearly struggling to breathe.
"If you get pregnant, Hannah will kill me," I panted, rolling off of her.
"If all this gets me pregnant, my mother won't find out about it until after I graduate and am getting ready to go to college."
"You can't go to college pregnant," I said, seriously.
"Why not? Lots of women attend college classes while they're pregnant."
"Those women aren't freshmen," I argued.
"How do you know?"
"And didn't you say you had to live in the dorm the first year?" I asked.
"That was plan A," she admitted. "To save money. But I have a plan B."
"Care to enlighten me as to what plan B is?" I asked.
"No," she said, softly.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because I'm afraid you'll say no, and once you say no, it will be difficult to make things work."
"Why would I say no?"
"Because you're an adult, and sometimes adults are very rigid in their thinking."
"Does what we've been doing for the last three days indicate I'm rigid in my outlook?"
She grinned. "You have been rigid a lot ... but I think it's only because you're horny."
"Tell me plan B," I said.
"First, let me ask you some questions."
"I'm going to major in architecture. How do you feel about that?"
"Well," I said, "being an architect myself, I'm a little biased."
"It will take four years for me to get my degree," she said. "How do you feel about being separated for that long?"
"These are silly questions," I said.
"What if we didn't have to be separated? What if we could be together? What if we could be like a married couple?
"Still silly questions," I said.
She sat up. "Not if you move to Lubbock."
"You can work in Texas just as easily as you do in Oklahoma. You can even keep your current clients. Lubbock is only four hours away from where you live now. And I seem to recall you did one job in Texas already."
"That's true," I said. "And the rest is true in theory. But I'm not sure things would be the way you're imagining them to be."
"Why not?" she asked. "If you live in Lubbock, I can live with you."
"Okay, so we live together for four years. It will be impossible for us to keep it a secret. While your mother might be okay with it, I thought we weren't going to tell Phil."
"After I graduate, things will be different. I'll be out of the house, and on my own. I'll be able to make my own decisions. He might complain about it at first, but there won't be anything he can really do about it."
Now I sat up too. This was serious.
"Sweetheart, I love you with all my heart. And I want you to be happy. But he can do something about it if he's mad enough. He can call the cops and have my ass arrested."
She leaned over to give me a short, soft-lipped kiss.
"Not in Texas," she whispered.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Because in Texas it's perfectly legal for an uncle to marry his niece," she said.
By no means should you assume it was a done deal. Yes, I was helpless to resist her considerable charms. Yes, I sadly admit I had no self-control when it came to spurting her full of dangerous sperm. And yes, her points were factually correct. She had done research. There are actually seven states in which a niece can marry her uncle. It just so happened that Lubbock was where she wanted to go to school. And she was looking at the long game. Once we were married, we would be introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Robert Simmons, not Bob Simmons and his niece. In her mind, at that point, we would appear to be just another married couple, no matter where we went, lived, or worked. She reasoned that, when you meet a married couple, you don't even think about the possibility that, before they got married, they were members of the same family.
But I knew that the world just doesn't normally operate that way. All it would take was one little slip, such as calling me "Uncle Bob," something she did routinely, even during sex, and people would know she was my niece. When folks find out the hot young thing who calls you her boyfriend is actually your niece, they tend to start using words like "pervert," and make mention of burning at the stake, or tarring and feathering and that kind of thing. And legal or not, they'll still think of you as a pervert.
We argued. Then we made love. Then we argued some more. Then we made love again.
And to each of my arguments, she had an answer. Finally she'd beaten me down on everything except my argument that, legal or not, we would be social pariahs.
"Not if nobody knew you are my uncle," she said.
"And how do you propose we pull that off?" I asked.
"Easy," she said. "My name is Caitlin Anderson. Your name is Bob Simmons. If you're already living there when I get to college, people in Lubbock will simply think you scored a cute, young college student. You'll be my boyfriend for a semester, and then we get married. Nowhere in there do we tell anybody we're related."
I thought about that. She was right. I'd never been married, so I didn't know what was involved in the bureaucratic part of getting a marriage license. Would they ask if the groom was related to the bride? If she was right, even if we did have to list the relationship somewhere on some document, only the people who processed that document would know. We really didn't have to notify the general public about the fact she was my niece.
A memory popped into my head. It was when Caitlin was fifteen, during the month she stayed with me that summer. We had gone to the store together and I'd run into one of my previous clients. I'd introduced Kat as my niece. It had been the natural thing to do.
I could have simply said, "This is Caitlin Anderson."
But in that scenario, he'd have been curious as to why I had a cute, young, fifteen year old girl in my company. He'd have wanted to know much more about her. So introducing her as my niece had resolved all those questions. Nobody thought anything about your niece coming for a visit.
But she wasn't fifteen any more. She was a young woman now. And soon she'd be in college and, while people might raise an eyebrow if she "took up with" an older man, it wasn't unheard of at all these days. Lots of young women prefer older men, because they think a man with experience will know how to treat a woman. Plus, they assume his financial status will be more stable. Whether they're right or wrong isn't the issue. It happens often enough that people have begun to accept it.
Of course family would find out. But if it is a legally recognized matrimony, all they could do is be scandalized. To be honest, the only family I gave a hoot about was Hannah, and she was already on board. At least with the idea of there being a relationship. But did she know where this train was going?
"Does your mother know about plan B?" I asked.
She raised both eyebrows. "Now who's asking silly questions?"
"So she knows?" I was mildly astonished.
"Of course not," snorted Kat. "Are you insane?"
"So you do know this is a crazy idea," I said, triumphantly.
"I know I'm crazy in love with you," she said. "And I know I'll go crazy if we can't be together. So yes, I'm willing to go to crazy lengths to arrange a future I can live with."
"And you're willing to take the flack that might come our way?"
She rolled over on top of me. I was completely unaware that I had become erect while we talked. I don't know whether that was instinct, because she was naked and willing, or because the thought of living as a married couple turned me the fuck on.
She reached, notched me in her and sank down into her favorite position, atop me.
"For being able to do this every night, I'll take all kinds of crap," she said.
We suspended conversation while she went to work to wrench another couple of orgasms out of thin air.
I was weak again, and that weakness sapped my will to resist what I thought was a sweet, but dangerous fantasy.
As I spurted, I gasped, "Okay. I'll move to Texas."
She milked me as if she'd been doing it for years, and then leaned down to rest the tips of her breasts on my chest, with her face right over mine.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I love you. Will you please marry me, Bob Simmons?"
"Oh, fuck me to tears," I sighed. "Yes, I will marry you, Caitlin Anderson."
"But not until September," she said. "Or maybe October. We have to meet first, so you can be my boyfriend."
"That's not a good idea," I groaned. "What happens if you inadvertently call me 'Uncle Bob' and somebody hears you?"
"The first thing I'm going to tell my roommate, or friends, is that your name is Bob and you remind me of my Uncle Bob, who I've had a crush on for years."
"You can't do that. They'll think you're weird."
"I know at least five girls at school who would love to do with their uncles what I'm doing with mine," she said.
"I am not kidding," she said, her voice serious. "A lot of girls have crushes on their uncles, at one time or another. The point is, that if I tell them that right up front, then if I do slip up, I can giggle and say I was having a little fantasy. It would be like a girl calling her boyfriend Joe while they were having sex."
"Thatcher Joe," she said, as if that explained things.
"Thatcher Joe?" I said, suggesting she had not explained things.
"Joe Sugg?" Her eyebrows went up. "Thatcher Joe? He does impressions on You Tube?"
"Never heard of him," I said.
"You're kidding!" Suddenly she sounded just like what she was - a seventeen-year-old girl in high school.
"Not kidding," I said, being who I was too.
"He's a British guy, one of the current heart throbs of girls my age. Any girl under twenty will have heard of him, and that's the point. Lots of girls have fantasies about him. Girls have lots of fantasies. Don't guys know that?"
"I don't think guys think about that," I said. "All we think about is getting into the panties of the girl we're with."
"Men!" she snorted. That snort held pages worth of vitriol towards the single mindedness of men. Never mind that we were doing what men love to do.
And apparently women too.
I wasn't going to argue any more.
"Okay," I said.
She started rubbing again. The fact that I was soft didn't matter, because my pubic hair scratched her clit deliciously.
"Good," she panted.
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