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Message-ID: <28863asstr$981961806@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: One Gallus <onegallus@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Backward Lady (MF, cheat)
Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2001 02:10:06 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


 
 

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<1st attachment, "Backward Lady.txt" begin>



Backward Lady

By One Gallus

(Special thanks to Big D)


Luckily it was the beginning of summer, and 
Greylon Dark didn't have to miss any time 
teaching school.  An operation on his lower back 
was needed to repair three ruptured vertebrae.  

The bad disks had been diagnosed the year before 
and been treated with therapy and anti-
inflammatory drugs, but were exacerbated when he 
foolishly lifted the back of a small Snapper 
riding lawnmower. He'd hoisted the rear wheels, 
over which the engine was mounted, standing it on 
its nose and handlebars, and inspected the drive 
belt.  A wet clump of fescue had pushed it off 
the pulley.  He tugged the belt back on 
successfully but when he straightened his back, 
he fell to the ground. There, on his hands and 
knees, the pain had been almost unbearable. His 
legs and feet had begun to grow numb. It was 
suddenly clear to him that surgery was 
inevitable. Since the bad back had been treated 
before he moved from Toledo seven months ago, he 
had to stick with his old Toledo based HMO.  
However, it only recognized Toledo area 
hospitals. He and his wife Dottie had moved here 
to Cincinnati to be near her aging parents.  So, 
the surgery would entail a five-hour trip, which 
made for a terrible inconvenience, not to mention 
the crushing expense.

"Look, we are just going to have to get a motel 
near the hospital," said Dottie.  Greylon was 
sitting straight up and stiff-backed in a kitchen 
chair, with a legal pad in front of him, making 
calculations on how much accommodations would 
cost for three weeks.  He showed the total to 
Dottie and she looked as though she might weep. 

"Even that's cutting it short," he said through 
clenched teeth.  "The doctor may not want me to 
travel for a month or more, there's therapy to 
consider and forget about food." 

He suddenly went rigid, a blade of pain cutting 
through him. "Gosh, I gotta get down on the 
floor."  

He pushed away from the kitchen table, keeping 
his back as straight as he could.  He shuffled to 
the den where there was a carpet. Holding his 
back vertical, he lowered himself onto it, 
bending his knees and steadying himself with a 
couch arm.  He pivoted and lowered himself in 
great agony, until he was flat of his back with 
his lower legs propped up on the couch seat. 
There he stayed, waiting for the vise just below 
his kidneys to loosen its jaws.  Just then the 
phone rang.

Greylon turned his head, peered through the door 
and saw Dottie pick up the receiver.  "Hello," 
she said.  She frowned and, clamping her thumb 
and finger to the bridge of her nose, she said, 
"Oh, Hi Sophie."

Sophie Mackie was the mother-in-law of his 
daughter, Mary.  She lived in Toledo, not far 
from where Greylon and Dottie had lived just 
seven months before.

"Yes," Dottie said, "He's in pretty bad shape, 
Sophie.  We have to be at Toledo Hospital on 
Monday, so we're traveling Sunday."

As he listened, he could only believe that Sophie 
was asking about how they were going to manage, 
living five hours away from the Hospital; and 
what about Dottie's parents? How would they 
manage while she was away?

"I'll just have to keep in touch with them by 
phone," she told Sophie.  "I'm a bit apprehensive 
about leaving them, but we'll just have to chance 
it, this is too serious."  Dottie nodded several 
times.  Her hand was now on top of her head, 
which was bowed, her back against the wall.  She 
continued, "So, we're going to get a motel near 
the hospital. He'll be in three or four days. 
Then there'll be at least three weeks more that 
he can't travel.  There'll be therapy and 
surgical follow-ups."

Knowing Sophie's nature, the next question was 
"For God's sake Dottie, why get a motel?  You 
know I'll be glad for you two to come stay with 
me.  With our kids in summer school at OSU, I'll 
have them two extra bedrooms.  Besides, I'd enjoy 
the company!"

Sophie had been widowed for four years and she 
continued live in the same working-class house 
her husband had built back in the fifties.  She 
was home alone practically all the time now.  She 
had been laid-off her job at Toledo Screw 
Products, which had ceased operations the latter 
part of last year "until further notice."  She 
had decided to live on unemployment compensation 
until it ran out and then bite the bullet and 
live on her husband's pension until either Toledo 
Screw recalled her, or she ended up at Wendy's 
behind the counter.

"We couldn't let you go to that trouble, Sophie!" 
said Dottie.  I knew Dottie didn't want us to 
stay with Sophie.  Though the feeling was not 
necessarily mutual, Dottie did not care for 
Sophie.  Sophie had been known to be a bit 
earthy. Her language could be crude at times, and 
a little too direct for Dottie's tastes.  

He recalled a conversation a few weeks ago 
between his wife and Mary, their daughter.  
"Mama," Mary whined, "she called Louis a shit-
head!  Can you imagine? Her own son!"   

At Mary's comment, Dottie tightened her lips and 
shook her head, as if this indelicacy was the 
world's greatest offense. The fact was that 
Dottie seemed to be more affectionate toward 
Sophie's son than Sophie was, calling him 
"sweetie," hugging and kissing him every time he 
was over for a visit.

"Did Sophie ever talk that way to you?" Dottie 
gravely asked Mary. 

"No, she knows better than that!" Mary said.

"Wait a minute ladies," Greylon had told them, 
breaking in, "Not everybody feels as strongly as 
they talk.  People say a lot of things they don't 
really mean, especially in a fit of anger or 
excitement."  

"Greylon, you can't know what we're talking 
about!" Dottie said.  "She never swears or shows 
her temper when you're around."

That was true, Sophie was always on her best 
behavior when he was in the picture.  He knew she 
liked him.  He'd always been cheerful around her 
and was helpful to her when they lived in Toledo.  
His son-in-law, Louis, didn't know one end of a 
hammer from another, so on various occasions last 
summer, his daughter called him to do a little 
handyman work around Sophie's house.
   
Once, after he'd fixed a closet door for her, 
Sophie had brewed him coffee.  They had sat at 
her kitchen table and had a pleasant chat.  In 
the middle of the visit, she paused, her eyes 
glistening, and said,  "You know, Greylon, with 
Louis off to college and George gone, I felt like 
my family had just fell apart.  But since Mary 
and Louis married, and you and Dottie are in the 
picture, it's like I got a new family again." 

Sophie spoke with the drawn out vowels and lazy 
consonants of her native Kentucky.  Greylon, in 
fact, suspected that Sophie's homely ways and 
lack of schooling might have been the turn-off 
for Dottie.  Sophie, a high school grad, was 
certainly less educated than Dottie.  In fact, 
Greylon had met his wife while they were both 
senior students at Xavier University in 
Cincinnati.  

There were other differences too.  Sophie was not 
as "feminine" in her carriage and conduct as his 
wife was.  Dottie was a willowy beauty, 
especially in her youth, but still blessed with 
her long legs, slender frame and elegant neck.  
He knew that Dottie's self-image was one of an 
attractive, well-educated, and highly gracious 
woman of maturity.  

It's not that Sophie was physically unattractive.  
But she was compact and blunt, with the moves of 
a construction worker rather than the grace of a 
dancer.  Upon meeting, Greylon would hug her and 
could feel the muscles in her shoulders.  If his 
hands fell to her waist, he felt no flab, but he 
felt a near vertical drop with hardly any 
concavity.  Once her chin brushed his face and he 
could have sworn he felt the prickle of stubble. 
It had not repulsed him but it had made him 
curious.  He had surreptitiously glanced at her 
face several times, but was unable to tell for 
sure. 

Sadly, Greylon believed that Dottie actually felt 
a kind of superiority over her counterpart, 
alternately ridiculing and criticizing her, then 
excusing herself with references to Sophie's 
social offenses like the "shit-head incident."  
Though his wife hid this tendency around Sophie, 
Dottie was content to associate with her as 
little as possible and only then when Greylon was 
around as a buffer. 

Yet, from the long silences Greylon now witnessed 
and the tiny bits of the phone-voice he heard 
from the other end, he could tell that Sophie was 
persisting.  Moreover, she was making progress 
with her proposal; Dottie was actually nodding in 
agreement.

He was sure Sophie had said something like, "It's 
silly not to do it. After all, we're family!  You 
know you can't afford a motel for three or four 
weeks." Such a statement would ring true in 
Dottie's ear.  It was an undeniable fact.  They 
simply did not have the money.

"Well, that's awfully sweet of you, Sophie, we'll 
try not to be a bother to you," Dottie listened 
awhile longer, then replied, "OK." 

Greylon turned his head and watched Dottie 
through the doorway.  She was shaking her head 
no, but she was saying yes. 

There was another short silence, then:  "Thanks 
again, Sophie." Dottie's eyes were clamped shut. 
"OK, we'll be there Sunday night.  "OK, Sophie. 
OK, bye, we love you too."  

She stood in the kitchen, holding the phone at 
her side with a stupefied expression. Greylon 
wanted to ask, "Dottie, who is now the most 
gracious lady of the moment?" but wisely did not. 

Fresh out of the recovery room at Toledo 
Hospital, Greylon was still under the lingering 
influence of the anesthetic.  In his fog, he 
groped for his wife's hand.  He finally felt the 
touch of human skin and brought the palm to him 
and pressed it flat on his mid-section.  
Impulsively, he sang a snatch of an old Beatle's 
tune through rubbery lips, `I wanna hold your 
haaaand!'  Then he fell back to sleep, with the 
hand trapped under his own at stomach level. 
Several times she tried to pull her hand away, 
but he would not let her go. Greylon felt a kind 
of settled confidence as long as she was there 
and he was holding on.  Though sex with his wife 
had settled into a rare and predictable routine, 
he still enjoyed the mischief of initiating 
little lascivious jokes and sexy innuendoes, if 
only to see her pull-away-reaction.  

Greylon was cognizant that he was in the 
hospital, that she was standing beside him, 
linked to his hand, but he felt no pain from the 
invasive surgery.  In fact he felt several 
degrees above wonderful. People in the room were 
only distorted smiling forms that he glimpsed 
momentarily, then blinked away.  Greylon was 
floating in that twilight zone between the 
unconscious and the conscious induced by 
anesthetics and painkiller. He somehow identified 
the feeling with the sexual afterglow he and Dot 
shared in their youth.  They would lie there 
after sex, he remembered, sated and slack, 
fulfilled and spent.  

Why had he not had this surgery before now?  "I'm 
the only livin' boy in New Yoooork." he sang.  

"What?" she said.

"Simon and Garfuckle," he explained and giggled.

Mischievously, he pulled her hand down to his 
crotch, laid it across his limp member and gave 
it a squeeze.  When she tried to pull away, he 
held her hand fast.  He felt the grin on his face 
and the euphoria in his groin.  Greylon could 
have slept for hours in that position, and did 
drift off for a bit. After awhile, the hand began 
to feel strange.  He fluttered his eyes open.  

It was Sophie!  There was an uncertain, but not 
unpleasant expression on her face. She was 
grinning, just a little.  Greylon could not 
express shock for his medication had made him 
impervious to shock.  He knew he'd committed a 
serious social breach, but he just didn't care.  
He pressed Sophie's hand into him again.  Buoyed 
by the anesthetic's silliness, he said, "Any port 
in a storm, I suppose."  To this remark, she 
laughed, a breathy chopping sound.  Then he said 
sleepily, "Oh, I'm sorry, Sophie, that wasn't 
very nice." Then, placing his hand over hers 
again, he said, "Your port is always good, in any 
old weather." Then came that dry hacking laugh 
that his wife and daughter so despised.

Finally Sophie spoke, "Dottie had to leave, 
Greylon. The Jewish Hospital called here.  They 
said her mother fell down the porch steps. Dottie 
didn't know what to do.  I told her there was 
nothing else to do but go and I'd stay with you."

She tried again to retrieve her hand but he would 
not let go.  Later, he realized her effort was 
only token. She could have jerked the hand away 
if she'd wanted to.  Not that she was feeling 
much; the surgery had temporarily turned his 
member into a length of limp flesh coiled upon 
his sagging scrotum.  Under other circumstances, 
he would have been embarrassed; not only about 
the flaccid penis but about his holding her hand 
there in the first place.

Sophie cleared her throat, "She's pretty worried 
about her mom.  She's s'posed to call us tonight.  
How are you feeling?"

He heard the question, but he didn't want to 
answer.  The Sodium Pentothal or the gas, or 
both, was still in his system, wreaking havoc 
with his inhibitions.  He moved Sophie's hand in 
a small circle, squeezing as he did.  

"You don't really think he's a shit-head, do 
you?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Your son, of course."

"No, silly, he's the smartest boy on earth!" she 
laughed.

"You know they're not Jews, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Dot's mom and dad."

"No, but thanks for tellin' me." 

He felt strangely elated. Just before he drifted 
away, he said, "Kiss me." He didn't know whether 
she'd actually kissed him or not.

Later, Greylon's eyes popped open with an urgent 
desire to pee.  Sophie was sitting in the bedside 
recliner chair reading People Magazine.  

"I gotta go to the bathroom!" he shouted 
urgently.  

Sophie jumped to her feet.  

"Just a minute, I'll call the nurse!" she said.  
She located the call-button and pressed it and 
waited uncertainly at his bedside, glancing over 
at him quickly, then looking away.  

"Geez, I gotta go!" he said. 

As he looked back on this incident, it seemed to 
him that his desire to urinate was the only lucid 
thing about him.  He felt like a bundle of 
optical fibers with only one fiber working.

Sophie went to the door and stepped out into the 
hallway, looking both directions.  Finally she 
returned to the bed.  

"You want me to go get the nurse?" she asked.

"I don't know, I just gotta go, now!" He felt 
near to bursting.

"Shit!" said Sophie, and she crouched down by the 
little bed-stand and opened the drawer, "Here it 
is!" she said, and handed him a urinal.  He took 
it from her and she said, "I'll be close if you 
need me."  She walked away and stood just outside 
the doorway. He could see her shoulders weave 
back into view now 
and then.  She was hovering close, obviously 
wanting to help, and yet wanting to give him his 
privacy.  

Greylon scrunched up on one elbow and pulled up 
his hospital gown.  He slid the plastic 
receptacle up to his penis but the angle of the 
urinal-neck was not in line with his penis.  
Also, he was so limp that without the aid of his 
right hand and arm, on which he was leaning, his 
penis kept slipping from the hole.  He felt a few 
drops of urine hit his hand.

"Shit!" he said.

Sophie came back in and immediately saw his 
difficulty.

"Lay back there, Greylon. Let me be your nurse 
for a little bit."  He lay back, and Sophie took 
hold of his penis with one hand and slid the neck 
of the urinal over it with the other.

"OK, pee," she said.  

He couldn't.  

"Ummm, let me see."  Holding his penis deftly 
between finger and thumb, and the neck of the 
urinal with her three remaining fingers, Sophie 
raised his hospital gown with her other hand.  
She pulled it up over his pubic hair and began to 
probe.  "I think your bladder is just above this 
here bone," she said, and searched with her 
fingertips, locating the upper edge of his pubic 
bone.  The area just above it yielded to her 
touch, and she pushed in.  Like Old Faithful, 
Greylon peed a geyser.  She kept a steady massage 
against his bladder, pressing as she moved.  
Curiously, her hands were narrow and her fingers 
were long.  They were strange appendages for so 
compact a body, but he was charmed with the feel 
of them on his belly and his penis.  

"Oh! baby, that feels so good" he uttered to no 
one in particular.  When he realized what he had 
said, he looked at her and she looked at him.  
They both giggled. Abruptly, the back pain hit 
him again.  

"Oh, that hurts!" he cried suddenly, groaning as 
he sought to rein in his laughter.  In a few 
minutes, the nurse peeked in, saw his grimace and 
came back with a dose of pain medication which 
she injected into the tube leading to his vein.  
He waited for the sharp current to subside.

When the nurse left, Sophie asked, "Well, which 
is it, Greylon?  Does it feel good or hurt?"  He 
grinned.  Then came her irritating laugh, a laugh 
he was beginning to adore. 

The nurse had not emptied the urinal, so Sophie 
took it to the bathroom and dumped it.  She stood 
at the sink washing her hands, her butt twitching 
with the movement.  That was his last vision 
before the injection overtook him and he fell 
asleep.  


As he came awake, he was in little, if any pain.  
Greylon kept his eyes half-closed and inspected 
the sleeping form in the chair.  The sparse 
recliner had been folded out and she lay back, 
barefoot with her ankles crossed and her legs 
extended.  Her head was thrown back and the cords 
of her aging neck were definitely visible.  He 
focused on her chin, but could still see no hair.  
A crease angled down from her nose on both sides 
of her mouth, especially on one right side. The 
high cheekbones, he thought, rescued her face 
from plainness.  Crow's feet splayed out at the 
corners of her closed eyes.  Her hair was black 
with a few strands of gray, cut short and curly, 
puffing out for a nice balance between hair and 
head.  

She was wearing a red knit dress and sheer gray 
hose. The dress had hiked up six inches over her 
knees. Her slightly parted lips picked up the 
color of her dress, the only other thing red on 
her body.  Her red loafers were in a tumble on 
the floor.  Greylon wondered whether it was 
correct to say a woman was barefoot in her hose 
or not. There was no paint on her nails. He 
noticed a few tiny spidery veins on her calves 
and knees and wondered if they extended up onto 
her upper thighs.  Sophie didn't have a bad 
figure.  Despite the straight trunk down to the 
waistline, there was a nice flare to the hips and 
her breasts were not exactly small. Her eyes, he 
now discovered, were staring directly at him. 

"You've certainly been giving me the once-over," 
she said, not moving.

"I'm not responsible for what I do."

"Yeah, how long are you going to use that 
excuse?" she joshed, and tugged at the hem of her 
skirt.
 
"Thanks for helping me out a while ago."

"Hey, my pleasure.  We're family."

"Umm, which is it Sophie, your pleasure or `we're 
family?'"

Hack-hack, came the laugh.

"Yeah, Sophie, I guess you've seen me at my 
worst." he sighed.

"I wouldn't say your worst, just your most 
relaxed," she smirked.

"Tell me again why Dottie's not here, I don't 
remember what you said."

She explained the whole situation to him again, 
with the added information that Dottie had called 
and said her mother had a broken hip with cuts 
and bruises.  "Dottie said she'd have to stay 
with her mom and dad for awhile.  She made all 
sorts of apologies for leaving you in my hands, 
but I told her, like I told you, `Hey, we're 
family'."

He was about to make a sly comment on "leaving 
you in my hands," but the nurse came in and began 
a session about how to "log-roll" his body up and 
off the bed and onto his feet.  Under no 
circumstances was he to twist his torso.  Sophie 
hovered nearby, absorbing the instructions, 
watching closely the technique of the nurses and 
the orderlies.  

The nurse walked to the bathroom with him, 
pushing the wheeled intravenous cart as he went.  
She waited outside while he moved his bowels, 
talking to Sophie.  Then she walked him back to 
the bed.

"Let me try to `log-roll'im' Sophie asked the 
nurse.  She did it exactly as the nurse had 
instructed, his hands on her shoulders, hers 
under his arms and on his back, while she guided 
him all the way back and down.  She propped the 
mandatory pillow under his knees. He lay 
exhausted.  The activity had caused a bit of pain 
but he toughed it out for two hours before asking 
for another injection. As the pain and tension 
eased, he shut his eyes, conjuring a mind-picture 
of Sophie's fingers in his pubic hair, moving 
about.  With that vision fixed, he smiled to 
himself and went to sleep again.

He was up on his feet the next day, able to eat a 
regular meal and shuffle down the hallway a few 
steps with Sophie hovering at his side.   Then 
the day after that, he walked a good five hundred 
feet with Sophie's help.  He held onto the rail 
along the wall, keeping his balance by 
intertwining his other arm with hers. 
 
On the following day, the surgeon said he was 
doing quite well.  The doctor turned to Sophie 
and said, "Mrs. Dark, I think you can take your 
husband home tomorrow!"  Neither of them 
corrected him. "Now, just remember this," the 
doctor, directed,  "No long trips, no driving, 
and no sex for awhile."  A smile twitched at 
Sophie's mouth.  He wrote two prescriptions for 
Greylon and told him to keep walking and come to 
see him in four days.  

The next morning, in warm sunshine, Greylon moved 
slowly up the sidewalk to Sophie's working class 
frame house.  Her husband had built it in the 
late fifties and it still wore the old asbestos 
shingle siding.  It had a hard baked-on finish, 
so she'd chosen to leave the shingles as they 
were rather than bear the expense of disposing of 
asbestos under EPA regulations.  Sophie was 
frugal; she had to be.

They entered directly into the living room, and 
Sophie said, "I got you set up in the downstairs 
bedroom."  

It lay directly through a door located in the 
left wall.  It was a very small room, but 
certainly adequate to fill his needs for a few 
days. He remembered from his handyman work two 
years ago that Sophie's room and another extra 
bedroom were upstairs. 

"I got a few movies I checked out," she said, as 
he eased down on the crisply made-up bed.  "If 
you feel up to it tonight, we'll watch one."  

"Sounds good to me." 

"You want to lay down?"

"I think I'd better."

She log-rolled him onto the bedspread, put a 
pillow under his knees and covered him with a 
sheet from the closet.

That evening, Sophie fixed a chicken and cheese 
casserole, with sides of green beans and carrots 
saut,ed in brown sugar and butter.  They drank 
iced tea that she had made, strong and sweet.  It 
was a warm pleasant night and the tea was 
absolutely refreshing.  He sat in the kitchen on 
a straight-back chair across the table from 
Sophie. The food was luscious and he raved about 
it.  

"Oh Sophie, you are a stupendous cook!"

"I haven't cooked much since George died," she 
said.  "When there's just one person to feed, you 
tend to make do with wieners and chili."

"I'll bet the touch of your fingers even make 
that good!" he said.  They ate in silence for the 
next few seconds.  Then he realized that both he 
and she were thinking about the touch of her 
fingers on his own wiener three days before.  She 
smiled and blinked her eyes then looked down and 
cleared her throat.  She looked at him and the 
laughter exploded. 

"Let me help you with the dishes," he said 
gallantly.  

Nope, nope, nope, nope!" she said.  "If you do 
that, you won't even be able to take a crap 
without me helping you!"

He threw his head back and laughed and carefully 
stood up to leave the table.  

"If course," she taunted, "that's only if you 
want me too!" 

"Promises! Promises!" he said, shuffling to his 
bedroom.

While Sophie took care of the dishes, he showered 
in the downstairs bathroom, carefully placing 
Saran Wrap over his incisions.   He had to move 
slowly and the shower seemed interminable. 
Fortunately the faucet handles were high but 
midway through the shower he dropped the soap.  
Try as he might he could not retrieve it without 
bending and at this point he was forbidden to 
bend.  He was especially frustrated, for he had 
not yet washed below his waist.  He was weighing 
his choices when a knock came at the bathroom 
door.  "You OK in there, Greylon?"

"Yeah! But I dropped my soap and can't reach it!  
Can you shut your eyes and get it for me?"

The door opened and he saw her approaching form 
through the glass door. He could see she was now 
dressed in red shorts and a white sleeveless 
shirt.  She pulled back the door, averting her 
eyes and searched the floor of the bathtub, then 
squatted and retrieved the soap.  

"What about your feet and legs?" she asked.  

"Ah, there a little hard to reach," he said.  

She began to soap his feet.  

"Hold on to the towel rack, and lift your foot."
  
She grasped the foot and chaffed the soap bar 
under, over and around the surface.  Then she did 
the same with the other foot.  It felt wonderful 
to Greylon.  She then began soaping his ankles, 
using her hands vigorously and working them on up 
to his thighs.  Then she stood, looking directly 
and quickly from his legs to his eyes.  The slick 
soap was in her hand as she stared.  Water had 
splashed over the front of her shirt.  She 
shrugged. "Better let me take care of the rest," 
she said, and began to soap his buttocks.She took 
her time. He thought he felt her grasp the flesh 
of his butt-cheek in her palm, taking a full-
handed grip, but he wasn't sure.   

Taking the wash cloth, she lathered it up and 
washed his genitals, reaching even between the 
scrotum and the thighs.  "Spread your legs," she 
ordered. 

She used both hands on the penis, one stretching 
back the foreskin and the other wielding the wash 
cloth.  Finally, she wrung out the cloth and 
finished rinsing him with her hands.  The 
anesthetic effect on his erectile tissue had 
receded somewhat, and he achieved a fractional 
erection.  There was still a downward droop, but 
he found himself elongated a tiny bit.  He 
wondered if he should comment.  She spoke first.  

"I see you're feeling better," she said, 
grinning.

He snorted and laughed, saying" Help me out of 
here".  

She steadied him by his forearms as he stepped 
over the side of the tub onto a towel.  Then he 
felt the fluffy bath towel being blotted then 
rubbed over his body. His firmness held, if not 
increased a bit.  She said, "You know, I'm not 
sure Dottie would've left you in my hands if 
she'd knew what you were doin'."  She was 
grinning from ear to ear.  

"I won't tell her if you don't," he said.

He put on his terry cloth robe and walked to the 
bedroom, leaving Sophie to mop up the splashes 
with the towel.  He noticed that she had pulled 
down the sheet and blanket on his bed already.  

He dressed in lightweight summer pajamas, then he 
took a Tylenol 3 with a sip of water.  A wave of 
exhaustion suddenly swept over him and he log-
rolled down, flat on top of the bed. Sophie came 
in and saw him there.  

"Uh-uh-uh-uh," she said, and took an extra pillow 
out of the closet and slipped it under his knees.  

"I reckon you don't want to see a movie tonight," 
she said.

"I just can't do it.  Maybe tomorrow, Sophie," he 
murmured, his eyes closed.

"Noo problem!" she smiled.  She grasped the sheet 
and pulled it up over him to his waist.  He felt 
the fabric moving lightly along his body.  When 
her hands reached his waist, he took hold of her 
wrists and held them, his eyes closed.  

He allowed himself a momentary look, and saw her 
legs were almost straight, but she was bent at 
the waist. Finally, she knelt.  He blinked his 
eyes to find she was looking at his face, a 
slight smile on her lips.  He tried to smile too, 
feeling very strange.

"I'm sorry Sophie, I just need you here with me 
for awhile."

"Noo problem," she said.

Suddenly, he began to cry.  He was surprised, but 
he shouldn't have been.  At various intervals 
throughout the day, mostly when he was still, 
he'd felt an inexplicable emotional surge sweep 
over him.  He guessed later that it was the last 
vestige of the anesthetic working out.  Perhaps 
it was even the psychological release from the 
fear that he might be paralyzed. He had been 
afraid of that.  He was embarrassed to find that 
his sobs were not subsiding. In fact, they were 
becoming heavier.  He released Sophie's hands and 
brought his own hands to his eyes, wiping away 
the tears.  

When he finally calmed and opened his eyes, she 
was holding out a tissue to him.  He took it and 
dried his eyes, then blew his nose.  She returned 
her hands to his waist, one resting quietly on 
top of the other over his navel.  When he looked 
at her, she was smiling at him serenely, relaxed 
in her kneeling position by his bed.  He sighed, 
exhaled a long breath and shrugged. 

"I wonder what that was that all about." he said, 
his voice catching.

She didn't answer, just smiled and kept her hands 
on him.  He lay the tissue aside and put his 
hands on top of hers.  He closed his eyes and 
eventually eased his breathing.  Still on an 
emotional edge, he pushed her hands slowly toward 
his genitals, clearing the sheet away as he did.  
She did not resist.  When her hand was directly 
over his now-limp penis he stopped and let it 
rest.  

He felt her fumbling with the opening in his 
pajamas, then he felt her palm holding his 
nakedness.  He began to gently rub his fingers on 
the back of her hand as she languidly kneaded his 
cock but he never achieved an erection the rest 
of that night, not even to the degree he'd 
experienced in the bathroom.  

He finally ceased moving his fingers, and she 
stopped stroking him but she did not let go.  A 
vast lazy peacefulness washed over him like thick 
oil, beginning in his toes and creeping upward to 
his very center.  Before he went to sleep, he 
felt gentle lips on his lips. And he felt the 
unmistakable prickle of stubble when her chin 
touched his. 


The next day was a series of mild exercises, 
including walking.  He slowly wandered around 
Sophie's spacious fenced-in back yard.   Her late 
husband may have cut corners on the house, but he 
had chosen a nice lot.  Greylon's feet felt 
comfortable on the soft sod.  The afternoon 
turned hot and it was cooler walking inside the 
house, so he walked around there. Then Dottie 
called, his real world finally breaking in on the 
dream.  

"Mama is getting out of the hospital today.  She 
has to stay at the Village Nursing Home, for 
physical therapy.  She's scared we're going to 
leave her there, so I've been assuring her we 
won't."  

"How often do you get over to see her?" he asked.

"I go over everyday at lunch," she said.  "I even 
eat there with her, then spend the rest the 
afternoon with her."

"Gee, I'm sorry Dottie, you're missing a lot of 
work."

"No, the boss-man lets me come in later and 
finish up.  Is Sophie about to drive you up a 
wall?"

Sophie was in the kitchen within earshot of his 
voice. 

"Sophie's doing fine.  She is a big help," he 
said.

"I know it's hard on us all, hon, but I am so 
thankful she can do this for us."

"So am I, hon, so am I."

The shower that evening went without a hitch or a 
drop.  Sophie's long fingered hands moved over 
him enthusiastically. She didn't bother with the 
washcloth on his genitals this time.  Again, his 
semi-erection was a little stronger; but still it 
was only partially hard.  She focused intently on 
her work, not averting her gaze, but she didn't 
presume to masturbate him as she had tried to do 
at his bedside the night before. The lather 
smacked and sucked under her palms as she soaped 
his scrotum, making them both laugh.   He slipped 
into his robe and exited the shower, steam rising 
from his shoulders.  

Sophie helped him settle on the bed.  "You think 
you're gonna feel up to a movie tonight?" she 
asked.

"We'll, give it a try."

"I'm gonna get my shower now, then we'll put the 
movie on.  I gonna use your shower, it's too hot 
upstairs," she said.  The air in the house was 
humid.  There was no air conditioning, central or 
otherwise.  It reminded him of when he was a boy 
and practically no one cooled their homes, except 
with fans.  Sophie had sat a small oscillating 
fan on the floor but it was merely pushing the 
humidity about the room. Greylon knew it must be 
like a furnace up in Sophie's bedroom. 

As he lay on his back, he realized he was 
sweating profusely.  He log-rolled himself 
upright and removed his robe.  He slipped on a 
tee shirt and a pair of Pajama shorts, then lay 
back down.   He heard Sophie leave the bathroom 
and called her, "Sophie, come here, will you?"

"I cain't," she yelled, using the Southernism for 
"can't," which she fell into occasionally.   "I'm 
as nekkid as a jay-bird!" two other Southernisms, 
he noted.   "Let me get something own!" a forth 
one.  

It was just such linguistic patterns, plus the 
grammatical lapses, which made his wife and 
daughter cringe.  Sophie's working-class 
background didn't help.  Of course, he knew the 
two ladies of his family were not the only ones 
who sported such pretentiousness.  Even his 
beloved son-in-law would presume to correct his 
mother's grammar.  However, he was not too far 
above his mom to take her money for college or 
put up rent free at mom's house with his wife.  
No wonder the embattled Kentuckian lashed out 
with a "shit-head" now and then.  

As he lay on his back with his knees propped up, 
and his forearm across his eyes, Greylon came to 
a firm conclusion about Sophie: The person you 
saw was the person you got.  When she told you, 
"Come and stay at my house," she meant it.  She 
was a warm-hearted unselfish, genuine individual, 
and at that particular moment Greylon's heart 
felt very close to this simple woman. 

"What'd you want?" She was standing in the door. 
Tonight, her shorts were purple and her 
sleeveless shirt was blue.   

"I'm not sure how long I can last, but I want to 
sit on the couch with you and watch that movie, 
just to see how I do." 

"OK, I'll get you some pillows," she smiled. She 
picked up the pillows on the bed and got another 
one from the closet.  With the pillows under her 
arm, she turned to Greylon with a very serious 
look on her face.  Greylon, you're here to get 
well.  If sittin' on the couch, or anything else 
is not good for you, I don't want you to do it.  
You know what the doctor said."

"I know that, Sophie.  If I see that it's hurting 
me, or not good for me, I'll stop it right away."

Greylon sat down on the couch with a pillow 
behind his back and one under one knee.  It felt 
very good, very firm when he sat down.  

Sophie started the movie.  Then took a seat 
beside him.  It was a flick featuring Gene 
Hackman, James Garner, Paul Newman and Susan 
Sarandon. "I thought you'd like this movie since 
Gene Hackman and James Garner is your age," she 
said, baiting him.

"Speak for yourself, young lady." 

Greylon looked over at the open windows and into 
the dark beyond.  "How's this going to look to 
your neighbors, Sophie, a man in your living room 
on the couch with you, in his underwear?"  

"I'm not in your underwear!" she said, smiling at 
him slyly.  

"What?"

She ignored his slowness, "Besides, you got on 
pajamas, not underwear."

"Same as," he said.

Sophie rose, strode to the light switch and 
turned off the lights.  "There, I usually watch 
TV with the lights off anyway."  That was true, 
anyone approaching Dottie's house at night would 
see a dark living room with a low fluttering glow 
coming from somewhere out of sight. "Besides," 
she said, "those pajamas are not like your 
underwear, you wear briefs."

"Oh, so you've been observing," he said 
playfully.
 
"Yes," She eyed his pajama shorts, grinning.  
"How come you wear briefs, Greylon?  I figured 
you for a boxer man."

Encouraged by her ogling he teased hard, "Not 
hardly," he drawled in his best Kentuckian. "I 
tend to hang out the leg."

"Oooo!" Sophie cooed musically and turned back to 
the movie.  

Just then, Hackman was in a scene where he had 
found rich-man Paul Newman's daughter for him.  
She had run away to the Caribbean with a young 
man and, at the moment, was butt naked and having 
sex with him.  It was R-rated sex, to be sure, 
but the scene was quite graphic.  Hackman came in 
and broke it all up, but not before Greylon had 
developed a high-bulk erection, his first since 
the surgery.  He kept his eyes glued to the 
screen.  When the scene, rowdy as it was, faded 
to another, the sound receded and he heard 
Sophie, trying to hold it in, but nevertheless 
eking out tiny restrained giggles through her 
nose.   Finally he turned to look at her as he 
would have one of his students acting out in 
class.  Her pent-up laughter detonated and she 
roared as she gazed openly at his large tent.  He 
grinned and shook his head.

"You have me at a disadvantage," he said.

"Yeah, but I reckon your disadvantage is my 
advantage."  She gazed at him shamelessly.  "How 
come it wasn't that way when I had hold of it?"

"Sorry, couldn't be helped."

"Uh-huh, it's that little honey we just saw." She 
pointed at the screen.  "All you men are alike," 
she nodded toward his crotch.   "Put a young ass 
and sweet tits out there and it can't come up 
fast enough."

"Ummm, I don't know Sophie," he countered, 
looking at the mature female lead on the screen,  
"I'd say Susan Sarandon does more for me than 
that little teenybopper," he said.

"Oh! She does, does she?  Even so," she said, 
"you go for the glamour.  A home-town country 
girl like me couldn't even get a quiver."  She 
pointed quickly to his bulge.

"Don't belittle yourself, Sophie.  Susan Sarandon 
has nothing on you."  

At this statement, Sophie took her eyes off his 
crotch and looked him in the eye, smiling.  She 
separated her knees a little and then squeezed 
them together.  Then she turned back to the 
movie.  

After a while he noticed that his back felt quite 
"heavy" and very tight.  He worked his way toward 
the edge of his seat, eased himself up, keeping 
his back straight, then lowered himself into a 
squat.  

"What are you doin'?" she asked.  

"Trying to lay flat on the floor, I've been 
sitting too long."

She stood and helped him get situated. She placed 
a couple of pillows against the couch frame 
behind his head.  Then, ever attendant to the 
doctor's orders, she brought the third pillow and 
shoved it under his knees and plumped it up.  
"Ahh, thanks, that feels better."  Sophie then 
sat back down on the couch.

By now, he had lost some of the details of the 
story. During the last third of the movie, there 
was a scene quite easy to follow.  Hackman and 
Sarandon were drawn into an embrace.  She was 
married to Newman but cheated with Hackman.  
However, the sex was only implicit, and the scene 
ended in a fevered kiss with only the suggestion 
that naughty things did indeed happen.  The movie 
went on, but by now Greylon and Sophie had missed 
the unraveling of most of the plot, so they fell 
into a casual running commentary.

"They never show the sex for people my age!  It's 
not fair!" she said.

"Yeah, well, they figure we already know what to 
do.  It's those youngsters that need 
instruction." 

"Greylon?" she said, staring at the movie.  

"Yes?"

"Did you ever cheat on Dottie?"

"No, but I did come close one time.  How about 
you?  Did you ever cheat on George?"  

"Only one time," she paused, "for revenge.  Is 
that cheating?"

"Revenge, for what?" 

"Cheating."

He nodded his head, pondering the subject she had 
introduced but saying nothing in response.  He 
gave up on the movie, yet kept his eyes on the 
screen.  Now something more was stirring in his 
loins than soreness; he felt himself firming up 
again. Minutes passed.

She kicked his shoulder playfully with her bare 
foot.  "Ummm, that little teenybopper has a long-
term effect, doesn't she?"

"This?" he said, nodding his head toward his lap.  
 From where he lay, he could see no more than the 
calf of her leg, but he knew she was watching him 
grow.  "No, this doesn't belong to the 
teenybopper.  Hers went down a while back.  
Didn't get this one till just now."

"You mean when Sarandon and Hackman were getting 
it on?"  

"No, not then either.  I'm afraid this is your 
doing."

This time she nudged him on the elbow.  Then he 
watched as she slid down in her seat and extended 
her leg.  She nudged him again with her long big 
toe, caressing him now on his hip.  His erection 
had, at this point, reached obscene proportions. 
"You're kiddin', right?"

"I am as serious as orthopedic surgery," Greylon 
said, reaching up from below and placing his 
right hand on her inner thigh, caressing it.

"Really?"  She placed her foot over his shoulder 
and onto his chest, rubbing him lightly moving 
his tee shirt across his skin. "You mean Susan 
Sarandon is not the reason for that big bulge in 
your P-J's?" 

"No Sophie.  That hard-on belongs to you, not to 
Susan.  You know that don't you?"  He continued 
to move his hand on her thigh.

She didn't respond.  A minute passed.

"Geeze," he said, gripping her thigh firmly.  
"Please come down here."

"Greylon!" she reminded him, "Remember what the 
doctor said, no movin' around in that area ... 
and no sex," but she slid down in the floor with 
him, 
dragging a cushion with her for her head.  She 
turned sideways and laid her hand lightly over 
the pajama crotch.  "I don't want to hurt you." 

He put his hand on her smooth thigh. "So far, 
there is no pain.  Anyway, he said, `no sex for 
awhile.'  It's been awhile." 

She tightened her hand on his cotton-covered cock 
and squeezed.  "Oh baby, I want you in me, but I 
don't want to hurt you."

"Just take it easy, you may have to do all the 
work; it won't be as good for you as for me, 
probably.

She came up on her elbow and looked him in the 
eye.  "You're what's good for me," she said.  She 
leaned in and kissed him lightly.  "Just let me 
do it with my hands; it'll be safe if I just use 
my hands," she said.

"No, I want to feel what it's like inside you."

Suddenly the Video player clicked off and the 
television blared.

"Shit!" she said, and scooted up to get the 
remote and switch off the television.  There were 
no lights on in the house now, but the bright 
streetlight in front of the house next door was a 
more-than-efficient night-light.

Sophie pulled her shorts away from her hips and 
down over her ankles.  She was wearing no 
panties.   She unbuttoned and removed the blouse.  
There was a bra.  Obviously, she knew what might 
happen tonight, and she had prepared accordingly.  
That there was a bra meant that she didn't want 
to reveal her breasts.

"Take that off, I want you completely naked," he 
said.

"I'm not as perky as I used to be, darlin'."

"Well, neither am I," he countered. 

She knelt and took him into her hand, "Feels 
perky to me."

"Not that babe," he said, "me, my body. I'm 
looking forward to social security already!"

She pulled the bra off.  They were certainly less 
firm than the teenybopper's breasts, but "sag" 
was too strong a word.   

"Sophie, darlin', get on top of me."

"Are you sure, Greylon?"

"God, yes."

She scooted down to his feet and pulled down his 
pajama shorts.  Finally sliding them between his 
thighs and the knee pillow, then off over his 
ankles.  She stood up and put a foot on either 
side of him, and then sank to her knees.  She had 
positioned herself precisely, because he 
immediately felt the hairy hot wetness of her on 
his glans. 

His hand slid toward her crotch.  He wanted to 
feel her with his fingers before she enclosed 
him. He found her clitoris and began to probe in 
the wetness around it causing her to thrust 
toward his hand.  She paused, pressing and 
shuddering gently, then resumed the movements of 
her hips.

"I want in," he said simply.

"I want you in," she said.

He propped his stiff member at a slight angle 
toward himself, and she slid down and back over 
him.   He felt as if he had dived into hot water.  
Involuntarily, he felt himself rise to her.  

She froze, stock-still.  "I feel that!  Don't do 
that, sweetheart!  Let me fuck you, let me fuck 
you!"  He stilled himself, willing himself not to 
move.  She resumed her movements.  "Oh God, 
Greylon."  She trembled all over.  

He sensed her tentative descent.  She would slide 
down cautiously, and then stop, lest she collide 
and jar his back. 

"Wait, let me do this," he said, feeling her 
heated wetness suck at him.  He grasped his penis 
at its base, leaving three or four inches 
protruding above his fist.  "Now, come down on my 
fist, Sophie.  She eased down, felt him there, 
raised up high and came down firmly.  As she did 
so, the edges of his clenched forefinger and 
thumb caught the soft, hairy moisture.  He meant 
it as a signal for her not to crash down on him, 
but it turned out to be so novel that new 
sensations announced themselves that he had not 
anticipated.  For instance, when she rose, he 
vigorously rubbed his glans against her outer 
lips and hair, the scratchy sensation stimulated 
him even more.  Then, as she slid down, he said,  
"More, darling, more.  A little harder, that's 
OK.  You're still the mover.  I'm just the 
shaker."  And with the top half of his cock 
buried in her, he shook his penis violently.  

"Shit!" she wailed, "We can't do this!  I'll kill 
you, I know I will!" she whined, and bent to 
placed her lips over his, crowding his mouth 
open, injecting her tongue.  He felt her chin 
bristling on his chin, grinding against his face. 

"Move honey, go for it!  Try to come before me.  
Just stay above my hand." I whispered.
  
She did go for it.  She placed her hands on the 
edge of the couch seat, supporting her total 
weight there and on her knees.  She twisted and 
ground horizontally, rather than vertically.  
Finally she went over the edge, and he followed 
almost immediately, for he'd been struggling to 
hold back.  The quake visibly coursed through her 
and she turned her head from side to side, 
breathing audibly through her clenched teeth.  
His own tremors were internal, except for those 
in his large thigh muscles which spasmed 
involuntarily; so much so, he had to fight 
himself to keep from jerking upward.



Four weeks after he had exited the Toledo 
Hospital, Sophie turned her battered Dodge Shadow 
east onto the Interstate 275 Loop around 
Cincinnati. It signaled the last twenty miles of 
his journey home, and seemed to portend the last 
leg of his sexual odyssey as well.  His hand 
caressed the inner thigh of Sophie's right leg.  
"I'm going to miss you," he said.  

She smiled, "Me too."

For several days, they had discussed the sexual 
liaison they had experienced. Their attitude was, 
keep things as they were. For Greylon, however, 
there was always the second-guessing. He was 
concerned about what the powerful, repeated 
sexual encounters could do to her emotionally. 
She brought it up first.  

"You know, Greylon, you don't have to worry about 
me.  I'm not going obligate you to anything.  I 
was without sex quite a while before this, but I 
don't plan to be without it anymore.  I may get 
married, or I may just find a good friend.  Who 
knows what'll happen?  In any case, you know my 
bed is always there for you, but let's not do 
nothin' to rock the boat."

As they approached his house, it seemed enormous 
compared to Sophie's little cracker-box.  It was 
a relatively recent home built eight years before 
by a retired farmer; a "country-style" house.  As 
they pulled into the side-access driveway, he saw 
that his riding mower had been moved to the back 
yard and covered.  It had two flat tires.  
Someone, however, had kept the lawn mowed and 
trimmed. 
 
She must have heard them slamming the car doors, 
for the big double garage door began to creep up.  
Dottie came out of the garage smiling, tall, 
elegant and beautiful.  She was dressed in an 
olive green sleeveless blouse, tucked into a pair 
of neutral colored khaki Bermudas. She came to 
him immediately and embraced him carefully, 
rubbing her hands over the small of his back.  "I 
don't want to hurt you darling," she said.  

"Oh, I'm almost as good as new!" he said.  Then 
he felt her release him and watched her move, 
with open arms, to the Sophie.  "And here's the 
woman that made it all possible!" she said, and 
hugged her fiercely.  Dottie put an arm around 
each of them and walked them to the house.  She 
turned to Sophie; "You did bring some clothes, 
didn't you?"

"I brought a few," said Sophie.

"So!  You will say awhile!"

"Just a few days, Dottie," she smiled.

"I just need to finish out this one more week 
with Mom and then I'll let you go back to Toledo.  
You should know you are godsend, Sophie."

"I know it's been tough on you, Dottie, I was 
glad to help out." Sophie glanced at Greylon.

"I'll be frank, it's been one of the worst months 
of my entire life!" she said. "I've been to the 
nursing home everyday, and then back to work 
after five and then working into the night.  
Pete's been very good to me, or I wouldn't have 
been getting my check, or even have a job!  But 
I've been stretched to the breaking point!   I'm 
simply exhausted!  But, here I am complaining, I 
know it's been bad for you too."

"No, not really, smiled Sophie.  He's been a 
pretty good patient.  My hardest work was to get 
him to take it easy," she laughed.

"You've done more than anyone could have asked 
you," she said, hugging Sophie again.

"Hey, we're family," Sophie smiled.

"Yes indeed, we are family!" Dottie laughed.

Greylon wondered, had not this whole experience 
been good for Dottie's snobbery?  Maybe she would 
have better things to say of their daughter's 
mother-in-law in the future.  

Dottie showed Sophie to the guestroom upstairs, 
and Greylon lay down on the floor and began his 
stretch exercises.  He worked for twenty minutes, 
then lay with his arm across his eyes, relaxing.  
The physical therapist told him he would have to 
continue the exercises indefinitely, small price 
to pay for staying away from more agony. 
Presently, Dottie appeared alone. Her purse was 
hanging from her shoulder and she had her car 
keys in her hand.  

"Oh, you're awake!" she smiled. "I thought you 
were sleeping.  Listen darling, I have to go tend 
to Mother awhile, then look in on Daddy.  I know 
it's Saturday but they're expecting me.  I don't 
know if she'll ever get out of that nursing home, 
or not.  I'll be back about eight or nine 
o'clock.  You and Sophie can get something from 
the fridge or just go up to Kentucky Fried, 
she'll like that."
 
He propped himself up evenly on both elbows.  

"Sure, babe," pleased at her appearance.  "I know 
it's been tough on you, but you're looking really 
good."

She walked over to him, knelt and kissed him on 
the mouth.  He felt her tongue flick his lips ... 
twice.  "It's good to have you back, 
schoolteacher," she smiled. 

She rose and went out the side door.  

He lay there wondering if things might not revive 
between Dottie and him.  Would she be able to 
tell a difference in him since Sophie?  Had his 
absence made her heart grow fonder?  Did cheating 
on his wife increase or decrease his desire for 
her?  As if in answer, he felt a stir in his 
loins.

He heard Sophie's steps on the stairs and then 
across the pine-board floor to the carpet where 
he lay.  She smiled.  He smiled back. She walked 
over to a recliner and sat, looking at him, 
smiling still. 

"Do you know Pete?" she asked.

"Her boss, Peter Gable," he nodded, "he owns the 
chain of bookstores she works for."

"I know, she told me."

"I guess he's been pretty nice to her, but he's 
worked her awfully hard."

"She's fucking him."

He felt his brow raise, "WHAT?"

"She's fucking him."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No, but she talked about how nice he'd been.  
She mentioned how he'd said `this' about her 
mom's care, and `that' about what she ought to do 
about her dad if her mom didn't come home from 
the rest home."

"So.?"

"Did you look at her close?" Sophie asked.

"Well, I don't know. Why?"

"She's beautiful."

"She's always been pretty," he said, "But..."

"Her eyes are clear; there's not a tired bone in 
her body.  She hasn't been under any stress.  
There's not hardly a line on her face."

"How can you tell?"

"I know her.  I've seen her under stress.  
Usually it's when I'm around that she gets under 
stress. But its not like that today." 

"Well, maybe she's just putting on a ..."

"A front?  No, she doesn't mind I'm here today, 
she's glad to have me.  Besides, she's got that 
`just-fucked-good' look in her eye."

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"It's in my eye too," she said, "I see it ever 
time I look in the mirror," she smiled.

"Good Lord, Sophie!"

"She saw it in my eye too."

"What???  Did she say anything?"

"She didn't say nothing ... but Greylon, we been 
together for four weeks.  She might not of 
thought of it before; that you'd screw poor 
little hillbilly Sophie. But she knows it now 
that she saw me."

"Was she rude to you while you were upstairs?  
Did she seem suspicious?"

"You don't have to be suspicious about what you 
already know, Greylon."
  
"She didn't seem to be angry with me when she 
left," he said, as much to himself as to her.  In 
fact, there was a little spark before she left, 
he remembered. 

"No, she's not angry."  Sophie pulled the handle 
on the recliner and sat back.   She waggled her 
feet on the footrest.  She kicked off her penny 
loafers and they fell to the carpet. "How `bout 
you, Greylon, are you angry?"

"Well, if it's true."

"Greylon, I guarantee you, it's true."

He thought, and he examined his feelings.  He 
knew he wasn't feeling anger at the moment.  But 
that may have been due to the shock of just 
finding out.  He could identify a little anxiety; 
not a lot, but some.  There was the feeling of 
puzzlement too.  She had kissed him and the kiss 
had sexual overtones in it. Why had she done 
that?  If Sophie was correct, and she seemed 
supremely confident, Dottie already knew of their 
affair when she kissed him.  Of course, the kiss 
could have been a valedictory of sorts, but not 
likely.  The kiss was definitely anticipatory.  
As he contemplated his homecoming, a quiver of 
excitement passed through him, the thrill of 
knowing something was going to happen. 

"No, I don't guess I'm angry."

"So you're not going to kill'er?" she smiled.

He laughed and shook his head.

"What are you going to say to her?" she asked.

"Say?  Sophie, this is like shooting the rapids 
of a strange river for the first time.  You don't 
know where the rocks are. You don't know how 
dangerous it is.  All you know is that the water 
is fast, and you better steer the best way you 
can."

"OK, I'm along for the ride, but be careful, 
you've got the paddle, and there's two kids in 
the boat who don't even know about it.  They're 
grown, but they still got feelings."

"You're pretty smart, you know that?" he said.  

She smiled.  

"Come over here."


At eight o'clock, Greylon and Sophie were sitting 
across from one another at the kitchen table.  A 
Dewey's pizza was on the table between them and 
they were enjoying what Greylon believed to be 
the absolutely best pizza in Cincinnati.

Each of them wore shorts and were barefoot. 
Taking turns inserting a bare foot into the leg 
of the other's shorts, they would toe-walk up the 
thigh until the vital area was reached, then 
massage it with their toes. At that point, it 
became the other person's turn.  

Graylon's toe was rubbing the slick, hairy warmth 
of Sophie's vulva when the garage-kitchen door 
opened and Dottie walked in with a pleasant 
looking middle-aged man at her side.  From where 
Dottie was standing Greylon couldn't tell if she 
could see where his foot was or not but, from 
Sophie's expression and posture, it was quite 
evident what was going on.  She looked first at 
Greylon, then at Sophie.  An amused pucker played 
on her lips.  

"Hi guys!  Sophie, this is Pete."

Sophie, who had slid down in her chair until she 
was at breast level with the pizza, grinned at 
them and said, "Hi there, Pete."

Dottie smiled as she nodded at the table.  "Ummm, 
that looks really good.  You mind if we join 
you?"

"Hey, there's more than enough for everybody," 
Sophie replied with a chuckle. 

onegallus@yahoo.com
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