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Message-ID: <41787asstr$1050199802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Mr. Variag" <ludmax11@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} An Unwelcome Surprise (Varangian) (MF.oral.anal.incest)
Date: Sat, 12 Apr 2003 22:10:02 -0400
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An Unwelcome Surprise
Copyright (C) 2003, Varangian

Fred's second adventure on the road: a sequel to "The Fugitive Woman"



"I haven't seen you before," the waitress remarked.  She was about fifty, 
slender but not gaunt, judging by shapely forearms.  Her blouse, though, 
betrayed little.

"I'm just passing through," Fred explained, smiling up at her.

"Passing through?  This is downtown Davenport.  The interstate is five miles 
that-away."  Her return smile was coquettish, presumably the cordiality she 
bestowed on all her male customers of a certain age, but flattering 
nonetheless.  She was a good-looking woman.

"I came into town to look around.  I haven't been here in about fifty 
years."

"It hasn't changed much except for the casino.  I've lived here all my 
life."

He put down his cup.  "I used to live on Bradnor Street when I was a 
teenager."

"Really!  My house is just a block over from there, up near the park."

"Yeah.  That's my old neighborhood."

"Do you still have family here?"

"No.  Just memories of when I was a kid."

He supposed she dyed her lush, dark hair, but everything else about the 
woman seemed very natural.  Her left hand rested on the counter.  She wore 
no ring -- an invitation?

"I left before graduating from Sharon High," he added.

She made a face.  "I hated it there!  I guess it was because I was a gawky 
ugly duckling."

He grinned at her search for a compliment.  "You've certainly become a swan 
since then."

"Well, thank you, sir!  You've made my day.  I'm Flo, by the way.  I own 
this place."

Fred looked around the tidy eatery -- a dozen tables and a counter.  "My 
name is Fred.  I'm retired."

"Retired!  Why, Fred, you don't look that old."

"I had a machine shop back in Pennsylvania.  I'm sixty-seven."

"Go on!  You look ten years younger."

He lingered at the diner, accepting a slice of apple pie she forced on him.  
"I made it myself," she announced.  They chatted even while she waited on 
other customers, talking about local landmarks and the high school.  When 
the place was nearly empty she sat on the stool beside him.

"I'm just wandering the country," he explained.  "A couple of days ago I was 
in Traverse City."

"Where are you going?"

"California, I suppose, then back again."

"Sounds lonely."

He winked.  "I picked up a woman hitch-hiker the other day."

She arched her eyebrows.  "Are you expecting to find more?"

"No," he laughed.  "Actually, I reunited her with a lover."

"How'd you do that?"

"It's a long story.  She was running away from an abusive husband, and she 
found her dream man in Traverse City.  It was a happy outcome."

"For you?"  She leaned close.

"I'm just an old guy, Flo.  I was pleased they got together.  It was 
beautiful."

"You're not so old, Fred."  She touched his hand.  "I bet you hoped for 
something more."

He acknowledged it, but did not explain that when he had the chance with 
Minnie, the hitch-hiker, he could not get it up.  Nor did he mention that 
the young woman had cured his impotence after it was too late to prove 
himself.  He further concealed the fact that he had not enjoyed intercourse 
in almost ten years.  "I'm always hoping, Flo," he said, toying with her 
fingers.

The small restaurant was now empty.  She seemed agitated.  "I hope you're 
not in a hurry to get away."

"Hurry?  Hardly that.  I may stick around for a few days."

She grinned, evidently relieved.  "Let me close up. Then we can go for a 
drink.  I know a nice, quiet place."


* * *


She took him to a sedate hotel where they sat in a rear booth of the bar.  
Although the setting was romantic, she regaled him with tales of woe.

"My mom's dying of cancer," she remarked, smacking her lips after a taste of 
whiskey.  "She's already dead in a way, because she'll never come out of the 
coma.  I said good-bye, though, when she was still conscious."

He expressed his condolences, which only encouraged her.

"She'll be dead in a day or two.  Maybe this evening.  You know, Fred, I'm 
running hot and cold.  I want to cry, but life must go on."

She finished the drink and ordered another for herself and him, whose glass 
was still mostly full.

"I don't have anyone else, you know.  I haven't heard from my son in five 
years, and my step-dad and my husband were killed in a freak boat accident 
on the river ten years ago."

"I understand how you must feel, Flo.  I lost my wife a few years back.  We 
never had children."

She placed a hand on his.  "We're a couple of lonely people, aren't we?"

It was an obvious invitation, but he hesitated making a move, because of the 
impending death of her mother.

"Life must go on," she repeated, squeezing his hand as though she had read 
his mind.  "We get so few chances at happiness.  It'd be a sin to let one 
escape."

He stroked her bare arm.  "You're right, Flo.  It'd be a sin."

"Let's go to my place," she suggested with an eager stare, not quite a leer.

He gazed back at the desirable, mature woman.  She might turn out to be 
flaky or weird, he thought, but he was free to leave for California in the 
morning.  He fondled her arm.  "Sure, Flo.  Let's pretend we're kids again."

They left the bar hand in hand before the new drinks arrived.


* * *


He followed her car in his, eventually arriving in a neighborhood that 
brought back youthful memories of  playing kick-the-can in the street and 
feeling up a girl for the first time behind bushes in the nearby park.  They 
pulled into the driveway of a house that he recognized but could not place 
exactly.  He had been gone almost fifty years.

"I grew up in this house," she said, taking his hand to lead him up the back 
stairs.  "It was my grandmother's.  Mom and I live here."

She initiated the kiss.  As soon as they entered the kitchen and closed the 
door behind them, she embraced him tightly, placing her cheek on his, then 
seeking his lips.  He raised a hand between them to fondle a breast that had 
not been pert and firm in decades, but he treasured its softness and 
availability.

"Do you need it quick, Fred, or do you want to play around first?" she 
whispered.

"I'm eager, Flo, but I can wait.  What do you have in mind?"

"I'm picky, you know.  I haven't had a man in years.  I've been dreaming of 
taking a shower with a guy like you."

"I'm not a handsome sight naked," he cautioned.

"Me neither.  Let's do it in the dark."

She turned off the kitchen light and led him through the doorway.  He knew 
somehow that the staircase was to the left and the house's front door 
straight ahead.  He felt like a youngster again on the way to a guaranteed 
fuck.

They bumped against each other as they undressed in the small bathroom.

"You must think I'm awful," she stated without evident embarrassment.

"And you must think I'm a dirty old man taking advantage of an innocent 
girl."

"I'm not innocent, Fred, and you're not so old.  Do you like the water hot?" 
she asked, turning it on.

"As hot as you want, Flo."

She pulled him into a scalding spray.  "Ow!  That's too much!" he protested, 
stepping aside.

"Just a moment."

They embraced as tepid water pelted his back.  In the dark he felt bony 
ribs, narrow buttocks and sagging, meager breasts.  The sensation, though, 
was sufficient to bring his penis erect.  Her kisses were so fervent that he 
believed her claim that she had not had a man in a very long time.  His 
response was no less ardent.

"Will you do something special for me, Fred?  I'll understand if you 
refuse."

"Sure, sweetheart.  Anything you want."

In the cramped shower he noticed she had grabbed a bar of soap and began 
lathering her groin.

"Don't wash away all the good smells," he said, understanding her desire, 
and he eased to his knees before her.  "I'll have to sit down, Flo.  We 
could do this better on the bed."

"No.  I want it in the shower.  It's a fantasy of mine."

He sat, and with hands on slim thighs pulled her close until a wet, hairy 
muff pressed against his face.  When she parted her labia with fingers, his 
tongue and lips found a prominent clit hood.

She gasped.  "Oh, god!"

Her excited noises sounded large in the confined space.  She came within a 
minute or so, almost collapsing onto him.  Still breathing hard she 
exclaimed, "I don't think you'd want to do that in the light of day."

"Don't sell yourself short, Flo.  You're a lovely woman.  I'm the one who 
should hide in the dark."

She let that pass without comment and turned off the water.  "Now we can get 
on the bed."

They toweled briefly, then she led him by the hand.  "It's too bad we're not 
young, Fred.  I'd let you do me all three ways, but I suppose you'll have to 
chose just one this time."

"Are you serious, Flo?  All three?  I've never done one of them."

"Then you're in luck tonight, darling.  You can sample the first two and 
finish up in a special place.  Sit here on the bed while I go back and get 
the Vaseline."

"Where are you?" she asked upon her return.

"I'm lying down."

She crawled beside him.  He felt a hand on his hard penis, then a mouth.  
Her considerable talent pleased him enormously.

"You're too good, Flo.  You'll bring me off if you keep that up, and I only 
have one shot."

After abandoning that effort she straddled him.  "I'd love to taste you.  
Maybe another time."  She squatted onto his penis.

"Jesus!  That's terrific!" he exclaimed and pulled her down for a kiss.  "I 
couldn't want anything more than this."

"Don't you come, Fred!  I'm going to give you a special treat in a minute."

"I won't.  I promise.  But let me stay inside a while longer.  I haven't 
felt this in years."

They squirmed against each other as they kissed.  "I'm getting close," he 
finally whispered.

She quickly got off.  He heard a rustle, then greasy fingers slicked his 
penis.  She reclined beside him on her stomach.

"Ease it in slowly, please."

He rolled between her outspread legs and guided his member to an orifice he 
had never before visited.  The easy penetration surprised him.

"Gentle!" she exclaimed.

He plumbed her fully.  Although her other hole had gripped his member more 
pleasantly, he was delighted and excited by the experience.  He felt like a 
naughty boy.  With cheek against her hair and body pressing hers he pumped 
in long, slow strokes.  A prickle in his knob soon announced an imminent 
climax.

"Hurry!"

"I'm almost there, sweetheart."

He gasped when he came.  The pleasure was tremendous, although he doubted 
that he spewed much.  He dismounted quickly.

Later, after showering again, they slept like lovers in each other's arms.


* * *


He awoke the next morning to the sensation of a mouth on his penis.  Through 
squinted eyes he saw Flo, fully dressed, bobbing her head up and down, 
bringing him hard.

"Good morning to you too," he said.

She looked up without interrupting her loving effort.  She persisted for 
three or four minutes until he grasped her head with a hand.

"I'm going to come!" he exclaimed.

She did not recoil, just loosened her lips and received the ejaculate on her 
tongue, after which she raised her head, swallowed and smiled.

"I would have drowned you when I was younger," he said.  "I used to squirt 
like a hose."

"I doubt the pleasure was any greater then," she responded, standing upright 
next to the bed.

"That's hard to say, sweetheart.  It certainly felt great this time."

"Get up and dress, Fred.  I'll have breakfast waiting.  Are you a big 
eater?"

"I'm in the mood for scrambled eggs, if you don't mind."

The smell of fresh coffee wafted to him from the kitchen as he pulled on his 
clothes.  He was supremely happy.  Flo was not a weird bird at all, he 
thought, and he felt a genuine affection for her, despite their recent 
acquaintance.  He decided to remain in Davenport for a while to learn if 
they could get it on together in day-to-day living.

When he entered the kitchen he saw her by the stove stirring eggs while 
holding a phone in her free hand.  She was weeping.

"Mom died last night," she soon explained, then began bawling in his arms.

He petted her head as she grasped him, although she had presence of mind to 
reach out and turn off the stove where the eggs were burning.

"I'm sorry," she blubbered.  "I knew it was coming."

"Even so, it's a loss.  Perhaps I should go.  Or do you want me to stay?"

"Don't leave me now!  You're all I have left."

"We've just met, Flo."

"We did more than that!"  She sniffed and calmed down.  "I mean I'd like to 
find you here when I come back.  I have to go out and, you know, arrange 
things.  There's Wheaties in the cupboard, or maybe you'd rather go out for 
breakfast."

"Wheaties are fine.  You go on.  I'll take care of myself."

Fred, left to himself in the house, took his coffee into the living room and 
looked for something to read.  A low table in front of the couch was strewed 
with albums, which he assumed Flo had brought out recently in an effort to 
recapture a youth that was inescapably lost in the impending death of her 
mother.

He opened one to find portraits of Sharon High's graduating class of 1971.  
He had to agree with Flo that she was an awkward looking girl at eighteen.  
The remainder of that album contained photos recording antics of a teenage 
crowd.

The second, perhaps assembled by her mother, had photos of Flo at a younger 
age, including baby pictures.  He was startled to see her as an infant, held 
by a young woman he had known very well.  Images of the same woman appeared 
throughout that volume.  His hands began to tremble.  He rummaged through 
the pile of books, dropping some to the floor, until he found a familiar 
album, one that he knew contained pictures of him.  But the gaps on numerous 
pages suggested they had been discarded.  He saw his image on only one 
picture, a group photo of friends taken at an amusement park.


* * *


"Say cheese!"  the pretty girl insisted, aiming her camera at the boy in 
uniform.

"Why do you need all these pictures, Sarah?" he responded.  "You've become a 
regular shutterbug."

"It's for when we're old and gray, Freddie.  We'll sit by the fire and look 
at them.  Stand still and smile."

He posed dutifully for the girl he had known since kindergarten.  She was a 
buddy, a pal, but even at seventeen too much a tomboy for kissing.  Yet, she 
seemed ready for something, now that he was shipping out to Korea.

"Do you think we'll still know each other when we're old?" he asked.

She shrugged and grinned.  "That's up to you."

In his parents' absence he took her to his bedroom, where she stood before 
him with arms hanging straight, an expectant look sweeping her face.

"It's time to grow up, Sarah," he said in a low voice, drawing her to him 
with a light hand.

She came willingly into his embrace, returning the kiss like a girl who had 
never done it before.  But she was eager and held him tightly.  She became 
especially impassioned when he slipped a hand between them to cup a small, 
pert breast.  "I don't want you to go," she whined.  Without responding he 
undid the top button of her blouse.  She kissed him again, wildly, approving 
of what he had in mind.  "I want to remember you," she whispered.

He didn't know what to do as they stood next to the bed, because he was, in 
fact, a shy virgin.

"Take your clothes off, Freddie," she urged him, shedding her blouse and 
reaching behind to unsnap the bra.

He complied, but more slowly.  She was clad just in panties while he fumbled 
with his belt.  He stared, having never seen a naked girl before.  He was 
stunned, but too inexperienced to appreciate the true loveliness of the 
girl, whose svelte young body was equal to her pretty face.

"Have you done this before?" he asked.

"Nope, but I've been thinking about it for quite a while."

"With me?"

"Not especially, although you're the obvious one to have me now that you're 
a hero and going off to war."

"This is my first time too," he admitted with a blush.

"It's not complicated.  I've been asking around about it."

He hesitated before pushing down his shorts.

She gulped.  "Wow!  That's looks kinda big."

They stood a foot apart, naked.  She grasped his member and felt it 
experimentally.  He fondled a pert breast.

"I don't have a rubber!" he burst out, fearing the worst.

"That's all right.  I'm safe for a few days."

She stepped close and he embraced her.  They kissed in excitement, easing 
onto the bed while doing so.  Although he suckled a nipple for a moment, he 
did think of oral sex or even to stimulate her with his fingers, which 
roughly explored her hairy groin.  He rolled between her outspread legs and 
she positioned his penis.  His first jab was unsuccessful.  She grimaced and 
bit her lower lip.

"Let's push together," she suggested.

He broke through on the second try.  She stifled a cry of pain, but allowed 
him to ease into her all the way.  He was ecstatic.  It was better than he 
had imagined.  After just two pumps he squealed in orgasm, squirting 
copiously.

"Are you all right?" he asked after he lay beside her and worried about the 
blood and mess that soiled his quilt.

"I'm sore," she admitted, "but it's supposed to feel better the next time."

They cuddled and kissed for a long while.  He explored her body with his 
mouth, but ventured no closer to her bush than the soft flesh of an inner 
thigh.  In later years, when recalling the experience, he would curse 
himself for having been so timid.  She had a glorious body.

Despite the discomfort she allowed him to do it once again that afternoon 
and twice the next day.  Then he was gone to the war.

Caught up in new experiences, somehow he never wrote.  Not knowing his APO 
address, she didn't either  Months later, after he was wounded, he spent 
half a year in a VA hospital in Pennsylvania near his parent's new home.  He 
eventually married one of the nurses and took a job in his father's machine 
shop.


* * *


"Don't be silly," he murmured to himself.  "She said it was a safe time of 
the month."

But he studied the dates imprinted on Flo's baby pictures.  She was an 
infant, almost a newborn, on March 13, 1953, ten months to the day after he 
had taken her mother's virginity.  He threw the album across the room, 
spilling some of the photos onto the floor.  Flo was his daughter!  He had 
fucked his own daughter in all three places!

He located a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen and poured himself a large 
drink although it was only nine in the morning.  Back on the couch he sipped 
and pondered the situation. If he stayed, he dared not tell her, but he 
would also not be able to avoid continued intimacy.  He concluded that 
leaving immediately was the most sensible course of action, but he did not 
want to do that.  They had engaged in incest, although she would never know, 
and it was not as though he had been a real father and watched her grow up.  
It was just a technical sin.  He resolved to stay, because he could love her 
completely, even though she was a near stranger.  He poured himself another 
drink.

"Do you have a problem with alcohol, Fred?" she chided him after returning 
and finding him half asleep on the couch, the bottle almost empty on the 
coffee table.

"I haven't been drunk in years," he slurred, "but something got to me this 
morning."

"What have you done with my albums?  They're all over the floor."

"I was looking through them.  I used to live around here, you know."

She scrutinized him with squinted eyes.  "You knew my mom?"

His eyes teared and he responded drunkenly, "We were pals, Flo, since 
kindergarten."

She squeezed beside him on the couch.  "I should have suspected!  You're 
about the same age.  You feel her loss too, don't you?"

"We grew up together," he sobbed.

"Sleep it off, darling," she said, kissing his forehead.  "I'll be back in a 
couple of hours after I arrange things with the undertaker."


* * *


"I doubt you knew my real father," Flo said, handing him a Coke to soothe 
his upset stomach.  "Mom said he was an older guy, an army officer who was 
killed in Korea before I was born."

"What was his name?"

"Mom never told me.  I don't think he was from around here.  Did you ever 
see her with a soldier?"

"No.  All the time I knew her she was a tomboy.  She was never interested in 
sex, I can tell you."

Flo grinned.  "I bet you tried!  She must have gotten curious with a 
handsome stranger.  Did you have a girl, Fred?"

"I have a headache.  I don't want to remember."

"It's funny, now that she's gone.  She's like somebody from history whose 
life I never knew.  There's so many things I'd like to ask her about now."

"When did she marry your step-dad?"

"I don't recall that!  I was just a baby.  He was twice her age and owned a 
gas station.  He adored her, but I think she just put up with him.  He was a 
sweet guy and a good provider, but dull, dull, dull.  We were never really 
close.  He refused to adopt me."

He leaned his head against her shoulder, palming a soft breast as they sat 
on the couch.  He had gone down on her in the shower, fucked her, came off 
in her behind and later in her mouth -- his own daughter!  He felt ashamed 
by an excitement that thickened his penis.  He wanted her again.

"Let's go to bed," he slurred.

"You're still drunk, Fred, and it's the middle of the afternoon.  I still 
have things to do.  Get some more sleep and we can cuddle later."

He stretched out on the couch after she left.  He decided he wanted to tell 
her that he was her father, although she would not believe it.  She had the 
image of a mysterious stranger in mind that seemed to please some romantic 
impulse.  He could never convince her, of course.  There was no proof unless 
she submitted to DNA testing, and that would be too starkly clinical.  It 
would be such a rush to make love to her while they both knew of the 
relationship.  He felt like a pervert, but she was hardly a child; she had a 
grown son, his grandson.  He lapsed into sleep.

Later, they hurried through dinner in expectation of tastier delights in the 
bedroom.  They undressed in the dark, although Fred wanted to see his grown 
daughter naked.

"I'm a scrawny mess," she protested when he suggested turning on the light.

"Let's play a game and pretend I'm your father.  I'm old enough for it."

He gripped her and they fell upon the mattress.  She rolled away from him.  
Then she quickly came back into his arms.

"We don't have to pretend anything, Fred.  I mean, isn't it nice like it is? 
  Do you want to go in the back way again?"

"But the thought of incest is really a rush."

"That's sick, Fred!  I can't imagine why you feel that way.  We're two 
adults who've found each other.  What's wrong with that?"

"What if I was your father?  Would you still want me?"

"But you aren't!  And I don't see the point, but I love having you around."

She went down on him, slurping noisily on his hard penis.

"I'm your father, Flo.  I know you can't believe it."

She raised her head.  "Don't say that!  What's the matter with you?"

"You're my daughter, my own little girl."  He tousled her hair.

She jumped up and turned on the light.  "Are you still drunk?" she yelled, 
bending forward to glare at him.  "I'm sorry, but I've had my fill with 
alcoholics."

He stared at her wild pubic bush between pale, skinny thighs and found the 
sight unattractive.  His penis quickly drooped.

"I just thought we could pretend," he weaseled.

"Pretend what?  Are you saying I'm not good enough as I am?  I'm a serious 
person, Fred, a down to earth girl.  I don't need to play dirty games."

He raised his voice.  "You don't think me poking you in the behind isn't 
dirty?   I was just suggesting a little fantasy!"

She turned away and gasped a sob.  "I thought you were somebody special," 
she moaned.  Facing him with a suddenly stern expression, she declared, "I 
think you should go now.  It hasn't worked out between us."

"But I'm your father!"

"Just shut up, Fred!  My father was a war hero.  Have you looked into a 
mirror lately?  I want you to leave.  Get out of here!"

She stormed from the room, and Fred noticed that she was not crying.  He 
realized he had botched it, lost her, and doubted he could reclaim the 
woman.  With tearing eyes he gathered his clothes and pulled them on.  When 
he reached the bottom of the stairs he noticed light shining from the 
kitchen, so he went out the front door, the door to Sarah's house.  He 
paused outside on the porch and thought of returning to apologize, to make 
amends somehow.  He could sweet-talk her, perhaps, because she was really 
interested in him.  But there was no future in that; she was in fact his 
daughter, and eventually he would have to convince her of it.

He sagged into his Buick and backed down the driveway.  The next morning he 
would be driving through the Great Plains.

Behind him Flo took up the album containing the amusement park photograph 
that she had noticed while cleaning up Fred's drunken muddle.  She stared 
long and hard at the male figure beside her youthful mother.  "No, it 
couldn't be!"  She declared, closing it with a shudder.  "Or could it?"

END
Contact Varangian at ludmax11@hotmail.com



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