Julie Phips, soon to be
Julie Crandall, sat at her dressing table, gazing into the mirror at
the five-foot eleven-inch woman staring back at
her.�� She looked critically at the long, straight,
almost blue-black hair that fell down her back.� She couldn't
see it from this position, but she knew it went to the small of her
back.�� She had been growing that hair for twenty-two
years, in anticipation of her wedding day.� That day was
tomorrow.�� She looked at her high cheekbones, and
arching eyebrows.�� In her opinion, she looked like a
no-nonsense business woman.�� Her eyes fell to the
deep cleavage exposed by the almost non-existent bra she was
wearing.�� It went with panties that consisted of
even less material.�� She blushed, even though she
couldn't see those panties, seated as she was.��
Julie had spent all her life thinking in decidedly conservative terms
about her body, and the mystical thing called sexuality in books.
She had developed early,
which brought attention from boys, and later men, that wasn't
welcome.�� It wasn't that Julie didn't like males of
the species.�� She had all the same feelings and
emotions that any girl has, growing up.�� But her
mother's choice of men had convinced her that she had to be very, very
careful about the men she allowed into her own
life.�� Her mother had made miserable choices ...
four or five of them.�� The first was her biological
father.� She didn't remember him at all.��
He had abandoned them when she was only a year old.��
The succeeding "fathers" in her life were little better.�
Number three had tried to hit on her when she was in the blush of
woman-hood, at seventeen.
She had done a little
dating, tentatively, like someone who lived in a cave, and occasionally
went outside for short periods, to see what the lighted world might be
like.�� But that world was full of danger and
conflict, men who wanted more than she was willing to give, and who
offered nothing in return except groping hands and whispered pleas to
let them be her first.�� She had always retreated
back into her solitary life, safe in her room, and later her apartment,
with her books, and stuffed animals, and dreams.
She was relieved to get
to college because that got her away from Hank, number three husband of
her mother.�� But, once there, she soon learned that
announcing she was still a virgin, and intended to remain that way
until her wedding night, resulted in much the same thing she had
suffered in High School. It got her only derision from her female
acquaintances, and an attitude of almost attack from men whose single
intent was to divest her of that virginity.��
�
Of course she knew that
her virginity was only hypothetical, since her hymen had been
thoroughly destroyed by both ordinary things that modern girls inserted
into their vaginas, and the fingers she used like all other girls used,
to take the edge off her wildly aroused body as hormones flowed through
her blood stream.
Still, in her view, she
was a virgin.� Her stubborn hold on that view, she admitted to
herself on numerous occasions, was probably why she never had a lasting
romantic relationship with a man.� Things always got to the
point where both of them wanted to do what came
naturally.�� But Julie required the kind of
commitment ... before doing that ... that all the men she had met just
hadn't been willing to give.
There are many men who
want to marry a virgin.� �
There are far fewer men
who want to date one for an extended period of time.
Her degree firmly in
hand, she interned at a large corporation, hoping that now that she was
going to be around mature men, she might finally be able to find one
who would respect her wishes, and be able to commit to marriage.
And, her hopes seemed to
be coming true, for that was when she met Roger.
Roger was high up in the
company - not quite a vice president yet, but clearly an
up-and-comer.�� He was dashing, and handsome, and
suave.�� He was also quite professional towards Julie
as, during his infrequent visits to the headquarters, where she worked,
he interacted with her on this or that project.
The rest of the time he
was jetting here, and there, all over the world, making deals, and
making money, and ... most probably ... making women sigh
frequently.�� He told her, in an off-hand kind of
way,� he was unattached.� He didn't say it like he
intended her to change that.� It was more of a small
confidence, shared with a co-worker, in a moment of camaraderie.
�
"There are lots of women
out here," he had said.� "It�s just that the ones
I've met so far haven�t made my heart sing."
She said she fully
understood what he meant.
Somehow, in ways that she
couldn't put her finger on, their shared confidences happened more
often, and with deeper and deeper intimacy, until it seemed like there
was nothing they couldn't talk about as they went over the details of
making his latest business score come to fruition.��
He never had dates, and worked long past the time the family men turned
off the light and went home to the wife, their� 1.7 children,
and perhaps the dog.
It got so that, during
his month-long trips, she missed him.�� He was one of
the few people in the company she felt comfortable talking to on an
intimate level.� He understood how she felt.� He
complimented her on her resolve, and moral
strength.�� He encouraged her, telling her that a
beautiful, intelligent woman like herself would soon have her pick of
available men.
The gifts he brought her
from abroad were small, inconsequential things.�� He
brought her a hand-thrown pot from India.� He brought her a
native doll from Africa.�� He brought her a fur hat
from Pakistan.�� The closest thing to an intimate
gift he brought her was a small vial of perfume from London, where he
went most often.
"I smelled it on a woman
I met there," he explained, "and immediately thought of you for some
strange reason.�� So I inquired, and got you some to
try out."
She had loved the subtle
complexity of the perfume, which wasn't overpowering, but still could
be detected, even when applied in tiny amounts.�� She
got several comments on it from others she worked with.� It
made her feel good.
On her twenty-second
birthday, a day she hadn't planned on celebrating at all, she found a
card in her mail box.� It was from�
Roger.�� Neatly handwritten in the blank area were
the words: "Hang in there.� You're a prize worth the effort,
and soon, some man will awaken to that fact.�� My
best to you on this special day."
His signature was formal,
and included his last name.�� That was the first time
she did what millions of women do at this or that time in their
lives.� She imagined his last name, behind her first.
Julie
Crandall.�� It had a nice ring to it.
The next time he was back
in the States, they worked long into the evening.
"I'm bushed," he sighed
when they finished.� "Starved too.� You want to grab
a bite to eat?"
She expected a hamburger,
or sub sandwich.�� He took her to a restaurant
instead, a nice one, where a meal cost more than a young woman on an
intern's salary would want to spend.
"This one's on me," he
announced.� "You work hard to help me succeed," he said,
taking her elbow and guiding her to the table the Maitre Dee led them
to.� "You deserve a good meal."
He didn't treat it like a
"date", and the things they chatted about were fun and light.
Somehow, that became more
or less a tradition with them.� They worked hard, and then he
took her somewhere to reward her.�� He never tried to
kiss her, or touch her in sexual ways, though his touch on her elbow
began to feel different to her in ways she couldn't quite understand.
Then a night came where,
during dinner, he said that a show might be nice.
"Are you asking me out on
a date?" Julie asked, her eyebrow arching more than usual.
"Well," he said
off-handedly, "I wasn't thinking of it quite that
way.�� But, now that you mention it, I have to admit
I'd be proud to be by your side in a situation that might be thought of
as a date."�� He looked at her
seriously.�� "I wouldn't want to make you feel
uncomfortable, though."
"How could I feel
uncomfortable with you?" she asked, honestly.�� She
was, by now, completely comfortable in his presence.
What made it different
was that, like friends, they discussed what was going on between
them.�� She mentioned, at one point, that most men
would have tried to kiss her, or paw her by this point in a
relationship.
"I have to confess I've
thought of that," he said simply.� "But you're
special.�� It would be like cursing out loud in an
art gallery or something ... wouldn't it?"
She said she didn't know,
and he jokingly suggested they should try it ... just for experimental
purposes, of course.
That first kissed rocked
her to her toes.
Everything on her body
tingled.� His lips were soft and warm, not
demanding.�� His touch on her waist was also light,
the fingertips pressing only enough to let her know his hands were
there.�� His chest touched her so lightly that only
her nipples felt that touch.� She had somewhat awkwardly
placed her hands on his shoulders, but suddenly they felt like they
were right where they should be.� He increased the pressure on
her lips ... just a tad ... and then pulled back, to stare into her
wide eyes.
"Wow," she said
breathlessly.�� "We probably shouldn't do that any
more."
"I rather liked
it."� He grinned.�� "I think I could make
that sacrifice again.� It wasn't so terrible ... was it?"
"Oh, not terrible at
all!" she sighed.�� "That's why we probably shouldn't
do it again.�� I liked it ... too much."
"You make me feel
strange," he commented casually. �
"What?" she asked.
"I don't know.�
I just feel differently about you than other women ... that I've
kissed, I mean."
"You've kissed a lot of
women," she stated.
"Of course.�
You've kissed a lot of men too."
"Not so many," she
said.�� "You know how picky I am."
"All the more to be
honored that you liked what we just did," he said suavely.
Twice after that, he
didn't try to kiss her.�� She found herself
anticipating it ... and when it didn't happen, she felt, somehow, a
loss.
The third time he said "I
wish I could kiss you again."
"Why can't you?" she
asked, tingling already.
"You said we shouldn't,"
he said simply.
"Oh," she said
meekly.�� "Maybe once more wouldn't be so bad." she
ventured.
This time, he held her
more closely, in a full body embrace.� She felt weak with the
power of that kiss.
Before she could say
anything, he kissed her again.
"You make me want things
I've never wanted before," he said.
"What kind of things?"
she asked dreamily.
"I've never thought of
settling down," he said, clearly suggesting that he was now thinking
differently.
It was like a
whirlwind.�� In the next few minutes Julie somehow
found herself holding the man of her dreams.� His whispered
confessions about dreaming of taking her home each night ... his claims
of fighting it, and losing, and then dreaming about it for hours on end
... melted her and caused emotions in her that threatened to overwhelm
her completely.�� When he finally dropped her off at
her apartment, his hand only strayed to the side of her bra-encased
breast as he kissed� her one last time.��
She didn't feel threatened at all.
Still, though, when she
woke up the next morning, she didn't know exactly where they
stood.�� She had a hard time remembering everything
he had said the night before.�� When she went in to
work, and he was there, waiting for her, she looked at him wondering
what she should say.
"I missed you," he said
softly.
"Last night?" she asked.
"Yes."��
He frowned.� "I've always liked
travelling.�� I have to leave later today, and
somehow it's not the same any more.�� Missing you
last night, as I lay in my lonely bed ... it made me think of the next
two weeks, and how much I'll miss you then too."
The thrills went on and
on for Julie, as the next month brought them closer and closer
together.�� Upon his return, he requested their first
'formal' date.� From there she felt like she was on some kind
of theme park ride.� The dream continued until, one night, he
opened a box and displayed the ring he begged her to accept.
She had no one to share
her unbounded joy with.� She spoke to her mother only when she
had to, and the women she had decided to call her friends were shallow
party girls, who never thought about anything further out than their
next date, and the bedroom that would lead to.
She accepted his
proposal.� He wanted to be married soon.� His reasons
were expected.�� His hands now strayed to various
places on her body, inflaming her desire, his own quite pronounced and
easily detected as he pressed his stiff manhood against her.�
�
But he never tried to get
her to go further than some heavy petting.�� Had he
asked, she might, this time, have succumbed to her inflamed
lust.�� Still, something in her insisted that she
live her whole dream, and she promised him she would be ready for him
on their wedding night.
There was, of course,
some bitter with the sweet.
He insisted that she tell
her mother about the wedding, and of course, her mother insisted on
'helping' her plan the event.
He said he didn't care
when, or where, or how it happened.� His only desire was to
add his last name behind her first.�� What harm could
it cause if her mother got to help with her only daughter's wedding?
"Make her happy this one
time," he said.�� "You never have to see her again
after that if you don't want to."
That was how she found
herself, suddenly on thirty days of paid vacation that most interns
never got, back home, making wedding plans with the help of her mother.
"Finally going to let a
man between your legs?" asked her mother conversationally, as she
suggested the caterer serve Bar B Q.
"You know why I've
waited, Mother," said Julie, defensively.
"Damn waste of time, if
you ask me," said her mother.
"That's why I didn't ask
you, Mother," said Julie shortly.
"Well, at least you
landed one with some money, and a hot future.� Funny about his
name, though ..."
"Why? asked
Julie.� "What's wrong with his name?"
Her mother's eyes went
out of focus for a few seconds, and then cleared again.
"Never mind.� It
doesn't matter.�� Wear something slinky for your
honeymoon," her mother leered.� "They like slinky.�
It'll drive him wild."
"He's already wild," said
Julie.
"And shave your pussy,"
said her mother coarsely.�� "That drives 'em crazy
too."
It was all Julie could
do, to endure her mother's constant gutter comments and general
attitude.� She called Roger, almost nightly, complaining about
having to deal with her mother's insistent demands for a garish wedding.
"It's just a few weeks,
Darling," he said soothingly.�� "And I'll whisk you
away from all of that forever."
"All right," she
sighed.� "But I'm only doing this for you."
"You only get to do this
once," he said.�� "I want you to remember that day
for the rest of your life."
"My mother's done it five
times," she said jokingly.�� "That's why she thinks
she's so good at planning weddings."
"You know what I mean,"
he said.�� "YOU are only going to get married
once.�� I'm so proud to be the man you've
chosen.�� I promise you you'll never even think of
getting married again."
"Why can't we just
elope?" she begged.
"My mother would never
forgive me," he laughed.� "She's been begging me to get
married for years.� One time she even threatened to cut me out
of her will.�� At last I can get her off my back
too.� Though then I suppose she'll start hounding me for
grandchildren.�� I'm looking forward to that, though."
That sent a tingle
through her that made her flush with happiness.� She had told
him she wanted lots of children.� She had lots of love in her
heart, and had no one to give that love to.� He had agreed
that a big family was something he'd always dreamed of too.
"We'll start that very
night," she breathed into the phone.�� "I'm not going
on the pill .. is that all right?"
"Perfect, my darling," he
said.�� "I can't wait."
And so she endured the
leering remarks of her mother and number five, who was just as coarse,
and made must as many crude remarks on what she should do on her
wedding night.� He even bought her what he called "a getup"
for her to wear, saying "That'll give him a mammoth boner, sweet
thing!� You want to model it for me?"
Her mother had been
there, and had slapped the horrid man on the arm.� But she had
laughed too, telling him that what was between his legs was for HER,
and not her virgin daughter.
It was that 'getup' she
was wearing, as she sat, staring into the mirror.��
Unsure of what else to do, and having no experience at being "sexual"
around a man, she reluctantly took her mother and step-father's
advice.�� She had carefully shaved off the raven mat
that grew between her legs, until it looked obscenely
bare.�� She had never seen the split of her sex
without that hair above it, and now it looked like it bulged from her
loins, screaming to be fondled and ... whatever else went along with
having sex.
She knew about oral sex,
of course.� No girl can grow up without hearing lurid
descriptions of that, but of course she had never done it, or let it be
done to her.�� And she knew about intercourse too, by
virtue of the same lurid descriptions of her friends, as they tried to
convince her it was the best thing in the world, and that she should
jump on the bandwagon and get her cherry popped.
She had to admit that, at
least in her own opinion, she looked sexy.� She stood, and let
the transparent jacket of "the outfit" gape open.��
The crotch of the panties had sunk between those fat lips
again.� She couldn't seem to get it to cover them for more
than a few seconds.�� It looked
ridiculous.�� Her nipples were almost showing
too.�� She could clearly see the dark rim of her
areolas, the coral colored tiny nipples barely hiding behind the cloth
of the bra.
She
sighed.�� Roger would either love it ... or hate
it.�� She had no idea which would happen.
But she couldn't think of
anything else to do.�� She didn't even know what to
pack for the honeymoon.�� Roger had gleefully said he
had everything planned, but that it was a surprise, and not to worry
about anything.
"I have an uncle." he'd
said." I haven't seen him for years, but when my mother told him I was
finally getting married, he offered to take care of the
honeymoon.�� It's a big secret, but I know you'll
love it� Just pack a few things to get by on for a day or
two.� I'll buy you all new clothing when we get there."
Then he'd had to get back
to work, and hung up.
She turned
sideways.�� She'd always thought her breasts were too
big.� They stuck out like big firm melons.��
She'd heard about "the pencil test" somewhere, and, when she accepted
Roger's proposal, had tried it that very night.�� The
pencil dropped like a stone, her breasts not sagging enough even to
hold it temporarily.� At least she didn't sag, like her
mother's over-used mammaries.
She looked at her
watch.�� It was time to put on her wedding
dress.�� She felt a lurch in her stomach, and had a
terrible, sudden fear that she was doing the wrong thing.� She
took off "the getup" and slipped the tiny bundle of cloth into her
carryon bag.�� She had a pair of running shorts and a
tank top in there, along with some sandals and the minimum of personal
hygiene products needed for an overnight stay.� Roger had said
he'd take care of everything else.� �
She was just shrugging
the dress up over her shoulders when her mother barged into the
room.�� She stopped short, staring at her daughter.
"My baby ... getting
married," she sighed.�� She wiped at her eyes with
one finger each, being careful to avoid the heavily applied mascara
above them.
"Am I doing the right
thing?" asked Julie, apprehensively.�� "I feel all
jittery and nervous."
"You always feel that
way," said her mother sagely.�� "I felt that way all
five times."
That didn't help Julie's
feelings of dread at all.�� Her mother had screwed up
all five times.
"Don't worry about it,
baby," crooned her mother.�� "You just get yourself
good and laid tonight and you'll forget all about being nervous."
Julie tightened her lips,
but prevented the frown that wanted to furrow her
brow.�� She submitted to her mother's primping and
pulling and tugging, but drew the line at the heavy makeup the woman
wanted to smear all over her face.
"Just a little eyeliner,
and some powder to smooth out my cheekbones," said Julie.�
"Maybe a touch of lipstick.
"At least let me put on
some eye shadow," whined her mother.� "You look like you
haven't eaten in weeks."
"I'll have you know I got
on the scales this morning and I've gained five whole POUNDS!" said
Julie heatedly.�� "I weigh a whopping hundred and
thirty-five POUNDS, Mother!"
"Humph" said the woman,
who weighed fifty pounds more, and was three inches shorter.�
"A man likes some meat on your bones," she said smugly.�
"Something to hang on to while he makes you squeal."
"I do not intend to ...
squeal, Mother," said Julie, her voice dignified.
"You need to loosen up,"
said her mother affably.� "When you get your ashes hauled
tonight, you're going to wish you'd given it up YEARS
ago.�� You won't want to do anything else on your
entire honeymoon.� You mark my words,
baby.�� Do you need any pointers?� I know
how to make a man squeal too!" She leered again.
Julie almost shuddered,
remembering all the times she'd heard the banging and thumping and
moans and groans coming through the wall between her bedroom and her
mother's, over the years.�� Seeing her mother's
lipstick smeared face after such episodes hadn't helped to make her
think anything pleasant was going on during them
either.�� Her mother always had a stupid grin on her
face after loud sex, almost a smirk ... the same smirk that some of her
girlfriends had on their faces as they spun tales of what had happened
in the back seat of Jimmy's or Frank's car after the game Saturday
night.�� Julie wanted tenderness and love, not some
rampaging bull molesting her pale body.�� �
She caused her tense
muscles to relax.�� Roger had been nothing but tender
during their courtship.�� She smiled.� She
was sure her honeymoon would go just as she had dreamed it would for so
many years.�� She was lucky beyond measure to have
found Roger.
The wedding went better
than she had expected.�� Her side of the family
filled more than half the church, and included all of her mother's ex
husbands except her biological father.� No one knew where he
was, and therefore couldn't notify him of the
event.�� Roger's family were, of course of a much
higher social caliber.�� They held themselves more
aloof, drinking wine rather than the beer her own family gleefully
swilled.�� The reception line was a trial, as her
uncles and cousins enveloped her in their arms, lips that smelled of
beer seeking hers, flushed faces, some already glassy-eyed from drink,
and wished her well while pressing their groins against
hers.�� She pasted a smile on her face, and moved
them along.�� Her mother bawled openly, her makeup
running like dark rivers down her cheeks.� Julie had the
humorous vision of her mother as a native of some kind, maybe from
Africa, where her little doll had come from, with face painted that way
intentionally, to celebrate her daughter's joyful day.
But her mother had been
drinking heavily too, and made a scene when she groped husband number
four while they danced.�� Husband number five took
offense, and there was almost a fight.���
Four of her male cousins boasted about how they had "done up the
getaway car to the max" and laughed.�� She had
visions of "Just married pussy" scrawled across the back window of the
car.� That was the kind of thing they'd think was
cute.� She'd been to one family wedding where her cousins
stapled together packets of condoms, and draped them in long strings
over the vehicle, and through the open windows.� "Just married
- Just about to fuck" had been painted on another
car.�� And, of course, there would be the almost
endless string of beer cans tied to the bumper.�� In
fact, Julie had warned Roger that he might want to get a rental car to
leave the wedding in, just so his beautiful BMW wouldn't get trashed by
her loutish relatives.
When the time finally
came, and Julie was standing in her dressing room, now dressed in her
travel clothing, clutching her carry-on bag nervously, Roger eased the
door open and grinned at her.
"Come on!" he
whispered.� "Let's make our getaway!"
But, instead of turning
toward the front of the building, he pulled her toward the
back.�� The best man was sitting in the driver's seat
of a car Julie had never seen, and Roger ushered her urgently into the
back.
Thus, they completely
escaped the throng of people who waited to wish them well with the
obligatory, and environmentally friendly bird
seed.��� When her relatives learned that a
back-door exit had been pulled on them, they simply started throwing
bird seed at each other.� Most were too drunk already to be
all that unhappy about it.
"What will happen to your
car?" asked Julie, concerned, as the best man sped away.
"I didn't bring
it."� He smiled.� "I borrowed one to park out front,
and let them see me get out of it.� I arranged for Jeff to use
this one to actually leave in, though, and he's going to drop us off at
the airport.�� He'll pick us up when we get back too,
won't you Jeff, buddy?"
"Sure thing boss," said
the best man, grinning into the rear view mirror.� "Especially
if I can give a welcome home kiss to the bride."� �
Roger laughed and leaned
back, his hand going to Julie's thigh and caressing her
there.�� "We'll see.�� I plan to
have her so satisfied she won't want to kiss another man ever again,"
he crowed.
Jeff handed a flask back
over the seat back.� "Cheers!" he laughed.
Roger took a deep pull
out of the flask, and the smell of hard liquor wafted to Julie's
nose.�� He offered her the flask, but she shook her
head.�� A sip of wine, now and then was enough for
her.
During the ride, she
finally wheedled out of him where they were going for their honeymoon.
"Uncle Bob has a resort
down in the Bahamas," he said happily.�� "He
apparently got out of the stock market before the tech bubble burst,
and retired down there.�� He has graciously offered
us the honeymoon cottage at his resort for the
week.�� We've got sun and surf and great food to look
forward to, darling.�� Everything is arranged."
"What about clothes?"
asked Julie.�� "I packed the bags you told me to, but
I didn't put in a swim suit, or things for the beach!"
"I wanted it to be a
surprise.� I'll get you a new one, and new clothes
too.� I thought about asking your mother to get some things
together secretly, but I listened to you when you told me all those
stories about your relatives.�� I thought you were
exaggerating, really, but your mother actually tried to French kiss me
in the receiving line!"� He chuckled.� "Besides, you
won't even need a swim suit.� Uncle Bob's place is a nude
beach!� Doesn't that sound great?"
"You'll need a
bodyguard," said Jeff, laughing.�� "I'll be happy to
come along and guard you both while you swim."�� He
leered into the rear view mirror and Julie felt herself blush.
"No way, turkey," laughed
Roger.� "She's all mine.�� I've been waiting
for almost a year to see her naked, and it's finally going to happen
tonight!"� His hand slid up her thigh and she instinctively
blocked his goal with her hand.
"Come on, darling, we're
married now," he almost whined.
"Not in front of Jeff!"
she whispered hotly.
"Hey," came the call from
the front seat.� "Don't mind me ... I can't see anything at
all."�� He was adjusting the rear view mirror the
whole time, looking directly into Julie's eyes.
�"I'll be ready
when we get there," said Julie, blushing harder.� "You just be
patient a little longer." �
Roger gave an exaggerated
sigh of frustration, and took another hit off the flask.� To
her dismay, he finished the flask on the way to the airport. �
"Hey, take it easy,
there, Tiger," she joked at one point.� "I want you in good
shape tonight."�� She had never seen him drink this
heavily the entire time she'd known him.
"I'll be fine," he said,
waving the flask.� "I wouldn't miss tonight for anything."
In fact, they made it
through check-in at the airport with no trouble.� Roger pulled
himself together quite nicely.�� Julie felt better
when they took their seats in first class.�� It was
the first time Julie had flown, and she was nervous about
that.�� Veteran flier that he was, Roger pooh poohed
her worries and slurped thirstily at the drink the flight attendant
placed in front of him.
"Have a drink," he
said.� "That's what I always do.� It'll relax you
just fine."
He insisted that she sit
by the window, telling her she'd enjoy the view.� She did too,
watching in awe as the ground dropped away as she was pressed firmly
into the seat back.� Her stomach did flip flops as things got
smaller and smaller, until they were absolutely
tiny.�� Her face was pressed to the window
constantly, until they entered a cloud bank and the beautiful view was
cut off.
Roger continued to nurse
a drink all the way to the islands.
They flew out of the
clouds, but Julie soon got bored with the unobstructed view of nothing
but water.�� The boats she thought she saw were so
small that she couldn't tell anything about them, and there really
wasn't much else to look at.�� She tried to engage
her new husband in conversation, but he nodded off, napping in fits and
starts, waking only to drink more whiskey.
"Sorry," he
slurred.� "Guess the big day took more out of me than I
thought.�� That's some family you have."� He
grinned, and his eyes slid closed.� "I need to save up my
energy so I can make you squeal tonight."
Julie frowned,
remembering how she had denied to her mother that she intended to
"squeal".
By the time they
disembarked, Roger needed her steadying hand on HIS elbow to navigate
the terminal.�� She waited patiently while Roger sank
into a seat, at the baggage claim area.�� When the
other passengers had claimed their bags, the only ones left were not,
according to an attendant who examined their claim stubs, theirs.
Inquiries brought no
helpful information.�� The airline's apologies for
whatever mix-up had happened didn't help.�� Their
offer to deliver the bags to the resort were thoughtful, but, for now,
Julie and Roger had only the clothes on their backs.� Well,
Julie had her running gear ... but then she hadn't planned on running
on her wedding night.� Of course, she also had "the
getup".�� She decided she was very, very glad she had
stuffed it into her carryon.�� That would take care
of tonight.�� If their luggage was found by tomorrow
morning, things would be fine.
Julie poured her weaving
husband into a cab and realized she didn't know the name of the
resort.� Roger was dozing again already, and shaking him
didn't seem to help.
"I know the owner's name
is Bob," she offered to the smiling cabby.
"Ahhhh Missy ..." he
grinned.� "You mean Paradise Cove".�� I take
you there most quickly, Missy."
The drive was
gorgeous.� The sun seemed like it was just inches from the
horizon, huge and red, staining the clouds pink and
purple.�� It was like something from a story
book.� She tried to wake Roger, and got him to blearily open
his eyes to see the sunset.
"Nice," he said, closing
his eyes again.
The cabby drove as if he
were trying to get them to a hospital, veering this way and that, until
she was tense all over.� Roger slumped against her,
occasionally opening his eyes and saying something like "Hello,
gorgeous," before slumping back into what seemed like a nap.
Paradise cove was, at the
same time, everything she could have hoped for, and everything she was
afraid it would be.
It was secluded, at the
end of a long, winding road that cut through what seemed like primeval
jungle to Julie.�� With only half the sun left to
see, they pulled into a small cleared area, where something Julie might
have called a shack stood.�� A sign above the front
door said, simply, "Welcome to Paradise Cove".� The cabby
helped her get Roger out of the cab, and into the front door.
The reception desk was
vacant.�� There was a sign on the desk that said
"Gone Fishing".� It was weighing down a sheet of
paper.� Julie looked at the paper.
"Roger," it said in neat
script.� "If you get here while I'm still gone, I'll catch up
with you later.�� Whoever brought you here knows
where the honeymoon cottage is.� It's
unlocked.�� We don't have to lock anything around
here.�� Have a wonderful night and I'll see you
tomorrow."� �
It was signed with a
flourish that read "Uncle Bob".
The cabby had been
standing patiently, waiting to be paid, and Julie showed him the
note.� �
"It says you know where
the honeymoon cottage is," she said hesitantly.
"Sure thing, Missy." he
grinned, his teeth brilliant white against the black of his
face.� "I take you there."
He helped get Roger back
into the cab and they drove off the road, across the sand, to another
smaller clearing.� The honeymoon cottage was also a mixture of
what Julie had hoped and feared for.��� It
looked like a native hut from the outside, but was almost right on the
beach.�� When she manhandled Roger through the door,
she was delighted to find that the inside was completely
modern.�� There was a large bed in the center of the
wall away from the door.� It was draped with mosquito netting
that had been artfully gathered to drape here and there from the four
posts that supported it.��� In the wall to
the right of the bed was a series of windows that could be opened
outward, letting in the sea air, or closed.�� Wooden
slatted venetian blinds could be lowered to cover
them.�� The bathroom had a shower big enough for six
people, and a Jacuzzi as well.� There was a tiny kitchenette,
with a fully stocked refrigerator.
Julie heard a noise and
turned to see that Roger had recuperated and was handing the grinning
cabby a wad of American cash.
"Thank you, my man," he
slurred.
"No problem, mon," said
the cabby.�� "You want to see the island, you call
Teddy, right, mon?"
"Sure thing, mon,"
giggled Roger.
Teddy left, waving
cheerfully, and Roger took in the room.
"Nice and cozy," he said,
wobbling a little on his feet.
"You want me to make you
some coffee?" asked Julie, thinking that would perk him up.
"What I want to see you
buck naked!" He grinned.
She blushed, feeling an
unfamiliar thrill shoot through her body.
At last, the night she
had been waiting for all her life was here.
It was actually harder
for her to get naked in front of her groom than she had thought it
would be.
"I feel so strange," she
explained.�� "Before this there have always been ...
limits.� It just feels so odd to think that I'm finally going
to ... do it."
"Oh, baby, you're going
to DO it a lot!" sighed Roger, sidestepping to the wall.� He
held himself up while he tried to take off a shoe without falling
over.� �
"I brought something to
wear for you," said Julie timidly.
"Well let's get TO it,"
said Roger, working his other shoe loose and kicking it across the room.
"OK, I'll go get changed,
and then you can see me," she said shyly.
"I'll be here, ready and
waiting," he mumbled, working at his belt.�� He
sidestepped again, and his hip hit the kitchen
table.�� There was a container with ice on the table,
a bottle of champagne stuck firmly in the ice.�� He
grabbed at it with both hands.� "Oops ... don't want to knock
THAT over." �
Julie grabbed her carryon
bag and ducked into the bathroom.� She nervously dropped her
clothing to the floor.�� She worked the tiny panties
on, and shrugged into the bra as she heard the "POP" of the cork
exiting the champagne bottle.�� She put the jacket
on, and then decided, with a thrilling feeling, to leave it
off.�� She dropped it on top of her
clothes.�� Standing tall, and thrusting her chest
out, she opened the door and walked into the main room, more naked than
any man had ever seen her.
She was just in time to
see Roger tipping the champagne bottle back down.� He had been
drinking from the bottle.�� He set the bottle down
hard on the table, and leaned toward her.
"Ohhhh baby, you look so
hot!"
"You like it?" she
preened.� "I got it just for you."� She felt a stab
of guilt.� She didn't want to admit that another man had
gotten it for her to wear for him.
"Ohhh honey, you have no
idea how long I've wanted to see you like that."� �
He fumbled furiously with
his belt, side stepping again as he lost his balance.� He hit
the edge of the bed and fell onto it, kicking until his pants fell off
his feet.�� He wasn't, she saw, wearing any
underwear, and she got a curious look at her first erect male
organ.�� It was impressive, though she had a hard
time seeing it clearly because his gyrations made it flop this way and
that alarmingly. She had expected it to be stiffer ... longer ... but
it looked about like a half-cooked hot dog, bending a little as it
flopped back and forth.� He sat back up and tore at his shirt
until all he had on was his socks.�� He reached for
one of them and missed, almost falling off the bed.
"I'll get those for you,
darling," said Julie, rushing to him.
He lifted his head and
stared at her breasts.
"Yummy," he giggled.
"All for you, darling,"
she cooed, kneeling to pull his socks off.
He flopped back on the
bed and raised his feet to help.� She took the opportunity to
stare at his phallus, which now lay, flat on his
stomach.�� She knew about circumcision, and decided
his must be that way.�� The tip was purplish, and
shiny, and went from a stubby tip to flare out and then dip back
in.� From there it was a fleshy column that went down to a
surprisingly pink set of testicles with sparse hair on
them.�� When she got one foot bare, it poked at her
breasts while she tried to capture the other foot.� He
couldn't judge the distance, and his foot hit her right breast hard,
instead of caressing it as he intended.
"OUCH!" she yipped,
standing back and rubbing at her sore boob.
"Sorry."� He
grinned.�� "I'm just too anxious."
"You're drunk!" she said
heatedly.� "THAT's what you are."
"I'm not drunk," he
whined.� "I'm in-n-n-n-ibreated."� He giggled.
"Roger, honey," she
pleaded.� "I wanted this night to be romantic."
With an obvious effort,
he pulled himself together.
"Sorry, baby," he said
more clearly.� "Come here.� I'll be romantic."
She left the other sock
on, and went to the bed.�� He pulled her over him and
rolled.�� It was a water bed, she realized, as she
bobbed up and down and there were sloshing noises under her.�
�
He WAS more romantic,
too.�� His embrace was tender, and his kisses along
her neck were electrifying.�� When his lips got
closer and closer to her nipples, her body began to tense up with the
anticipation of feeling something for the very first time.
But then he reversed, and
kissed his way back up to her lips, while his hand covered the breast
she had been ready for him to bare ... and suckle.
His kisses, though
alcohol tainted, were also warm and inviting, and, this time, when his
hand slid across her flat belly, her own hands just fluttered and went
to his back.�� His fingers slid onto the cloth that
was already trying to suck itself between the lips of her sex, and she
groaned.
"Can I touch you?" she
asked, breathing harder.
"Yeah, Baby, play with it
and get it hard for me," he breathed into her ear.
Her hand hit his prick,
and she fumbled to grasp it.�� It felt warm in her
hand.� He also felt big, and long.� She had no way of
knowing he was only half erect due to the effect of all the alcohol on
his system.
"Ohhhh, yeahhhh," he
groaned, rolling away from her to lie on his back.��
"Rub it for me, baby,"
"I don't know how," she
said meekly.
His hand came to help her
learn the stroke, and he told her to grip it tighter, and then not so
tight as her fist clamped down hard.
"Ohhh fuck that feels
good," he moaned.� "You do that so nice, honey.� Get
it nice and hard and I'll pop that cherry for you," he panted.
Julie felt the thing in
her hand stiffen significantly, and was amazed that it got even
bigger.� She also felt the glow of satisfaction as she made
her new husband feel good.� She stroked him rapidly and arched
her neck to be able to actually see it.� She watched in
amazement as the tip of it disappeared into her hand, and then flashed
back into view.
She was just in time to
see, quite suddenly, long strings of milky white spurting from the tip
as it popped out of her hand.
"Ohhh FUCK!" he grunted,
arching his hips up.� �
Julie jerked her hand
away as warmth splattered on it, and stared at it to see that milky
white stuff dripping from her fingers.�� Roger's own
hand darted to his prick and grasped it, jerking it fiercely as another
long string of spunk flashed into the air.
"Ohhh fuck," he groaned
again softly.� His hand grew limp, and fell to the bed beside
him.� His head lolled sideways, his eyes closed.
"Roger!" squeaked Julie.
He didn't respond.
"ROGER!" she said loudly.
She reached her
sperm-covered hand out and shook him, gently at first, and then more
violently.�� He started to snore.
"DAMN YOU!" she
shouted.� "DON'T YOU FALL ASLEEP ON ME NOW!"
But nothing she did
roused him from his drink-induced slumber this time.
CHAPTER TWO
Roger was breathing
normally, and had a smile on his face. Julie's hand was a mess, and it
had gotten on her naked leg too. It had been warm at first, but now was
cooling and felt slimy somehow. She got up. She realized she was
panting, and her loins was on fire. He had finished, but she was left
high and dry.
Disgusted, she went to
the bathroom and cleaned up with a warm wash cloth. She stared at her
passed-out husband for a few minutes and, with a frustrated sigh,
finally dug out her running shorts and tank top. She thought about the
sports bra, but it was dark out. Besides, no one knew her here, and she
thought the cloth of the tank top would feel good on her aching
nipples, so she left it off. Maybe a run would help.
The beach was beautiful
in the moonlight, and she lengthened her stride, starting with a
sprint, to use up her unfulfilled sexual energy quickly. Now her deep
breathing was because of the run, and not because she was so inflamed
she could hardly think.
She had no idea the
half-buried coconut was there until her right foot stepped on it, half
on, half off, and her ankle twisted painfully. She went down in a heap,
getting sand in her face and hair. She felt searing pain in the ankle,
and fears of something broken made her panic.
At first her cries of
pain brought no one. It was late, and the beach was apparently
deserted. Finally, though, a shadow moved toward her.
"Are you OK Miss?" came a
deep voice.
"My ankle," she moaned.
"I twisted it running."
He knelt and she felt his
strong fingers play over her ankles. She tried to suppress a moan of
pain as he manipulated the joint that was injured.
"Swollen quite a bit," he
said quietly, "but I don't think it's broken. Where are you staying?"
"Up there," she pointed,
feeling silly because it was dark. "The honeymoon cottage."
"You're Julie?" came his
deep voice.
"You know my name?" she
asked.
"Bob Crandall, at your
service," he said. "I'm Roger's uncle. Yours too, now, I suppose."
"Oh," she said, relieved.
"Let's get you up to the
cottage and get some ice on this," he said.
He lifted her
effortlessly, and she felt light as a feather. As he carried her
through the door of the cottage, she thought about how Roger should
have done this. She was surprised to find herself melting against her
new uncle's chest as if he were her husband, and felt a pang of loss
that Roger would never be the first to carry her over their first
threshold. She also felt warm and safe after the fright of her fall and
injury, and the feeling of being so alone when no one came, at first.
Roger lay, still passed
out on the bed, naked and snoring. She felt embarrassed.
"I wondered where he
was," said Bob. "I was a little surprised you were out running, what
with you two just getting here..." His voice trailed off. "Sorry," he
said. "I didn't mean to..." He trailed off again.
In the light, she saw he
was blushing a little... his dark cheeks and forehead mottled. She also
noticed, with a nervous twinge, that he was handsome. His brown hair
had traces of gray in it, and was shaggy against the deep brown of his
tanned face. For the first time she realized his chest was bare.
"He had a bit too much to
drink," she said weakly.
"He should have known
better. We Crandall men don't do well with alcohol, even small amounts
of it. At least it looks like you two... I mean..." his eyes flitted
away from hers, only inches away and it was plain he was embarrassed.
"... at least he he did his duty before he passed out," he finished
uncomfortably.
"No! He didn't!" she
muttered, before she could stop it from coming out of her mouth.
"Oh... sorry," said Bob,
his cheeks darkening again. "I'll just put you down on the bed beside
him."
It wasn't until she
relaxed onto the bed and he stood up that she realized, with a shock,
that all of him was as bare as his chest. His penis jutted from a nest
of brown hair, thick and half hard.
"Sorry," he said, not
covering himself. "It's a nude beach." He grinned. "I didn't plan on
rescuing a damsel in distress."
Julie felt the heat of
her own blush, but, with an effort, made herself look at him. Actually,
it wasn't hard to look at him at all, in one sense. All of him was tan
and fit, with broad shoulders, and well muscled arms. Even his penis
looked bulky, as if it exercised often too. It looked bigger, somehow,
than Roger's had. She bit her lip at the thought, and felt heat in her
belly too. Another thing she noticed about this new penis was that it
wasn't naked on the tip. It looked smoother, and there was a little
round collar of skin that the shiny tip peeked out from within. She
realized he was NOT circumcised, and immediately saw the irony of the
fact that she had seen both types of penis on her wedding night, when
most women only saw one or the other. Bob moved off to get the
ice, and when he returned with a plastic baggie of ice in his hand his
penis was smaller... much smaller.
"It shrank!" she blurted,
again, before she could stop herself.
He laughed. "It was
misbehaving earlier. I had no idea I'd be carrying a beautiful woman
around in my arms, and it reacted, I'm afraid. I told it to behave
itself while I got you the ice."
"Oh," she said,
embarrassed again. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"Nonsense. A newlywed
bride should have such things on her mind, after all." He grinned
again, but it wasn't the leer Julie was used to men doing around her.
His ease made her more
comfortable. "I suppose so, though Roger's didn't do me any good at
all." she said with a little pique.
"Ah, well, maybe
tomorrow," said Bob, molding the bag of ice around her ankle. "It's
swelling up pretty badly, but I still don't think you broke anything.
You'll have to stay off it for a day or two."
"But it's my honeymoon!"
she complained.
"You can still swim," he
said.
"No, I can't," she said.
"Our luggage got lost. This," she pointed to her tank top, "and the
clothes I wore on the plane here are all I have."
He put his hands on his
hips in an almost feminine manner.
"As I said, this is a
nude beach." He grinned, and it was disarming to the point that she
almost forgot he was naked. "You don't need anything to swim here."
"Oh yes," she said.
"But... no... I could never do that. I'd die of embarrassment. All
those other people around would stare at me."
"Well, as it turns out,
when I found out my only nephew was getting married, and that he had
accepted my offer of Paradise Cove as a honeymoon site, I arranged it
so that you two are the only ones here." He grinned again. "Except for
me, of course, but I was going to try to stay out of your way. I know
how newlyweds are."
Julie elbowed her
husband, and he made a snuffling sound before he stared snoring again.
"Not this honeymooner,"
she said, some acid in her voice. "It was just getting good when his
thing went off and he passed out."
"His thing?" Bob's eyes
twinkled.
"You know what I mean,"
she said. "I'm not used to talking about them. His... and yours... are
the only ones I've ever seen!"
"Well, well," said Bob.
"I had no idea there were any real women left in the world."
"Real women?" she asked.
"Virgins," he said.
"Unless, of course, there was a time when you were with one, but just
didn't see it. Maybe it was too dark?"
"NO!" she barked. "I
never even touched one until tonight... ANYWHERE on my body!"
"That's what I mean," he
said. "It takes a real woman to save herself for her special man. Women
like you are quite rare these days. I admire you."
"Really?" No one had ever
admired her for keeping herself pure. In fact, almost everyone had done
everything they could to rob her of that purity.
"Really," he said firmly.
He looked at her with warm eyes. "Anyway," he perked up, "you can feel
free to go skinny-dipping any time you like. You and Roger have the
whole resort for the whole week, and there won't be anybody around to
see you."
"You're here," she said,
as if she were examining his comment literally.
"Alas, you are right. OK,
how about this. You tell me when you're going to go down to the beach
to exercise that ankle, and I'll make sure I know where my binoculars
are." He grinned. "That seems fair."
"You own a nude beach,
silly," she chided. "You probably see beautiful naked women every day!"
"Not on your order, my
sweet," he said. "I haven't seen a woman in a long time who could
compete with you."
"You're teasing me," she
said, half believing it.
"I'm just being truthful."
She had been complimented
before, many times, and hit on many times as well. But the way he said
it sounded genuine, almost respectful, and not lustful.
"You're not just flirting
with me, now, are you?" she asked.
"That would be a
singularly rude thing to do to a bride on her wedding night," said Bob
seriously. I suspect you know you're beautiful. All I'm doing is
agreeing with you. Is that so hard to understand?"
"I'm sorry," she said
instinctively. "It's just that most men want to flirt with me."
"That's because you're
beautiful," said Bob. "But then we already established that. I did
tease you about the binoculars, and I shouldn't even have done that. In
fact, I've been entirely too bold in several things I've said. I'd like
to blame it on the surprise meeting we had, but maybe I'm just a man,
like those others you mentioned."
"I don't mind," she said,
shocked to find that she really didn't. "In fact, you have my
permission to spy on me any time I'm swimming. You did save my life,
you know. That's the least I can do to repay you."
Bob laughed. "You could
have crawled back here, and the phone works just fine, so you could
even have called for an ambulance, though I don't really think you need
one. I can't accept a favor like that just for making it a little
easier for you to get back here."
Julie was nonplussed. She was attracted to this man, this complete stranger, and it made her a little nervous. Still, she liked this man... this honest man, and it affected the way she made decisions. "Well, then, you can spy on me as
repayment for letting us use this beautiful cottage for our honeymoon."
Bob bowed, which looked
exceedingly odd... him being naked. "I gratefully accept your boon,
milady. Now, if there's nothing else you need..."
"Do you have to go?" she
asked, feeling lonely already.
"My dear brand new niece,
I'm naked, and it's your wedding night. This is already highly
irregular."
"My whole wedding night
has been... irregular," she said dryly. "If you leave, do you think
he'll wake up and take care of me?"
"Well... no... I suppose
not," said Bob. He looked around. He went to the bathroom and came out
belting a robe on. "There, that's a little more proper."
"I don't suppose your
wife would approve, though," said Julie, thinking for the first time
about other people in Bob's life.
"Not married," he said
shortly. "Used to be, but it didn't work out. My heart doesn't mend so
easily, I guess. I never met another woman I could settle down with.
Being out in the middle of the ocean doesn't help." He grinned.
"Surely there are local
women you could get interested in," said Julie.
"To be sure," He grinned
again. "There are hundreds of willing young... and not-so-young lasses
who would be more than happy to take the reins of the Paradise Cove and
live in the lap of luxury ever afterwards."
"Gold diggers, huh?" she
suggested.
"Hundreds of them. "I'm a
Yank, and while they love all that green money down here, I'm still an
outsider, even after ten years."
"That's too bad," she
sighed. "You're a nice man."
"That, my dear, is the
kiss of death," he said wryly. "At least to a dating man," he added. He
waved a hand. "I don't mind. I have this beautiful place to live, and I
make a pretty good go of it, all things considered. Every once in a
while a woman shows up here who is looking for some anonymous fun. I
try to accommodate them. That is, after all, my job. I'm here to make
sure the patrons are happy."
"Well, I'm not happy
right now," she sighed. She blushed. "But that's not your fault. You've
been just wonderful."
"Alas, I can't do
anything about a sleeping groom." Bob nodded.
"He's not sleeping, he's
dead drunk," she said unhappily.
"Well, I fervently hope
that tomorrow, when he wakes up, all the patrons of Paradise Cove will
be happy again," said Bob.
"But I want to be happy
now," pouted Julie.
Bob frowned. "Dear sweet
Julie, I'm honored, but my... um... services, to the women I
mentioned... well... it wouldn't be right in this situation."
Julie's face twisted as
she realized what he meant. Her hands came up to cover her face.
"That's not what I
meant!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to imply that."
Now it was Bob who looked
uncomfortable.
"No, I'm the one who
should apologize. I should have known that wasn't what you meant.
You're not that kind of woman. You're a REAL woman, one of sadly few in
the world. Please forgive me, Julie."
His apology was so
heartfelt that her embarrassment fled, to be replaced for concern that
their budding relationship had suffered. "Nonsense," she said
softly. "I shouldn't have complained, and certainly not in a way that
could be so easily misunderstood."
"Are we going to sit here
and apologize to each other all night?" asked Bob, smiling a little.
"Water under the bridge, OK?"
Julie shifted on the bed,
trying to get more comfortable. The ice pack fell off her ankle and she
instinctively tried to slide it back under the bag. She felt a twinge
in her ankle as she lifted that leg.
"Oooooo, my ankle really
hurts," she said.
"It will feel much better
when it loosens up. Right now the swelling is causing trouble. When you
work the joint a little that will help the swelling dissipate, and it
will feel better."
Julie's next thought, to
be kind to her, didn't have any sexual component. She was thinking
about what he had said about exercising the ankle in the ocean, where
the water would help support the weight of her body, and put less
pressure on the injured ankle. The idea of being a hobbling cripple on
her honeymoon just naturally led to the idea that she should start
exercising that ankle sooner, rather than later. And, there was nothing
for her to do in the cottage at the moment. In fact, it was likely
there wouldn't be anything for her to do until morning, if Roger's
snores were any indication.
"You could take me
swimming now," she suggested.
The silence she was met
with as Bob floated the idea in his mind, allowed her to look at her
suggestion with other eyes. Obviously, if he took her swimming, she'd
either have to soak the only clothing she currently had... or go in the
nude. His comment about the binoculars popped into her mind.
Her hand slapped across
her mouth.
"I have no idea why I
said that," she said. "You must think I'm terrible!"
"Not at all," he said
calmly. "In fact, that's a pretty good idea. You need to work that
ankle, but without putting any weight on it. A midnight swim might be
just the thing to loosen it up." He grinned. "And my nephew isn't going
to miss you... that's obvious."
It may have been his
reminder that her new husband had failed her completely that tipped the
balance. The decision was much easier than she would have thought
possible.
"I can't wear this into
the ocean," she said, pulling at her tank top. "It's all I have to wear
until they find our luggage."
"If you can live with
going skinny-dipping, I can make the sacrifice to take you," he teased
gently. "I'll try to make my unruly friend behave himself. I am here,
after all, to cater to the needs of my patrons." Julie blushed beet red as
she made up her mind. She hadn't ever done anything this wild and
crazy, but doing it made her feel both like she was gaining some
control back over events, and a little naughty. She liked both feelings.
"OK, then... turn
around," she said.
Bob didn't comment on the
fact that he'd be carrying her to the water, just like he had carried
her from the beach to the cottage, and that this time they'd both be
naked. Bob didn't comment on the fact that, in order to pick her up off
the bed, he'd end up seeing her nakedness. He simply turned around.
Of course, as Julie
pulled her tank top off, exposing her lush breasts to her new uncle's
back, and then skinned out of her running shorts, she thought of the
same thing, and felt foolish.
"Do you want me to get
you a robe?" he asked, still facing away from her.
It was both her feeling
of foolishness, and that spark of joy at being naughty that made her
say respond in the way she did.
"It's warm. I'm being
silly. You can turn around."
He did so, and Julie's
eyes naturally went to his, looking, like many women do, to see where
his eyes were as he looked at her. She felt a rush of both relief, and
a niggle of disappointment that his eyes were locked firmly on her own.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, amazed
at how calm she felt. She was stark naked in front of a stranger, who
was about to pick her up and carry her naked body in his arms. She
waited for him to take off his own robe, and was surprised when he bent
to pick her up, still wearing the garment. "You're wearing your
robe?" she asked.
"My unruly friend is
being unruly again," he explained. "It seems to have a mind of its own."
"Oh," she said, blushing.
Her niggle of disappointment evaporated. That felt good too.
"Well, considering the
circumstances, I suppose your friend is just being normal." She bit her
lip gently and then went on. "You don't have to wear the robe. I
promise I won't look."
There came a guarded look
in his eyes, but it passed almost instantly. He stood, and shrugged the
robe off his shoulders. His penis was, in fact, rigid and straight.
Julie stared directly at it, despite her promise not to look, and she
felt a tingle as her whole body shivered once.
"Maybe I should put it
back on," he suggested.
Julie looked up at his
smiling face. She felt like a little girl, suddenly.
"No, we're both adults. I
can do this," she muttered.
He bent over and picked
her up, again as if she weighed almost nothing. "That, my dear niece, is
the problem. We ARE both adults." He grinned, his face inches from
hers. She smelled his breath, which was sweet, and suddenly wondered
about her own. She hadn't used a toothbrush all day long.
As he carried her across
the sand, she couldn't help but think of them as they were, naked,
natural, pressing their flesh against each other. Her breast against
his chest felt hot, and swollen. He was, for all intents and purposes,
a complete stranger, carrying her, his penis full and extended as if he
were ready to ravish her virgin pussy. And her pussy seemed to be aware
of that too. It was, she realized, wet with arousal.
He walked into the surf,
and out until her weight began to lift from his arms. She rolled
instinctively, and pressed her full breasts to his face as her arms
went around his head to anchor herself. She felt his hands on her
waist, stabilizing her, and she relaxed her grip on his head. As her
chest came away from his face he was grinning. He looked genuinely
happy, rather than lustful.
"You really are
beautiful," he said. "I can't believe my nephew could think of dulling
his senses with drink."
She pushed some water at
his face.
"Masher," she accused.
"Kick your legs gently,"
he said, suddenly all business.
She kicked, but not very
gently, and moaned at the pain as the water resisted and her ankle
complained.
"Gently!" he admonished
her.
Her arms were still
around him, one over his shoulder, and across his back, and the other
under his other arm. That pressed her breasts directly against his bare
chest, and her nipples scraped his flesh in a way that sent shivers
down her spine. Rather than pulling away, though, she pulled him
closer. She was beginning to feel the same things she had felt as Roger
stroked her body.
"This is very naughty,"
she sighed.
"I can't argue with you
there," he said gently.
"You make me feel good,"
she said, looking into his eyes.
"You make me feel horny,"
he admitted.
"You're so honest. I'm
still not used to that. Roger is the only other man I think I really
trust," said Julie sadly.
They stared into each
other's eyes as she kicked gently.
"Why do I feel like
kissing you?" she asked herself, unthinkingly saying it out loud.
"That wouldn't be a good
idea," he responded gently. "You're all worked up right now, this being
your wedding day and all, and... the way things went... they're
affecting your judgement too. I don't want you to do something you'd be
sorry for tomorrow. I may have just met you, but I like you, and you're
my niece now, and I want you to like me in the future."
"I DO like you," she
said, not understanding her own arousal, and how it could seem to be
for this man. He had just pointed out that they were practically
strangers.
"I want you to still like
me tomorrow," he said patiently. "And if I kiss you, I'm going to want
to do a lot more."
"Oh," she said sadly. "I
guess that's true."
"You really don't have a
lot of experience with men," he pointed out.
"I've dated," she said
defensively.
"And you've resisted," he
said.
"Yes," she agreed.
"Then resist now, Julie.
This is just the leftovers of your anticipation of what was supposed to
happen tonight, and your disappointment about how things turned out."
"I guess you're right,"
she sighed. "I still want to kiss you, though."
"I'm honored, he said.
"Now, kick a little harder."
"You're just a beast,"
she said, her mood lightening.
"You have no idea," he
muttered.
So she kicked and wiggled
and had a great time rubbing her naked body up against his.
Unconsciously, she tried to twist, so that she could have full frontal
contact with him, and consciously, he prevented her from doing that.
All it did was inflame
her more.
Finally her emotions
bubbled over.
"I can't STAND this!" she
moaned. "I feel so... so... I don't know WHAT I feel!"
"You feel horny," he said
gently.
"Yes," she moaned in
agreement.
"It's understandable," he
said.
"But what can I DO about
it?" she whined.
"Surely you've... um...
taken care of things yourself before this," he said.
"Of course I have," she
said shortly. "But that's NOT what I want to do right now!"
"Sweetie, think about
this," he warned.
"I can't think of
ANYTHING right now," she said grumpily. "You feel so good against my
skin. I feel like I'm going to just burst if something doesn't happen."
Bob rocked her in his
arms for a few seconds.
"Could you be satisfied
with just an orgasm?" he asked softly.
"I TOLD you I don't want
to do that right now," she whimpered.
"I mean if I gave you
one," he said gently.
"But you said you don't
want to do that," she moaned.
"We don't have to have
intercourse for you to have an orgasm," he said, just as gently.
"Oh," she said, feeling
foolish again. "I've never done that either. I mean nobody's ever done
that... to me."
"Good grief, woman,"
sighed Bob. "You really are a treasure."
"Don't tease me!" she
almost yelled. "I KNOW I shouldn't feel like this, but I DO, and I
don't know what to do about it!"
"I'm not teasing you,
precious," he said, unable to keep himself from kissing the base of her
neck. When he did she arched her whole body, exposing more throat to
him. "What I'm saying is, if I give you an orgasm, will that be enough
for you?"
"I don't knowwwww," she
moaned. "Yes... just do something, please?" she whined.
"OK, then," he said.
"Just one orgasm, and then I take you back to your husband... deal?"
"Please," she moaned.
"I'm going to just die if this feeling doesn't go away!"
He turned her over,
prying her arms away from where they gripped him, until she was facing
away from him. He pulled her against his body, and she felt his hard
prick press into her buns. She gasped as his hands cupped both breasts.
"Just float," he
instructed her. "I'll do all the work. You just float and let the
feeling come."
His hands scraped across
her painfully stiff nipples, and she let her head flop back onto his
shoulder as she groaned. Slowly, his right hand began to descend,
following the contours of her ribs, to her belly button. He stroked her
abdomen gently and she arched her back, trying to bring her pussy up to
meet that stroking hand.
"Relax!" he ordered.
"I can't," she moaned.
In answer his hand dipped
almost quickly, his middle finger sliding between the split of her sex.
That finger hooked just enough to give him purchase, and he pressed the
base of his finger to her clit.
"Ohhhhhhh" she groaned,
tensing even more.
She was so wired that it
was over in seconds. He wagged his finger back and forth across her
distended clitty, and she lifted her legs and spread them automatically
to give him more room. The thing that had been building deep inside
her, and which threatened to break through her skin suddenly shattered
into fragments of pure joy and flashed throughout her body.
It wasn't like any orgasm
she'd ever had. It was stronger - much stronger, and she suddenly felt
like she was floating among the stars. She heard the animal sounds her
throat was making... felt the vibrations in her vocal chords, but it
sounded like it was coming from far away. Her body jerked in time with
his strumming finger, first quickly, and then in a more measured way,
with small pauses between each jerk. He seemed to know exactly when to
lessen the pressure on her tortured clit, and his hand slowly slid out
of her sexual saddle. She felt an unutterable sense of loss as the
stimulation vanished, and then a warm glow as her tense muscles began
to relax. His hands rested gently on her waist, holding her up as her
neck relaxed, and she began to slide downwards into the water.
They said nothing as he
turned her back around and cradled her in his arms once more. He strode
toward the softly breaking surf and she rested her head against his
shoulder, breathing more regularly now. Somehow, she felt even warmer
and safer now than she had before, as once again, she was carried
across the threshold to where her marriage bed lay.
Roger was still snoring
on the bed, one leg slightly cocked. Julie looked down at him, and at
his penis. She felt some shame, but it was only related to comparing
him to Bob. Bob's penis looked like a real man's organ to her, while
her husband's was limp and lumpy.
But she felt no shame for
what had happened in the water. That puzzled her a little, but she was
relaxed, now, and drowsy. He laid her across the foot of the bed, and
disappeared into the bathroom, coming back with two fluffy towels. She
lay, unresisting as he rubbed her dry and then rolled her over to do
her back. He slapped her buttock gently when he was done.
"Go to bed," he said
softly. "Tomorrow will be a whole new day."
"Tuck me in," she said,
her voice like that of a little girl.
She stood, her injured
ankle held off the floor, just long enough to pull the sheet down and
tumble onto the bed. He covered her and kissed her forehead.
"I like having a niece,"
he said softly. "If you need anything, just pick up the phone and dial
zero."
"Could you arrange some
breakfast in the morning?" she asked. "I won't be able to get up and
cook."
"I'll see what I can do,"
he said. "I'll give you time to wake up and... um... consummate the
marriage. How's that?"
Julie was surprised to
feel... nothing. The excitement of Roger taking her virginity had
faded, and now she almost thought of that as something that was just
supposed to happen when one got married. "OK," she said simply.
"I'll call you when we're done." She was amazed at how easy it was to
talk about something so intimate and private with this stranger.
Then he was gone, leaving
Julie to ponder her day, and what had just happened. She felt
blissfully relaxed. As she drifted off to sleep on her wedding night,
her last thoughts were about what his fingers had felt like, pressed to
her sex. She smiled as consciousness faded away.
CHAPTER THREE
The message light was
flashing on his phone when Bob got back to his
quarters.�� He ignored it.�� The
first thing he did was stroke his aching prick.�� It
didn't take long - only slightly longer than it had taken for him to
bring Julie off.�� In his mind was the vision of her
lying on the bed, naked, her bare pussy lips dark and still engorged
from what he had done with his fingers.�� He snatched
up a wash cloth and caught his spend as it eased the pain in his
balls.��� She was some woman. �
Relaxed now, for the
first time since he had heard her cries for help on the beach, he
looked at the phone.�� It was late.�
Whatever that was about would wait.
He collapsed onto the
bed, and then rolled over, setting his alarm for the first time since
he could remember.� He wanted to make breakfast special for
that special woman.
His last thoughts, before
sleep claimed his brain for the night, were of having a brand new niece
... a naked, lovely niece ... and of what he would dearly wish to do
with her.�� His lips curled into a smile as his
consciousness faded into black.
When Julie woke, the sun
had just cleared the horizon and was blindingly
bright.�� She stretched, feeling the pain in her
ankle immediately.� It wasn't so bad now, though.�
Then she realized her bladder was full, and she began to think of how
she would get to the bathroom to take care of that.� She also
felt sticky, probably from the salt water last night.
Her mind approached that
memory carefully, like a voyeur, peeking in on what she remembered ...
the feel of his hands ... of his chest against
hers.�� One hand came up languidly and stroked a
naked breast.�� Her nipples were soft now, but the
one she stroked enlarged almost instantly.�� She took
her hand away, aware that she was reawakening feelings that she wasn't
ready to deal with just then.
She remembered Roger
then, for the first time that morning, and felt guilty.� She
turned her head to see him, mouth open, still snoring
softly.�� His breath stank of stale alcohol and
morning breath.�� A twinge of disappointment wafted
across her mind.
Her bladder called again.
She threw the sheet back
and sat up.�� It was a glorious
morning.�� She tried hopping at first, but that
didn't work well and she sank to her hands and knees, keeping the toes
of the injured foot off the floor.�� She felt silly
crawling to the bathroom, but the insistence of her bladder kept her
going.
She let out a sigh of
relief as her bladder emptied, and looked around.��
Her hair was a mess.� It was stiff with salt, and matted,
mostly dry across her shoulders and back.�� She
looked at the shower, and then at the
Jacuzzi.��� Crawling to the second, she ran
water until it looked deep enough to support and cover her.�
She eased down into the hot water and fiddled with the controls until
air bubbles suddenly jetted against her hips and
back.�� She scooted down until her head was under
water, and raised it slowly, trying to get her hair to loosen and
flow.�� Then she put her head in the pillowed area of
the tub and relaxed, letting the bubbles wash over her.
Bob woke to the
unfamiliar buzzing of the alarm, and� instantly remembered why
he had avoided using it for years.�� He slapped at
it, and sat up.�� The sun was just breaking the
surface of the sea, and he stretched. �
He hopped out of bed and
ducked into the shower to wash the salt off his body.� Then he
went to the resort kitchen and started rummaging through the
pantry.��� He had become used to the routine
Bahamian diet, that included fish, Conch and various other seafood,
usually mixed with the ubiquitous peas and sundry other vegetables, but
he didn't want to foist native food on his two important
guests.�� Tourism had brought with it American
cuisine, and, though his usual cook was off for the week, the larder
was still stocked with everything to suit almost any taste.
He settled for whipping
up a quiche, with sliced tomatoes, and a side of macaroni and
cheese.� The thing that had most surprised him when he settled
on the island was the almost constant offering of macaroni and cheese
in every place he ate, usually as an appetizer.�� He
sliced some smoked ham and put it on a low griddle, and then put
together an assortment of cereal and fruit.�� It
wasn't until he got splattered by hot grease that he realized he was
naked.�� He often went that way these
days.�� People who booked rooms in Paradise Cove were
carefully notified that clothing was not only optional, but rare, and
he often went around in little or nothing on a routine day.
He ducked out of the
kitchen to put on some shorts, and while there, saw the light on the
phone blinking steadily at him again.�� He had
time.� Everything was on slow cook in the
kitchen.�� He picked up the phone and punched the
button that would deliver the message.� It was his sister, and
she sounded worried.
"Call me as soon as you
get this," came her voice.� "We have a real problem."
That was it.�
Nothing more.�� Initially, he feared that Julie had
called someone to complain about what had happened last
night.� Not about a drunken groom ... but about what Bob had
done to her in the ocean.� Then he shook his head.�
The message light had already been blinking when he walked into his
quarters.�� She had been happy and sleepy when he
left her.�� He reflected briefly on how hard it had
been to leave her, and grinned.�� No, it couldn't be
that.�� Maybe they had found the missing luggage, and
called Roger's mother.�� That would be odd, but maybe
the phone number on the luggage tag was an old one or
something.� �
Bob had stayed in touch
with his sister, but only infrequently, and she hadn't really told him
all that much about what Roger was up to.�� It had
been her idea for the honeymoon booking, and Bob had been only too
happy to comply.�� His expenses were low, and taking
a week off from the grind of making people happy appealed to him
too.� The staff had been overjoyed to get an unscheduled week
of vacation.
He needed to get back to
the kitchen.�� Still, she wouldn't have been that
short unless it was a real problem ... at least in her
opinion.�� He decided to go turn down the
heat.�� He could keep things warm for a couple of
hours.�� They should be up and finished by then, with
the first thing that would be on their minds when they woke
up.� �
He left for the kitchen
to make the needed adjustments, and left the phone message
blinking.� �
The quiche had
overcooked, and he muttered to himself as he set about replacing
it.�� By the time he got things situated the way he
wanted them, and put the fruit back in the refrigerator, almost an hour
had passed.�� Wiping his hands, he left to go call
his sister.
Julie didn't know how
long she had been soaking when Roger stumbled into the bathroom and
stood, weaving slightly with his morning woody in his
hand.�� He missed the stool at first, splattering the
floor, and then corrected as she frowned.�� His urine
splashed into the commode and he yawned, wincing.� One hand
came up to his head and he groaned.�� He seemed to
notice the sound of the Jacuzzi for the first time, and swiveled his
head.
"My head is killing me,"
he groaned.� "What happened?"
"We got married and you
drank yourself into oblivion," she answered, her voice measured.
"Oh ... sorry," he said
lamely.
"Brush your teeth," she
said, her voice short.
"Yeah," he said, wincing
again.
Instead of brushing his
teeth, though, he went and pulled the mirror open, looking for
something for the pain in his head.�� There was
nothing there.��� He picked up the
complimentary toothpaste and looked around for a toothbrush.�
Not finding anything, he turned abruptly and went back into the other
room.
"Where's our luggage?"
came his plaintive voice softly.
"On the flight down
here," she said impatiently.� She looked at his penis, which
was shrunken and unimpressive, to her mind.
He looked
around.�� "Oh yeah, we're in the Bahamas."
He got a lot more alert,
and looked at his new bride.
"What happened ... last
night?" he asked.
Julie felt anger
tightening up her relaxed body, and that made her needle him.�
"You don't remember?"
"Sure I do," he bluffed,
as men try to do so often.�� "I remember you looked
fantastic and you made me feel really good."
"Well, that's what
happened."� Julie sulked.� "You felt good, and I got
left out of it."
"Look, baby," he pleaded,
wincing again.�� "I just celebrated a little too
much.�� I'll make it up to you."
"How?" she asked,
acidly.�� "You passed out on my wedding night!"
"Hey," he
moaned.� "We have the whole week.�� Let me
find something to make this splitting headache go away and I'll be good
as new.�� Then I can treat you to some real
loving."�� He had moved to the edge of the tub, and
bent down.�� "Give me a little kiss, Mrs.
Crandall.�� That will help, I'm sure."
He was trying to be
gallant, or at least complimentary, and Julie realized
that.�� But as his face neared hers she smelled the
stale alcohol and turned her head.
"Go brush your
teeth.� Your breath could kill at twenty paces."
He stood back up and put
both hands to his head. �
"Please, not so loud," he
whined.�� He looked around again.� "I can't
find my toothbrush."
"Pick up the phone and
dial zero," said Julie.��� "Tell whoever
answers you need a toothbrush."
Julie thought about what
she'd just said.�� She knew quite well who would
answer that phone, but she hadn't told Roger that she'd met his
uncle.�� She felt a little like she was sneaking
around behind his back, and then pushed that guilt
away.�� If he'd have acted like a real husband
yesterday, she'd never have met Bob at all, and would be lying, freshly
deflowered, in her honeymoon bed.
"Yeah, OK," he
said.� He turned around and left the bathroom.
She heard his voice
talking, and reached for the little bottle of shampoo sitting huddled
with other little bottles on one corner of the
Jacuzzi.�� It took the whole bottle, but she got her
hair sudsy enough to feel like it would be clean when she rinsed it
out.� �
"Ask for a comb or a
brush too," she yelled through the open door.
Bob walked into his
quarters as the phone began ringing.�� Cursing
himself for not forwarding calls to the kitchen, and fearing that she
had been trying to call him repeatedly, he jumped to the phone and
picked it up.
"This is Bob," he said
automatically.
"Uncle Bob?" came a male
voice.
"Roger," he
said.� He almost added "welcome back to the living," but
decided not to.
"Yeah ... hi," came a
voice that was too soft to be normal.� Bob envisioned Roger
holding the phone away from his ear.�� Bob had
suffered his own fair share of hangovers in his youth, and phone voices
seemed to cut straight into the pain centers of the brain during a
hangover.�� He grinned.�� Served
the boy right.�� "Hey, um ... I guess they lost our
luggage.� Have you maybe got a toothbrush I could borrow?"
"Sure thing, sport," said
Bob, softening his voice.�� "Welcome to the
Islands.�� I have breakfast on the stove for you and
your bride."
"Yeah, that's great,"
said Roger.� It was obvious that the thought of food right now
didn't appeal to him.� "You got anything for a headache?" he
asked.
"I'm sure I can come up
with something."� Bob again decided not to needle the
boy.� "You coming down with something?"
"No, I'm OK.� I
just celebrated a little too much," said Roger softly.
"I'll whip up a batch of
Uncle Bob's patented hangover juice," said Bob.� How's that?"
"That would be great,"
came the relieved sigh of his nephew.� �
Bob heard Julie's voice
over the phone and grinned.� If he could hear it that clearly,
it must be torturing Roger.
"Julie needs a comb or a
brush too," moaned Roger.
"I'll throw everything
together and be down ... when do you want me to come down?" asked
Bob.� "I don't want to ... interrupt anything."� He
grinned again.
Roger laughed
weakly.� "Yeah ... right.�� Just give us
half an hour or so ... OK?" he said.�� "She's
crawling all over me right now."� He laughed again, weakly,
and Bob almost snorted.�� Roger couldn't perform
right now if his life depended on it.
"Be there in forty-five
minutes," said Bob.
He hung up the phone, and
saw the light blinking at him.�� He'd better call
Susan first.�� If he didn't she'd bitch at him for
taking too long.�� He picked up the phone and flipped
through the book to find her number.�� He felt
slightly guilty for not knowing her number by heart, but he only called
her every other month or so.
The phone was picked up
before the first ring was even done.
"BOB!?" came Susan's
anguished cry.
"What's wrong, honey? he
asked, concerned now.� She sounded positively distraught.
"HE'S MARRIED BOB!" she
shouted.
"Of course he's married,
Susan," Bob sighed.�� If all this was about her baby
going off and growing up, Bob was going to be pissed.
"NO ...�
BOB?"� She was still shouting.
"Yes, I'm here.�
Calm down Susan.� You don't need to shout."
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"
Susan shouted.�� Then her voice lowered, almost as if
she was sharing a confidence, and was afraid someone would overhear her
doing it.
"He was ALREADY married,
Bob.�� His wife showed up yesterday.� She's
English ... or British ... or whatever you call them.� She has
two CHILDREN with her Bob!"
"What?" asked Bob, his
jaw slack.
"We didn't KNOW, Bob,"
she wailed.�� "He never TOLD us he got married in
London.� Her name is Emily!� He has a whole damned
FAMILY over there, Bob!"
"Wow!"� Bob was
stunned.�� He was completely unprepared for anything
like this.�� "She came there?"
"YES!" shouted
Susan.� Again, her voice dropped.�� "She
showed up here last evening, saying she wanted to surprise
him.�� It's their fucking ANNIVERSARY, Bob ... their
third fucking WEDDING ANNIVERSARY!"
"You're kidding me,"
gasped Bob.� "He got married again on his wedding anniversary?"
"What are we gonna DO,
Bob?" she cried.�� Her shaking voice broke into
sobs.�� "We couldn't tell her what happened, but she
got suspicious.�� She demanded to know where he
was.�� Fucking Phillip started drinking when she
showed up and he got smashed and blurted out the whole sordid story!"
Phillip was Susan's
husband.� Bob had met him only once, and hadn't been all that
impressed.�� He'd chalked it up to no man being good
enough for another man's sister.�� He found himself
smiling that his judgement had been sound.�� He wiped
the smile off his face.
"What did she do?" he
asked.
"SHE'S ON HER WAY DOWN
THERE RIGHT NOW!" screamed Susan.
"You're kidding!" said
Bob.
"NO!" moaned
Susan.� "She left the children here.� Oh, Bob,
they're lovely children.� A boy, three, and a girl who's only
two.� I have GRANDCHILDREN, Bob!"
Susan was clearly so
distraught that she didn't know what to do.
"OK, take it
easy.�� I'll go down to the cottage and do
something.�� When did she leave?"
"She's on the redeye,"
said Susan, getting control of her voice.� "She's a tough one,
Bob.� She ran Phillip through the ringer.� She
practically ripped the information from him.� She threatened
to sue us and murder Roger and everything!"� �
She was starting to get
worked up again.
"Calm
down.�� I'll take care of things here.� She
can't get a gun onto the island.� They're very strict about
that down here.�� I'll make a couple of
calls.�� The cabbies here all know me.� I'll
figure something out."
"Call me back,
Bob.� My baby is down there about to be murdered by his
fucking wife ... while he's probably fucking his ... other
wife!"�� Susan burst into tears again.
Bob muttered a promise to
call her back and then finally just hung up the phone.
What a miserable mess
THIS was!�� He almost laughed, but got a
grip.�� The first thing to do was delay this woman
... this Emily woman ... to delay her from getting to the resort as
long as possible.� He called a friend of his who was the
dispatcher for a cab company.�� He didn't pull any
punches, and explained exactly what was happening.� The
dispatcher laughed, and said he'd cover the bases with the other cab
companies.�� Anyone asking for Paradise cove would
get the scenic tour before she arrived there.
That done, Bob thought
about what to do next.�� His first thoughts were for
Julie.� The poor girl had had enough trouble for any marriage
already.� This would crush her.
Then, with an electric
jerk, he realized that Roger might be trying to pursue his husbandly
"duty" right this instant!�� And Julie, as anxious as
she was last night, might submit to him, out of guilt, if nothing else.
Julie
sighed.�� The water was getting cool.� She
lay back in the tub and shook her head from side to side gently to get
the soap out of her hair.� She let her face go under the water
and blew bubbles as she continued agitating her
hair.�� Carefully, she drew her face up, letting the
water draw her hair down the middle of her back.� She winced
as she automatically tried to stand up and her ankle complained.
She thought about calling
to Roger for help, but was still feeling miffed, and levered herself
out of the tub to sit on the edge.� She reached for towels and
dried herself off, letting her hair swing forward to make a thick
blue-black line between her breasts.� It covered her bald
pussy and she patted it as dry as she could get it with more
towels.� Standing, she gave her head another unconscious flip,
and her hair landed down her back again.� She put on a
robe,� intentionally, and hopped to the door, steadying
herself with a hand on the wall.� �
She refused to crawl in
front of Roger, so she planned her route, and hopped quickly to the
bed, falling heavily beside Roger, who was sitting on the edge of the
bed with his head in his hands.� �
He looked up, possibly
thinking she had run to the bed and jumped on it excitedly.�
Her bare legs stuck out of the bottom of the robe, and there was a
flicker of interest in his brain, until he saw the dark purplish color
around her ankle.
"What happened to you?"
he asked, wincing.
"I went for a run on the
beach last night ... after you passed out," she said
conversationally.�� "I turned my
ankle.�� I can't put any weight on it."
He looked at her in
horror.
"Oh, baby, I'm so
sorry.� This is all my fault," he moaned.
"Yes ... it is," she
agreed with him.
"Are you OK?�
How'd you get back here?" he asked.
Julie thought about
telling him, but the perverse streak in her caused her not to.
"I managed," she said
simply.
"But this is going to
ruin our honeymoon!" he sulked.
The hard little knot of
anger in Julie's belly grew, and heated up.�� If he
planned on blaming all this on her, he had better change his
plans.� She was about to unload on him when the phone rang,
jarring the silence.
Roger covered both ears
and moaned.
Julie rolled over and the
robe flipped up to expose her naked butt.� She reached for the
phone, which pulled the tie at the front of the robe, stretching the
front open until most of her breasts showed.
"Hello?" she answered.
"Julie, it's Bob," came
the terse voice on the phone.
"Oh!" she said
brightly.� "You must be my new Uncle Bob!" she gushed.'
"You didn't tell him we
met?" asked Bob.
"No ... we're fine ...
breakfast?� That sounds wonderful." she said smoothly.
"I DO have breakfast,"
said Bob, "but there's been a ... development.�� I
need to talk to you both, and it needs to be
immediately.�� You're not ... busy ... are
you?"� His voice sounded anxious.
"No, we're not doing
anything," she said.
About then Roger
uncovered his ears, saw her bare buttocks, and put a hand on one,
squeezing it.�� Julie reached around and batted his
hand away, but didn't cover her behind.
"Stop that!" she
hissed.� "I'm on the phone with your uncle!"
"Tell him to give us
another half hour," said Roger, becoming interested despite the
pounding in his head.� He tried to slide a hand up between her
legs and she batted at it again, closing her legs firmly.
"I'm starving," she said
into the phone.�� "We'd like breakfast right away ...
yes ... thank you so much.� I can't WAIT to meet
you.� See you soon."
She hung up the phone and
rolled over, exposing her breasts to her husband.
"Can't you behave?" she
asked.
Roger stared at her
breasts, licking his lips.� �
"But it's our honeymoon!"
he moaned.�� "Come on, baby, I want to start making
it up to you.� Breakfast can wait."
"He's already on his
way," she said firmly.�� Now, he's going to come in
that door any minute.� Do you want him to see me like
this?�� Oh yes, I forgot ... our luggage got LOST on
the flight down here!�� Oh well, didn't you say it's
a nude beach?�� I'm sure he's seen lots of naked
women around here.�� Go get the door,
honey.� His hands will probably be full."
She said all that in a
sweet, light voice, but her meaning was crystal clear.� She
wasn't in the mood.� If he was lucky she might be in the mood
tomorrow.
"Don't be that way,
darling," he tried to say smoothly.�� "It wasn't my
fault that the luggage got lost.�� That happens all
the time.�� And no, I don't want him to see you like
that, nude beach or not.�� You're MY wife, and I want
you to save that for me."
"Oh, you're just being a
silly jealous man," giggled Julie, as if his whole speech was some
attempt at humor.�� "We're going to go swimming in
the ocean, aren't we?�� I'll be naked then.�
I don't even have a swimming suit, darling.�� Loosen
up.� It's not like he's going to make love to me or
anything.�� In fact," her voice got suddenly harsh,
"NOBODY HAS MADE LOVE TO ME SINCE I GOT MARRIED!"
Roger covered his ears
again as she shouted, and moaned.�� He was about to
plead with her again when there was a very firm knock on the door.
Roger lurched to his
feet, almost glad there was an interruption.�� He
thought about telling her to cover up one last time, but decided she
would anyway.� She was a very modest woman.
He opened the door to see
a man he vaguely remembered from seeing years back.
"Uncle Bob?" he said.
"One and the same," said
Bob jovially.�� "I have extra strength aspirin, and
something that will probably help even more than that."
Roger stood aside and
turned as Bob walked past him.� He gasped as he saw Julie, who
had not covered up anything at all, and was lying loosely on the bed,
the robe barely covering her pussy, both breasts completely exposed.
She sat up and put a
surprised look on her face.
"Oh my!" she
said.�� "I didn't expect you so soon.�
Pardon me!"
She let her hands drift
slowly to the edges of the robe, and, just as slowly, dragged the cloth
just far enough to cover her nipples.�� Her
impressive cleavage still shone between the edges of the
robe.� �
"You'll have to excuse
me," she said brightly.�� "I injured my ankle last
night and can't get up.�� I bet I can sit up, though."
She threw her feet toward
the edge of the bed and sat up suddenly, which somehow managed to
uncover her breasts again, and the robe fell away from her thighs to
show her bald pussy to one and all.
"Goodness me!" she
yipped, putting one hand up to her mouth.�� "You must
think I'm a hussy of the worst type!"�� She wiggled
to the edge of the bed, which only exposed her hips completely and
threatened to drag the robe completely off her
shoulders.�� She snatched at the cloth and, again,
slowly rearranged it to cover most of her upper body.� Bob
almost sighed as she draped the cloth to cover her pussy.
"But then, Roger tells me
this is a nude resort, so you probably see this sort of thing all the
time," she said brightly.
Roger just stood, frozen
by the whole tableau.
Bob, now facing Julie,
with Roger behind him, winked and smiled.
"All the time Mrs.
Crandall ... all the time."
"Oh, you don't need to be
so formal with me," she cooed.� "After all, we're related
now.� I insist you call me Julie."
"Julie it is," said Bob,
as he took the tray to the kitchen table and set it down
there.� He turned with a glass in his hand, containing
something thick, and red, with green chunks of in
it.�� He extended the glass to
Roger.�� "Best hangover cure known to man," he said,
holding the glass aloft when Roger ignored him.
"Look, Julie," said
Roger, coming unfrozen.�� "I know you're mad, but you
don't have to act like that!"�� He took a breath to
say something else and Bob suddenly decided how he would break the news.
"Who is Emily, Roger?" he
asked suddenly.
Roger did a double take.
"What?" he gasped.
"Drink this," ordered
Bob, putting the glass in Roger's hand.�� "You're
going to need it very badly.� Emily is on her way here as we
speak."
"You're fucking SHITTING
ME!" screeched Roger, wincing as he spoke.
"Who is Emily?" asked
Julie, confused now.� She had been playing her little game
with Bob, punishing Roger, but now something else was going on, and she
had no idea what that was.
"I am not fucking
shitting you," said Bob calmly.�� "Your mother
called.� It seems Emily appeared back home and wanted to see
you.� Something about a special day?"
Bob had thought to break
things gently ... maybe to get them apart somehow ... but, as he walked
to the cottage, the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced
there was no easy way to break this to Julie.�� He
didn't care about Roger.�� Nephew or not, Roger was
toast, as far as Bob was concerned.�� If it was all
true, anyway.�� He couldn't think of any reason some
woman would claim to be the mother of Roger's children, and married to
him, if it didn't have at least SOME basis in
truth.�� Now, he planned on making Roger explain all
this.�� If he denied it, then Bob would let things
play out.� He knew the law on the island, and he'd get them
involved.� If this Emily person was lying, then things would
get handled that way.� If not, then Roger was on his
own.�� Bob was only worried about Julie.
Roger was looking around
like he expected Emily to walk into the room any second.
"Roger?" came the
dangerously tense voice of the only woman in the room.
"I can explain," said
Roger, still darting looks here and there.� He looked hunted,
his hair still tousled, his face still showing the effects of too much
drink.� "She's nobody ... a woman I met in London
..."�� He trailed off, looking decidedly guilty, at
least to Bob
"ROGER CRANDALL WHAT IS
GOING ON!?" shouted Julie.� She tried to stand, and fell back
immediately.� Her robe parted, but she made no attempt of any
kind to cover her body again.� She moaned at the pain in her
ankle.
Roger covered one ear
with one hand, and almost dumped the hangover remedy on the other side
of his head.� He gulped at the glass convulsively once he
realized it was in his hand. Feeling the chunks in the thick liquid, he
automatically chewed them and swallowed convulsively.� Right
now, what he needed was a clear head, and he hoped that clear head was
in the glass.
Bob had used a little
more chopped jalapeno pepper in the concoction than he usually did. Red
pepper too, for that matter.� In fact, he had used a LOT
more.�� Mixed with the tomato juice, it had a delayed
effect ... enough delay for Roger to drain most of the glass before the
first heat hit his mouth and throat.� His mouth exploded in
pain, and his throat tried its best to just close down.
With a cry of agony,
Roger doubled over, dropping the glass to the
floor.�� His hands went to his face and he howled,
which caused his overtaxed pain center to explode.��
He sank to his knees, his eyes watering, and his stomach contents came
rumbling back up his tortured throat, some of it exiting through his
nose, and soaking his tender nasal passages.� �
The pain was
indescribable.�� His whole body felt like it was on
fire, and he groveled in his own vomit as his senses were overwhelmed
to the point that, eventually, he rolled to his side and lost
consciousness.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
screamed Julie, looking at Bob with horror on her face.
"I may have used a little
too much jalapeno pepper," said Bob, looking at his nephew with disgust
on his face.
"YOU KILLED HIM!" shouted
Julie.
"No, I didn't, but you
may wish I had before this is all over," said Bob
tiredly.�� "He's fine.�� The pepper
and the hangover just overtaxed his brain.�� He'll
wake up in a bit, and, believe it or not, when the burning dies down,
he'll feel almost human."
Julie was looking at him,
her mouth open, horror still on her face.
"Why did you do that?"
she asked, getting control of her voice back.
"Julie, honey," said Bob,
taking a step toward her.� She shrank back from him, scooting
back up onto the bed, oblivious now of the pain in her ankle.�
Her hands clutched at the edges of the robe, covering herself from him
in fear.
Bob stepped back and held
up both hands, palms out toward her.
"Take it easy," he
said.� "I'm not going to hurt you.� I'm trying to
HELP you."
"You call murdering my
husband trying to HELP?!" she squawked.
"I told you he'll be
fine.�� He's going to need to be
fine.�� His other wife is coming here to confront
him." �
Bob
winced.�� He hadn't meant for it to come out quite
that way.�� Her fear of him had wrenched at his gut
so strongly that he blurted out what he had meant to try to break to
her gently.
"Other wife?" Her voice
was tiny ... suddenly afraid.�� "What other wife?"
"It seems as though he
was already married ... when he married you," said Bob
gently.�� "Nobody knew.�� His
mother called me.� This Emily woman showed up with her
children, claiming to be Roger's wife from England."
"Children?" she whined,
interrupting him.�� "He has
children?"�� Her face twisted, and her eyes scrunched.
"We don't know it's
true," said Bob, feeling lame.
Her eyes went round, and
she sat back up, as ramrod straight as she could with her legs extended
in front of her on the bed.
"It's NOT true!" she
almost yelled.�� "That woman is LYING!"
"We hope so, baby," said
Bob, wincing again at the familiar term of address.��
She didn't need that now.�� "We'll get it all worked
out.� I was just kind of angry ... thinking that he might have
taken advantage of you ... and I sort of overdosed his concoction."
"She's coming here?"
asked Julie, now looking around like Roger had looked around, as if she
expected the woman to step into the room at any second.� "I
don't have anything to wear," she whined.
"Where are your clothes
from yesterday?" asked Bob.
"But they SMELL!" she
moaned.
"OK, then, put on your
running outfit," said Bob patiently.� She was in no condition
to argue with.
"It's over there," she
pointed to where she had dropped the clothing the night before, when he
had stripped naked in front of a strange man.
Bob reached for the
shorts and tank top and handed them to her.� She sat, with
them in her lap, looking lost and confused.
"He's
married?�� With children?"�� Tears
started leaking from her eyes, and she let them roll down her
cheeks.�� "He married me when he was already married?"
Before she could start
bawling, Bob snatched the shirt from her lap.� He pushed the
robe down off her shoulders, and pulled her arms out of it, leaving her
completely naked in front of him.�� She seemed not to
notice.�� He manhandled the shirt over her head,
tugging at it when she didn't, getting her arms through the
holes.� He couldn't help but notice her fabulous breasts as he
pulled the shirt down over them.� Her hands went to her hair,
pulling it out of the back of her shirt automatically.� Then
he pushed her gently back until she lay on her
back.�� As gently as he could, he lifted the injured
foot and slipped the shorts over it.� Then, moving to the
other leg he worked that foot into the� shorts
too.�� In the process, her knees sagged open, and her
pussy was exposed to his eyes.�� He tore his eyes
away from there, and tried to get her to help him get the shorts
up.� She lay there crying, doing nothing.��
Finally he grasped her knees in iron fists and dragged her toward him.
"Owwwww" she wailed.
"Help me!" he grunted.
Finally her hands came up
and she pulled as he lifted her legs up into the
air.�� That got the shorts to her hips.� He
tried to lift her butt up off the bed by lifting her thighs, but she
went limp.�� Finally, in exasperation, he rolled her
on her side and smacked her left buttock hard.
"OWWWW!" she wailed,
kicking at him with her left leg.
"Pull yourself together!"
he snapped.�� "At least get dressed."
Her hair had covered her
face, and she pushed it back behind her, looking at him with
tear-filled, injured eyes.
"I don't think I like you
any more," she said.
"You can be disgusted
with me when you're dressed," he scolded.���
"You want that woman to see you like this?"
That got her
interest.�� She might have been hit below the belt,
and she might be on the ropes emotionally, but she reacted to the
thought of another woman ... a strange woman ... a woman who also
claimed to be married to Roger ... seeing her as a wreck. �
She batted at his helping
hands and wiggled into the shorts.�� Then she reached
for him.
"Help me up." she
said.�� She was still sniffling, but had regained her
composure a little bit.
"What are you going to
do?" asked Bob.
"I'm going to sit in that
chair over there if you'll help me off this damned bed," she snarled.
"That's my girl," said
Bob, ignoring her acid remark.
"Oh shut up," she growled.
He helped her to the
chair, and she settled into it.� �
"May I have a tissue,
please?" she asked, more or less calmly.
He got one and handed it
to her.
"And would you please
kick the man lying there on the floor?" she asked, just as
calmly.� "Hard please," she added.
"Now, now, we don't need
that," he chided.
"Yes ... we do," she
said, just as calmly.� "My ankle is hurt, and I can't kick him
myself."
"How about we just wait
until he wakes up, and let him explain ... if he can," suggested Bob.
"If he has another wife
... and babies ... I don't want to listen to anything he says," she
said.� Her voice was still calm ... too calm.
Bob got down and looked
into her face.� Tears were still falling in long lines down
her cheeks.� She had wiped her nose with the tissue, and still
held it loosely in her hand.�� He plucked it out of
her hand.
"Julie, honey, I know
this is hard for you.�� I know you're hurt.�
But hold on.�� I can't promise you this will all work
out, but bad things happen in life, and life can go on despite those
bad things.� Don't give up on me Julie.� Please ...
don't give up."
Her eyes strayed to
his.� Her overstressed mind grasped at thinking about him,
instead of her immediate anguish.
"You're such a nice man,"
she said.�� "You were nice to me last
night.� You could have had anything you wanted from me last
night, but you just took care of me."
Bob felt some guilt, but
shoved it back.� "You're a sweet girl,
Julie.�� You deserve to be taken care of."
"I'm not a girl," she
said, her voice a little stronger.� "I'm twenty-two years
old.� I'm a woman, thank you."
He
grinned.�� "That's my girl," he said softly.
Her eyes cleared, and a
hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
"What am I going to do?"
she asked, suddenly helpless.�� "If it's all true ...
I can't go back to work.� I can't face all those
people.� My mother will die with laughter!� I'll
never be able to live this down!"
"Hey," said Bob
gently.� "You have plenty of time to think about all
that.�� We really don't know if it's true or
not.� Not yet.�� We'll get that all sorted
out and then you can decide what to do.�� If it's all
a big mistake, you won't have to do anything.� You'll still be
married, and you can live a happy life."
"But what if it IS true,"
she pleaded.�� "Where will I go?� What will
I do?"
"You don't have to go
anywhere," said Bob.� You're booked here for the week, and you
can stay longer than that if you want.�� I can talk
to the authorities.� They'll let you stay for as long as you
need to figure out your next step."
Her eyes welled up
again.� "You're SO nice!"� she
said.�� Her eyes cleared as her mind sought to think
about anything but Roger and her marriage.� "But you were
naughty last night ... with me.� You're naughty AND
nice!�� I bet Santa Claus doesn't know which list to
put you on!"
Her inane remark was
really just a defense mechanism, and it worked.� She started
giggling, and then laughing.� She laughed harder and harder
until she couldn't get her breath and started to fall off the
chair.� Bob held her shoulders, grinning in that way that
people grin when others are laughing their asses off, even if they
don't think what was said was all that funny.� He recognized
what was happening, and just let her get it out of her system.
She was in relatively
good shape, all things considered, when Roger groaned and rolled
over.� He coughed and lifted his head, looking blearily
around. �
"What happened?" he
coughed.� He spit onto the floor and looked up at
Bob.� "What the fuck was in that?" he said angrily.
"How's your head, Roger?"
asked Bob calmly.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO
TO ME?!" yelled Roger, levering himself to his hands and knees.
"How's your head, Roger?"
asked Bob again.
Roger stood shakily,
holding on to a nearby chair to keep his balance.� He cocked
his head.
"Fuck me!" he said
softly.� "My hangover is gone!"�� He looked
at Bob with bewiderment.�� His mouth tasted horrible,
but the agonizing pain was gone, both in his mouth and throat, and his
head.� He looked around for some water to wash his mouth out
with and his eyes fell on Julie, who was just staring at him.
It all came rushing back
into his brain.� Emily was on her way
here.�� He had been caught!��
Again, his eyes darted this way and that, looking for his doom.
"Bathroom," he coughed,
staggering to the door.� He closed it behind him and sounds of
water came through the door.
"He didn't even say
anything to me," Julie said, tears welling up in her eyes again.
"Stay calm," warned
Bob.� "Don't lose it now.�� When he comes
back out we'll get some answers."
But they didn't have time
to wait.� Bob heard engine sounds, and the same taxi that had
brought Julie and Roger to the cottage stopped outside.� A
door slammed and a woman's strident voice was heard.
"ROGER?� ROGER
CRANDALL?� WHERE ARE YOU, YOU SON OF A BASTARD?"
The woman who stormed in
through the door was wild looking, in no small part because she had
done much the same thing Julie had done.� She had boarded a
plane and arrived with no luggage, still wearing the clothes she'd had
on twenty-four hours before.� She had a purse, that was
wrapped around her wrist like it was intended to be used as a
flail.� Her hair was uncombed, her makeup smeared, and her
temper was at full flame.� Her eyes fell on Bob and her mouth
opened, and then closed, as it because obvious she had, at first,
thought he was Roger.
"WHERE IS HE?" she
demanded.
Bob nodded toward the
bathroom, where water sounds still came through the door.
"He's cleaning up," he
said calmly.
The woman's gaze then
went to Julie, who was looking at her in horror.��
The woman lurched toward her instantly, screaming, reaching for Julie's
hair.� Bob had expected screaming, but not an actual attack,
and by the time he got to them Julie was pushing at the woman, who was
literally snarling, spittle shooting from her mouth.
Julie gave a cry of
distress as her hair was pulled viciously and Bob, not knowing how else
to break them up, grabbed the pitcher of juice and flung it at them
both.� The icy deluge did what he had intended, and the woman
jumped back, letting go of the hair as she cried out in rage.
"SHE DIDN'T KNOW!"
shouted Bob, getting between the woman and Julie.
"Where is he?" the woman
growled, her voice sounding dangerous. She completely ignored the
staing of red that was soaking into her clothing and dripping down one
arm.
"In there." Bob pointed
at the door.
The woman went to the
door, which was locked, and started pounding on it, screaming like a
banshee.� Bob had to pin her arms against her to make her
stop, and even then she kicked at the door, swearing at the man
inside.� She kicked and wriggled, trying to break free, but
Bob held her firmly, telling her to calm down and that he would not let
her go until she did.� She threatened him verbally then.
When she ran out of
breath, Bob did some growling of his own in her ear.
"You are on private
property, Miss, and, when I let you go, if you cause any more trouble
I'm going to call the police.� In fact, I think I'm going to
call the police anyway, since you have attacked one of my guests, and
attempted to destroy my property."
With a visible effort,
the woman got hold of herself.
"You must be Emily," Bob
said in her ear.
"Emily Crandall!" she
blurted.� "And Roger Crandall is my husband!"
"Well, why don't I get
him out here, and we can all have a nice little CIVILIZED talk about
all this, and then you can decide what to do," he urged, still holding
her tightly.
She slumped. �
"All right.�
Just let me GO!"� She struggled again, but Bob held her
tightly until she relaxed again.
"In control now?" he
asked.
"Yes!" she said tightly.
He let her go and stepped
back quickly, in case she tried to kick him again.��
But she stood there, panting, looking around.
"This woman did not know
that Roger had another wife," said Bob.� "She has been
victimized in this just as much as you have."
"ROGER!� YOU
BASTARD!" Emily yelled at the door, but didn't attack it
again.� "COME OUT HERE AND FACE ME YOU BASTARD!"
When nothing happened,
Bob went to the door and spoke through it, urging Roger to come on out,
and telling him that delaying this resolution wouldn't do any
good.� Still nothing happened and Bob rattled the
doorknob.�� Finally he felt along the molding around
the door, until he found the little device that had come with the
locking privacy knobs he had installed on the bathroom doors.�
He inserted the device into a small hole in the knob and
pushed.� Hearing a click, he turned the knob, which
opened.�� It didn't take long to determine that the
bathroom was empty, and the window was open.� Looking out of
the open window, Bob saw foot sized depressions in the sand
outside.� He turned to find Emily staring at him.
"He apparently went out
the window," said Bob.
"Gutless bastard," Emily
snarled.� "Wait till I catch him!"
She ran for the door,
screaming curses at Roger Crandall.
Julie was a basket case
again for the ten minutes it took for Emily to discover that the taxi,
and apparently her husband with it, had gone.� She was in
almost as bad shape as Julie when she came back to the cottage, unable
to decide what to do next.� She was also much more
subdued.�� Her anger had cooled to a hard little knot
that showed in the set of her face.
"Could you call a cab for
me please?" she said, her voice tight.
Bob looked at his watch.
"I can, but I doubt you
can make the next plane out.� I suspect Roger will just make
it."
"Just call me a cab ...
please," said Emily.� "I apologise for my behavior."
"It's been a rough day
for everybody," said Bob, picking up the phone and making the call.
While they waited Bob
gestured to the table.
"Anybody hungry?" he
asked hopefully.� Neither woman made any comment.
"He's MY husband," said
Emily, finally.
Julie looked
up.� Her tears had dried up, but there were still streaks on
her cheeks.
"You can have him," she
said dully.�� "I'll get an anullment as soon as I
can."
"My prenupital agreement
predates yours!" said Emily aggressively.
"I didn't sign a
prenupital agreement," said Julie heavily.� She looked up and
her eyes flashed.� "I don't want him OR his money.�
Why YOU still want him is beyond me, but he's yours.� I can't
say it's been a pleasure meeting you."
Julie turned away from
the woman, who looked startled, and then a little hurt by the dismissal
in Julie's stance.
"I told them to pick you
up at the office," said Bob gently.� "You might want to go up
there and wait.� There will be another plane out in three
hours, but then there won't be another one until tomorrow morning."
Emily
stiffened.� "Yes!�� I must get back to my
children.� I must find him.� He WILL support
us!"�� She turned to go and, with the door open,
turned back and addressed Julie.� "I'll make him pay," she
said, as if she expected Julie to be thankful about that.�
"I'll make him pay for what he did to ... us."
That small reference to
"us" was the only accession she she ever made to Julie's plight.
The last they saw of her
was her marching stiffly across the sand, toward the office.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bob had no idea what to
do for Julie.� She sat, slumped in her chair, looking at the
floor.� She was all cried out, for now at
least.�� He looked at the breakfast he had worked so
hard on.� It was cold now.� But he hadn't eaten yet,
so, for lack of anything else to do, he piled all the quiche and
macaroni on one plate, put it in the microwave and heated it
up.� The ham would be fine cold.� He glanced out of
the side of his eyes at Julie while he puttered around, and saw her
doing the same thing, watching him. �
Once the food was warmed
up, he set two places, redistributed the food, and sat down and began
to eat.
Julie watched him for a
minute, her eyes hooded.
"Men!" she snorted
finally.�� "All they think about is food and sex."
"Not necessarily in that
order," commented Bob between bites.� "You should eat
something."
"I'm not hungry," she
said.
"You should eat
something," he repeated.
"And then I suppose I
should have sex," she said dryly.
"Might make you feel
better."� He grinned, but it faded when she didn't smile back.
He had said
enough.�� He continued to eat.
"What is that?" she asked.
"Quiche," he
answered.� "I made it myself."
"You cook?" she asked.
He shot her a
look.� "I run a resort," he reminded her.
"Yeah," she
sighed.��� "You don't have much to do this
week, thanks to us."
He put down the
fork.� "I have all the customers I want this week."
He got a tiny smile that
time.� "You're sweet."
"First I'm nice, and now
I'm sweet," he moaned in mock agony.� "Next you'll be talking
about how nice it would be to be friends.� I know I told you I
don't date, but come on.� Cut a guy a little slack
here."� He wiped away an imaginary tear.� "If you
keep talking like that people will think I'm gay!"
"Men!" she snorted
again.� Still, she didn't smile.
He ate in silence for a
while, switching to fruit.
"It does smell good," she
admitted.
He got up and went behind
her.� She yelped as he picked her up, chair and all, and moved
her to the table.�� Then he handed her her fork and
put a napkin on her lap for her.� He asked if she wanted
coffee, and when she shook her head he handed her one of the glasses of
juice he had poured.�� She looked down at her stained
top, which was still wet.� �
"I hope it goes better on
the inside than the outside," she said dryly. �
Bob felt the first hint
of hope.� If she could find humor in the situation, she might
pull through all right.
Her first bite reminded
her that she hadn't eaten anything since the previous afternoon, and
she was suddenly ravenous.�� She found herself eating
pieces of fruit with both hands, and looked up to find Bob staring at
her, open-mouthed.
"I said you need to eat
something ... not pig out."�� He smiled.
"I'm starving," she said
defensively.
He rolled his
eyes.� He didn't have to remind her that she had just said she
wasn't hungry only moments before.
They ate in a
surprisingly comfortable silence for a while.
When he finished, Bob sat
back and just looked at her.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"What for?" she mumbled
around a bite of quiche.
"You deserved better than
this," he said softly.
"This is wonderful!" she
said, stuffing another forkful in her mouth.
"OK, be that way," he
said.
It was another two
minutes of silence before she said:� "Thank you."
"I ate too much," groaned
Julie, leaning back in her chair.
"I agree," said
Bob.� "But I have to admit, that for a pig, you're a pretty
little pig."
She stuck out her tongue
at him.
"What do you want to do
now?" he asked.
"I have no earthly idea,"
she admitted, looking forlorn.�� She wiped her eyes
with her fists suddenly as her eyes filled up with tears.
"You want me to move you
to another cottage?" he asked.�� "To get you away
from the memories?"
"The memories I want to
get away from aren't tied to this cottage," she snorted.�
�
Bob let it lie.
"You want to go for a
boat ride?" he suggested.
"No," she said.�
"Maybe later."
"How bout a swim?" he
went on.� "You need to work off one of those meals you just
ate."
She arched her brow at
him.� "You're just trying to get me naked again, aren't
you."� �
He just
grinned.�� "You do need to work that
ankle."�� He put what was supposed to be a look of
genuine concern on his face.�� "I could keep my eyes
closed, if that would make you feel better."
She snorted
again.� "It's not your eyes I'm worried about," she said.
�
"I've got a bathing suit
around here someplace," he said calmly.�� "It might
take me a while to find it, but I'd wear it if it made you feel more
comfortable."
The stern lines on her
face melted, and her eyes got softer.�� "I'm sorry,"
she said.�� "I know I'm acting like a bitch."
"I think you're acting
perfectly normal, under the circumstances." he
said.�� Taking a chance, he added:� "Though,
since we're confessing things to each other,� I admit I was
trying to get you naked again."
He got a real smile this
time.
"You'd take advantage of
a poor girl on the rebound?" she asked.
Bob patted his
stomach.�� "Hey, I ate already.� What else
is there but sex now?"
"And I guess I am the
only woman around," she said, still smiling.
"Yeah," he said, as if it
didn't matter.� "I guess so.� You aren't much to look
at, but you're the only game in town."
She reached to slap him
on the arm and her elbow tipped the half full glass of
juice.�� Her convulsive grab to keep it from falling
just pulled it toward her and the red liquid flowed across the table
and splashed into her lap.�� She squealed, and her
convulsive jerk scooted her chair back a few inches, but the damage was
done.� Her shorts and thighs were stained with red.
Her eyes filled with
tears, and Bob hastily said "Boy! I can't take you anywhere!"
Her tears turned to
laughter, and she dropped her head into her hands, only to pull her
face away and see that her hands were also wet with
juice.�� She wiped ineffectually at her face, simply
smearing the juice around.
"At least my top and
shorts match now," she sighed.�� "OK ... take me
swimming."
Bob, knowing that her
mood could change rapidly, and without warning, intended to do just
that - take her swimming.� �
While getting her naked
would undoubtedly be a fun thing, he was also well aware that she WAS a
woman on the rebound, and that taking advantage of her situation would
not result in happy times in the long run.�� She had
had enough pain and suffering, and he didn't want to add to it.
He picked her up again,
as he had before, and started out the door with her.
"My clothes!" she said.
"They could use a good
rinse," he responded.
Then, when he got her in
the water, and she was standing on one leg, he pulled at her shirt.
"I thought we were
rinsing my clothes," she said, smiling shyly.
They'll rinse better off
of you," he said, in what he hoped was a business-like
fashion.� She raised her arms, and went under the water,
pulling herself out of the shirt and leaving it in his hands.�
She broke the water with her head held back, straightening her
hair.�� Bob balled up the shirt and threw it toward
the shore.� It landed short of the beach and he started to go
get it.
"Here!" she called, and
when he turned she threw him her shorts.� They landed in his
face and she laughed.�� To pay her back, while he got
her shirt and took it to the sand, he took off his
shorts.�� He was relieved to feel his penis flaccid.
Her eyes were on it as he
returned, watching it until it was covered by water, but she said
nothing.
When he aproached her
again, she reached for him and resumed the instinctive position she had
the night before, holding her chest to his as she stretched out her
legs and began kicking gently.
"It's still sore," she
said into his shoulder.
"It will be probably be
sore for a week or so," he answered.
"It feels so different,"
she said.� "In the daylight, I mean.�� I
feel like everybody can see us."
"There's nobody around
for half a mile," he said, stroking her back.
"Set me down," she
ordered.
He let her drift away,
holding her hands, at first, but she pulled free and began to tread
water.�� She was tall enough that she could put her
good foot down and bounce lightly on it, holding her body steady by
moving her arms.�� She looked around.
"It's gorgeous here," she
sighed.
"It's why I came here,"
he said.�� "After the breakup, I fooled around and
made some money.� But I wasn't happy.�� I
came here and learned how to be happy again."
"You broke up?" Julie
asked.
"Yeah.��
She took off one night.�� Just disappeared into the
underground of the city or something."
"I can't imagine someone
leaving you," she said.�� "I think you're wonderful."
He grinned.�
"That's a little better than nice and sweet.� You're making
improvements."� He grinned, but saw she was serious.�
He sighed.� "I was driven, back then," he
said.�� "I wanted to become wealthy, and was willing
to neglect everything else except that goal.�� She
was a fun-loving girl ... wanted to party and enjoy
life.�� I can't really blame her for going somewhere
else when I didn't give that to her."
"So you got divorced?"
"I filed the papers ...
put out the public notices.� She didn't appear in court, of
course.� It was over just like that."
"I suppose I'll have to
do the same thing." She sighed again.
"Under the circumstances,
I expect the annulment you mentioned is the best
idea.�� It should be easier ... quicker," he said.
Julie pushed with her
hands and laid back in the water, kicking with her good foot and using
her arms to propel her body along the surface.�� Her
breasts broke the water and Bob stared at them.�� She
let her momentum die, and her legs sank.� She changed smoothly
into a breast stroke that took her back toward Bob.
"It's not polite to
stare," she smiled.�� "Not proper either, for an
uncle to stare at his niece."
He twisted his face
intentionally.� "That's right!� You're not going to
be my niece once you get the annulment."
"You were a naughty uncle
anyway." she grinned.� �
"You were a naughty
niece," he countered.
She stopped, a foot away
from him, her eyes staring into his.
"I think I want to kick
again," she said.� �
She flowed against him,
sliding her arms around his neck and under his arm, pressing her
breasts to his chest.�� She kicked gently, and
wiggled her upper body against his.
"You're being naughty
again," he said.
"I know."� She
wiggled some more.� "I feel like kissing you again, too."
"Julie ..."� He
put warning in his voice.
"I know," she said
again.� "I'm on the rebound, and vulnerable and all
that.�� But you've been nice to me, and I feel all
wiggly inside when we do this."
"Roger was nice to you
too," he commented.� "It's a little soon to be trusting men so
easily."
The arm that was through
his arm pit moved, and he felt her hand slide down his hip.
"You're not Roger," she
said as it moved.� Her hand went lower, to his thigh, and came
around and up, to cup his balls.� She gripped them firmly, but
not too firmly.�� "You'd better not be Roger," she
said.� "I've heard that if I squeeze these really hard, I can
make a man sorry he hurt me."
"I'm not ROGER!" he
yelped, as she squeezed gently.
Her hand moved up and
fumbled to find his penis.
"How come you aren't
hard?" she asked.
"This isn't the time to
be hard," he said.
"Oh."� She let
go, and brought her hand back up to his back.
"Why would he even do
that?" she asked, her face buried in his shoulder.��
He didn't have to ask her what she meant.
"For some men, the chase
is everything," he said softly.� "They can't be satisfied
unless they make another conquest.� That would be my guess."
"And because I wouldn't
let him ... he had to marry me?" She sounded confused. �
Bob understood that
confusion.� It didn't make any sense to him either.
"Something like that," he
said, rocking her in the water unconsciously.
"He got me perfume," she
said.� "He said when he smelled it, it reminded him of me."
"Mmmm" said Bob, just
making a sound to keep her talking.
"That Emily woman was
wearing the same perfume," she said, her voice choking a
little.� "I smelled it on her when she attacked me."
"I'm sorry," he said,
helpless to say anything more.
"To think that all he
wanted was my virginity."
"Maybe it wasn't even
that," said Bob, letting his mind roam free.� "I mean, if that
was the whole goal, he would have at least stayed sober to actually get
it."
She seemed to shudder,
and then she looked up.� When she spoke again, her voice was
stronger.
"Can I really stay here?"
"Definitely," he said.
"You just want to do
this," she teased, rubbing her breasts against his chest.
"As often as humanly
possible," he sighed.� "I know that's not what you want to
hear right now, but I feel a compulsion to be as honest with you as I
can be."
"I thought Roger was
being honest with me," she moaned.� "How will I ever know if a
man is being honest with me or not?"
"I don't know," he
admitted.� "I guess all you can do is trust your heart and
hope for the best."
"I had a feeling before
the wedding ... my mother said it was just nerves.� She said
she always felt that way, and I even thought about the fact that she
had made such miserable choices in men.� How am I supposed to
know what my heart wants?"
"I wish I had all the
answers for you," he sighed.� "But I don't.� All I
can promise you is that I'll tell you the truth.� You won't
know if it's the truth or not, but that's the best I can do."
She wiggled in his arms.
"At least one good thing
happened.� I got you for an uncle, even if it's only
temporary." �
She lifted her head again
and faced him, looking into his eyes. Then she buried her face in his
shoulder again. �
"If I wasn't your niece
... you could kiss me," she murmured.
"I'm still old enough to
be your uncle," he said.� "Or your father."
"I don't have a father,"
she said.� "He ran away when I was little ... like your wife."
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I never knew
him.�� He doesn't really exist for me."
"That's sad too," he
said.�� "When my wife left, she took our daughter
with her.�� I miss that the most, I think."
"That's terrible!" said
Julie, hugging him tighter.
"Yeah.� I have
no idea how she grew up, or what she's like, or if she's happy."
"I'd say maybe she's like
me," said Julie, lifting her head to look into his eyes.�
"except I don't want you to think of me like a
daughter.�� A niece either."
Then she kissed
him.�� She did it without warning, pressing her lips
against his.�� His stiffened at first, but then
relaxed as he felt her warm lips moving.� Her head went this
way and that, and her hug got harder.�� Whether it
was meant to be a short kiss or not, it didn't turn out that
way.� It was a long, lover's kiss ... the kind of kiss that
usually is only shared after a couple has kissed many times.
When it was over, she
buried her face in his chest again.
"I hope you know what
you're doing," sighed Bob.
"I hope I do too," came
her muffled reply.
They floated in the warm
water for another five minutes.� She kicked, occasionally, but
most often just hugged him.
Without words he pulled
her back into the carry position, and started back toward the
beach.��� She kept her face pressed to his
shoulder, her long hair hanging down beside them as he exited the water
and crossed the sand.� It felt hot under his feet.
Without words, he took
her to the shower and stood her on her good foot while he turned on the
water, shielding them from the cold water with his open hand until it
warmed.� �
She grabbed the soap
before he could, tearing off the paper wrapping and rubbing it between
her hands to soften the hard exterior of the bar.��
When her hands were sudsy, she stroked both of his shoulders, starting
at his neck, and moving outward to his upper arms, before sweeping them
back over his chest.� She looked at what she was washing, and
not at his face, intent on her mission.�� She covered
all his flesh she could reach, bending to get her fingertips to his
calves.�� To wash his back she pressed her front
against his and her hands slid all over his back and down to cup his
hard buttocks.�� Last she washed his balls and penis,
which was now rock hard and jutting from his wet pubes.
Without a word, she
handed him the soap and steadied herself on one foot by leaning one
hand against the tiled wall.
He returned the favor,
washing her briskly and efficiently, trying not to spend too much time
with either her breasts, or between her legs.� As he washed
her shaven pubis, one finger slipped between puffy pussy lips, but he
didn't press hard there.
As he turned her, like a
ballerina to rinse, her hand flashed out and snatched up a little
bottle of shampoo and she handed it to him.
Without words she taught
him now to pat and stroke the long hair, so it would stay straight and
untangled as it was cleaned.�� She stood, leaning
forward, her head under the water and shook her head from side to side
to rinse her long tresses that hung down in front of her, and then,
with an expert flip of her head, the whole mass swung around to slap
wetly onto her back.�� She turned and let her head
lean back, again under the water, and shook her head again to let the
hair straighten out.�� Then she turned the water off
and stood, looking at Bob.
Instead of carrying her
out of the big shower room, Bob got towels and brought them into
it.�� They dried each other silently, at the same
time, arms colliding, bodies twisting, as each tried to reach all the
wet spots on the other.�� When it came to the hair,
she leaned and let it fall around her shoulder, bending
over.�� Her attempts to pat it dry made her almost
fall, and he took over, doing the same thing he had seen her
do.�� She signaled it was done by leaning and
flipping her head again, to put the long hank of damp hair down her
back again.
Now he picked her up, and
carried her out of the bathroom.
Roger's vomit still lay
in a smeared pool on the floor.� The faint odor permeated the
whole room.�� Bob went to the door, and took her
outside, turning toward the office.
Without words he carried
her to his quarters and lay her on his bed.� She looked up at
him, her eyes dark, with both expectancy and a hint of fear in them.
He kissed her again, to
see what her reaction was, and the fervor with which she returned his
kiss told him everything he needed to know. He knew she was still
emotionally unstable, but the situation was different now.� If
nothing else, she needed some kind of enjoyable experience to offset,
in some small way, the pain she was suffering..
Her hands came to his
cheeks and held him there for a long time.� Then she pushed
gently, and moved his face lower.� �
He kissed her upper
chest, and she pushed lower and to one side.
He didn't tease
her.�� Even though they had just showered, he could
already smell her arousal.�� That and her kiss gave
him permission.� He sucked gently on the nipple she had
directed him to and she gasped, arching her back and drawing her heels
up.�� When that one was fully erect, he switched to
the other one and she arched so hard that only her head, buttocks and
heels were in contact with the bed.� The injured ankle gave
way, and she fell back, moaning.
He took his time, kissing
between her breasts, and then down to her flat
stomach.�� He kissed around her belly button and then
lower as she made a sound in her throat.
That sound swelled as he
kissed lower, finding her smooth mons slightly prickly with a few days'
growth of the hair she had removed for her wedding.��
He thought about his own chin, unshaven that morning, and reminded
himself to press lightly when he got where he intended to go.
Her legs came up without
help, opening, spreading in welcome, as he scooted around to kneel, ass
high in the air between her feet.�� Her hands came
and gripped his still-wet hair, pushing and pulling spastically, like
she didn't know whether to push him away, or pull him closer.
He kissed the very tip of
her split, and pulled it open to expose her clit, already protruding
from its protective sheath, also welcoming touch and
sensation.�� He teased it ever so gently with the tip
of his tongue, pushing it this way, then that ... circling it as she
moaned even louder.
Finally he sucked it
between his lip-covered teeth and sealed his lips around the base,
flicking it with his tongue while he sucked.
Again, like the first
time, she went off almost immediately, crying out as her hips
convulsed, making little rapid shoves into his face.� Her wild
movements broke his suction, and to regain his lock on her clitty he
had to shove his face hard against her mons.�� Her
legs flopped open wider, as if his whiskers irritated, but then slammed
shut on his head again as she pulled hard on his
hair.�� Her fingers slipped on the damp strands and,
in stead of trying to grip again, her fists balled and slammed into the
sheet under her hips.�� Bob glanced up, craning his
neck, to see her head rolling back and forth, her neck muscles
corded.�� She made little yipping sounds that
reminded Bob of a pack of coyotes he had heard far off on a summer
night ... high pitched and ululating.�� As her orgasm
reached its pinnacle, she arched her back and took her weight on her
head, mouth open wide in a soundless scream.
Bob sensed when to remove
the stimulation from her clitty, and stuck his tongue as far into her
untried pussy as he could get it to reach, licking and sucking the
nectar her body was producing.
She went suddenly limp,
and he felt her wetness on his face as he began kissing his way back
up, over her abdomen, to her nipples.�� They were
rock-hard now, but he just licked them gently, moving to kiss her
throat and under her ear.�� Her hands came to his
back and pulled him down on top of her.�� He heard
her gasping breaths become more labored as his weight settled on her,
but still she hugged him tightly.
His knees were still dug
into the bed, her thighs still wide, and he felt the tip of his prick
nose into her split.�� He wanted badly to press on,
to feel her warmth around him, but the last thing in the world he
wanted now was to cause her discomfort or pain.
Her hands came to his
head and she manhandled his face so she could kiss him.� He
knew she had to feel the wet on his face ... had to smell herself on
his lips as hers reached for his.�� She ignored that,
and her kiss was warm and soft.
He kissed her repeatedly,
mostly quick, but lingering kisses, not always square on each other's
lips, and she soon learned how to let her lips squeeze his and pull
without using her teeth.�� He subconsciously ground
his prick against her sex, getting the bottom of his rigid flesh
between her lips and rubbing her clit with it.�� He
took his weight off of her by resting it on his elbows, though her
breasts were large enough, and firm enough that they were still
squashed into twin round, flat pillows.�� Eventually,
though, her labored breathing caused him to start to roll over to rest
beside her.
Her hands clutched at his
waist.
"There's more," she said,
the first true words she had said since he carried her out of the sea.
"That can wait," he said,
kissing her lower lip.
"I don't want to wait,"
she said.�� "I've waited long enough."
"You're saving that," he
said, kissing her again.� "For a special man."
Her eyes welled up, but
didn't spill over.
"I don't want to wait any
more," she said, her voice shaky.� "You're a special man."
"You hardly know me," he
said.
"Don't make me beg," she
said, the tears now threatening to creep out and down her cheeks.
"It hurts the first
time," he said softly.
"Please, don't make me
beg," she begged.�� "I want to give it to you."
"I don't have anything to
protect you," he said, making one last effort to give her time to think
about things.
"I don't want to be
protected," she said, sudden heat in her voice.� "I want to be
loved.�� Love me, Bob."
Bob Crandall took love
seriously.�� He knew he lusted for this
woman.� His mind grappled with the word she had used, and he
thought.� He also knew she craved love ... had been denied
true love all these years, whether it was by her own design or that of
unsuitable males.� She needed love right now, and it was
important that, if he gave her anything, it included love.� He
had resisted falling in love ... for decades now.
"Bob?"� Her
voice was rising now, and one eye finally gave up and let a single tear
run down her cheek toward her ear.
"I'm thinking," he said,
kissing her lower lip again, absently.
He thought about what she
had been through ... all the things she had told him about, and all the
things he could imagine.�� He thought about her
innocence, and the maturity that battled with that innocence as she had
functioned in the short time he had known her.�� Not
even twenty-four hours had passed since he had heard her faint cries on
the beach, and carried her back to her flawed honeymoon bed.
He had never believed in
love at first sight, but as he thought about her, he felt a tightness
in his chest that was unfamiliar.�� Could he love
her?� DID he love her?�� Was this a simple
interlude, to sooth the injured heart ... or was it the beginning of
something that could be very serious and affect his whole
life?� He wanted to be honest with her ... but first he had to
be honest with himself.
"I think I DO love you,"
he said, the surprise in his voice plain to them
both.�� "I think I loved you the minute I picked you
up off that beach."
She smiled, and her smile
was glorious, even though it forced the other tears out of her eyes and
now both cheeks ran wet.�� Her hand loosened, and
slid to his hip, trying to get between them.�� He
lifted, automatically, and she found his rigid prick, squeezing it.
"It feels so big," she
murmured.�� "Bigger than ..." She didn't finish.
She pulled and then
pushed to get the tip between her nether lips.
"I don't want to wait any
more, Bob," she said again.
A furnace of heat
surrounded the tip of Bob's cock, and he resisted the almost frantic
urge to surge forward and bury himself in that
heat.�� Taking a deep breath, he only let his knees
drive him forward enough to feel his foreskin stretch and slip back
over his glans as her tight lips pushed at it. �
She took a breath too,
and her face went blank for a split second, then changed to a frown,
and then displayed only eagerness.
"Yes!" she
said.�� Her hands went to his hips and pulled.
"Easy," he warned.
"DON'T MAKE ME BEG!" she
screamed, thrusting up at him with her hips, and almost making the tip
slide back out of her.��� The passion in her
scream inflamed him, like a nuclear burst of light, and he DID surge
forward, driving his prick deep into her in a single long
thrust.�� Her legs jerked convulsively, pulling her
knees up, and her feet off the bed.� He had unconsciously
straightened his arms as he rocked forward, and his face loomed over
hers as his pubic bone thudded into hers.
A groan of something
tinged with pain burst from her throat, and Bob felt terror.�
He started to withdraw, and her good leg slammed down over his thighs
as her hands slid up onto his back and pulled.
Her pussy hugged him even
more tightly than her arms, clasping and moving as muscles she had
never used before made themselves aware to her and began to jerk in
uncontrolled bursts.�� He backed up an inch and then
went in again, not so hard this time.� Her groan was less
intense.�� Almost like she knew he wouldn't take it
away, her leg fell off of his thighs, and she wiggled under him, like
she was trying to find a more comfortable position.
Again he withdrew, a
little further this time, but went back in
immediately.�� Now her groan turned to a muted
"Mmmmm".
He was staring at her
face ... at her tightly closed eyes, when they fluttered open and
stared back.�� He saw what he hoped was gratitude in
them.
"Move some more," she
gasped.
He pulled out half way,
and then sunk back in deep.
"Yessss," she
hissed.� "Like that."
His infrequent starts and
stops gradually changed into a smooth rhythm, and her face transposed,
flickering from a tight-lipped grin to an pursed lips that looked like
she was blowing him a kiss as her breath rushed out, like she was
blowing dust off his face.�� Her breathing took on
the same rhythm as his thrusts, and as he speeded up, her breathing did
to.�� Soon he was not quite pounding her, fascinated
by her face as she was transformed from a frightened virgin to a woman
who suddenly loved what was happening to her as she discovered what she
could feel like for the very first time.
Her gasps of breath
changed as her eyes went round, and became a chant.
"Oh Bob ... Oh Bob ... Oh
Bob."
Her eyes widened even
further, and Bob could actually see the orgasm that claimed her, as it
washed over her face and she screamed one last drawn out "Ohhhhh
Baaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhb!"
Her orgasm triggered his
own.�� His fascination with watching her face was
suddenly displaced with raging lust as he drove into her hard and
stopped, his entire body rigid, as all his remaining strength pushed
his rich semen through his penis.� It flashed out and against
Julie's cervix in three agonizingly delightful, thick spurts as his
pubic bone mashed her clit flat.
And then, so suddenly
that neither of them was prepared for it, it was over. His prick was
still making small spastic clenches, but Bob sensed there was nothing
left to push out of him and into her.� He knew that he
couldn't hold himself up off of her this time, and, with the last of
his energy, he rolled, pulling her with him to leave her draped over
his body as they both gasped to get air into their lungs.� Her
hair flowed down off her back, and caressed his side and arm, still
damp, but warm now, from lying under her during their
exertion.�� She relaxed, laying her cheek flat on his
upper chest, and he let his own head roll to the side to make room for
her head.
CHAPTER FIVE
Julie had always assumed
the aftermath of losing her virginity would be awkward.� Had
the circumstances been what she had expected, it might have been
too.� But her life had become so tumultuous in the last day or
two that, to both her amazement ... and joy ... what she felt was a
glow deep inside her that she identified as love.��
She was surrounded by it ... soothed at a place inside her she hadn't
even known existed, but which she now recognized as the center of her
human power.� It was as if she were suspended in an ocean of
light, and peace, floating ... rising and falling gently ... without a
care in the world, comfortable and safe ... at peace.� She
felt like she was in another place ... a place outside of reality as
she knew it, where nothing could hurt or bother her.
Her ears identified
sounds that seeped into her consciousness, and her other senses began
to pick up cues from the real world.� She thought indolently
that she should feel disappointment that her cocoon of safety was being
intruded upon, but didn't feel threatened at all.
The languid rising and
falling she had felt slowly transposed into the feel of her body, lying
on a firm, warm surface, which was actually doing the rising and
falling.�� As her mind came back to the real world,
she realized it was Bob's chest under her, and that his deep pants for
breath signaled that she was heavy.
Her arms moved
automatically, and another sensation flowed into her mind as she
suddenly felt his hands on the small of her back, stroking and holding
her there.
"Please don't move," his
voice murmured in her ear.
"I'm too heavy," she
murmured back.
One of his hands flowed
up to the middle of her back, and dipped under her hair, while the
other slid down to cup one buttock in a way that made her giggle
because it seemed so shockingly intimate.�� Her
conscious mind was quite clear about what had just happened ...
something so intimate that her definition of the word had been
unimaginably altered.� His hand WAS touching her intimately,
but that word now had layers of meaning that she felt like she could
contemplate for days without understanding completely.
She kissed his neck, then
licked where she had just kissed.� Her head felt like it
weighed fifty pounds, but she enjoyed feeling her muscles flex to lift
it.�� She looked down at his face, turned sideways,
his eyes still closed.
"Are you going to do that
to me again?" she asked.
"Oh PLEASE yes," he
sighed.�� The corners of his mouth tugged into a
gentle smile as his eyes opened and he rolled his head to look up at
her.
"When?" she asked, unable
to conceal the eagerness in her voice.
His laugh bounced her on
his chest.
"I told you I'm old," he
chuckled.�� "I tried to tell you you'd be sorry, but
you wouldn't listen to me.�� Now you're just going to
have to wait for my poor decrepit body to recuperate."
Her right hand came to
his chin, and she put a finger on his lip, almost as if she were trying
to make him stop talking.� In reality, she just wanted to
touch his lower lip ... to feel one of the parts of him that had made
her feel so incredibly special.
"I'm not sorry," she
said, her voice firming.�� "I'll never, ever be sorry
for what just happened."
His hand slid out from
under her hair to grasp her finger gently and he kissed it.
"That makes me
unimaginably happy," he said.
"I'm happier than you,"
she teased.
"No ... I'm happier than
YOU!" he teased back.
"No, your decrepit old
happy box is all cracked and leaky!" she crowed.� "And that
means I'm WAY happier than you."
His hands flashed to her
waist and tickled.
"Your happy box isn't
even fully grown yet," he said, tickling her as she wiggled and
squealed.� "And it's been so long since my happy box was
emptied that I'll be happy for HOURS more."
She fought back, but she
was no match for him.� They rolled and laughed, hands
flashing, tweaking, pinching, until his legs trapped hers and she found
herself pressed into the mattress, arms above her head, wrists crossed
and pinned by his strong grip.�� His other hand
stroked her, finding her nipples and pulling at them.
"Admit it," he panted,
his fingers inflaming her again.�� "I'm happier."
"You're molesting me,"
she whined, grinning.�� "I'm young and helpless, and
you're a dirty old man who would ravish his own niece!"
"Don't change the
subject," he said, lowering his head to suck at a distended nipple.
"Help ... help ..." she
said softly.�� "He's going to touch my ... pussy!"
"I am?" he asked,
switching to her other nipple.
"Of course you are," she
laughed.� "You're molesting me, after all.��
You have to touch my pussy.� It's a rule."
"I don't always follow
the rules," he said, licking her breasts as she tried unsuccessfully to
spread her legs.
"That's because you're
old," she moaned, writhing as he tortured her erect nubs.�
"You probably don't even remember the rules because you're so old and
senile."
"Well looky there!" Bob
said, rising to his knees, still holding her wrists tightly above her
head.� She strained to lift her head and stared with glee at
his erect penis dangling above her abdomen.� "I guess there's
still some life in the old boy after all!"
By rising, he freed her
legs, and she flung them wide while she could.
"Oh Bob, put it in me
again," she moaned.�� "Please Bob, don't tease me any
more."
"You liked that, huh?" he
asked, smugly.
With strength that
surprised them both she jerked one hand free and attacked him, poking a
stiffened finger into the soft skin just below his rib cage and pushing
hard.� He rolled in self defense and she scrambled on top of
him, sitting upright with her hands out, fingers curled, her painted
nails like the talons of an eagle, waiting to strike.
"You just lie there like
a good boy," she warned.�� "If you so much as move a
muscle you'll be very sorry."�� To punctuate her
point both hands flashed to his chest and squeezed handfuls of his
chest flesh together in her grip.� He winced, but she didn't
let up at all.�� She scooted her pussy down his
stomach, leaving a wet trail of their mingled juices, until her slot
literally ran over his erection and sat on top of it.
"Now," she said, flexing
her thighs and raising her pussy up off his prick.��
"You take one of your hands and get that thing ready to go back in me."
Smiling, he grasped his
cock and pointed it straight up.� Her eyes went to her crotch
and she lowered and wiggled until she felt the tip dig into
her.�� As soon as she did she sat down so hard and so
fast that he didn't get his hand away in time.� When he jerked
it out, she sank the last three inches and her hands relaxed as she let
out a groan of satisfaction.
"All you had to do was
ask," he said, making his voice whine theatrically.
"Ohhhhh," she
groaned.� "It feels like you're splitting me in two."
"You were hasty," he
said.� "Youth is always so hasty."
"It hurts ... but it also
doesn't hurt.� I LOVE it.� I can't believe I went so
long without this," she moaned, her hands flat on his chest as her hips
began to lurch forward and backward.� She refined her
movements, leaning forward and arching her back instinctively, to bring
her clitty into contact with the bone at the base of his
prick.�� Then her hips flashed rapidly, like a belly
dancer's, as she basically masturbated herself on his prick.
By now he expected what
happened.� She came ... practically within thirty seconds of
full penetration, her pussy muscles spasming all around his
prick.�� Having cum so recently, and secretly amazed
that he was already hard again, Bob felt no hurry, and pulled his hands
up to fold them under his head.�� He let her
experiment and learn to ride as she gasped and giggled through two more
orgasms until at last she slumped, like a tired cowgirl leaning forward
in the saddle.
"Are you just going to
lie there?" she asked, looking down at him with something dangerously
like adoration in her eyes.
"I think so," he answered.
"I thought men wanted to
dominate and fertilize their women," she said, her hips giving
unplanned little wiggles.
"Oh, I'll probably do
that tonight.�� As you pointed out, I am of advanced
years, and I only have so many orgasms left in me.��
I plan to pace myself, so that I don't use it all up in a single hour
... assuming you don't come to your senses and run screaming for the
airport."
"You said I could stay
..." her voice was tight.
"I hope you do," he
said.� "Thus my desire to save a little up for later tonight."
"You promise?" she asked.
"Cross my heart," he
said.
She melted down on top of
his chest again, still firmly impaled on his prick.��
She lay there and began to shake in a way that he suddenly realized was
quiet sobs.
"You OK?" He stroked her
back.
"I don't know," she
hiccuped.
"You having second
thoughts?" he asked, his heart tightening.
"That's not it at all,"
she sniffed.
"Still thinking about
Roger?"
She laughed, snorting.
"OK, then ... what?"
"What if I fall in love
with you?" she asked, her voice tiny.� "What if I AM in love
with you?� This is all so confusing!"
"It would be silly for
you to fall in love with me, but I can think of much worse things
happening," he answered truthfully.
Her head came up, her
hair covering half her face as she looked at him.
"Why would it be silly?"
she asked.
"You have your whole life
ahead of you," he said.�� "Why tie half of it up with
a guy who'll just get too old to meet your needs later."
He wasn't trying to be
cruel, but he didn't want her to make decisions based on only
emotion.�� He ached for her to be in love with him,
but he honestly believed that was something that could be improved on
... at least from her perspective.
"You'd deny me the
opportunity to be gloriously happy for half my life?" she accused.
"I never quite thought of
it that way," he admitted.� "Wouldn't you rather be gloriously
happy for the REST of your life?"
"A bird in the hand is
worth two in the bush," she said, matter-of-factly.� "I don't
have a very good track record for choosing to be happy ... at least not
until about an hour ago."
"Why don't we get up and
go do something ... maybe get something to eat ... before I get too
tempted to ... fertilize you again."
She squeezed his prick
with her pussy muscles.
"Mmmmm.� You
know ... I have complete faith in my ability to bring life back to your
shrunken old male part ... later on tonight ... even if you abuse it
and molest me again right now."
Bob was astounded at what
she did to him, both to his body and to his mind.��
He had had women before, of course, but no few of them had been hired,
and were all business.� Others had other things on their
minds, a variety of agendas that sex with him was just a small part
of.�� He had never felt really wanted any of them, in
the way she communicated to him that she wanted him.� Her
whole focus, at the moment, was on what they were doing at this
moment.� He had her undivided attention, and demanded the same
from him.�� The rigidity this caused as she moved on
that rigidity, brought back thoughts of younger years, and he rolled
her over again, to land on top of her, this time with his hands beside
her breasts.
As he had laid and
watched her having fun, she now laid under him and stared at his face
and upper body as he began to pleasure himself in her.�
Somehow they both knew that this time was for him, and that her own
orgasm wasn't necessary, like his hadn't been as she rode
him.�� She loved the ripple of his chest muscles, and
the way his face went through changes as she squeezed him with internal
muscles and stroked him with external ones.
"I really shouldn't cum
inside you again," he panted.� "The pill isn't always
successful at protecting a woman."
"Yes ... you should," she
answered, raking his back with her fingernails and crossing her legs
over his. "Besides, I'm not on the pill.� Ro..." she didn't
finish his name.� "I was going to try to have children right
away."
"Why would you chance
that with me?" he groaned.
"I'm giving you something
very special, Bob, and I want to give it to you in every
sense.� I want to surrender to you, and that is part of
surrendering," she said simply.
"It wouldn't be good for
you to fall in love with me," he said stubbornly.
"You're NOT too old for
me," she said.
"That's not it," he
panted, moving faster.� "If you fall in love with me, I'll
fall so hard for you that I won't be able to stop."
"Oh," she said
softly.�� "Are you going to fertilize me now?"
"Ohhhh fuck, Julie," he
groaned.� "What are you doing to meeeeee?"
His balls bunched and he
sagged forward, almost gently as he bathed her nubile pussy with
another load of heavy cream.
"I'm thanking you, old
man," she whispered, pulling him tightly into her.
He had to go back to the
beach to get their clothing, and then he rinsed it in fresh water and
put it in the dryer.�� She stayed in his bed, lying
there languidly, feeling happy.� She dozed a little bit,
having had only a few hours of sleep the night before.� Bot
stared at her naked body, lying in his bed, her pussy still weeping his
thick spend.� The sight of her ... of his sperm clogging the
opening of her bald pussy, caused him to have yet another erection.
�
This one he
ignored.�� Instead, he got their clothing ready and
then woke her, insisting that she get dressed in her running
outfit.� Then he carried her to a beat up jeep parked under a
palm tree.
"Where are we going?" she
asked.
"To town.� You
need some clothes," he answered.
"Surely my luggage will
show up soon," she said.�� "Besides, I kind of like
going around naked."� She gave him a coquettish smile.
"That's the problem," he
said.� "If you keep going around naked, I'm going to age
twenty years in the next week."
She laughed as he ground
the gears and they rumbled off down the coastline.��
His first stop, though, wasn't at a clothing shop.��
It was at the local clinic, where he went in and came back with a wheel
chair, fitted with oversized air-filled tires that were suitable for
use in sand.
"Crutches would have done
nicely," she teased.
"This way, as I push you,
I can look down your blouse," he said with a straight face.
"With crutches I could
just go naked," she pointed out.
"We already had this
conversation," he said darkly.
Then he did take her
shopping.� She admitted that being pushed around in the wheel
chair was probably better than him having to carry her into the shops.
�He bought her
three sets of American style clothes, and two local outfits.�
When she insisted that he didn't need to spend his money, he reminded
her that she might be unemployed soon, if she actually decided not to
go back to work.� That shut her up, to say nothing of
dampening the mood a little.� �
But her new clothes
brightened her up, especially the native dress, which was loose and
airy and unlike anything she had ever thought of wearing
before.�� She wore one of those outfits when he took
her to dinner, changing in the jeep as he drove through town.�
She giggled maniacally as she got naked and then slipped the dress on
over her head and wiggled to get it under her
buttocks.�� Then she pouted because Bob had stared
straight ahead while she did it.
Dinner was lobster, and
the eyes of every man in the place were on Julie at one time or
another, much to the displeasure of the women those men were supposed
to be with. �
They talked about
everything in general, and nothing in particular, just passing the time
with good food and good rum and good company.�� Julie
noticed that Bob only sipped at his rum sparingly.� She didn't
notice that the level of her own glass went down significantly
faster.�� He pushed her to the bathroom door in the
chair, and then tended to his own bladder while she navigated the
bathroom on her own.� When they returned to the table, dessert
was already there and her glass had been refilled.��
The taste of the rum, mixed with the custard, was delightful, and by
the time he put her back into the jeep, she was giddy, on the tipsy
edge of being drunk, but fully capable of complex thought.
"Thank you for a
wonderful day," she said, reaching for his thigh as they drove between
tall trees in the twilight.
Her suitcases were
sitting beside the office door when they got back, which was cause for
no little laughter on her part.� �
For Bob, the day had been
a very intentional attempt to "normalize" Julie's attitude about
life.�� He had exposed her to other men her age, and
to some of the normal things that a woman her age did - shopping and
being taken to dinner.� With a vague ache in his stomach, he
tried to give her every opportunity to draw back from him ... to
realize that their ages were so disparate that it was a foolish
pleasure to become infatuated with him.�� He knew
that, sooner or later, the pain of what had happened to her would fade
enough that she would become interested in things again.� At
that point her eyes would cast about, looking for a man to replace the
disappointment that had been her husband.�� He felt
it was his duty, at a minimum -� especially considering what
she had already given him - to attempt to hasten that healing process
by giving her a guilt-free way to back away from him
gracefully.� Women on the rebound were often quite fun, but
Bob didn't want to hurt this one.�� He also didn't
want to BE hurt by this one.�� His feelings for her
were already much deeper than they had been for any other woman in a
long, long time, and if he didn't pull back, he wouldn't WANT to pull
back after much longer.
Julie, though, noticed
none of it.� At least not in the way Bob
intended.�� During the day she had seen the scenery,
and the colors and smelled the exotic smells of the market
place.� She had eaten unfamiliar food, and worn clothing she'd
never have thought about choosing for herself.�� But
she had had eyes only for Bob that day.�� In truth,
had she tried, she would not have been able to remember a single male
face she had seen that day.�� He was fun to be
around.� He was polite.� There was no subject that he
was afraid to talk about, and yet, when it came to things like politics
and religion, he was able to chat without anyone's opinions being made
to seem "wrong".�� He was ... comfortable somehow,
and she loved every second of the day with him.
Bob, feeling almost ill,
continued his plan to get her off the island and back to America, where
she could go on with her life.
"I'll take those down to
the cottage," he said, nodding at her luggage.�� "I
imagine you'd prefer different accommodations for tonight, though."
She looked at him with
tilted head.� She was still wearing her new sunglasses, so he
couldn't see her eyes, but her lazy smile suggested she wasn't unhappy
at the subject.
"You imagine correctly,
good sir," she said.�� "My previous accommodations
are entirely unsuitable."� �
He picked up her
suitcases, and she put the bag with her new purchases in her lap and
attempted to follow him as he set off around the corner of the office.
"This is HARD!" she
panted, after twenty yards.
"You're young and
strong," he said over his shoulder grinning.� "Don't be a soft
American.� Tough it out, girl!"
He took her to another
cottage, this one smaller, and less sumptuously appointed than the
honeymoon cottage.�� She bumped over the threshold
and turned the chair in a circle, still panting lightly.
"Something smells funny,"
she said, wrinkling her nose and sniffing at the
air.�� "This one won't do."
Bob sniffed, and then
shrugged his shoulders, picking up her suitcases
again.�� As they left she said "There's something in
the old cottage I just thought of.� I need to get
it.� Which one are you going to next?" she asked.
He pointed to a cottage
thirty yards away, one of three in a line between where they were and
the office.
"I'll meet you there,"
she said.� "Here, carry these please," she said handing him
the bags with her new purchases.� He gave out an obviously
overdone groan as he managed to incorporate the handles into that of
the luggage.� When he stood up he looked like bag lady might
look, who had no cart to put her things in.
She turned and wheeled
off across the sand while Bob sighed and trudged to the next
cabin.�� He was inspecting a crack in the wall, high
in one corner, that suggested the lack of a foundation under the
cottage might have to be remedied one of these days, when she bumped
through the door, her wedding dress bundled up on her
lap.�� She rolled toward him.
"What's that?" she asked,
looking up at where he had been looking when she came in.
"Crack," he
said.� "The ground is shifting under the cottage or something.
"Well, I can't be
expected to stay in a cottage that might fall into the ocean any
minute," she snorted.�� "Take me to another one."
When she found something
wrong with the next one too, Bob's suspicions flared
up.�� He was not surprised, therefore, when she said
the view was substandard in the last one.
"I have two other
cottages," he said, softly, "but they're down the beach a
ways.� They're for those people who like to 'rough it' when
they come down here.�� I thought they'd be a little
too far away."
"Oh, I'm sure you're
right," she said nodding her head.�� "Besides, I
didn't come here to rough it."
"In that case, I'm afraid
you've seen everything I have to offer," he said. �
Julie put one finger on
her chin.�� "Well, then, I guess I'll just have to
choose one of them ... won't I?"
Bob didn't say
anything.�� He wondered how she was going to say it,
but he had no doubt any more what she would say.
She didn't say it
anything near like what he might have expected.
"Men are so STUPID!" she
snorted, sitting there looking beautiful.�� "Didn't I
ask you not to make me beg?�� Didn't I TELL you not
to make me beg?� And here you are, making me
beg.�� Are ALL men stupid?�� Or is
it just you Crandall men?"
She wheeled the chair in
a tight circle and bounced out the door, turning left toward the office
... and Bob's quarters.��� Picking up her
suitcases, and other bags, he stepped out and gingerly followed
her.�� She wasn't having any trouble pushing the
chair through the sand now.�� Her agitation gave her
strength, and she already had the door to his rooms open when he got
there.��� His threshold was a little higher
than the rest, since the office and the rooms attached to it were on a
concrete pad.� She had slowed down enough that she was having
trouble getting the rear wheels of the chair over the obstacle when he
arrived behind her.� He dropped her suitcases, pushed her into
his quarters, and then picked up the suitcases again and carried them
in.
"This will do," she said
tightly.�� She wheeled around to face him.�
"And before you go and do something noble, like offering to sleep
somewhere else, I'd think very carefully about
that.�� If you keep behaving like this I'm going to
lose this desire I have inside - which is hanging on by a thread, by
the way - to be fertilized again!"
"Good grief, Julie,"
moaned Bob, looking at the ceiling.�� His heart leapt
in his chest, though.
"Good sex will do for
now," she said calmly.� "I'm almost drunk, and you can take
advantage of me quite easily if you put your mind to
it."�� She picked up her balled up wedding dress and
threw it in a corner, like it was a basketball.
"You went all the way
down there to get that and then treat it like that?" Bob asked.
"I didn't go there to get
that," she said, wheeling around and toward the bed.� "I
picked it up because it cost a lot of money and I wasn't going to just
leave it there."
"What did you go get?"
asked Bob with genuine curiosity.
"Go in there!" said
Julie, pointing at his bathroom.�� "You can come out
when I tell you to."
"You've gotten awfully
bossy all of a sudden," said Bob, grinning.
"You made me
beg.� Now you pay the price," she sulked.��
"Now go in there.� That string I was talking about is getting
thinner and thinner."
When he was gone, Julie
reached under her butt and pulled out the little wisps of cloth that
her mother's fifth husband had gotten her for her
honeymoon.�� She had thought they looked
ridiculous.� She had thought they looked
slutty.�� Now, after having experienced something
with Bob that had truly taken her by complete surprise, she realized
several things.� �
She realized why her
mother acted the way she did.� That was no excuse for her
mother's crassness, but at least she now understood what motivated her
mother's amoral ways.�� Julie's depths had been
plunged into only twice, thus far, but those two times had convinced
her that this needed to be a significant part of her life from now
on.�� Another thing she had learned was that there
were men ... at least ONE man anyway ... who was willing to put his own
desires on hold, and pay attention to the needs of the woman he was
with.�� In all her life, she had always felt vaguely
like she was alone in a jungle, running from whatever predator she was
with at the time, unsure when she might be caught and eaten.�
Even Roger, while he honored her desire to save herself for her groom,
continued to push the envelope, based on what HE wanted.
Now, for the first time,
that jungle she was in felt like home.� Bob was a masterful
mature lion, and she was a young lioness, but she had teeth, and claws,
and the king of the jungle had given her respect and
space.�� She wasn't afraid any more.� She
wasn't a flighty girl, dreaming about impossible things
either.�� She knew Bob was old enough to be her
father.�� She just didn't care.��
She liked him, plain and simple.�� Her virginity was
gone, so she wasn't being held hostage any more by that particular
dream.� Even if things went badly between her and Bob in the
future - and she couldn't imagine why they would - she would enter her
next relationship no more 'soiled' than she already
was.�� As she stripped off her native outfit and
slipped into the sexy thing her mother had said would drive a man wild,
she glanced into the mirror.�� She still thought it
looked too small, and was a little silly, but she knew Bob would like
it somehow.�� And right now she wanted him to like it
enough that he'd stop being so gentlemanly about things.
She tugged at the bra,
until each nipple popped out and was underlined by the
material.�� She pulled at the thong, so that the
cloth slipped between her pouting pussy lips.� They looked fat
and white against the dark cloth, and she thought that looked silly
too, but with a conviction she felt in her bones, she knew it was the
right thing to do with Bob.� She leaned against the bed with
her good leg, and put her injured foot down lightly, knee slightly
bent.�� One hand fell lightly on the wheel chair
handle.
"OK, you can come out
now," she called.�� When he came through the door,
she added.� "This is what I went back for.��
Another man has seen me in it, but he didn't seem to pay that much
attention at the time, so really, I suppose you're the first man I've
actually worn it for who might like it."
She actually heard his
gulp as he swallowed.
CHAPTER SIX
Julie sighed as she
relaxed.�� She smiled as she realized she had a lot
to learn about men.�� She'd gotten a lot of it right,
but there were nuances of manhood that she didn't expect, or understand
yet.�� She was learning, though ... learning quite
quickly.
Bob's reaction to "the
getup" had vastly exceeded her expectations.�� Like a
whirlwind, he had enveloped her.� It had almost seemed like
she was never quite able to catch her breath.� That, or maybe
she had been a little tipsier than she thought.�� At
any rate, she had a hard time remembering exactly how things happened,
either because she was tipsy, or because they happened so quickly.
His mouth and hands had
been all over her, touching her in places she would never had thought
were 'sexy' before, but which made her body tighten up like the strings
on some huge instrument.�� She knew "the getup" would
need some repair if she was ever going to wear it
again.�� The bra had flown away while she was in the
act of falling onto the bed under him.���
His sudden almost violent penetration of her, with the panties still
on, but pulled aside, had taken her breath away, though, now that she
looked back on it, she had to have been physically prepared for
it.�� He hadn't used any lubricant, and he had been
overpowering, but she hadn't felt any pain at all.� �
He had rutted in
her.� That was the only word she could think of to describe
what he had done.�� She might be the lioness, young
and supple, but his mature strength and size had completely dominated
her as he pounded her into willing submission.��
Somehow, while he dominated her, orgasms seemed to keep crashing over
her like she was under a waterfall of them.�� She
couldn't even get enough breath to tell him to stop ... to let her
breathe.� �
She remembered his hard
body sliding all over hers, sweat pouring off of both of
them.�� She remembered his amazingly strong grip on
her waist, lifting her and turning her, forcing her onto her hands and
knees while he approached from behind and skewered her in that
position.�� She marveled at how different that felt,
especially with his fingers pulling at her nipples, or sliding down to
press and strum her clit while that long, hard thing plumbed her depths.
It was in that position
that she felt the warm flow of wet deep inside her as he paused for the
first spurt.� But, to her delight, he started lunging into her
again, still hard.�� He flipped her again, putting a
pillow under her hips before mounting her and sliding in, this time so
easily that she was afraid she wouldn't feel anything, so slick was
she.�� His feet kicked her legs closed, though, and,
while she lay straight as an arrow, he rocked on top of her, his entire
weight on the thing driving into her and scraping her clit every time
it moved, until she screamed� her pleasure.�
�
When she went limp that
time, he slowed a little, sliding into her several more times, almost
languidly, before he pushed hard and groaned again.� More of
that warm, wet feeling deep inside her belly made her moan with
him.� �
She was surprised to find
that, when he rolled off of her to lie on his side, his hand making
lazy circles on her abdomen, that she didn't mind his weight being
gone.� Before she had loved the heavy feel of him on her, but
this was nice too, as she strained to breathe.�� The
pillow felt strange under her hips and she reached for it, tugging
ineffectually until he gripped her wrist and stopped her.
"What?" she said.
"Leave it there," he said.
"Why? ... it's
uncomfortable."
"It's to keep all my seed
inside you," he said.� "To make a baby."� His hand
came back to her belly and stroked again.� "To make our baby."
Julie's consciousness
fragmented into distinct little pieces at that
moment.�� Part of her mind realized that she knew
exactly what lovemaking was all about, and how babies were
made.�� Another part of her reminded her that she had
decided not to go on the pill for the express purpose of making herself
fertile during her honeymoon, and that she had told Bob about that ...
invited him ... TEASED him about fertilizing her.� Then there
was the part of her that said "Whoa, there girl!��
Dreaming about it is one thing ... actually getting knocked up is
another!"� �
And there was the part
that reminded her that she was supposed to get pregnant by her husband,
not the proprietor of a beach resort.�� There was the
part of her that didn't believe she COULD get pregnant.� Lots
of women don't believe it can actually happen to them until it
does.� �
Another bit of her mind
was recognizing that the man who had put all that warm seed in her
belly had just shown a side of himself that she would never have
suspected was there ... an animal ... powerful ... completely male
side.�� That thought split into two fragments, one
grinning at the fun it had been to be dominated like that, and the
other fearful that he might act like that too often, or when she wasn't
ready for it.�� That thought trickled into a
realization that she HAD been ready to be loved this way ... to be
dominated ... to be bred, and that surprised her too, because she would
never have thought SHE could be like that.� �
Still another part of her
mind was outraged that he would so intentionally try to impregnate her,
knowing what had happened to her.�� She realized she
was rigid, and staring at the ceiling.�� The pillow
felt like it was pushing her womb up, offering it as a
sacrifice.�� A different place in her brain shouted
that she had goaded him into it ... had intended for it to happen.
All these thoughts were
zinging around inside her skull, each one shouting to be heard ... to
be dominant over all the others.� She dimly heard him call her
name while this battle went on, but she was too busy to respond.
Then, like a knife, cold,
hard and sharp, coupled with him taking his hand OFF her belly, his
next statement cut through the babble in her head, shredding all those
thoughts and banishing them back to a place where she could store them
for a while.
"It's OK ... I can get
you the morning after pill, Julie."
She was still rigid,
still arrow straight on the bed, her hands at her sides, her belly
still poking up into the air.��� All her
thoughts were replaced suddenly by the thought that a tiny little life
might be in there already, not yet with a beating heart, but getting
bigger as two cells became four, and then ten and then
hundreds.� �
Now, instead of feeling
like her womb was being sacrificed, she felt like it was being honored
... lifted up in celebration of new life.
All her emotion ... all
the guilt, and fear, and disappointment ... all the anger and anxiety
was pushed out of her by the remembered emotions of overwhelming love
... of the sharing that two people can do together that cannot be
experienced any other way ... of hope, and expectation ... of
unrealized dreams.�� Those new emotions flooded her
whole body as it relaxed and she sobbed at the very concept of halting
that life that might already grace her womb.
She rolled to face him,
tears streaming down her face, arms grappling and fumbling for him,
unable to get under him and having no place to go.��
She buried her face in his chest.
"No pills," she
sobbed.�� "No pills."
His arms came around her,
and she snuggled up against him, loving the feeling of being safe again.
They lay like that long
enough that she almost dozed.�� She jerked awake,
though, lifting her head.
"I love you," she said.
"I know, baby," he said
back.�� "And that�s good, because I love
you too.�� You're stuck with me now."
She kissed
him.�� "You can stick me any time you like."
"I don't suppose you'd
think about getting married again," he said, kissing her under her ear.
That jarred her
consciousness again. Marriage was something to be worked toward ...
planned ... anguished over ...�� Wasn't it?�
Her mind flitted back to the way she had methodically worked ... and
planned ... and anguished.�� It had all been
ludicrous.�� It had almost been contrived
somehow.�� Now, his simple proposal burst into her
consciousness like the brilliant light at the end of a dark
tunnel.� She thought ironically of how often her mother had
made this decision, and wondered briefly if it had been as easy for her
mother as it suddenly was for her.�� Then she pushed
that out of her mind and looked at him.
"I came here to have a
honeymoon," she said, kissing him back.
"It will take a week or
so to get your first marriage annulled," he said.��
"Then however long for you to plan the ceremony.��
You want to do it here, or back home, so your mother can be there?"
"If I have my way, my
mother will never lay eyes on you," said Julie firmly.� "And
she's certainly not going to help me plan another
wedding.�� No sir ... I'm staying right
here.� If I never go back home again that will be just fine
with me.� The last thing I need is my mother trying to get
into your pants."
He told her, quite
clearly, that, at some point in the near future, he would ask her
formally to marry him, and that, until that time, he would help her do
whatever needed to be done to straighten out her
situation.�� He told her that burning bridges was a
very risky thing to do sometimes, and that she should leave as many of
them intact as she could.� That included the bridge that, if
she thought about things, and decided she had been rash in her
relationship with Bob, could be used to escape that situation.
"Why do you keep thinking
I'll run away from you," she asked peevishly.
"When I marry you, I
intend to stay with you for the rest of my life," he said
simply.�� "I fouled things up with one woman and I
lost something very dear to me when that happened.� I'm not
going to let that happen again.�� If you go through
with this mad little scheme of yours ... OK ... ours, I want you to
understand it's for life.� Period.�� Good or
bad ... this marriage is going to stay together."
"I love you," she said
simply.�� "I know we've only known each other for a
few days, but I also know I love you.� I'm not going to
question that feeling.� It's the strongest I've felt about any
man in my whole life, and I'm going to trust that feeling."
It took two weeks, in
fact, for all the legal issues to be dealt with.� Roger, when
he'd left the Bahamas, had not flown back to the United
States.�� Nor had he flown to
London.�� He had, in fact, flown to Paris, France,
where he either still was, or where he had gone underground, moving out
of that city by some method that did not require him to identify
himself.�� He had maxed out three credit cards,
getting cash advances, and had also emptied his bank
accounts.� A Warrant had been issued for his arrest on bigamy
charges.� There were indications that there might even be more
marriages, in other countries.
They found all this out
in court, when Julie was required to fly back to the U.S. to get the
marriage annulled.�� She insisted on using the return
ticket that was still in her carryon bag, and using the one Roger had
left behind, for Bob, who insisted on escorting her.� He went
everywhere she went, almost pathetic in his attempt to keep her in
sight. �
It made her feel
wonderful.� �
The whole time he
complained about the smells, the noise, the pollution and the
crowds.�� They stayed in Julie's apartment, which had
been paid up through the end of the month, and the first thing she did
when they got there was drag him, not unwillingly, into her bed, a bed
no man had ever graced.�� Most of her things had
already been packed up, in anticipation of moving them to her new home
once the honeymoon was over.�� She went through those
boxes, consolidating things into a few boxes they shipped to the
Bahamas, and then, on the last day, set the rest out on the sidewalk
for anyone who wanted it.�� By the time they got in
the cab they had called for, half the stuff was already gone.
On the flight back to the
Bahamas, Julie leaned back in her seat and sighed.
"I don't want anything
fancy.� I just want us to be part of each other's lives," she
said.
"What you want is what
you get," he said, reaching for her hand.
"I was only supposed to
get married once," she sighed.�� "Roger promised me
I'd never even think of marrying another man.� That seems like
years ago now."
"So, don't think about
marrying me," he joked.
"That's not as funny as
you think it is," she said dryly.�� "When I was
getting ready to marry Roger, all I could think of was how my life
would change, and how I'd be a wife now, and all the things that went
with that.�� He said he didn't want me to work, so I
wondered what I'd do with my time.�� It was like my
whole world was being turned upside down."
Bob squeezed her hand.
"But when I think about
us ... I just think about the beach, and maybe cooking sometimes, and
learning to fish and things like that," she said.��
It's almost like I found my best friend, and I'm just going to live
with him."
"We can't be best
friends," he said seriously.� "Best friends don't have sex."
She looked at
him.� "I don't even know you, really.�� I
love you, and I love being around you.� I love the way you
make me feel."� She leaned closer and whispered
conspiratorially "I especially love the sex."�� She
leaned back.� "But I don't know anything about you.�
I don't know your birthday, or where you grew up or any of that kind of
thing.�� That's what I think about when I think about
our future.� There are so many things I get to learn about
you, and I can't wait to get started."
"OK," he said.�
"We'll just break that rule.� Best friends who have
sex.� I can live with that."�� He grinned.
The next disaster was
something neither of them could possibly have
anticipated.�� Nor could they have planned for
it.�� It just happened, and when it did, it was as if
the genie came out of the bottle and floated in front of both of
them.�� Once that genie was out, it could not be
stuffed back into the bottle.
They were in a small,
tidy office with whitewashed walls and a ceiling fan turning lazily
overhead.� They were filling out the documents necessary for
their marriage to be licensed in the Bahamas.�� Bob
knew the clerk, and he chatted with the black-faced smiling woman as
Julie carefully penned in all her personal
information.�� She had been told in court that she
need not ever identify herself as having been married, at least not to
Roger Crandall.� So her part of the form was pretty simple,
requiring only the same information she was used to.
"I don't know who my
father was," she said, lifting her eyes to those of the
clerk.� "He ran away when I was little, and my mother changed
my name to her maiden name."
The clerk waved her hand
lazily.�� "Is no problem, my dear.� Just put
down what you know.� We are not so formal here in the islands."
Julie promptly handed the
form to the woman, who looked it over and then handed it to Bob to fill
out his part.�� Bob settled back into his chair,
while Julie took over chatting with the clerk.� He propped the
clipboard on his crossed knee and his eyes drifted over Julie's
information.� �
Then they stopped.
�
He stared, then glanced
up and then back down.
It took perhaps two
minutes for either of the women to notice that he wasn't writing
anything on the form.� Their conversation stopped, and both
women looked at him.
"Bob?" Julie's voice was
puzzled.
"Can I speak with you
privately?" his voice cracked.
He stood up and walked to
the door of the office, taking the clipboard with him.
When she got over her
surprise enough to stand and follow him, she found him pacing the
sidewalk outside.
"Bob?" she probed again.
"I never even asked you
your last name!" he rasped, his face looking anguished.
"OK," said Julie, still
puzzled.
"Your mother is Arianna
Phips."�� It wasn't a question.
"Well, not any more,"
said Julie.� "Right now it's Thompson, but Phips was her
maiden name."
"Arianna Phips from Las
Vegas?�� Arianna Phips who has a tattoo of an iguana
on her right ankle?"
Julie
stared.�� "How could you know that?"
Bob gave a frustrated
sigh, and ran his hand through his hair.
"I know that because
Arianna Phips married me, and bore me a daughter, and then cheated on
me with seven men I could positively identify, and probably fifteen or
twenty more I couldn't, until I threatened to divorce her and take
custody of my daughter.�� She disappeared, and I
never saw either of them again."
Julie was having trouble
processing the information she had just been given.� It wasn't
that it was hard to understand.� It was that, if she believed
it, her whole world would crumble around her.�� Again.
"That cannot be true,"
she said, her voice surprisingly calm.� "My father ran out on
us.� That's why she changed my name.� She said she
didn't want me to have anything of his, because he deserted us."
Bob shook his head
sadly.�� "I came home from work and the place was
cleaned out.�� I found most of our stuff at a pawn
shop, and the bank account was empty.�� We only had
four hundred dollars in it.�� She had help ... one of
the men she'd been cheating on me with, probably.�� I
tried to find you.�� I didn't know what to do ...
where to look.�� She went underground and the police
wouldn't do anything because there was no legal recourse."
"You're my father?"
squeaked Julie.
"I still have the divorce
papers in a safety security box at the bank.�� They
have your name on them ... except that it's Julianna.� She
named you after herself.�� I can show them to you,"
he said helplessly.
"You didn't run out on
us?" she asked, dazed.
"No, baby, I loved
you.� I wanted to take care of you.� I tried to look
for you for years.� I just didn't know how, and I didn't have
the money to hire an expert."� He looked
uncomfortable.�� "When I hit it big in the stock
market, I thought about hiring an agency to find you, but almost twenty
years had gone by and ...� all I could think of was that you
were probably married and happy ...� I didn't think it would
be ... positive."
Julie swayed, and Bob
automatically reached for her elbow to stabilize her.
Bob said he'd be right
back.� He ducked back into the office and handed the clerk the
clipboard, keeping the form.� "Cold feet, I guess," he
smiled.� "We're going to talk about it."
"Don't talk to her, mon,"
grinned the woman.� "Make sweet love to her and everything
will become clear."
Bob, incapable of
answering her, just ducked back out onto the sidewalk, where Julie was
standing, exactly as he'd left her.�� They only had
to go a few short steps to a bar, where he asked for, and got a table
on the veranda, in the corner farthest from all the other tables, under
a shady palm tree.� He ordered for her, asking for a
screwdriver.
When the waiter left,
they sat in uncomfortable silence.
"So I married my cousin?"
Julie said, her voice light and airy.�� "Roger was
actually my cousin?"
"Your first cousin," he
said.
"So let me get this
straight," said Julie, staring off into the sky.� "I grew up,
not knowing who I really was, and moved halfway across the country,
where, of all the men in the world, I� managed, completely by
accident, to pick my own first cousin to marry."� �
Her eyes came back to
his, unflinching.� �
"And then, completely by
another accident, I managed to end up in another country, where I met
and then fell in love with my own father."� She
blinked.� "It sounds like some twisted movie
plot.�� We could sell the rights to this and make a
mint."
It wasn't delivered like
a joke.� It was delivered like she had to say something to
break the tension.�� It didn't work.
The waiter arrived and
set the drinks in front of them, then departed
silently.�� Bob slumped and stared at his, while
Julie picked up her glass and sipped delicately at the
straw.�� Half her glass emptied in a series of almost
noisy gulps.
"I don't know what to
say," he said.
"This is crazy." Julie
announced, licking her lips.�� "It's just
impossible.�� It has to be another Arianna Phips."
Bob said nothing.
Julie finished her
screwdriver and stood up.�� "I'm going for a walk,"
she said.� �
She was gone an hour and
a half.�� Forty-five minutes into the wait, Bob
almost got up and left, thinking that she wasn't coming back at
all.�� But he had no place else to go ... nothing
else to do.� He needed to think too, and this was as good a
place as any.�� Besides, if, by some chance, she did
come back, he needed to be there.� She would need help getting
through this latest horrible catastrophe.�� He had
disappeared from her life once ... from her perspective ... and even if
she didn't want to see him any more, it needed to be her decision, and
not his.
Of course that brought
back his own memories.�� He had been deserted once,
and it had ripped his heart out.�� Not so much
because Arianna had left him.�� That love had already
died by then.�� But the loss of Julianna had crushed
him.� She had just begun being able to assert her own
developing, individual personality, and every day she amazed him
more.�� He had loved her with everything he had left
in him, and her loss had almost killed him.� And now, like
magic, he had found her again.
He couldn't equate Julie
with that little girl, though.�� It was
impossible.�� Julie was a grown woman ... mature ...
confident ... her own person.�� And, while he had, at
one time or another, fantasized about what his daughter might be like,
it had never been anything remotely like what Julie was.
She had been gone an hour
when he took his first sip of his drink.
When he saw her walking
toward him, his heart did flip flops.�� She was
walking confidently, her stride long and purposeful.� Her head
was up.� She was gorgeous, and he felt a mixture of both pride
and shame as his eyes fastened onto her bouncing
breasts.�� She wasn't a wreck.� He thought
involuntarily about that old saying: Pressure makes diamonds.
She walked up and sat
down as if she were merely late for a dinner engagement.
"I asked them to bring us
some food," she said.�� She reached for his drink and
took a sip, setting it back down in front of him.
"Good walk?" he asked,
feeling foolish almost instantly.
"I think so," she said,
her face betraying nothing about what was going on inside her
head.� "I guess it depends on what you say."
"What I say." he repeated.
"When I tell you what I
thought about." she added.
The waiter brought two
more drinks, and took away Bob's unfinished one.� He also
brought appetizers, which Julie began to nibble on immediately.
"So ..." said Bob, his
heart in his throat.� "What did you think about?"�
His primary fear was that she would side with Arianna, and tell him to
fuck off.
"I don't have a father,"
she said calmly.
"What?" he asked,
stunned.� Was she just going to disown him ... pretend he
didn't exist?"
"I know that, based on
what you've said so far, that there is evidence to believe you are my
biological father," she said firmly.� "But the truth is that I
never knew my father.� I grew up without my
father.�� As far as I'm concerned, he never
existed.�� I cannot think of you as my
father.�� It just doesn't work."
Bob stared at her, unable
to think of anything to say, one way or the other.
"And I know you as Bob
Crandall.�� I don't know you very well, but
everything I DO know about you tells me that you are a good man ... a
decent man ... a man I HAVE fallen in love with.�� A
lot has happened to me recently.�� I could very
easily just fall apart.�� But I have decided that is
not the life I want for me.�� I don't want to descend
into depression and self pity.�� I don't want to
slink back to the United States and be in therapy for the next twenty
years."
She drank half of her new
drink, shuddered, and went on.
"So, depending on what
you think about all this, I have decided to stay here ... to stay with
Bob Crandall, the man I love ... to swim in the ocean, and learn to
fish and dive and drive a boat."
She drank the rest of her
drink and sat back, waiting for Bob to say something.
"Um ..." he
started.� "Uh ... uh ... wow." he finally forced out.
"Do you love me?" asked
Julie.
"Yes!" he said instantly.
"How do you love me?" she
asked.
"How?" he repeated.
"I love you.� I
love you like a man, not a father," she said.�� "I
don't even know HOW to love a man as a father.�� But
I love you ... the man you are.� How do you love me?"
He thought about
that.��� His first thoughts were of what
they had done together since they met.�� He hadn't
known who she was.� Had he known, things would have
undoubtedly been very different.
But he hadn't known.
He had, as she had
described,� begun to love her as a woman ... a woman he loved
being around ... a woman who turned him on ... a woman who fed him as
much emotion as he offered her.�� In all the ways he
loved her, she was a woman ... not his child.
"I tried thinking of you
as my daughter," he finally said.� "While you were
gone."�� He took a sip of his drink while she
waited.� Her fingers had twisted her napkin into shreds, but
she said nothing.�� "I understand how you can't think
of me as your father, because I can't think of you as my daughter
either.�� I mean I KNOW you are, but it's just
knowledge in my head ... there's no emotion attached to it."
He shook his
head.� "No, that's wrong.� There IS emotion attached
to it, but it's all jumbled up, and misty and
unformed.�� When I look at you, the woman I have
known as Julie, the emotions I feel are very clear and solid."
"Do you love me?" she
asked again.
Now he understood what
her question was really about.
"Yes, but not in a way
that is acceptable for a father to love his daughter."
"I don't care about
that," she said.
His mouth dropped open.
"I told you, I can't
think of you as my father.�� Maybe some day that will
change.� But even if it does, I have fallen in love with YOU
... not my father.�� I have lost enough
already.� I will NOT lose you too."
"So what do we do now?"
he asked helplessly.
She reached out and
picked up the form, which had been lying face down on the table for
over two hours.
"Do you have a pen?" she
asked.
"You're kidding," he said.
"Do I look like I'm
kidding?" she asked, her voice soft for the first time since she had
returned.�� "I told you, I saved my virginity for my
husband."
The waiter approached
with their food.�� Julie borrowed a pen from him, and
between bites, interviewed Bob, filling in his information in her own
hand on the form.�� Finally she was done.�
She folded the paper in a tri-fold, and laid the pen on top of
it.� Then she finished her food.
"It's too late to turn
that in today," he pointed out.� �
"I'll drop it off
tomorrow," she said.�� "I want you to take me
shopping."
"OK," he said, still
unsure as to whether things were going well, or she was just on
automatic pilot of some odd kind.
"I need to buy something
... slinky," she said.
"Slinky?" he smiled.
"Yes," she
said.� "I believe all men are driven crazy by slinky outfits
in the bedroom?"
"I believe you already
have a slinky outfit," he said, his smile more genuine now.
"I can't wear the same
old thing every time I try to inflame my man," she said
sweetly.� "Besides, you tore that one last time I wore it."
"You could just go
naked," he suggested.
"I offered to do that,
once upon a time, and you turned me down, as I recall," she said
archly.�� "Now you'll just have to get used to seeing
me in slinky outfits."
In what Bob would forever
call "The slinky outfit store", she picked out three, holding them up
to her and asking Bob for his opinion.� "I can't try them on,"
she said.� "I'm not wearing any underwear."
He felt his prick
stiffening.
With those in hand, she
pulled him toward the register.�� She stopped to pick
out a razor, designed for women, and some shaving gel.
"I have to shave my legs
tonight," she said sweetly.�� "And ... other places
... places it's very hard for me to reach all by myself.� I
might need your help, darling.�� You'll help me ...
won't you?"
Bob had been worried
that, when push came to shove, he might not actually be able to ...
perform.�� His conscious mind, regardless of how
clinically he thought about it, insisted that this woman was, in fact,
his daughter.
He did help her touch up
what she called her bikini cut, which was ludicrous, since there was no
trace of hair within three feet of where she had him remove the short
stubble that had grown in since she prepared for her
honeymoon.� He also thought it was funny because she didn't
actually own a bikini yet.
That little exercise
solved the problem, though.�� He performed quite
well.� In fact, he performed quite well several times that
night.
This time ... she was the
one who reached for the pillow to place under her hips.