Foreword This is the fourth in a series of stories about how Bobby Dalton
was transformed, from a normal teenage boy, into a man sought after by many
women.  His story starts with "The Making of a Gigolo - Tilly Johnson", and
there is much information in that first story that will be useful to you in
understanding what happens in this story.  Please read the stories in
order, for your fullest enjoyment.  Bob

   =================================

   The Making of a Gigolo - Prudence Harris by Beating Off Bob

   April, 1970

   Bobby surveyed the back door of the Harris residence, and frowned at the
long stretches of rotten wood in the jamb.  The whole thing would have to
be replaced, frame and all.  He' have to use Mamma's pickup truck, or get
the lumber yard to deliver all the pieces.  He'd never had to buy anything
he couldn't carry away with him and, despite being twenty-one years old,
and a master repairman, there were still things he was unfamiliar with. 
The policies of the lumber yard were among them.

   "What do you think?" asked the woman standing beside him.

   He turned to Prudence.  The blackness of her hair, and the dark clothing
she habitually wore, made her skin look almost luminescent white.  She
didn't get out much, at least not out in the sun.  She was a teller at the
bank, and when she wasn't at work, she stayed close to home.  As far as he
knew, Bobby was convinced she didn't socialize with anybody, male or
female.

   That was a shame, he decided, as he looked at her.  Her black hair was
up in a bun.  It had always been, any time he'd ever seen her.  Her husband
had died when Bobby was just a boy, but she still favored dark clothing
that gave the impression she was still in mourning.  Even her stay-at-home
comfortable clothing, which Bobby assumed the dark gray sweat shirt and
sweat pants she was wearing were, seemed somber.  The only thing that
relieved her strained, sober appearance were eyes that were so startlingly
blue that they looked completely out of place in her face.  It was like
looking at his own eyes in the mirror.

   Bobby had never seen her smile.  Even when she thanked him, and paid him
for fixing her gate and painting her fence, her face had been almost stern.

   "I think that it would be a very good thing if the lumber yard
delivers," said Bobby, smiling himself.  Her almost sad visage practically
required that he smile for both of them.  "Once I have the materials, it
shouldn't take but half a day to install."

   "Well, then," said Prudence.  "I'll take you down there and we'll get
things moving."

   Bobby still didn't own a car.  He was working for various people, saving
up for one.  The farm took all the proceeds it produced.  His mother had
done a wonderful job raising eight children without a husband, for all
practical purposes, and he wasn't about to cause a bump in the road by
diverting family funds for something that was, as far as Bobby was
concerned, a luxury.  Mamma had an old truck.  It worked well, thanks to
him, but it was old, and didn't need the extra miles that would be put on
it if he or his sisters gadded about in it.  Bobby, despite being a man,
still got around on his trusty old bicycle.

   They rode with the windows down.  Prudence had a fairly new Chevy
Malibu, and it had a motor in it that would have appealed to a young man
when it was new in 1966.  She didn't rod it, though, driving sedately. 
Everything Prudence did was calm.  She wasn't much of a talker, either, so
Bobby just watched her drive, when he wasn't looking out the window.

   An errant breeze pressed the cloth of her sweat shirt against her body,
and Bobby realized she was in better shape than he'd thought.  Largish
breasts rode high on her chest, and there was no bulge below that, to
indicate extra fat.  He'd never been to the bank, or seen her dressed for
work, and everything she wore at home was baggy and comfortable.

   Fortunately, the lumber yard did deliver, and all the arrangements were
made.

   "I should have had you look at the down spout before we went," said
Prudence, as she drove them back to her house.  "There might be something
you need to fix it where we just were!"

   "It's a small thing," said Bobby.

   "I hate to waste your time," said the woman.

   "You're not wasting my time," said Bobby.  "I like making new friends."

   She stared straight ahead.  "I'd think you'd prefer making younger
friends."

   "Why?" he asked.  "Everybody is interesting.  It doesn't matter how old,
or young they are.  I guess I just like people."

   "There's nothing interesting about me," she said softly.

   "Ah," said Bobby.  "That's where you're wrong.  I know there are lots of
things about you that are interesting."

   She snorted.  "How could you know that?"

   "You had to come from somewhere.  You grew up and did things ...  saw
things.  You've lived at least thirty years, based on your appearance, and
at least one interesting thing happened to you each of those years."

   "You think I'm only thirty?" she asked, expression pulling her brow in
to lines.  "Are you trying to flirt with me, young man?"

   Bobby laughed.  "No ...  not unless you want me to.  I guess I'm not all
that good at guessing ages.  Ages don't make that much difference to me, so
I don't pay that much attention to them."

   Prudence turned her head, and looked directly at him.  "Why would I want
you to flirt with me?"

   Bobby looked right back at her.  "You're a woman.  Don't all women like
to be flirted with?"

   "Some women," she said, peering intently at him.  "Others know how
destructive it can be."

   "Destructive?" Bobby looked confused.  "How could a little harmless
flirting be destructive?"

   "You have no idea," said Prudence.  She looked ahead, wishing she hadn't
said anything.  She had flirted with her brother-in-law, at a family
picnic. She'd thought it was harmless, like Bobby had characterized
flirting.  But her husband had gone into a jealous rage, and raced off in
the car.  He'd never come back.  The car, with him still in it, was found
wrapped around a tree.  The police estimated it had been going almost a
hundred miles an hour, when it left the road, on an unmarked curve. 
Prudence had held herself responsible, both then, and ever since.  There
wasn't a day she woke up in an empty bed, that she didn't remember how her
flirting had killed her husband.

   Once back home, she showed him the downspout, which had only come loose,
up where the gutter was.  He climbed her ladder and put a new screw in it,
from a jar of them he carried in his tool bag.

   "You make that look so easy," Prudence commented.

   "It is easy," he said.  "You could have done it."

   "Nonsense," said the woman.  "Women don't fix things."

   "Please don't tell my Mamma that," said Bobby, grinning.  "If she didn't
fix half the things that go wrong on our farm, I'd never get away.  My
sisters fix things too.  I'm even teaching Mary - she's my oldest sister -
how to rebuild the motor to the lawnmower."

   "Surely, you're teasing me," said Prudence, actual surprise on her face.

   "Why on Earth would I tease you?" asked Bobby.  He had been folding up
the ladder, but unfolded it again.  "Here," he said.  "Take this
screwdriver and climb up there."

   "I couldn't do that," demurred Prudence.

   "Come on," said Bobby, reaching out to grasp her elbow, and exerting
force to move her a step closer to the ladder.  "I'm going to prove it to
you."

   "This is silly!" said Prudence, looking up at the gutter.

   "Climb up there, and I'll tell you what to do."

   "You've already fixed it," said the woman.

   "You're going to break it again, and fix it yourself," said Bobby.

   "This is ridiculous!" she insisted.

   "You get on up there, or I'll start flirting with you again," said
Bobby, having no idea how negatively that might be received.

   It wasn't received negatively ...  at least not in terms of making her
feel guilty again.  It had been, in fact, over a decade since any man had
paid more than ten minutes attention to Prudence Harris.  That was because
most men saw immediately that she was not interested in being paid
attention to.  Her appearance raised a very effective barrier to friendly
overtures.  But Bobby had passed that ten minute point, and Bobby was just
being ...  Bobby.  Prudence put her foot on the bottom rung of the ladder,
because, in truth, a man had told her to.

   "I'll fall," she said, testing the ladder with her weight.

   "I'll hold the ladder.  You won't fall.  Go on ...  climb."

   She did, feeling something that she hadn't felt in a long time ... 
excitement.  This, little as it was, was something different than she
usually did.  If she needed to change a light bulb, she just climbed on a
chair.  Ladders were for men.  Yet, here she was, actually climbing one. 
She looked down, and Bobby was braced, both hands on the ladder, which
trembled a little, because Prudence's knees were trembling a little.

   "Now," said Bobby, when she was high enough.  "The screw I put in has a
slot on it.  The tip of the screwdriver will fit that slot.  Put it in
there, and turn it counter clockwise."

   She did, and found that the tip of the screwdriver seemed to slip out of
that slot a lot.  She had to push toward the screw, and then it moved.

   "It's moving!" she said, her voice higher than normal.

   "Keep going," said Bobby.  "As it starts to come out, grab it with your
fingers, so it won't drop on the ground."

   She didn't judge it well, and the screw suddenly leaned, and popped out.
The down spout fell three inches, to where it had been before Bobby had
fixed it.

   "I lost the screw," she said, petulantly.

   "I have more," said Bobby.

   She looked down and her heart lurched as she saw he'd left the ladder,
and was bending over his tool bag.

   "You're not holding the ladder!" she said, breathlessly.

   "You're fine," he said, not looking up.  "Just stand still."

   He stood up and handed her a screw.  Then he went to the downspout and
pushed up on it, until it slid over the projection on the gutter.

   "Tell me when the holes for the screw are lined up," he said.

   Prudence looked, and saw the outer hole slide by the inner one.  She
told him about that, and he moved it.

   "Stop!" she yelped.

   "Now, thread the screw in with your fingers.  Remember, clockwise, this
time."

   She did, and the screw went in easily.

   "Now, tighten it with the screwdriver," he said.

   She did, until the screwdriver slipped out of the slot again.

   "Come on down," said Bobby.  "You just fixed your first downspout!"

   Prudence, who could give a math teacher a run for her money, came down
the ladder feeling a lightness she hadn't experienced in years.

   "I did it!" she said.  "I really did it!"

   "Yes, Ma'am, you did," said Bobby, grinning.  "You're an honest to
goodness tool-using woman."

   She looked at him, and saw him staring at her face.

   "You should smile more often," he said.  "You have a beautiful smile."

   Prudence realized she WAS smiling.  She hadn't done that in a long time
either.

   ===============================

   It was bound to happen.  Mary had extended her "kissing lessons", as she
called them, beyond bedtime kisses, which had turned into bedtime mutual
masturbation, if the truth be known.  What had started with kisses, a year
and a half ago, had eventually turned into half hour or hour sessions of
petting.  She was, to be honest, a little worried about their "bedtime
kisses".  She'd been feeling the urge to do things with Bobby that sisters
don't do with their brothers.  She didn't count the kissing and mutual
masturbation, which she had somehow rationalized as "lessons", in her mind.

   She went on dates, and used what Bobby had taught her, and now she was
pretty serious with one boy, named Fred Brogan.  She had spent hours
kissing Fred, who was beginning to affect her almost as much as Bobby did
when he kissed her.  She had let Fred slide his hands all over her breasts
too, both outside and inside her clothing.  But she had never let him touch
her anywhere else ... like Bobby routinely touched her ... after those
dates.  Bobby never put a finger in her.  He'd started to one time, at
which point her maidenhead had complained, and he'd never done it again
since then.

   That was the problem.  Mary had the strangest urge that seemed to want
something inside her, down there.  She just knew it would feel wonderful.
She knew girls who admitted they had sex, and they all claimed it was
wonderful.  She couldn't figure out how to proceed, or even WHETHER to
proceed.  She avoided making that decision by letting only Bobby touch her
down there, because, when she was with him, she was sure that nothing else
would happen.  She also delighted in long kisses, exchanged in the chicken
coop, or barn, while she helped Bobby with some chore.

   Bobby didn't really mind.  The only woman he was currently fucking was
Sherry Winston, who had had his daughter, Jessica.  She was breast feeding
Jessica, and her husband, Sam, had gone on some longer trips lately, to
make up for the time he had spent at home, while she gave birth to the
child he thought was his, and his wife recovered from the ordeal.  Anyone
who looked at Jessica, though, if Bobby was standing nearby, would
instantly see the resemblance.  Her hair was light, but her facial features
resembled him.

   Sherry entertained him ... and herself ... about once a week, but what
had been hours long lovemaking sessions were no more.  Jessica slept, but
not for more than an hour or two, usually.  Bobby had to satisfy Sherry
during those times.  Then, when Jessica woke up, usually hungry, she fed
her ...  and Bobby ...  both breasts spurting milk that both hungry humans
delighted in sucking up and swallowing.

   Still, it was only once a week, usually, so Bobby didn't mind at all
when Mary wanted a long, tongue-swapping kiss in the chicken coop.

   What was inevitable, was that sooner or later, one of his sisters would
walk in on them.

   That sister happened to be Beverly, who was, at the time she walked in
on them kissing, sixteen years old.

   "WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?!" was the first indication to Bobby and
Mary that they weren't alone.

   Mary blanched, and pulled back.  She was a senior in high school, but
she wasn't prepared to defend her actions.

   "Kissing," said Bobby, completely calm.  "What did it look like we were
doing?"

   "Kissing?" asked Bev, her eyes wide.  "Why?"

   "Mary told me she likes Fred a lot," said Bobby easily.  "I was giving
her a few pointers on how to kiss him."

   Bev turned to her older sister, her mouth open.  "You haven't even
KISSED him yet?!"

   She took Mary's extreme embarrassment for an answer to her question,
instead of the mortification of being caught with her tongue in her
brother's mouth.

   "YOU HAVEN'T!?" squealed Bev.

   "Of COURSE I have!" blurted Mary, suddenly feeling ten years old.  "Just
not like that."

   "You've been dating him for six MONTHS!" yelped Bev, who had entered
puberty about the same time the U.S.A had entered the sexual revolution,
and saw things a lot differently than her older sister.

   Mary reverted to big sister mode, mostly because she didn't know what
else to do.

   "If you tell anybody about this, I'll tan your hide!" she yelped.

   "You can't tan my hide anymore!" said Bev, sticking her chin out.  "I'm
too old for that!"

   "You'd better not tell!" squealed Mary.

   "I'll tell if I WANT to!" shouted Beverly.  "In fact, I'm gonna go tell
Mamma RIGHT NOW!" she squealed, grinning.

   She turned, but hadn't counted on her big brother's strength or speed.
She was suddenly grasped, around her waist, and lifted, kicking and
squealing, off the ground.  She watched the world spin, confused, as he
lifted her upwards, and then twisted her.  Her breath whooshed out of her
as her stomach hit his shoulder, and she was suddenly suspended, draped
over his shoulder like a sack of seed.

   The chicken coop was too small and confined, for what Bobby wanted, so
he carried Beverly, who was trying to get her breath back, and was kicking
feebly, twenty feet to the barn, where there was a hay bale sitting on the
ground.  Bobby sat down, manhandling his sister until she was draped over
his lap, instead of his shoulder.

   "I'm big enough to paddle you," he growled, and he brought his hand down
on her jeans-clad butt with a crack.

   The breath she'd just gotten, to scream with, came out in an agonized
"OWWWWWWBOBBYEEEEEEE".

   "DON'T HURT HER!" yelled Mary.

   "I'm not hurting her," said Bobby, giving the other side of her butt a
slap that was just as hard as the first one.

   "OWWWWWW" wailed Beverly.  "STOP BOBBYEEEEEE"

   "Will you behave?" he asked, grabbing her waist as she struggled.

   "OK, OK!" she cried.

   Bobby knew better than to trust her, though, and as soon as she
struggled up, he pulled her down on his lap.

   "OWW!" she complained, her sore butt hitting his hard thighs.  "Why'd
you do that?" she whined.  "I didn't do anything!"

   "You were going to cause trouble," said Bobby, holding her on his lap
while she tried, half heartedly to get up.

   "I said OK!" she complained.

   "OK isn't enough," said Bobby.  "Mary wasn't doing anything she should
get in trouble for.  She just needed a little help, so I helped her.  If I
let you go, you'll go in there and tattle just for spite because I paddled
you."

   "Will not," she said, sullenly.

   "Will too," he said.

   "Will not," she repeated.

   "I'm not going to take the chance," said Bobby.

   "What are you gonna do?" asked Bev, looking fearfully at him sideways.

   "Look at me," he ordered.

   She turned, and his hands left her waist, to come to her head.

   Then he kissed her, like he had kissed Mary.

   Like it had been with Mary, this kiss - the first from her brother -
rocked Beverly's world.  She thought she had a lot of experience at
kissing. She had kissed a dozen boys, at school dances, or between classes,
under the stairwells in school.  She'd had two dozen "boyfriends" by this
time in her life, and she was, in reality, more experienced than Mary had
been the first time Bobby had kissed her.  But she'd never been kissed like
this.  This kiss took her breath away.  She could feel the hunger in it,
clear down inside her.  The kisses she stole with her boyfriend's were
exciting, but this was devastating.

   Like Mary had, she just went limp as Bobby's lips crushed hers, and his
tongue lashed against hers.  She'd never opened her mouth during a kiss,
even though boys tried to get her to.  She'd been caught off guard, by
Bobby, though, and the sensuous feelings his slippery tongue caused,
brushing against hers, coursed through her body and left her helpless.

   Then it was suddenly over, and she was, somehow standing, as Bobby stood
up.

   "Now you've done the same thing," said Bobby, looking intently at her.
"If you tattle now, you'll be tattling on yourself."

   "Wow!" said Bev, licking her lips to make sure they were still there.

   "Are you OK?" asked Mary, hovering around her little sister.

   "I think so," said Bev.  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand,
and looked at Bobby.  "Wow!" she said again.

   "We have some eggs to gather," said Bobby.

   Beverly jumped.

   "That's what I came to tell you!  Supper's ready, as soon as you get
back!"

   "Then we'd better work together," said Bobby.

   ==================================

   Bobby carried the basket, while Mary and Beverly hurried on ahead,
toward the house.  Their heads were together, but Bobby couldn't hear what
they were talking about.  It didn't take a rocket scientist, though.  He
sighed.  This might complicate things at bedtime.

   =================================

   Prudence had almost smiled at him, when she opened the door.  Almost. 
He was sure of it.  The materials were all there, delivered the day before,
and lying on the ground by the back door.  Bobby had brought a nail puller
and two hammers with him, along with a pry bar and some other tools.

   Forging on with his new relationship, he calmly announced that he'd need
some help.  Prudence, though she looked nervous, didn't say anything.

   He explained how the door was held in place, and used a screwdriver to
scrape at the paint and putty that covered the nail heads.  Several nails
could be seen, plainly, through the gaps in rotted wood.

   They had the old door out in less than fifteen minutes.  It came out in
pieces.

   "That thing could have fallen out any day!" said Prudence, staring at
the wreckage.

   "Just about," said Bobby, grinning.

   He covered a patio table with newspapers, held down with left over
bricks that had been piled by the garage for twenty years or more.  Then he
laid the pieces of the new door out on that, and opened the paint.

   "What are you doing, Mother?" came a soft voice, from the gaping
doorway.

   Bobby turned to see Constance, who he knew was in Beverly's class at
school.

   "Hi," he said, smiling.

   She looked at him.  Just like her mother, her face stayed flat, and
emotionless.

   "We're replacing the door, dear," said Prudence, a warmth in her voice
that Bobby had never heard before.

   "You're helping?" Constance sounded skeptical.  She was, after all, her
mother's daughter.

   "Yes she is," said Bobby.  "You want to help too?"

   "I don't think so," said the girl.  "Can I watch?"

   "Of course," said her mother, sounding surprised.  "This is Bobby," she
added, in belated introduction.

   "I know," said the girl.  "He's Beverly's brother."

   "I am indeed," said Bobby, laying out the last of the pieces on the
table.  "She's in your class, at school, isn't she?"

   "Yes," said the girl, shyly.  "She's so pretty.  All the boys flock
around her."

   "My sister?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow.

   "Yes," said Constance.  "She's very popular."

   "Well I guess you'd know about that," said Bobby, grinning.  "I don't
remember there being all those pretty girls, like you and Bev, when I was
going to school.  Boys nowadays are lucky."

   He had just meant it as a generic compliment, but her reaction to it was
not what he expected.  She didn't smile.  Instead, she turned and almost
dashed back into the interior of the house.

   Bobby looked at Prudence, who was frowning.

   "Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

   "You flirted with her," said the woman, her frown deep.  "She's
sensitive about her looks."

   "Why on earth would she be sensitive?" asked Bobby.  "She's the spitting
image of you."

   Prudence's eyes widened, and her face went slack for just an instant,
before going back into a scowl.

   "Young man, I don't appreciate you teasing either of us.  I lost my
husband because of that, and my daughter's crooked teeth are no laughing
matter.  I'll thank you to do what I called you here for, and nothing
further!"

   Bobby stopped working and looked at the flustered woman.

   "Mrs.  Harris, I was only paying a compliment.  I wasn't teasing anyone.
I'm sorry if I've opened an old wound, but surely you can't object if a man
thinks you're a nice looking woman."

   Prudence Harris saw only honesty in his face.  There was no leer, or
innuendo there.  She hadn't been paid a ...  compliment ...  if that's
really what it was ...  in as long as she could remember.  "I'm old enough
to be your mother!" she said, nervously.

   "That has nothing to do with whether you're a nice looking woman or
not," said Bobby.  "And I wasn't aware of your daughter's crooked teeth.  I
guess I just didn't notice them." He opened the can of paint.  "I'll
apologize to her, and I certainly apologize to you, if I offended you." He
picked up a brush.  "Now, if you'll paint these pieces, I'll get the door
ready to paint."

   His businesslike attitude and calm demeanor caused Prudence to feel like
she had overreacted.  She wasn't used to talking to anyone, much less a
handsome young man who paid her unsolicited compliments.  She realized her
hand had gone to her hair, and she jerked it down.  The last thing she
needed was to have those kinds of feelings.  She was a widow because she
had flirted with a man.  She had no business being "nice looking".  She
started dabbing paint onto a strip of lumber.

   "If you don't mind," said Bobby, coming to stand beside her, "I'll show
you how to do that."

   He reached for her hand and held it, while he made the brush, and her
hand, go in long strokes.  He explained how the paint needed to be smooth,
and in line with the grain in the wood.  She paid half attention to that,
and half attention to the feel of his hand, on hers.  Other than her
daughter, she couldn't remember touching another human being in years.  The
feel of his skin on hers made her nervous.

   "I think I have it," she said, slightly out of breath.  He let go, and
she had a momentary sense of loss, quickly squelched, as she determined to
pay attention to the paint, and not the young man.

   He got another brush, and began painting the door, which he had stood up
against the wall, with papers under it.

   "You want to talk about it?" he asked.

   "About what?" she asked, confused.

   "How you lost your husband," he said, his attention on the door.

   "Why would I want to talk about that?" she asked, the paint brush
suspended in her hand.

   "It's been a long time, but you just brought it up," said Bobby.  "It
seems to still be bothering you."

   "Why shouldn't it?" she asked, almost angrily.  Who did this man think
he was ...  prying into her most painful memories?

   "I lost my ...  father," said Bobby, thinking of Joe.  "He was killed by
a man with a gun."

   "That's horrible!" said Prudence, meaning it.

   "Yes," he said.  "But life goes on for those left behind.  I still miss
him, but I have to live my life."

   "I can't do that," she said softly.

   "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.  He hadn't looked at her once.
All his attention seemed to be on the interface between the brush in his
hand, and the door that was steadily becoming white.

   "No," she said, but with no heat in her voice.

   It was quiet for a few minutes.  Both painted.  Prudence couldn't tell
what was on his mind, but hers was roiling.  It all came back to her, just
like it had that morning, when she woke, and the other side of the bed was
empty for the first time.

   "There was a party," she said suddenly, not meaning to say it.  It just
bubbled out of her mouth.  Once that was out there, she had to go on.  "His
brother was there.  He was so funny ...  telling stories and jokes.  He
always made me laugh."

   She stopped, expecting Bobby to say something, but he continued to
paint. The silence seemed to require more.

   "I flirted with him," she admitted, tears coming to her eyes.  "Harry
saw, and got mad.  He took off in the car, angry, and ran off the road. 
They didn't even find him for two days." Tears dripped down her face, and
fell onto one of the strips of wood she'd been painting.  A round circle
marred the surface, and she swiped at it, almost angrily, with her brush.

   "And you think it's your fault," said Bobby, finally, still looking at
the door.

   "Of course!" she moaned, impatience making her push the brush at the
board so hard that it moved.

   "I suppose you're partly to blame," he said, his voice even.

   Prudence stopped painting, her mouth open.  Everyone else had always
pooh poohed her guilt, and told her she was being silly.

   "I mean, if you knew how jealous he would get, and flirted anyway, I
guess you could say you drove him to it."

   "I DIDN'T know!" she whined.  "I had no IDEA I was even flirting!  He
just made me feel so good that I hugged him!"

   Bobby turned around, finally, and looked at her.

   "Let me get this straight.  You hugged your brother-in-law, and that
made your husband jealous."

   "He screamed at me," she moaned.  "He called me a slut."

   "No offense, Ma'am," said Bobby, still looking at her, "but I have to
change my mind.  If all you did was hug another man ...  his brother ...  I
think he went way overboard in getting mad about it.  I mean come on! 
You're SUPPOSED to hug family!  I hug all my aunts, and even my uncles and
cousins, but I'm not flirting with them.  Why do you think you were
flirting?"

   "He made me feel good!" moaned Prudence.  "I laughed at his jokes!"

   "Were they really funny?" asked Bobby.

   "Oh, they were the best jokes, and the best stories," sighed Prudence.

   "Then, to my mind, you were just being honest." He looked back at the
door.  "Did you ever cheat on your husband?"

   "Of course not!" she snapped, instantly angry.

   "Don't get all upset," said Bobby, glancing her way.  "I just thought
that maybe he had some reason to suspect that you'd be unfaithful to him. I
can't figure out why he got so mad because you liked his brother's
stories."

   "We'd only been married for two years!" said Prudence.  "I never even
looked at another man.  I loved Harry!"

   They painted for another few minutes, in silence.  Bobby stood back and
surveyed the door, which was done.  He looked over at the pieces Prudence
was working on.  She'd done less painting, while they talked, and was only
half done.  He joined her, standing across from her and starting to paint a
jamb.

   "Do you have any pictures from your wedding?" asked Bobby, suddenly.

   "Yes," she said.  "Why?" she asked, curiously.

   "Would you mind if I looked at one of them?" he asked, not explaining.

   "Why would you want to do that?" she asked, again.

   "Just an idea I had," he said, carelessly.

   "What kind of idea?" she asked.

   "I had a friend, in school, when I was much younger.  He had a
girlfriend.  She was the most beautiful girl I ever saw in my whole life.
He couldn't believe she was really interested in him, because he was so
normal, and she was just so beautiful.  He used to talk about it all the
time.  She said she liked him, and she held his hand and everything, but he
never could quite convince himself that she really liked him.  He kept
expecting her to break up with him and choose a different boy ...  one of
the more popular boys."'

   Bobby painted, as if he were finished with the story.

   "What happened?" asked Prudence, her curiosity piqued.

   "She did break up with him," said Bobby.

   "Because she wanted a more popular boy?" asked Prudence, disappointed.

   "No," said Bobby.  "She told me she couldn't stand him always assuming
that some other boy would take her away from him.  She wanted him to have
faith in her, and he didn't.  He was jealous for no reason, and she got
tired of it."

   "What does that have to do with me?" she asked, confused.

   "If you looked anything like your daughter, you were a very good looking
woman indeed," said Bobby.  "You still are, underneath that scowl you wear
on your face, and those baggy clothes you wear to mourn in.  Some men might
not be able to live with a woman that beautiful; simply because they
believed they didn't deserve her."

   "That's ridiculous!" snorted Prudence, who did not think of herself as a
beautiful woman of any kind.

   "It was just an idea," said Bobby.

   Prudence dropped the brush, wiped her hands on her sweat pants, smearing
them with white, and stalked into the house.  She came back five minutes
later with a binder in her hands.  She had it open to one picture, of her,
standing with Harry, in their wedding finery.  Her veil had been removed,
and she was smiling in that picture.  Harry looked stiff and uncomfortable.

   "There!" she said, reversing the book and showing it to Bobby.

   Bobby looked at it for a long moment, and his dark eyes came up to her
light ones.

   "Ma'am," he said softly.  "I don't mean you any disrespect, but I have
to say there wasn't a man at that wedding that didn't wish he was in the
groom's place.  I can see how he was a bit worried that some man might try
to steal you away from him."

   The flush of anger drained from Prudence's face.  She felt suddenly
exposed, as she realized hair had escaped from her bun, and was flying
loose.  She had dried paint on her hands, and smeared on her sweat pants.
She knew she looked a mess, and yet this young man had paid her an enormous
compliment.  She felt her heart thudding in her chest.

   "What you said," she gasped, weakly.  "That's not flirting?"

   Bobby grinned.  "I'm just being honest," he said with a shrug.  "Of
course, if you think it's flirting, then I s'pect it is, Ma'am.  You were
right pretty as a bride.  Still are, as far as I'm concerned.  I guess I am
flirting just a little, no offense."

   "But I can't help what I look like!" she moaned.

   "Exactly," said Bobby, putting the lid back on the paint can.  "You were
just being you.  Personally ...  I think it was Harry who read all that
stuff into your actions.  I said what happened might be partly your fault,
but the other part was his.  He could have talked to you.  He could have
offered to fight his brother for you.  He could have done a lot of things,
but he didn't have to go off and get himself killed."

   "But he did it because of me!" she whined.

   "No, Ma'am," said Bobby.  "He did it because of what he THOUGHT you were
doing.  Was there any chance that you'd be unfaithful to him, with his
brother?"

   "NO!" yelled Prudence.

   "Then he went off and killed himself over nothing ...  didn't he?"

   Chapter Two

   Bobby told her that the paint would have to dry, before they could
assemble everything into the door opening, and suggested that, if she had
anything else to do, that would be a good time to do it.

   She decided on getting lunch started, and began peeling potatoes.  While
she did so, her mind whirled.  She had never thought about things like
Bobby had.  She'd known, or at least hoped she was good looking.  Harry had
swept her off her feet when she was in her last year of school, and was
finally allowed to date.  He'd been her only real boyfriend, all things
considered.  Now that she thought about it, other boys had tried to get her
attention, but she'd ignored them.  She had Harry, and he was all she
needed.  Then they'd gotten married, and she'd been so happy she was sure
nothing could be better.  The birth of Constance had disabused her of that
notion, and, again, she was quite sure that nothing could make her life
better.

   They hadn't gone to parties.  They'd been invited lots of times, but
Harry had never wanted to go, so they stayed at home.  She hadn't though
anything of it ...  until Bobby had said what he'd said.  Her mind whirled
harder, at the thought that men had wished they were in Harry's place. 
She'd never seen that, but if Bobby could see it ...  Harry could too.  She
felt the pang of his loss again.  If only he'd said something to her.  She
was sure she could have convinced him she wanted no other man.  But he
hadn't.  He'd stayed silent, keeping her away from other men ...  men he
saw as opponents for her affections.  He'd been so wrong!  She remembered
the shock, as he yelled at her, calling her a slut.  She'd done nothing to
earn that name - nothing!

   For the first time in her life, Prudence began to examine the events of
that fateful night from a different perspective.  Bobby was right. 
Relatives WERE supposed to be hugged.  And that's all she'd done.  She'd
hugged her brother-in-law, and only because he'd made her laugh.  Harry had
seen something that just wasn't there.  She'd turned that hug into
something that it wasn't, because that hug had killed her husband.  Now
that she was able to look at it from a different direction, the knot of
hurt and self loathing began to loosen inside her.  She'd felt guilty for
fifteen years.  She'd remained in mourning for fifteen years.  And, now
that she thought about it, her own guilt had bled over to Constance.  Her
own daughter was so unnerved by a simple compliment that she couldn't face
the man who had paid it.

   She called Constance into the kitchen, to help her.  Her daughter walked
in, her eyes down, like they usually were.  Something tore at Prudence's
gut.  Constance WAS pretty ...  or could be ...  if she'd do something with
her hair.  They couldn't afford braces, but she was still a beautiful young
woman.  It wasn't fair that she was so subdued and lifeless, all because
her mother was subdued and lifeless.

   "He's right, you know," she said, suddenly.

   Constance looked up, a question in her eyes.

   "Bobby," said Prudence.  "He said you were pretty, like his sister. 
He's right."

   "No he's not, Mamma," whispered Constance.

   Prudence reached for her daughter's chin, and forced the girl to face
her.

   "Yes, he is," said Prudence, heavily.  "I want to show you something."

   She got the book that she had brought in with her, and put on the side
board.  She opened it to the photo she had shown Bobby, and then showed it
to her daughter.

   "That's me, on our wedding day," she said.  She had never showed these
pictures to her daughter.  They had been hidden away, in the back of a
closet, for fifteen years.

   "You were beautiful, Mamma," gasped Constance.

   "You look just like I did in that photograph," said Prudence.

   "No I don't!" said Constance, staring at the picture.

   "You could," said Prudence, admitting that, at present, Constance didn't
look quite like that.  "If we did your hair, and you put on a little makeup
...  you'd be the spitting image of that picture."

   "My teeth," moaned Constance.

   "You have two crooked teeth," agreed her mother.  "The fact is that that
young man out there thinks you're pretty, crooked teeth or not, and there
are lots of other young men around who will agree with him.  I should have
told you that years ago, but all I could think about was myself.  Well,
that's going to change.  We're going to work on being a lot happier around
here!"

   "I'm happy, Mamma," said the girl.

   "Thank you, darling," said her mother.  "I know you're trying to make me
feel better.  You've always tried to make me feel better, but I wouldn't
let you.  That's going to change too.  We can't change the past, but that's
no reason to be sad forever.  Now, let's get lunch ready.  I'm going to
invite him to eat with us."

   "Ohhhh Mamma," moaned the girl, darting a look at the open back doorway.
"I feel so nervous around him."

   "He's just a man," said Prudence.  "A man who thinks you're pretty. 
There's nothing wrong with that.  In fact, he thinks I'm pretty too!"

   "He said that?" Constance's voice rose an octave.

   "He did, indeed!" said her mother, almost smiling.

   "You are pretty, Mamma," said Constance, her eyes round.

   "Thank you," said Prudence, squaring her shoulders.  "Now, what shall we
feed a man who thinks we're both pretty?"

   ===================================

   Once preparations for lunch were under way, Prudence returned to see if
the paint had dried enough that they could continue.  Flies were coming in
the open doorway, and that made her unhappy.  She wasn't worried about
lunch.  The two women who lived in this house, for lack of anything else to
do, cooked a lot.  Constance was at least as good a cook as Prudence was,
if not better, in some ways.

   "How are things?" she asked, seeing Bobby handling one of the boards she
had painted.

   "We can probably start, but our hands will get a little painted up,"
said Bobby.  "Once it's installed, we'll give it another coat or two."

   "Fine," said Prudence.  "I can live with paint on my hands.  Flies are
coming into my house."

   "Well, we don't want that!" said Bobby, laughing.  "Can you pound a
nail?"

   "I have no idea," said Prudence, feeling suddenly lighter on her feet
than she had in years.  "I've never tried."

   "Well, then," said the man.  "You hold, and I'll pound."

   Prudence thought he was taking forever, as he had her hold a board up,
and then made what seemed like a dozen measurements, before pounding a nail
through it.  He didn't pound the nail completely in, and when she asked
about that, he explained that there would have to be tiny adjustments made,
to make the door fit the frame perfectly.  She didn't understand, until the
whole frame was in, and he took a dozen more measurements, of both the new
frame, and the door, which was still leaning up against the wall.  He got
slim wedges of wood from his tool bag and started pounding them in between
the new frame and the old hole, taking more measurements, until he was
finally satisfied.  Then he pounded all the nails home, with the exception
of one.

   He handed her the hammer.  "That one is for you," he said.

   She was elated when she hit the head of the nail on the very first
swing. Then she was deflated, as she missed twice.  He took her hand in
his, and helped her hit it properly.  In the days and even months
afterward, she would think about that a lot, because she had no
recollection of that nail going into the wood.

   All she could remember was the feel of his hand, holding hers, and his
strong, young body, pressed to her back, as he helped her.

   Then there was a delay as he took a wood chisel, and cut into the wood
of the door and jamb for the hinges to sink into.  She held the door
steady, as he put in the screws, and watched as he installed the door knob
from the old door.

   "Ready?" he asked, looking a little nervous.  He was obviously about to
try closing the door.

   "You've tried it a dozen times," she chided him.  "It fits perfectly. 
You know it does."

   "That was without the latch," he said.  "You never know."

   "I know," she said.  She pushed the door out of his hand, and it closed
with a thump.

   "Perfect!" said Prudence, feeling inordinately proud that she had helped
do this thing.

   "You're a pretty good woodworker," said Bobby, grinning at the woman.

   "You did it!" she blurted.  "All I did was paint."

   "You were my inspiration," he said, bowing from the waist.

   "You're flirting with me," she said.

   He looked up at her.

   "I reckon I am, at that," he said softly.

   "You'll stay for lunch?" she asked, feeling much younger than she was.
She hadn't had this feeling in her body ...  the hope that he'd say yes ...
for as long as she could remember.

   "I'd be honored," he said, standing back up.

   "We'd be honored to have you," she said, feeling silly for curtsying in
sweat pants.  "Come on.  I'll show you where to wash up."

   ================================

   She felt peculiar about taking him to the bathroom that adjoined her
bedroom, so she took him to the one in the hall that Constance used.  She
saw, right away, that there were no fresh towels, and turned to go get them
from the linen closet.  She was only gone for a minute or less, and didn't
think anything of walking back in with the towels.

   Bobby had stripped his shirt off, and was bent over washing his face and
hair, trying to get the sweat out of it, and making sure he didn't have any
paint spatters on his face.  He stood up just as Prudence re-entered the
room.

   He turned to her and saw the towel in her hand.

   "Thanks," he said, smiling.

   He was completely comfortable, standing in front of her.  That was
obvious to her.  What was also obvious to her was that it had been a very
long time indeed, since she had seen a man's bare chest, drops of water
falling over muscles that bulged in a way that made her stomach do flip
flops.

   He reached for the towel and put it over his head, rubbing
industriously. Prudence stood, frozen, watching those muscles ripple across
his chest.

   "I won't be a minute," came his muffled voice, from under the towel.

   Her eyes went to his stomach, which seemed to have been broken into six
distinct squares of muscle, with lines between them.  His jeans hung low on
his hips ...  low enough that she should see underwear ...  if he was
wearing it.  Three or four tiny wisps of black hair were poking out of the
waistband of his jeans, just where the button was.  Prudence backed up a
step, as her eyes dipped lower, to fix on the bulge, behind his zipper.

   She closed her eyes in shame, when she realized what she was doing, and
backed up another step, as he brought the towel down across his chest, and
under each arm.

   "That's better," he announced, shaking his head.  He reached into a back
pocket and produced a comb, dragging it through his black locks.  Then he
shrugged into his shirt again, buttoning it as he stepped toward a still
immobile Prudence.

   "You've got a spot of paint right ...  there," he said, reaching to her
neck.  She leaned backwards as she felt his fingernail scrape across her
skin, and then he brushed past her, and it was over.  She realized she was
holding her breath, and let it out in a whoosh.  Looking over her shoulder,
she saw him walking toward the kitchen, as though he hadn't a care in the
world.

   On weak knees, she moved to look in the mirror.  She could see the spot
of paint he had scraped off, hanging loosely from her skin, and reached up
with numb fingers to pick it off.  She stared into the mirror, looking for
the smiling woman in the picture she had showed Bobby and Constance.  She
looked at the tight, pale skin of her face and neck ...  the bun wound up
tightly on top of her head.  She hadn't cut her hair since Harry died and,
when she let it down, it reached to her buttocks.  No one saw it down, not
even Constance.  It had been that long when she'd married, and she'd cut it
only after having a baby, when it was too much trouble to deal with.

   Her eyes dropped to her sweat suit.  It was a mess too, with paint
smears on both pieces.  She backed up, and looked at herself in the mirror.
That paint was a badge of honor, she decided.  She'd done man's work,
helping install a new door!  She could be proud of those smears.  She took
the time to mourn for her lost youth, staring at herself just a little
longer, and then washed her hands quickly.  She couldn't get all the paint
off of them, but she didn't care.  The man who had said she was pretty ...
who had touched her, and hadn't drawn back, disgusted ...  the man who had
been comfortable baring his chest to her, as if they were equals ...  that
man had said things that made her feel much better about things.

   He was staying for lunch.

   She hurried to the kitchen.

   ===================================

   Prudence had no silly dreams about Bobby falling in love with her.  She
had no dreams about love at all.  She just felt better.  And, because she
felt better, she wanted to be around the man who had helped her feel
better. When she breezed into the kitchen Constance was flushing bright
red, and her eyes were everywhere in the room except on Bobby, who,
apparently, was trying to talk to her.

   "Did you cook all this?" he asked, his voice full of appreciation. 
There was fried chicken, and biscuits, and a bowl of snap beans from the
garden.  She'd boiled potatoes and mashed them, using the drippings from
the chicken pan to make gravy.  She'd cut up a cantaloupe, and had made
coleslaw too.

   "Yes," she said, shyly, fiddling with her apron strings.

   "I haven't seen a spread like this since the 4th of July!" sighed Bobby,
sitting down.

   "Mamma taught me to cook," said Constance, her voice strained as she
tried to make conversation.

   "Beautiful, and can cook too," said Bobby.  "I wish I was three or four
years younger!" he said, grinning.

   "Ohhhhh," moaned Constance, twisting at the apron strings until they
came undone.

   "It looks wonderful," said Prudence.  "I'm proud of you, darling."

   "It's just lunch," said the girl, smiling.

   Bobby saw the teeth she was so worried about.  Each of her two front
teeth dipped inward, where they touched each other, making a shallow vee
between them.  It was noticeable, but it wasn't ugly.

   "Well, if this is just lunch, I can tell you right now, I'm going to
have to check that door at least a dozen times, to make sure the fit is
right.  I'll have to come over around noon time to do that." He grinned
again.

   "Well eat!" said Prudence, as she sat down.

   "Can't," said Bobby, sitting calmly.  "You and Constance aren't ready
yet."

   "You needn't wait for us," said Prudence.

   "My Mamma would tan my hide if she found out I ate before everybody else
was seated," he said.  "Smells good, though, so please hurry."

   =================================

   They settled in, and, for a few minutes, there was only silence. 
Slowly, though, Bobby drew them both out in simple conversation, asking
about this, or that, and telling them about things at home.  He told
Constance stories about Beverly, and how she got in trouble for this or
that thing, though he swore her to secrecy before saying anything.  With
Prudence he talked about how good the door looked, and how, since she
helped him, he wouldn't have to charge her as much.  It turned out she and
his mother were the same age, and had gone to school together, though they
hadn't had the same group of friends.  Both had gotten married right out of
high school, and had never tried to forge a bond of friendship.

   "That's too bad," said Prudence, at one point.  "If she raised a son as
nice as you, I imagine she's a much better woman than I thought."

   She blushed then, realizing that she had suggested she thought poorly of
his mother.  She had, in fact.  Most people in town knew about all those
babies that were born while her man was away at the war.

   "She did the best she could," said Bobby, and left it at that.

   He praised the food until Constance fairly wiggled in her seat, both
from pride, and embarrassment at the attention he was giving her.

   An hour later, he took his leave.  Prudence suggested that he did need
to check the door, and that she'd probably have some other chores for him.
She had no idea what she'd come up with, but, for reasons she didn't think
too hard about, she liked having Bobby Dalton around.  He wasn't her
brother-in-law ...  he wasn't funny like that ...  but he made her feel
good.  He was just a very nice man, who paid honest compliments, and made
her look at the world slightly differently than she had before she met him.

   That made all the difference to her.

   ======================================

   Bobby expected his sister, Mary to come in and kiss him good night. 
She'd been doing that for some time.  They'd gotten used to touching each
other, masturbating each other while they shared long, intense kisses.  It
had led to them kissing in the chicken coop too, while they collected eggs,
and sixteen year old Beverly had caught them.

   That hadn't made any difference.  Mary had kept coming to kiss him, and
let his finger slide ever deeper between her slick vulva.  She was dating
Fred Brogan seriously now, but she still restricted Fred to touching only
her breasts.  Bobby was there, when she got home from a date, and he took
care of the raging heat in her pussy that Fred now left as they necked in
his car.

   So Bobby expected her to come, and play.  What he didn't expect was for
Beverly to arrive with her.

   "Hello," said Bobby, raising an eyebrow.

   "She caught me in the hallway," said Mary, disgusted.  "She wouldn't
leave."

   "I've been watching you two," said Bev, a note of triumph in her voice.
"You come in here almost every night."

   "He's my brother," said Mary, defensively.  "I just kiss him good
night."

   "I've seen how you kiss him," said Bev.  "He kissed me too, remember? 
He's my brother too."

   Bobby sighed.  "Bev, you're sixteen.  Mamma doesn't even let you date
yet.  You're too young for kisses like that."

   "Why does Mary get them?" asked Bev, stubbornly.

   "She's serious about Fred," said Bobby.  "She's just practicing on me, a
little."

   "I want to watch," said Beverly, digging in her heels.

   "No," said Bobby.

   "I'll tell Mamma," threatened the girl.

   "I've kissed Mamma like that too," said Bobby, unthinkingly.

   "Why?" said Bev.  "She doesn't need any practice for dates.  She doesn't
date!"

   "You're not ready for kisses like that," said Bobby, trying the same
tack he had with Mary.  Mary had been too stubborn to believe him.  Maybe
Bev would listen.

   "I'm only two years younger than Mary," said Bev.  "If she can practice,
than I can too!"

   Mary had been standing, watching and listening.  She was hot for Bobby,
tonight, and the thought of not getting a sweet orgasm from his fingers
left her jumpy and disgruntled.

   "You have to do what he says!" she blurted.

   "Why?" asked Bev.

   "Because he won't do anything if you don't ...  that's why!" hissed
Mary.

   Beverly was, besides being the most stubborn of his sisters, also one of
the brightest.  All of them were smart, and read at least a grade level
above their grade in school.  But Bev was probably the most intelligent.

   "You do more than just kiss ...  don't you?" she whispered.

   "Go to bed," said Bobby, wearily.

   "What do you do?" asked the girl.

   "You're too young," said Bobby.

   "If you say that one more time I'll scream.  I swear I will!" said Bev.

   "Mary's right," said Bobby, calmly.  "If you want to start this, you
have to do what I tell you."

   "I won't have sex with you," said Bev, her voice tight.

   "You certainly won't!" said Bobby.

   Bev looked at the front of his shorts.  There was a long, firm looking
lump under there.  She'd been curious about that for some time now.  At
dances, which she was allowed to go to ...  just not with a date ...  she
danced with boys, and had let them kiss her too.  She'd felt lumps, as they
were pressed against her, during slow dances.  She'd always wanted to see
one, but that was going too far, especially at a dance.

   "What do I have to do?" she asked, warily.

   "Nothing," said Bobby.  "All you have to do is lie there, while I kiss
you."

   "Lie there?" Bev stepped back.

   "It's just more comfortable ...  that's all," said Bobby.

   "I think I'll just watch," said Bev, uncertainly.

   "You can't just watch," said Bobby.  "You have to do something too, so
you can't run off and tattle, like a little girl."

   "I'm not a little girl!" hissed Bev.

   Bobby smiled.  She'd taken the bait perfectly.

   "Then come over here and learn how to kiss me good night."

   =======================================

   Mary stood, and watched, as her younger sister crawled slowly up onto
the bed.  She watched, as Bobby situated her on her back, and rolled, not
onto her, but against her.  He didn't give her time to think, or react.  He
just lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.

   Mary had some idea of what was going on inside her sister.  That first
kiss she'd had with Bobby was something she'd never forget.  The first time
he'd touched her was the same way.  She thought she was in love with Fred,
and he'd told her a number of times that he loved her.  She was beginning
to feel comfortable with that characterization of their relationship, but
only because now, when Fred kissed her, she felt some of the tingles that
she felt when Bobby kissed her.  She knew she loved Bobby, more so since
they had started ...  practicing.  She sometimes ached to lie with him, and
feel his fingers on her slippery pussy.  She sometimes almost couldn't wait
to wrap her hand around his strong male organ, and stroke it until it
spurted.

   So, as she heard Beverly's muffled moan, she had a pretty good idea of
what that moan was all about.  Bobby kept kissing her, and Mary almost
laughed as she saw Bev's leg kick, inside her nightgown.  Bobby wasn't
touching her, except on her hair, but his kisses affected a woman's entire
body.  Mary knew that only too well.

   She wasn't surprised when, as Bobby rolled away from the sixteen year
old, she lay there, limp, her eyes closed.

   There wasn't room for Mary on the bed, but watching her brother kiss her
sister had inflamed her.  She couldn't wait.

   She climbed on top of him, her legs spreading, as much as her nightgown
would let them, and lay down on him to kiss him.

   =================================

   It was completely different.  In fact, it was so different that it
seemed like the first time she'd ever touched him.

   She wiggled up his body, her lips seeking his, and, when her pussy,
covered only by the thin cloth of her nightgown, slid over his bulge, the
feeling was electric.  That bulge was caused by a very hard prick now, and
felt unimaginably wonderful, even though there was the cloth of his shorts
between them.  The humping she commenced was completely instinctual.  She'd
never done anything like this at all, and it felt so good that she forgot
all about Beverly, lying beside them.

   His kiss was so sweet, and so hot, and the feel of his hands sliding up
the back of her thighs was so electric that, when his hands pulled her
nightgown up, baring her backside, her only response was to spread her legs
wider, which allowed her to bring even more pressure to bear on her itching
pussy.  Then habit kicked in, and she wiggled to pull the nightdress even
higher.  She usually took it off, now, and he took off his underwear, so
that, when they hugged and kissed, their skin rubbed.  When his hands
helped, until she felt her full breasts mashing against the skin of his
chest, she moaned.

   She was so close.  Rubbing against him had her almost there.  Her
nightgown was bunched up around her upper chest now, under her arms, and
the folds of cloth were uncomfortable, so she broke her kiss long enough to
push it over her head, and off, onto the floor.

   While her body was raised, Bobby took advantage of her hanging breasts,
capturing one nipple in his mouth, and sucking joyfully on it.

   "You're NAKED!" squeaked Beverly, now up on her side, looking at her
older sister and brother with huge eyes.

   "He's not," gasped Mary, trying to mollify Bev so she'd shut up.  She
was so close, and she didn't want Bev to ruin it.

   "YOU are!" whined Bev.

   Mary ignored her, and went back to kissing Bobby.  His hands came to her
bare butt and helped her rub.  She could feel her orgasm ...  just barely
out of reach.  She was so frustrated that she wanted to reach between them
to rub with her fingers, but this new feeling of rubbing up against that
hard thing that spurted the stuff that she now loved the taste of, was just
too wonderful.

   She felt Bobby shoving his hand between them, and pressed harder, not
wanting his hand to separate her from her joy.

   "Wait!" he said into her mouth.

   "Nooooo," she whined.  "I'm so close."

   He was stronger, though.  She couldn't tell what he was doing, at first,
but, when he dragged his hand back out from between them she realized he
had pushed his underwear down enough that she could now rub directly
against his prick.

   She gasped at the heat, as her pussy lips spread, to ride along his
shaft.

   "Oh yes," she whispered, knowing that the orgasm would be there any
second.  "Yes ...  oh yes, Bobby," she whined.

   She pushed up with her arms, to settle more of her weight on her loins,
and he played with her dangling breasts.  Then, her clit slid over the tip
of his prick, and the electricity of that knob, pressing her button, caused
her hips to stop and almost vibrate as the knob spread her lips apart and
almost caught in her sexual hole.

   "Eeeeeeeee," she whined, as her orgasm finally tiptoed through a door
and then yelled 'SURPRISE!' as it washed over her.  "Uhhhhhhhhhh," she
groaned, feeling the rush of joy.

   She felt something else too ...  the rush of wet heat, as he spurted
into the mouth of her pussy.  That wet heat bathed her clitty, and made
rubbing even easier.  The shock of it either extended her orgasm, or
brought another one on its heels ...  she couldn't be sure which.  She just
enjoyed it as she sank down onto his chest to lie, comfortably, draped over
him like a towel.

   "That ...  was the ...  best ever," she panted.

   "Oh gosh," moaned Beverly, next to them.  "OH GOSH!  You guys DID it!"

   "No we didn't," said Bobby, panting himself.  "All we did was make each
other feel good."

   "You put it IN her!" whispered Bev.

   "No, I didn't!" insisted Bobby.  "All she did was rub against it.  It
didn't go in her."

   "Let me see!" demanded Beverly, getting up on her knees.

   Mary complained as Bobby pushed her shoulders up, off of him, but she
knew he wouldn't stop, so she sat up straight, folding her knees alongside
him.  She looked down to see her pubic hair, a white, gooey mess, with the
tip of his prick sticking out from between them.  Her pussy lips were still
clasping the shaft, though it was getting softer and shorter already.

   "That's ..." Bev couldn't finish.  She had a horrified look on her face.

   "That's sperm," said Bobby.  "I told you you were too young for this."

   "I didn't think that kissing involved THAT!" squeaked the girl,
fascinated with not only seeing her first penis, but also seeing the stuff
she knew came out of them during sex.

   "That's what kissing leads to," said Bobby, panting more slowly.  "Mary
didn't believe me either.  All she wanted was a kiss, in the beginning."

   "Why'd you let him do THAT?" asked Bev, clearly confused.

   "Because it feels so good!" moaned Mary.  "I mean we never did this ...
not like this, tonight.  All I ever did before was let him touch me ... 
and touch him."

   "You TOUCHED it?" gasped Bev.

   "Lots of times," said Mary, looking down.  She was so distracted that
she dipped a finger into the mess on his belly and brought it to her lips.

   "MARY!" gasped Bev.

   Mary flushed.  "Don't use that tone of voice with me!" she snapped. 
"YOU wanted to do this ...  and now you understand why we didn't want you
to."

   "You put it in your MOUTH!" moaned Bev.

   "It tastes good," said Mary, getting disgusted that Bev was ruining what
had been, up to this point, her most favorite kissing session with Bobby.
"You've heard of blow jobs.  Don't tell me you haven't."

   "You did THAT!?" wailed Bev.

   "Shhhhhh!" said Mary, slapping at her sister.  "You want Mamma to come
in here and find us?"

   "You did that?" whispered Bev, much more softly.  This was turning out
to be one of the best things she'd ever done.  She'd seen and learned more
things in the last fifteen minutes than she'd learned in her whole life.

   "I haven't actually given him a blow job," said Mary.  "I just tasted
his stuff one night, and it was good."

   "You never told me that," said Bobby, reaching up to mold one of her
breasts.

   "I thought you'd think I was a slut," said Mary, defensively.

   "We've had this discussion before," said Bobby, softly.  "You know
you're not a slut."

   "I know," said Mary.  "But ...  Oh, I don't know.  I just didn't think
it was right to tell you."

   "Does it really taste good?" asked Bev, staring at the mess where her
brother's and sister's crotches were still welded together.

   Mary scooped up another finger full and extended it toward Bev's mouth.
Bev leaned back, a horrified look on her face.

   "Go on," said Mary.  "It won't kill you."

   "No way!" whispered Bev.

   "Feel it, then," said Mary.  "Feel how warm and slippery it is.  It
feels sooo good on my belly." She punctuated that statement by rubbing her
pussy forward and then back again.

   Bev, her eyes wide, reached tentatively toward her sister's hand, one
finger extended, and touched it to Mary's sperm-covered fingers.  She
jerked it back, and looked at the small dollop of white on her finger tip,
her mouth open.  Slowly, she brought her thumb up and squeezed the dollop,
moving her thumb slightly.

   "It IS slippery!" she whispered.

   "I told you so," said Mary.  "It tastes good too."

   "I don't know ..." said Bev, doubtfully.

   Mary ignored her, scooping up more, and putting it into her mouth.

   "It's getting late," Bobby reminded them.

   "I know," sighed Mary.  "I just love being here with you so much."

   "Kiss me good night, and then go clean up," he ordered.

   Mary leaned over and made her good night kiss last as long as he'd let
her.  She'd started rubbing again when he made her get off.  She felt his
spend, wet between her legs, and rubbed her thighs together as she dropped
her nightgown back over her naked body.

   Bev tried to crawl over him, but he grabbed her elbow.

   "You kiss me good night too," he ordered.

   She leaned down, on her hands and knees, to plant her lips against his,
and felt him pull her half on top of him.  She was already so lost in that
kiss that she didn't react to her breast touching his chest.  She'd never
let any of the boys at dances French kiss her, but she hadn't had the
opportunity to stop Bobby, and now, as his tongue slid against hers, she
felt the same heat in her loins as Mary had.  She also loved it, like Mary
had, because this wasn't some strange boy she was afraid of.  This was her
big brother, who she knew loved her, even if they fought occasionally.  She
didn't think she'd be fighting with him much in the future, as he sent
tingles down her spine.  If she fought with him, he might not do this with
her again.

   And she already knew she wanted to do this again ...  and again.

   Chapter Three

   The girls split up, in the hallway, as each went to the room she shared
with another sister.  Mary didn't clean up.  Instead, she pulled her
nightgown up and lay on her bed, her legs spread.  Bobby's slippery spunk
was all over her pussy lips, and she had two more orgasms as she rubbed it
all over her pussy, torturing her clitty.  Knowing that that slipperiness
was Bobby's sperm just made it even better.

   As for Beverly, she'd known how to masturbate for a long time too,
though she did it infrequently.  She was nervous about doing that, because
of stories she'd heard.  She didn't know if they were true or not, but it
was better not to take chances.  Tonight, though, she needed the release.
Carefully, she pressed two fingers against that spot she knew would do it
for her, and rubbed in a circle.  She held her breath as the feelings
flooded her loins, and then sighed, and closed her eyes.

   She was very glad she'd spied on them, and demanded to be included.

   Very glad.

   ===================================

   When Bobby returned to Prudence's house, two days later, to check the
fit of the door they'd installed, he was surprised to see Prudence dressed
in a skirt and blouse.  The skirt was plum colored, and the blouse had
lavender flowers on it.  Her hair was still up in a bun.

   "You look nice today," he said, his eyes taking in the thrust of her
breasts, under the blouse.  They were larger than he'd thought.

   "I wore it to work today," she said.  "You'd have thought I came in
wearing a necklace of shrunken heads."

   "They were surprised?" asked Bobby.

   "Aren't you?" she asked.  She was well aware that her entire wardrobe
had consisted of blacks and grays, except for the white blouses she wore at
the bank.  It had been that way for as long as she could remember.

   "You look good," he said, not answering her question.

   "That's not flirting ...  is it?" she asked, a tiny smile at the corners
of her lips.

   "When you're ready for me to flirt with you, just let me know," said
Bobby.  "Then you'll know what flirting is like."

   "I know what flirting is like," she said, folding her arms under her
breasts.

   Bobby stared, intentionally, at her breasts.

   "I love that blouse," he said, his voice almost sighing.  He looked up
to see Prudence's eyes wide.  She was blushing.  He grinned.  "Is that what
you thought it was like?" he asked.

   She suddenly felt nervous, and much younger than she was.  "Something
like that, I suppose," she stammered.

   "You're a beautiful woman, Prudence," he said softly.

   "All right, that's enough," she said weakly.  "It isn't right for you to
say things like that."

   "Like I said," he smiled.  "When you're ready to be flirted with, let me
know."

   She looked startled, and then thought about what had just happened. 
He'd offered to be a gentleman, but she'd prodded him.  When he'd reacted
to her prodding, he'd said things that made her feel distinctly vulnerable,
yet, here he was, being a gentleman.  She realized she had missed out on a
lot of life, and wasn't yet ready to dive back into that maelstrom of
emotion.  Just buying new clothes wasn't enough to prepare her for
rejoining the adult world she'd shunned for a decade.

   "Thank you," she said, without meaning to say it out loud.

   "You're very welcome," said Bobby.  "How's our door?"

   "It's beautiful," she said, feeling calmer immediately.

   "No swelling?"

   "Not that I can see," she said.

   "That means the paint sealed it properly," he said.  "We'll give it
another coat, and then put the molding back up around the inside.  We
shouldn't have to do any more adjusting after that."

   Constance came in the door they were discussing, with a basket of
tomatoes, lettuce and onions.

   "Oh!" she said, seeing Bobby.  "Hi." She smiled, but didn't show her
teeth.

   "Hi, yourself," he said.  "It's nice to see you again."

   Constance blinked, and then smiled enough to show her teeth.  She raised
one hand to cover her mouth, and ducked her head.

   "You seem to make us both feel shy," said Prudence to Bobby.

   "I don't mean to," said Bobby.

   "We're not used to men paying any attention to us," said the woman.

   "I'll try to ignore you, from now on," Bobby said, smiling.

   "Now you're teasing," said Prudence.

   "How about we tackle that cracked window you showed me, the other day,"
said Bobby, ignoring the women.

   "Can I help with that too?" asked Prudence.

   "I thought I'd have you give a last coat of paint to the door," said
Bobby.

   "I could maybe do that," said Constance, timidly.

   "Excellent idea!" said Bobby.  "Both of you need to change clothes,
though.

   "OK!" said both women, in tandem.  Both seemed excited, and Bobby just
sighed.

   Constance, as it turned out, changed into shorts and a white T shirt. 
The shirt was an old one, and too small, hence her decision to wear it,
since she had seen her mother's ruined sweat suit.  She didn't think about
the fact that the shirt hugged her young breasts and showed them off.  When
she skipped into the kitchen, where Bobby had been getting the paint ready
for her, she was reminded of that, when Bobby's eyes raked up and down her
body.

   "Oh!" she said, stopping quickly.  Her hands came to cover her breasts,
when she saw him looking there.

   "Sorry," said Bobby, looking away.  "It's just natural for a man to look
at a pretty girl."

   "Why do you say things like that?" she blurted.

   "Because it's the truth," he said.

   "I'm not pretty," she said.  "Not like Beverly."

   "Beverly doesn't think she's pretty either," said Bobby, stirring the
paint.

   "That's silly!" chirped Constance.

   "It's also silly for you to think you're not pretty, but that doesn't
make any difference to you, now does it?"

   "Boys don't look at me, like they look at Beverly," she said.

   "That's because you don't go around dressed like that," said Bobby,
smiling.

   ================================

   Bobby was showing Constance how to move the brush in long, even strokes
when Prudence appeared.  She was wearing her sweat suit again.

   "I guess these are my work clothes, now," she said, picking at a paint
stain.

   "Let's get to it," said Bobby.  "We need to work from the inside."

   She took him to her bedroom, since that's where the cracked window was,
but it felt strange to take a man in there.  At the same time, the last man
who had stepped into that room was Harry, and, somehow, Bobby's presence
made Harry's ghost seem less substantial.  She was so used to thinking
about Harry, in that room, that she was glad to be distracted by another
man.

   Bobby showed her how to chip away the glazing that held the window in.
When the chisel bit into the wood, he reached around her with both hands,
to correct the angle of the chisel, and his body pressed against her back
gently.  The sensations were so disturbing that she missed the chisel
completely, with the hammer.

   "Calm down," he said, over her shoulder.

   "When you touch me, I get all nervous," she whispered.

   "It's just touch," he said, moving his hands to her waist.

   "It feels wrong," she said, gripping the hammer tightly.

   "You're a woman," he said.  "I'm a man.  But all I'm doing here is
teaching you something.  You have nothing to fear from me."

   "But I haven't been touched by a man in years," she sighed.  "It feels
so strange.  Right now all I can feel is your hands."

   Bobby squeezed his fingers gently on her waist.

   "It's nothing," he said.  "I can stop, if it upsets you."

   "I don't understand this," she moaned, staring at the chisel in her
hand. "Why would you want to tease me ...  flirt with me ...  touch me?"

   "I like you," he said, his voice soft.  "I like to touch people I like."

   "But I'm old enough to be your mother," she moaned.

   "That doesn't mean anything to me," he said.  "I like you."

   "What does that mean?" she whispered.

   "It only means that I like to be around you," he said.  "Now, work on
that window."

   "I can't," she moaned.  "Not with you touching me like that."

   "All right, then," he said, stepping to the side, and removing his hands
from her waist.  "Remember what I showed you.  Get the angle right, so you
don't get into the wood."

   She gave a few tentative taps, and a long stick of withered glazing
popped off the edge of the window.  He coached her, until she was chipping
away industriously.  He explained that the little metal triangles she was
uncovering were called glazing points, and held the glass in, until the
glazing compound was applied.  He told her how to pry them out, and reached
past her to hold the cracked glass in place, as she finished removing
everything.  Then he let the glass tilt, until he could grab the larger
piece, while she held the smaller one in place.

   "Take this to the lumber yard," he said.  "Give it to them and tell them
you need a new pane, the same size."

   "You're not going with me?" Prudence sounded disappointed, somehow.

   "You can do this by yourself.  I need to check on Constance."

   While Prudence was gone, Bobby went and stood, watching the girl
painting.  He just chatted with her, telling her she was doing a good job,
and talking about nothing of any real importance.  He had no idea that she
was thrilled that he was paying any attention to her.  To her, he was an
"older male", and it was a real honor, from her perspective, that he would
notice her at all.  She was aware of his eyes on her, and that thrilled her
too.  She was suddenly glad she'd worn this old, too-tight shirt.  She
wasn't sure any other man had ever looked at her like he looked at her, and
it made her quiver inside.  It was a good quiver, at least from him.  Her
mother liked this man ...  she could tell ...  and that made her like him
too.

   ==================================

   Prudence returned with the glass, beaming at her victory.  It fit
perfectly, and Bobby showed her how to tap new glazing points in to hold it
in place.  Then he rolled a strip of glazing compound between his hands,
making a long line, which he pressed into place.  Then she did it, until
there was a line of lumpy looking putty all the way around the window.

   "It doesn't look nice, like the other did," she complained.

   "That's because we're not finished, yet," he said.  "I have to touch you
again," he warned.

   She said nothing, and he put the chisel in her hand, and showed her how
to angle it and drag it along the line of putty, smoothing it, and removing
the excess.

   "That's amazing," she said, delighted in how the window looked.

   "Now you're a door installer, and a window glazier," he said, putting
his hands back on her waist.

   "You're touching me again," she said, leaning back, ever so slightly.

   "This is nothing," he said.

   "It doesn't feel like nothing," she said, her hands hanging at her
sides.

   "May I tell you the truth?" he asked.

   "Why couldn't you?" she asked back.

   "It may make you very uncomfortable," he warned.

   "What is it?" she asked.

   "I'd much prefer to touch you like this," he said, sliding his hands
around and up, to cup her breasts.

   "Ohhhhhh," she moaned, her hands jerking to grab his wrists.

   "It's just how I feel," he said, squeezing gently.  "That's all."

   "You shouldn't," she said.  "I shouldn't let you."

   "You feel very good," he said, rolling his hands up and over the tips of
her breasts.

   "This is crazy!" she breathed.  "You have no right to touch me like
this."

   "That's true," he said.  "I just want to, that's all."

   "I should stop you," she moaned, her hands squeezing his wrists.

   "You can, if you really want to," he whispered.

   "Why are you doing this to meeee?" she whined.

   "I told you," he said.  "I like you."

   "This is for married people," she panted.

   "That's old fashioned thinking," he said.  "You're an adult, and I'm an
adult.  What's the harm, if it makes us both feel good?"

   "Bobby Dalton, you're a wicked, wicked man," she sighed.  Her hands
dropped from his wrists, and she leaned harder against him.

   "Thank you," he said, his hands moving all over her breasts.  "You feel
just as delightful as I thought you would."

   "You thought about this ...  before?" she gasped, leaning her head back.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this.

   "I thought about this the first time I ever came over," he said.

   "That's horrible!" she scolded, feeling butterflies in her belly.

   "Does this feel horrible?" he asked, mauling her breasts.

   "No," she whispered.

   "Maybe some day I can touch them ...  naked," he whispered.

   She shuddered, and her hands came back to his wrists.

   He dropped his hands to her waist, and she was so relieved that she
turned to face him.  His face was right there, and he kissed her before she
could react.  That hadn't happened in a long time either, and it shocked
her to her core.

   When he pulled back, she stared at him with huge eyes.

   "What, exactly, are your intentions, sir?" she gasped.

   "Only to make you feel good," he said, staring into her eyes.  "Only to
do what makes you feel good, and nothing more."

   "You don't intend to court me?" she asked.

   "No," he said.  "As you pointed out, there is a significant age
difference between us.  People wouldn't accept that."

   "Yet ...  you'd dally with me?" she whispered.  "You'd toy with my
affections?"

   "I'd share something sweet and precious with you," he said.  "I want
only to please you.  You've punished yourself for many years.  All I want
to do is make up for that a little.  It doesn't need to be me.  You could
find another man."

   She shook her head.  "No, I'll not be married again.  Once was enough.
It is too painful."

   "I'm sure, in this day and age, there are many men who would be happy to
bed you," he said.

   She pulled back.  "Is THAT your intention?" Her voice was an octave too
high.

   "Only if it pleases you," he said.

   "You're a very strange man, Bobby Dalton," she sighed.

   "Think about it," he said, releasing her, and stepping back.  "I'm sorry
if I shocked you, but I felt that the truth was best."

   "Shocked me is an understatement!" she gushed.  "I had no IDEA you
harbored such feelings for me!"

   "You haven't looked in a mirror, then," he said.  "I told you any man
would be proud to be in your company, and I meant it."

   "I think you should go, now," she said weakly.  Her stomach was in
turmoil.

   "Call me, if you need anything," he said.

   ====================================

   Bobby was reading ...  and waiting.  Mary and Bev must have been
talking, because, for two nights, they had come in, given him long,
lingering good night kisses, and then skipped back out, to their rooms. 
Bobby could understand why they did that.  The feel of his naked prick,
against Mary's pussy had made him want to fuck her.  He'd moved very fast,
with Prudence, taking a chance that he'd read the signals correctly.  He'd
figured that, once she had gotten a grip on her guilt, she'd have the same
urges as any woman.  Her change of clothing signaled that she was coping,
so he'd gone ahead to explore new territory.  He hadn't seen Tilly in
almost a month, and Sherry didn't seem to need him more than once a month.
Martha was very friendly, when she saw him in public, but didn't call.

   Bobby glanced at the clock on his night stand.  It was later than usual.
He was beginning to think they weren't coming at all, this night, when the
door eased open, and they slipped in together.

   Mary shrugged out of her nightgown immediately, and stood, naked,
looking at him.

   "We want you naked, tonight," she whispered.

   Without a word, he skinned down his shorts, and lay back, his penis
flaccid and lying at an angle on his thigh.

   Beverly looked nervous, and, stood quietly.  She had watched, two other
nights, as Bobby stroked Mary to orgasm, and then kissed him hungrily when
it was her turn.  Bobby hadn't even started touching her any place other
than on her back and sides.  Her kisses were still virginal, if filled with
passion.  She had then watched, as Mary masturbated him until he spurted,
and then licked her hand, where his warm spend covered it.

   "You two are playing with fire," he said, as his prick moved, all by
itself, getting longer and thicker.

   Mary didn't say anything, but walked to the bed and knelt beside it. 
Bev copied her.  Beverly reached for his penis, and grasped it tentatively.

   "It does feel warm and soft," she whispered to Mary.

   "Wait until it gets hard," whispered Mary back, watching her sister do
this for the first time.

   "It's getting hard already!" sighed Bev.

   "Don't make it squirt," cautioned Mary.  "He kisses better when he's
hard."

   "I'm right here," said Bobby, smiling.

   "Do you want to try it, tonight?" asked Mary, looking at Bev.

   The younger girl shook her head.  "I'll just watch."

   Mary stood and climbed up on top of Bobby, making Bev release his prick.
She looked down, and reached, to position his organ up, pointing at his
belly button.  Then she settled her pussy down, spreading her lips with two
fingers, and started to rock.

   "Ohhhhhhh, I love this," she moaned.  She leaned down to kiss him
gently. "Try not to squirt.  I think Bev wants to try to make you squirt
later."

   Bobby looked at Bev, who had gone around the bed, and was standing,
watching the juncture of her brother and sister.

   Mary rocked, picking up speed, and lifted panting lips from his.

   "Suck them," she moaned, arching her back and suspending her breasts
over his mouth.

   He did, and she shuddered and whined, as she came, grinding her clitty
on his prick hard.  She looked down at Bobby.  "I love this, and I love
you," she moaned.

   "I love you too," he said softly.

   "I want to go again," she sighed, sitting up.  "But it's Bev's turn."

   Mary crawled off of him, and knelt on the floor, as Bev crawled on the
bed and lay down beside Bobby.  Her hand went to his prick.

   "It's wet!" she whispered.

   "That's from Mary," said Bobby.  "When you get excited, don't you get
wet?"

   "I'm wet right now," she sighed, reaching her lips to kiss him.

   Bobby kissed her hard, and slid his hand up her leg, under her
nightgown. He was surprised to find she wasn't wearing panties, and he
squeezed her naked butt cheeks.

   "That feels good," she sighed, into his mouth.  Her hand jerked on his
prick, and Mary's hands came to steady them.  Mary instructed her on how
hard and how fast to go.

   "You want to cum?" asked Bobby, after a hot kiss.

   "I'm scared," whined Beverly.

   "It's just an orgasm," he said.

   "I'm still scared," she moaned.

   "Just kiss me," he said.

   She did, and, without warning, he moved his hand to her front, and
dipped between her legs.  She WAS wet, and his finger slid effortlessly
between her puffy vulva.  She jerked, but only kissed him harder.

   He probed, gently.  He didn't know why, but there was no barrier in her,
like there was in Mary.  She moaned into his mouth as he got into her to
his first knuckle.  He pulled away to let her breathe.

   "Oh shit!" she gasped, as he wiggled his finger in her.

   "You mustn't let any other boy do this," he whispered.

   "I won't!" she moaned.  "Ohhhh, Bobby, it feels so goooood."

   She'd stopped stroking him, and even Mary's hand couldn't get her going
again.

   He slid deeper, and she jerked again, lifting her upper leg.  Her hips
made a movement toward him.

   "Ohhhhhh," she gasped.  Her eyes opened wide.  "It's going to happen,
Bobby!"

   He started sliding in and out of her slippery channel, mauling her
clitty and she flopped to her back, abandoning his penis.  Mary immediately
grabbed it and stroked.

   "Ohhhh shit!" groaned Bev, arching her hips up.

   She was tight, but seemed to be able to tolerate his finger, so he
pushed it all the way in.  He felt the little knot at the end, and rimmed
the tight opening with his fingertip.  Bev flopped, and started to make
noise, so he rolled half on top of her and sealed his lips to hers.  She
gave a gut-wrenching groan into his mouth, and her tongue lashed against
his, and then she went limp.  Easing his finger out of her, he petted her
pussy gently, still kissing her, and then took his hand and lips away at
the same time.  She lay there panting.

   He looked down at Mary, whose brow was furrowed as she worked on his
penis.

   "You like the taste," he said.

   She looked at him, and he smiled at her.

   "I'm about to cum," he announced.  "Just put your mouth over it."

   "Can I?" she whispered.

   "Sure," he said.

   Mary leaned over, her mouth open wide, as her hand sped up.

   "Now!" he grunted.

   She lowered her head to seal her lips around the tip, and he felt the
spurts.  She jerked, in surprise, and he heard a convulsive swallow.  Two
more streaks of pleasure jolted through his prick, and she pulled back, her
mouth full, dribbles of spunk leaking from the corners of her mouth.  Her
hand continued to milk him, while the other came up to wipe at her mouth.
She swallowed again.

   "So much!" she gasped.  "I didn't realize there was so much!"

   "You make me cum a lot," he sighed.

   Beverly rolled half on top of him and kissed him urgently again.  When
she was done, she pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

   "Thank you," she gushed.  "That was the neatest thing that ever happened
to me!"

   "We'll do it again, sometime," he said, smiling.

   "We sure will!" she sighed, and kissed him again.

   Looking at her, he was reminded of Constance.

   "Hey, I want you to do me a favor," he said to Bev.

   "Anything," she sighed.

   "There's a girl I met.  I'm doing some work for her mother.  She's in
your class."

   "Who?" asked Bev.

   "Constance Harris," he said.

   Bev nodded.  "I know her.  She seems kind of stuck up."

   "She's terribly shy," said Bobby.  "But she seems like a nice kid.  I'd
like you to be friendly to her."

   "You'll keep doing this with me?" she asked.

   "I'll keep doing this even if you don't do it," he said, smiling.  "This
is fun for me too, you know."

   "OK," said Bev.  "I'll see what I can do."

   Neither girl seemed to want to leave, but it was late, so Bobby chased
them out.

   Chapter Four

   Florence came out to the barn to get Bobby.

   "Mrs.  Harris is on the phone.  She needs to talk to you."

   "OK, be right there," said Bobby.  He was wrestling with one of the
front wheels of the tractor.  It was flat, and he was trying to get the
tire off, so he could patch the tube.

   He got to a stopping place, and noticed that Flo was still there,
watching him.

   "How come Mary and Bev are being so nice to you?" she asked, suddenly.

   "Why wouldn't they be?" he asked.

   "I don't know," she said.  "It just seems strange."

   "You're nice to me," he said.

   "No I'm not," she said firmly.  "You're my brother.  I don't have to be
nice to you."

   "You're just a sweetheart, down deep," he laughed, putting his arm
around her and pulling her toward the door of the barn.  "Even when you're
trying to be mean, you're nice."

   "Let go of me, you lummox!" she yipped, whirling away from him.  "When
are you ever going to move out, so I can have your room?"

   "Mary would get my room before you did," he said.

   "Same difference," she shrugged.  "At least I'd have a room to myself."

   "Why do you need a room to yourself?" he asked.  He grinned, before she
could answer.  "Oh yeah, you're growing up ...  a girl needs privacy
sometimes."

   She shot a dark look at him.  "I don't know what you're talking about!"
she growled.

   "Of course not," he said, laughing again.  "Mamma's going to let you go
on dates soon.  Then maybe you'll find out what I'm talking about."

   "I don't need a boy in my life!" she snarled.  "Mamma doesn't need a
man, and I don't either.  Mary's besotted with Fred, but that doesn't mean
I'm going to do that!"

   "We'll see," said Bobby, capturing her and pulling her against him
again. She struggled, but ended up walking in step with him to the house.
When they got there he let her go.

   "Beast!" she teased.

   "Softy!" he teased back.

   "Sometimes you make me SO mad!" she yipped.  But she was smiling.

   He went to the phone and spoke into it.

   "Bobby?  This is Prudence."

   "Hi," he said.  "What can I do for you?"

   "Could you come to the house Saturday?"

   "Sure.  What do I need to bring?"

   "I just want to talk to you," she said.

   "I'd be happy to," he said.

   =======================================

   Bobby's knock was answered by Prudence, who was wearing her paint
splattered sweat suit.

   "Looks like you're working today," he said, smiling.

   "Just some house cleaning," she said.

   She led him to the living room, and sat in an easy chair.  He sat on the
couch.

   "It seems Constance has developed quite a crush on you," she said,
without preamble.

   "I'm flattered," he said.

   "I think maybe the same thing has happened to me," she said, frowning.

   "I'm doubly flattered," he said.

   "It bothers me," she said.

   "Constance is a little young," Bobby admitted.

   "I wasn't talking about her."

   "What do you want me to do?" asked Bobby, cutting to the chase.

   "I haven't the foggiest idea," she said, helplessly.  "I'm in no
condition to have a man in my life again.  I feel better.  You helped me
feel better, Bobby, and I appreciate that.  For the first time in a long
time, I don't dread waking up every day.

   "I'm glad about that," said Bobby.

   "This is what I mean!" said Prudence, getting up and pacing.  "You're
polite.  You're talented, and you definitely have a way with women.  You
make me want things that I'm in no position to want.  I think about you
entirely too much!"

   "Look," said Bobby.  "You're making it harder than it needs to be. 
You're a good looking woman.  Go out on some dates.  Have some fun.  You're
an adult.  There's nothing wrong with bringing some happiness into your
life."

   "I told you!" she said, turning to face him.  "I'm not ready for that
yet!  Maybe I will be some day, but not yet.  If I did that, I might find a
man I want to keep, and I'm still on the edge of madness as it is.  I don't
know how to act, and I wouldn't know what to talk about, and I don't know
how to get a man to ask me out anyway!"

   "Calm down," said Bobby.  "One step at a time."

   She looked at him helplessly and he patted the seat beside him.  She
came, and sat.

   "The fall festival is coming up," he said.  "Go to the dance.  If a man
asks you to dance ...  and they will ...  dance with them.  Talk about
whatever is on your mind.  Just be yourself.  If I can be attracted to you
as strongly as I am, every other man will be attracted to you too."

   "That's another thing!" she moaned.  "You say such sweet things.  You
touched me so lovingly.  You're not pushy.  You make me want to do things I
shouldn't do!"

   "Why not?" he asked.  "You're a big girl.  This is America.  Why can't
you do whatever it is you want to do?"

   "Don't you get it?" she moaned.  "I want to have SEX with you!"

   "I want to have sex with you too," he said.

   "You can't just SAY that!" she whined.

   "Come here," he said, tugging at her elbow.

   "What?" She sounded sullen.

   "Come over here," he said.

   "I'm right here!" she barked.

   He grasped her shoulders and twisted her away from him, pulling, and she
fell, with a yelp, across his lap.  He caught her with his left arm, and
pulled her startled face to his for a kiss.

   He didn't hold anything back.  He kissed her like he meant it.  He had
no idea if she'd ever French kissed or not, but, in her startled state, her
lips were slightly open, so he flicked his tongue into her mouth.  She
stiffened, at first, and her hands went to his chest to push.  Then they
curled, digging into his chest muscles, but she couldn't get a grip.

   Slowly, as he maintained the kiss, he felt her begin to relax, until her
upper hand slid up his chest, to his shoulder, and then around behind his
neck, and she started kissing him back.

   They made out like teenagers, moving from one hot kiss into another, and
she became almost frantic in her movements, pulling herself against him. 
His hand stroked her back, at first, and then moved to her hip, and finally
up under her shirt, onto her back.  Her hand came back to his chest, and
pushed, gently, this time, and he let her move away from his lips.

   "What are you doing?" she asked, breathlessly.

   "Making love to you," he said, leaning forward to kiss the corner of her
mouth.

   "You can't do that," she moaned.

   "I AM doing that," he said, smiling, and stroking the smooth skin of her
back.  While she was still staring into his eyes, he slid his hand down,
and into her sweat pants, under her panties and onto a surprisingly firm
butt cheek.

   "No man has touched me since Harry," she whispered.

   "Harry's gone," said Bobby.  There wasn't any other way to say it.

   "I can't," she moaned.

   "Kiss me," he said.

   With a strangled moan her face lurched towards his, and, as she kissed
him passionately, he slid his hand around her hip, inside her panties.  Her
upper leg rose by instinct, and he slid his hand into wet heat.  She
groaned as his finger found her tight channel and he dug into her, pulling
the base of his finger against her clit.

   She pushed away from him, gasping.

   "STOP!" she gasped.

   "No," he said.  He wiggled his finger and her eyes rolled in their
sockets.  She arched against him, her hips betraying her.

   "Oh, please stop," she begged, as she lifted her leg higher.

   "You need this," he said soothingly.  "Show me your beautiful breasts."

   "Nooooo," she moaned.

   "Show them to me," he commanded.

   Her hand dragged at her sweat shirt, and she rolled backwards, as his
finger tortured her pussy.

   "Ahhhhhhh," she whined, laying back.  Her hand pulled, exposing her bra.

   "Lift your bra," he said.

   "Ohhhh Bobbeeeeee," she whined.  "You're killing meeee."

   "Lift it!" he said.

   Her fingers scrabbled at the bottom of the bra, and it flipped up, to
reveal milky white breasts, heavy and wobbly, with fat brown nipples, set
on large, dark areolas.

   Bobby leaned over and suckled one nipple, whipping his finger in and out
in a circular motion.

   She went rigid and wailed as an orgasm wiped out all thought except the
joy of feeling this special thing once again.  She hadn't had an orgasm in
over ten years, and it seemed like this one tried to make up for all that
time as she writhed on his lap.  She babbled and bawled and then went limp.

   He stopped frigging her, and withdrew his finger, to press three fingers
against her pussy lips, just putting pressure there.  He licked her nipple,
and the areola, and then moved his mouth, pulling her up.  Her eyes were
glazed, and her mouth slack as he kissed her.  Then, as she recovered, she
got some control back, and returned his kiss.  He pulled his hand out of
her pants, and held her tight, still kissing her gently.

   With the gentlest of pressure, she pushed at his chest, and he backed
off.  His hand, now free, went to her bra and pulled it back down.  She had
to help him get her generous, wobbly breasts back in the cups.

   "You have to go now," she said softly.

   "All right," he said, stroking her hip.

   She struggled to stand, and he stood up too.  She was looking down at
the floor, obviously embarrassed.  He put a finger under her chin and made
her look at him.  He kissed her softly.

   "We both needed that," he said.

   "You have to GO now!" she said, her voice urgent.

   "I'll be back," he said.

   "You CAN'T come back!" she gasped.

   "You know you want me to," he said.

   "Of COURSE I WANT YOU TO!" she wailed.  "DON'T YOU SEE?"

   He took her hand and kissed it.  "I can wait until you're ready," he
said.

   Then he slipped out the door.

   ================================

   He intended to go home and masturbate.  He was still very excited from
playing with Prudence.  When he got home, though, he found that Beverly had
honored her promise to befriend Constance.  Constance was, in fact, at his
house, spending time with Bev.

   "Hi, Bobby," she said, shyly, when he walked in.  She smiled, no longer
worried about her teeth, at least not with him.

   Bev rolled her eyes and tugged at Bobby's sleeve.

   "I'll be right back, Connie," she said.

   "Connie?" asked Bobby, grinning.

   "She's got it in the worst way for you!" said Bev.  "When we got here,
and she found out you weren't here, I couldn't get her interested in
anything!"

   "She's a little young for me, don't you think?" he asked, still
grinning.

   "I'm a little young for you too, you big oaf!" said his sister, her eyes
flashing.  "And I'm helpless around you too!"

   Bobby reached out and tweaked the tip of one of her breasts.  She
slapped at him.  "Go talk to her for a little while.  Maybe then she'll
calm down."

   Bobby did her one better than that.  He invited Constance to gather eggs
with him.  She'd never been around live chickens before, and was skittish,
at first.  When they were done she was inordinately proud of herself.

   "Life is always so interesting around you," she said, looking at Bobby
sideways, as they walked back to the house.

   "There are lots of boys out there who would make life interesting for
you too," said Bobby.  "Boys your own age."

   "I know I'm acting goofy," she said, slumping.  "It's just that Mamma
and I are so much happier since you started coming over."

   "I don't mind if you act goofy," said Bobby, "As long as you pay some
attention to boys your own age too."

   "I don't know how to behave around them," she moaned.

   "That's what Bev is for," he said, grinning.  "She can teach you
everything you need to know, and then some."

   "Ok," said Constance, happy again.  "I still like you, though."

   "And I still like you," he said.

   She almost wiggled, as she grinned and skipped ahead, the egg basket
swinging dangerously in her hand.

   ===================================

   He didn't get to relieve the pressure later that day either.  Mamma had
a full slate of chores for him to do, and he wasn't done when she called
him to supper.

   Then, after supper, she wanted to fit him for some new shirts, and a
pair of pants.  The girls were all in Bev's room, their attention on her
new friend.

   Bobby stood there in his underwear, arms out, while Mirriam ran the
cloth tape along his arms, over his back, and around his chest.

   "My goodness you've grown up," she sighed.  "You have muscles on your
muscles!"

   "I guess I work hard," he said.

   She knelt to do the measurements of his legs.  Her face was right in
front of the bulge in his briefs.

   "How you've grown," she whispered.  Then: "Are you still being careful?"

   "I don't do anything a woman doesn't want done," said her son.

   "You kissed me," she said.

   "You wanted me to kiss you," he said.

   "How would you know a thing like that," she snorted.

   "I know lots of things, Mamma," he said.

   She ran the tape around his hips, crossing it right on top of his bulge.

   "Like what?" she asked, distracted.

   "Like you want to see it."

   "See what?"

   "What your measuring tape is on top of," he said.

   "I do not!" she said, standing up.  "I'm your mother, for pity's sake!"

   "You're also a woman," said her son.  "And, judging from the number of
daughters you have, I'd say a hot-blooded one."

   "Robert Jordan Dalton, how dare you talk to your own mother that way?"
Her words were harsh, but her voice was wistful.

   "See there?" he said.  "You can't even get mad at me for being rude
about it."

   "Why ARE you being so rude?" she asked, tilting her head.

   "I want you to see it too."

   "Bobby, that's ridiculous," she said.

   "I love you, Mamma," he said, standing there.  "You're the only woman in
the world I love, like I love you.  I like the other women, but I don't
feel it in my heart, like when I look at you."

   "These other women ..." said Mirriam, unable to keep her eyes from
glancing down.  "Have they seen it?" she asked, her eyes widening, as she
realized that bulge had grown even more.

   "Yes Ma'am," he said, simply.

   "And have they ...  touched it?"

   "Yes Ma'am."

   "How did this happen?" she asked.  "You're my baby boy.  How did you
come to be with these women?"

   "They needed me," he said.  "They needed to feel good, so I helped them
feel good."

   "That's it?" She raised an eyebrow.

   "Isn't that what Joe did for you?" His question was genuine.

   "It was complicated," she sighed.

   "It's always complicated, Mamma," he said.

   "Well," she said firmly.  "As odd as I feel saying this, thank you for
the offer, young man, but I believe I'll decline.  That's all I need, to
see a man's ...  to see a man, after all these years.  You just keep that
thing in your pants while I'm around."

   "OK, Mamma," he said, grinning.  "When you change your mind, just let me
know."

   Mirriam felt butterflies in her belly.  He was so handsome ...  so
willing ...  so available.  But he was her son.  He had sprung from the
loins that were currently roiling with the passion she was trying to fight
off.  She wanted to hug him, but she knew that, if she did, she'd want to
do other things too.  He was right.  She WAS hot blooded.  She'd been
unable to resist Joe.  Whenever he showed up she was wet from the day he
got there, to the day he left.  She realized she was damp now, and chased
her son out of the room.  She didn't even let him get dressed, so fearful
was she that she'd ask him to stay.

   =============================

   Bobby didn't even think about it.  He padded toward his room, his balls
aching.  Finally, he'd have the chance to ease the pressure.

   He heard them before he saw them, a giggling mass of girls, laughing and
screeching, in that way only teenage girls and coyotes have of making high
pitched noises.

   That noise stopped almost instantly, as the crowd of girls flowed around
a corner, to face a man, dressed in only his underwear, which lovingly
cradled ...  and advertised ...  his swollen penis.

   "Oh my GOSH!" squealed Linda, who was then fourteen.

   "Wow!" came a voice he belatedly recognized as Constance's.

   Even Mary, Flo and Bev had been unable to resist being around a visitor.
Mary had, in fact, been regaling them with stories of how romantic Fred
was, and describing, to her sisters, and the visitor, how exciting it was
to be around a man who pined for her.  Now, Mary, Flo and Bev reverted to
being the older sisters, as the noise level began to escalate again.

   "BOBBY!" they shouted, almost as one.

   "Don't get all excited," he said, grinning.  "Mamma was just measuring
me for new pants."

   "You can't just walk around like that!" gasped Flo, staring straight at
his crotch.

   "Close your eyes, girls!" said Mary, her voice authoritative.

   Betty, who was twelve, and the youngest, actually did, and covered her
eyes with her hands, to boot.  There were giggles and more shouting,
though, as the rest of them ogled the man in front of them.

   "Good grief!" snorted Bobby.  "You'd think you all had never seen a
man!"

   "Not like that!" said Matilda, who was thirteen.

   "Does he walk around here like that a lot?" asked Constance, her voice
dreamy.

   "Certainly not!" yelled Flo.

   "If you ladies will excuse me, I was headed to my room," said Bobby,
moving toward the gaggle of girls.

   There was a flutter of movement, as girls went silent and flattened
themselves against the wall, with the exception of Mary and Bev, who forgot
to react as if they'd never seen him like this before.  Bobby winked at
Mary, who blushed, and then moved to the wall, pulling Bev with her.

   Eight heads swiveled, to watch him walk by.  Betty had uncovered her
eyes, now, and was staring with the rest.

   Bobby turned into his room and, as he closed the door, the noise level
swelled to twice its original volume, as the girls squealed and yipped
about what had just happened.

   Bobby lay down on his bed, but decided not to jerk off.  He had a hunch
that Mary, or Bev, or both, would visit him later, and he wanted to provide
them with a full load of spunk.

   Chapter Five

   He was right.  Both Mary and Bev came in together, and Mary was almost
frantic to climb on him and rub.  Halfway to her orgasm, she told him why.

   "Fred asked me to marry him!" she panted.

   Bobby was afraid Bev would wake everyone in the house with her squeal of
delight.  She clapped both hands over her mouth, as she realized how loud
she was being.

   "Is that a good thing?" asked Bobby.  He'd never thought of getting
married.  He liked being able to be involved with several women.

   "I don't know," she moaned, rubbing faster.

   "What did you tell him?" asked Bev, calmer now.

   "I told him I had to think about it," gasped Mary.

   "Mary!" squealed Bev again.  "Why did you say that?  You know you love
him."

   "I know," she panted.  "Shut up.  I'm almost there."

   She was, and within ten seconds she whined and rubbed furiously, as
Bobby sucked at her nipples and stroked her hips.  She lay down on him,
limp, when she was done.

   "My turn!" said Bev.  "If you love him, why didn't you just say yes?"

   "It's scary," moaned Mary.  "I'd have to leave here ...  leave all of
you ...  and go live in a strange house."

   "You could do this whenever you felt like it," said Bobby, sliding his
hands all over her back and butt.

   "That's another thing," she sighed.  "I'm scared of having sex.  I just
know it's going to hurt."

   "What we do doesn't hurt," said Bobby.

   "I know that!" she said, pushing herself up and climbing off of him.

   Both Mary and Bobby were astonished to find that Bev had taken off her
nightgown.  She'd never done that before.  Bobby stared at her breasts,
smaller versions of Mary's with the same pink nipples.

   "Do you want to be on top of me too?" asked Bobby, staring at her.

   "No," she whispered.  "I don't think I'm ready for that.  But your hands
feel so good on my skin ...  I just want to be next to you ...  like this."

   Bobby rolled to his side, and she joined him, snuggling up against him,
his wet prick rubbing her belly.

   "That feels so strange," she said.  She kissed him, and within seconds
she was lying on her back, as Bobby rolled them, to lay half on top of her.
His hand was between her legs, and she had spread them for him.  She moaned
as he slid a finger into her, and kissed him harder.

   "That doesn't hurt?" asked Mary, whispering.

   Bev twisted her face away from Bobby's, to look at her sister, around
his head.

   "No!" she gasped.  "Now it's your turn to shut up."

   Mary watched, as her brother's finger disappeared up inside of her
sister.  Bev obviously loved that.  Her thrusting hips made that clear. 
But Mary remembered the pain, when Bobby had put only a little of his
finger in her.  Her own hand went between her legs.  She'd never put
anything inside her, but now, she slipped one fingertip in.  She hit her
barrier immediately, and felt the twinge of pain as she experimented,
pushing against it.  She felt part of her fingertip slip to one side of
that barrier.  There wasn't room to push much, and when she did, it was
uncomfortable ...  like picking at a scab.  She removed the digit and,
while watching Bobby finger fuck her sister, rubbed her nubbin until she
clenched her teeth, cumming again, in time with Bev, who broke away from
Bobby's lips to open her mouth wide, and close her eyes tightly as she had
an orgasm too.

   Mary rolled Bobby to his back.  His prick was wet from her pussy, but
she didn't care.  She was too inflamed to resist closing her mouth over his
prick.

   "Ahhhhhhh," moaned Bobby, as she sucked at his manhood.

   She sucked a long time, but he didn't spurt.  When she stopped, to ask
him why, he said he didn't know.  It felt wonderful, but he didn't feel the
urge to spurt.

   "Jack on it," he suggested.

   She did, sliding her mouth up and down, in time with her hand.  Her lips
pushed his foreskin back each time.

   "Oh yeah," he moaned.  "That's what it needs."

   Within two minutes, Mary had a mouthful of her brother's delightful,
warm spunk, and swallowed it happily.

   ====================================

   Bobby was at the grocery store when he saw Prudence next.  She was
wearing another new outfit, tan slacks, with an orange and yellow blouse
that made her look like she was on fire.  She was peering at the label of a
can, and hadn't seen him yet.

   "Hi," he said, pushing his cart almost past her.

   She looked up from the can, and her eyes widened.  Then, slowly, her
pale face began to be tinted with a stain of pink.

   "Hello," she said, having to clear her voice to get the word out.

   Bobby looked around.  They were alone in the aisle.

   "I'd like to see you again," he said.

   She looked around too.

   "See me?" she asked.  "Is that all you want to do?"

   "Of course not," said Bobby, smiling.

   "How do you do that?" sighed Prudence.

   "Do what?" he asked.

   "Make me feel like this," she said.  "I'm a grown woman, but whenever I
look at you, I feel seventeen."

   "You didn't feel seventeen the other day," said Bobby, smiling wider. 
"Not by a long shot."

   She looked around again, nervously.

   "I can't see you again," she whispered.  "I'd feel like doing things we
shouldn't do."

   "Why do you think I want to see you again?" asked Bobby, his smile small
now.

   "How can you want that with a woman twice your age?" she moaned.

   "You're beautiful," said Bobby.  "I like you.  I told you all this
already."

   "I didn't know you wanted to do THAT!" she whined.

   "A woman like you shouldn't be made to go without an important part of
her life.  You've deprived yourself.  Didn't you feel good last time?"

   "Too good!" she gasped, flushing harder.

   "I can make you feel even better," he said.  "I want to make you feel
even better."

   "I don't believe I'm standing here, talking to you about this, in the
middle of the grocery store!" sighed Prudence.

   "Then let's talk about it Saturday morning ...  at your house ...  in
your bedroom." Bobby said it plainly, as it were merely simple
conversation.

   "Constance ..." moaned Prudence, trying to fight the desire inside her.

   "Send her to my house.  She and my sister are friends now."

   She was about to say "NO!" when he reached out and touched her hand,
where it lay, gripping the handle of her cart.  That single touch shattered
her resistance.

   "All right!" she gasped.  Then, in almost panic, she pushed her cart,
almost running down the aisle away from him.

   He played with her, going the opposite direction, and then looking to
see which aisle she was going down next.  He made sure he met her again,
walking past her.  If there were other people in the aisle, he said
nothing. Once, when there was only one other customer, who was far away, he
mouthed the words "See you Saturday" and grinned, as she blushed and
hurried past him.  Another time, he reached out and stroked her hand, as he
went by.

   The fourth time he passed her, she whispered "You're TERRIBLE!"

   But, as she hurried off, she was smiling.

   ====================================

   He didn't make it to her house until after ten, Saturday morning.  He
was still doing chores when Constance showed up, riding her bicycle, and
went into the house as if she lived there.

   Bev had found out that she really liked the quiet girl, who wasn't
nearly as quiet, once she accepted the fact that she had a real friend. 
The other girls liked her too, which only added to the strange, almost
mystical sense of sisterhood she began to feel with them.  Never having
been around many kids her age, except in school, she was amazed at the
noise and apparent confusion of a house that seven girls lived in.  That
the boy she had a crush on lived there too was just icing on the cake.

   When Bobby did knock on the door, it opened almost immediately.  A panic
stricken Prudence stood there, already breathing hard, as if she'd run to
get the door.

   "I thought you'd never come!" she blurted.

   "I thought you were nervous about me coming at all," he said, smiling.

   "I'm terrified!" she moaned.

   "You don't have to be," he said.  "Can I come in?"

   She jerked, and stepped back.  She was wearing shorts, and a shirt that
buttoned up the front.  She was also barefoot.  She stood, tensely,
frowning.

   "Look," he said soothingly.  "I don't want to make you nervous, or
upset, or do anything that you don't want to do."

   "I have no idea what I want to do," she said, honestly.  "The thought of
you being here ...  of us ...  I just can't imagine it!"

   In fact, Prudence had been in turmoil ever since seeing him at the
store. She was inundated with the pure joy of being desirable, as any woman
might be, but it had been so long since she had felt that, that it felt
foreign.  And, like many women, she couldn't convince herself that a man -
especially a handsome, young, muscled Adonis - would find her attractive.
She saw all the flaws, when she looked in the mirror.  She saw the pooch,
where there was extra flesh on her abdomen.  She saw the stretch marks on
that skin, from when she was pregnant.  She saw her breasts, hanging low,
heavily, when they weren't controlled by a bra.  She saw the moles, and the
pale skin, and the padding on her hips.  She believed herself to be fat,
though she carried only the normal extra flesh that nature gives a mature
woman.  At the same time, she had felt Bobby's passion, as he kissed her,
and slid his hand where no man's hand had been in more than ten years. 
She'd felt his arousal, pressing against her side as he gave her that
wonderful, terrifying orgasm on the couch.  She was at war with herself,
knowing that she shouldn't want more, but wanting more desperately.

   And he had plainly offered her more, and was there, in the flesh,
because she had said "Yes."

   "Maybe I should check that window pane," he said softly.

   She jerked, as her mind centered on him.

   "It's fine!" she said, automatically.  He smiled, and she felt silly. 
He was giving her a little push ...  but only a little one.  "Oh!" she
said. "I suppose that would be all right."

   Then, when they got to the bedroom, and he ignored the window, to stand
in front of her and reach for the buttons of her shirt, she didn't know
what to do.  So she just stood there, as he unbuttoned it, and slid it off
her shoulders.

   She stood there as he undid the snap of her shorts, and pushed them over
her hips, where they were tight.  She bit her lip, knowing that now he
could see the pooch of her abdomen, with its stretch marks.  He turned her,
as if she was a department store mannequin, and she felt his fingers at the
catch of her bra.  It went slack, and he pushed it off her shoulders.  His
fingers traced over her now-bare shoulders, and she dropped her head, both
in shame at being almost naked with him, and because his fingers felt so
good, stroking her skin.

   The bra dropped to the floor, falling off her limp arms, and she felt
his fingers go to the bun, on the back of her head.

   "Bobby," she whispered.  No one had ever seen her hair down since Harry
had died.

   "Shhhh," he said, loosening the pins, and pulling at the long hank of
hair.

   It fell to her shoulders, and she pulled it forward, to cover her
breasts.  She almost cried out as he knelt behind her and pulled her
panties down, but bit her lip to keep from doing that.  A strangled moan
slipped past her teeth.

   "It's all right," he whispered, sliding his hands up the outside of her
thighs, to rest on her hips.

   She expected him to turn her around ...  to stare at her ...  to ogle
her, with lust-filled eyes.  Instead, he simply ran his fingertips over her
back, and sides, and arms, until some of the tenseness loosened.

   She had no idea how he did it, but when he stepped up to press the front
of his body against her naked back, he was naked too.  She felt his
erection press into her buttocks, and sighed with the ecstasy of knowing he
was aroused for her.  His hands slid to her belly, and he gripped the extra
flesh there.

   "I'm fat," she moaned.

   "I love the feel of your skin," he whispered, his chin on her shoulder.

   His hands slid upwards, under her hair, to cup her naked breasts.

   "I love the feel of these too," he said, squeezing them, and lifting
them.  His fingers found her fat nipples and squeezed gently.  She moaned,
and leaned back against him.

   "I want to make love to you," he whispered.

   Her involuntary step toward the bed might have been disaster, had he not
been holding her breasts.  Her left foot caught in the panties and shorts
that were puddled around her feet, and she would have fallen, but his hands
saved her, and let her step out of the obstruction.

   ======================================

   That first time was all a blur to Prudence ...  a cacophony of an odd
mixture of silence, and noises that she knew she was making, but wasn't
making intentionally.  She wasn't sure how she got on the bed, on her back,
and couldn't remember him climbing on top of her.  She didn't even know
she'd spread her legs for him, until she felt the pressure of his entry. 
Quite suddenly, from that point on, she seemed to be at once there, on the
bed with him, and floating up above that bed, watching as his hips rose and
fell between her knees, and both of her selves were transported to a place
she'd loved in the past, but forgotten about completely.

   She had no idea how many orgasms she had.  They washed over her like
waves in the ocean, coming again and again as she let them lift her, and
drop her.  What she did remember was the ecstasy of being full of hard
prick that moved and stroked and massaged her frantic pussy.  She also
remembered, with crystal clarity, that she had been a fool to go without
this for so long.  She would never forget one other thing.  That was his
long, drawn out sigh, when he said "Oh Prudence," and she felt his hot
sperm jetting into her.  That brought her back into her body, and she
luxuriated in the feeling that he had put a ball of fire into her belly,
that was slowly expanding, and would completely consume her.

   ===============================

   They lay there, gasping, and she cleared the hair away from her face. 
It was tangled all around her upper body, but she didn't care.  She had
finally been convinced that this man found her attractive, and that he
would find her attractive again.  The peace that acceptance brought her
simply added to the glow she felt inside, where his spend lay in her womb.

   The first thing either of them said, was ten minutes later, when he
rolled and put his hand on her abdomen, on top of the ball of heat that was
still there.

   "Give me ten minutes, and we'll do that again," he said.

   ==================================

   Prudence Harris was a changed woman, three hours later as, still naked,
with her hair still down, she walked with Bobby to the front door and
kissed him firmly.

   "Any time you want me," she said, into his lips.  "I'm yours."

   "I want you again, already," he said.  He had spurted in her four times.

   "You have no idea how that makes me feel," she whispered.

   "You make me feel pretty good too," he said.

   =================================

   As it turned out, it was actually Prudence who set the schedule for
them. Gone was her reluctance to engage in such acts with a man almost
young enough to be her son.  Constance had dance lessons, once a week, on
Wednesday nights, and while Constance learned ballet moves, Prudence danced
a different kind of dance, in bed with Bobby.  Then, on Saturdays, when
Constance went to visit her new best friend, Bobby stopped in to visit his
new lover.

   It took three months for them to get to the point where Prudence could
stand to have him only once a week.  Then two events changed everything for
them.

   The first was that Prudence realized she was pregnant.  When that
realization hit her, it was like a ton of bricks.  She couldn't believe
she'd paid no attention whatsoever to the risks involved with what she was
now doing again, after so long.  She was, at the same time, enraged with
herself for being so stupid, and ecstatic that life was growing in her
belly again.  It made her volatile.

   The first time she saw Bobby again, after she knew, she was almost
vicious in her condemnation of him, ranting at him for ten minutes, in the
living room of the house.  When she finally ran down, and looked at him for
a response, he said, simply: "I couldn't be happier."

   "You WANTED to get me with child?!" she gasped, astonished.

   "No," he said.  "But the fact that you are makes me very happy."

   That was when the other side of the issue came out, as she realized she
was happy about it too ...  sometimes.  That realization ended them up in
bed again.  When they were sated, and lay together, reality crept back into
the room.

   "I can't marry you," she said.  "The whole town would make us a laughing
stock."

   "Do you want to marry me?" he asked.

   She looked at him.  "No," she said, and then put her finger on his lips.
"I love you.  I love what you've done to me, but I'm not ready to be
married again.  I don't know if I'll ever be ready to be married again."

   "I have some responsibility here," he said, when she removed her finger
from his mouth.

   "I know that," she said.  "You'll be around him ...  her ...  whatever.
You'll always be welcome here.  I raised Constance.  I'm not worried about
raising this one."

   "You know people will talk," he said.

   "Let them," she said.  "People in this town have ignored me for years. I
know a lot of that is my fault, now.  I've done fine, though, and what
you've done for me is so wonderful ...  it's like starting a whole new
life, sometimes."

   ==================================

   The second thing that changed things forever was on a Saturday morning,
three weeks after she learned she was pregnant, and they were re-enacting
how she got that way.  Constance had gone off to be with Bev, and, at some
point, Bev had said: "Let's go to your house!  Do you know I've never even
seen your room?"

   When the girls walked in the house, they had to go by Prudence's bedroom
to get to Constance's bedroom.  Prudence and Bobby had left the door open,
and both girls got an instant lesson in what lovemaking looked like.  The
angle was perfect for both of them to watch, as Bobby's thick penis slid in
and out of Prudence's clasping pussy.  He had already cum in her once, and
the thick ring of white around the base of his penis made that quite clear
too.

   "MOMMY!" squealed Constance.

   "BOBBY!" cried Bev.

   Pandemonium broke out, for a minute or two.  Both Harris women were
shaken badly by the incident, Prudence because she'd gotten caught, and
Constance because the man she'd been dreaming of was doing that to her
mother.

   On the other hand, both Bev and Bobby were much quicker to adjust.  Bev
had seen Bobby do almost the same thing to Mary, and she had been toying
with the idea of seeing what it felt like to do what Mary did.  Beverly
already knew her brother was a sexual being.  She was just surprised that
her suspicions that he had sex with women outside the family were true.

   Both Bobby and Beverly worked together to bring control back to the
situation.  They sat mother and daughter beside each other, on the edge of
the bed, and stood in front of them.  Prudence used her hair to cover her
nakedness, but Bobby just stood there.  He was flaccid, but his cock was a
spermy mess.

   "Your mother is an adult," said Bobby.  "That's what adults do."

   "B-b-but she's my MOTHER!" wailed Constance.

   "How do you think you came into the world?" asked Beverly.

   "Whose side are you ON!?" wailed Constance.

   "I'm not on anybody's side!" said Bev.  "Like he said, that's what
adults do!"

   "Your brother is standing there NAKED!" squealed Constance.

   "I've seen him naked a hundred times," snorted Bev.  "He's my brother!"

   "Oh," said Constance, weakly.  She stared at his penis.

   "And you told me yourself that you'd like to see him naked too."

   "What?" gasped Prudence.

   "Bev-er-leeeee," moaned an embarrassed Constance, covering her blushing
face.

   "Oh, we were just talking," said Bev, waving a hand in the air.  "Girls
talk.  You know that.  You were a girl once."

   Her familiarity with Prudence, who she'd never had a conversation with,
broke through all the embarrassment Prudence was feeling.  She looked at
this girl, who didn't seem to be at all embarrassed by catching her own
brother, having sex with an older woman.

   "You seem to be taking this all in stride," she said suddenly, looking
at Bev closely.

   Beverly tried to remember what she'd just said.  Her first instinct was
to calm things down.  She loved Bobby, and didn't want him to get in
trouble, and she liked Constance too, and didn't want her to be freaked
out. Now, what she'd done with Bobby herself, leapt into her mind, and she
blushed, guiltily.

   "I knew he was doing this with somebody," she said, trying to get the
attention off of herself.  "I just didn't know who."

   "How did you know?" asked Prudence.

   "Because he acts so goofy when he comes home sometimes," Bev said,
uncomfortably.  "I know how boys act when they've been ...  doing stuff."

   "Oh you do, do you?" asked Bobby, playing along.

   "Boys try stuff with me," said Bev.  "I don't let them, but I know girls
who do, and I know how the boys act when they've been let ...  when they
got to ...  oh ...  you know what I mean!" she finished, flustered.

   "You'd better not let them," said Bobby, his voice serious.

   "You should talk!" snorted Bev.

   "Prudence and I are both adults," Bobby reminded her.

   "I know!" she snarled.  "Put on some pants or something.  You're scaring
Connie!"

   "I'm not scared!" yipped Constance.  Everyone looked at her, and she
blushed.

   "Well," said Prudence, her voice dull.  "What do we do now?"

   "Connie and I just came to see her room," said Bev.  "We shouldn't have
interrupted you."

   "Don't be silly," blurted Prudence.  "We can't just go on like nothing
happened!"

   "Why not?" asked Bev.  "Like my big brother loves to remind me, you're
both adults."

   "I think I need to spend some time with my daughter," said Prudence. 
She looked at Constance.  "Could we do that?" she asked.

   Constance looked nervous.  "I guess so," she said.

   "Then I'll just take Bobby and get him out of here," said Bev, acting
five years older than she was.  She turned to him.  "Get dressed," she
ordered.

   "You two get out of here, and I'll get dressed," he countered.

   Bev reached for Constance's hand, and pulled her friend up.  "Show me
your room," she said, as if nothing had happened at all.

   =================================

   Bobby waited until the two girls left the room.  Bev pulled the door
closed behind her.  He pulled Prudence up, and smoothed her hair back,
behind her.

   "What on Earth are you doing?" she moaned.

   "Looking at you," he said.

   "They're in the next room!" she hissed.

   "She had to find out sooner or later," he said.  "This is going to tell
her soon," he added, smoothing his hand over her belly.  It was just
beginning to bulge more than normal.

   "She wouldn't have known who made me this way," groused Prudence.

   "She's your daughter.  She's a young woman herself.  She's curious.  You
should talk to her about that.  Some day she's going to end up in a room
with a man, like we are right now."

   Prudence looked at him.  He always spoke so plainly.  When he'd wanted
her, he just told her he wanted her.  He was so completely different than
Harry had been, or any other man she knew, for that matter.

   "You're right," she said, finally.

   He kissed her, and they both dressed.  Then he kissed her goodbye. 
"This doesn't change anything, as far as I'm concerned," he said.  "I hope
you feel the same way."

   "I have to talk to Constance first," she said.  "I couldn't imagine us
doing this, but now I can't imagine us not doing it.  I have no idea what's
going to happen.  You've shaken up my life something fierce, Bobby Dalton."

   He kissed her one last time, and they opened the door, to go their
separate ways.

   ===================================

   Bev rode her bike slowly, while Bobby walked.

   "That's what you were talking about," she said, breaking the ice.  "I
mean that's what you want to do to Mary ...  and me."

   "That's what I was talking about," he admitted.  "That's what all the
kissing and feeling leads to."

   "Are you going to do that to me?" she asked, sounding nervous.

   "Of course not," he said.  "But that's what it leads to, if you do those
things with other boys."

   The rest of the trip was silent.

   =================================

   "Do you hate me?" asked Prudence.

   "Of course I don't hate you!" cried Constance, rushing to hug her
mother.

   "I should have told you what was going on," said Prudence.

   Constance pulled back.  "Mommy, mothers don't just tell their daughters
who they're having sex with!"

   "I have to tell you something else too, baby," said Prudence, feeling
her stomach doing flip flops.

   "Are you doing that with other men too?" asked Constance, her mind
leaping to the obvious.

   "No!" barked her mother.  "Only Bobby."

   "That's good ...  I guess," said the girl.

   "Did you really tell ..." She stopped, at a loss to remember Beverly's
name.

   "Bev?" Constance filled it in for her.

   "Yes ...  did you really tell Bev that you ...  wanted to see Bobby
naked?"

   "Like she said," said Constance, blushing again.  "We were just talking.
His mother measured him for new pants one evening, when I was over there,
and we all saw him in his underwear.  They started talking about how they'd
even seen him naked."

   "You're old enough to date, now," said Prudence.

   "I don't think so," said Constance, nervously.  "The thought of being
alone with a boy makes me get an upset stomach."

   "We need to talk about that," said Prudence.  "You're growing up, and
you're going to have feelings like that.  I should have talked to you years
ago."

   "About sex?" asked Constance, her voice a whisper.

   "Yes," said Prudence.

   "This is weird," moaned Constance.

   "It can't be any worse than you seeing us ..." Prudence's voice failed.

   Constance actually smiled.  "I guess not," she admitted.  "That was so
crazy!"

   "So we can talk?"

   Constance suddenly remembered something her mother had said a while
back.

   "You said you had something else to tell me," she said.  "You never did.
What is it?"

   Prudence felt the flip flops in her stomach again.

   "I did something ...  foolish," Prudence started, nervously.  "I wasn't
...  careful ...  with Bobby.  I'm afraid I'm ...  pregnant."

   The range of emotions that passed over Constance's face was so many, and
went so quickly, that Prudence couldn't begin to catalogue them.  What came
out of the girl's mouth, though, brought relief so strong that Prudence had
to sit down.

   "I'm going to have my own little sister!?" she squealed.  "My very own
little SISTER!"

   In the next ten minutes, during which a standard conversation was
impossible to conduct, there were tears of joy, and fierce hugs, as mother
and daughter worked through a tremendous upheaval in their lives.

   Chapter Six

   Beverly had obviously talked to Mary.  It was clear as soon as they came
into his room, that night.  They both stripped, but Mary examined his penis
intimately, staring at it, as it stiffened in her hand, touching the
various bumps and lumps, as she moved it in every way it could be moved.

   "I told Fred I'd marry him," she whispered.

   "You haven't told Mamma, yet." said Bobby.

   "No," she admitted.  "I'm afraid she'll forbid it."

   "You're nineteen, Mary," he reminded her.  "You don't have to have her
permission.  You're a woman."

   "Not yet," she whispered, peeling the foreskin back, and leaning down to
suck at his knob.  She pulled off, and licked her lips.  "I will be some
day ...  but not yet."

   Bev went first, and, for the first time, she climbed up on Bobby, like
Mary did, resting her pussy lips against the bottom of his long, hard
prick, and rubbing to an orgasm so strong that she had to stuff her hand in
her mouth to quiet her moans.

   Then Mary went, doing the same thing, having two orgasms, until he
spurted.  She rubbed her pussy lips all over his spermy abdomen, and kissed
him, long and hard, before rolling off.

   "Put your finger in me," she whispered, raising her leg.

   "You still have your maidenhead," he reminded her.

   "Put your finger in me," she repeated.

   ===================================

   There was pain.  She had known there would be, but she had to see what
it felt like to have something hard inside her.  Bev's description of
seeing that penis she had just made spurt, sliding in and out of Mrs. 
Harris' pussy, had made her almost crazy to feel the same thing.  She was
feeling that way with both Fred and Bobby now.  It was part of why she'd
agreed to marry him.  She wanted to be fully a woman.  She had no idea how
to be a wife, but she could learn that.  Fred had been so patient with her.
He could have found another girl, who would have sex with him, but he
hadn't.  So she'd said yes, to his proposal.

   But right now, she had to see what it felt like.

   The pain slowly lessened, until it was overridden with something that
made her want to sing.  It was so much better than when he simply fluttered
his fingers against her clit.  To muffle her cries of happiness, she buried
her face in the muscles of her brother's chest.

   ====================================

   Mary's fears about her mother's reaction to her engagement were
completely unfounded.  Fred had been to dinner several times, and Mirriam
liked him.  She had eyes, and could see the devotion in his, when he looked
at her daughter.  She'd seen the flush on Mary's face, when she came in
from dates with him.

   "I wondered when you'd finally come to your senses," said Mirriam.  when
Mary finally stammered it out.

   She grinned, and hugged her daughter, feeling an uncharacteristic warmth
in her belly, that was astonishingly sexual, as she thought of her
daughter, going off to live with a man.

   "You'll give me lots of grandchildren, won't you?" she asked, pushing
Mary back to peer into her face.

   "Mamma!" gasped Mary, blushing furiously.

   "You will ...  won't you?" Mirriam asked earnestly.

   "He seems to be interested in that kind of thing," said Mary, her face
hot.

   "Good!" said Mirriam.  "When's the wedding?"

   "I don't know," moaned Mary.  "I haven't even gotten used to the idea
that there will BE one!"

   "We have so much to talk about," cooed her mother.

   ==================================

   As wildly uproarious as things were in those two households, they
settled back into some semblance of normality in the next few months. 
Wedding plans were made, and finalized, in one house, while plans for
adding a baby to the family were made and finalized in the other.

   Bobby was an integral part of decisions being made in both houses,
though not everyone involved knew that.

   Mary, having discovered the delights of having something hard and stiff
in her pussy, looked forward to having her groom do all the things that
Bobby was doing ...  and more.  She approached kissing Bobby good night
with the attitude that she was learning how to make Fred very happy in bed,
and how to help him make her just as happy.

   Constance, once she got used to the idea that the man she had such a
crush on had made a baby in her mother's womb, looked forward to having
that baby in her arms almost as much as Prudence did.  One thing Constance
did not do, though, was try to spy on her mother again.  She went to great
pains to give them time alone, and even greater pains not to see them,
while they were alone.

   Most of that was because, in her imagination, the woman writhing under
Bobby Dalton was not Prudence Harris.  It was Constance Harris.  Now that
she had some idea of what it looked like, her hormones made her want to
find out what it felt like.  She couldn't do that ...  not to her mother.
It was easier to just avoid him.

   =================================

   As life goes on, year by year, this story continues, gentle reader, and
you are invited to continue seeing the story revealed, in following books
of this series.  There is much more to Prudence's story, and to Constance's
too, for that matter.  Mary and Bev have much life to live, yet, and Bobby
will meet more women.  It will be an interesting journey.
   
