Foreword

   This is the eighth, and final in a series of narratives concerning a
research project done by the author for his Master's Program.

   In all the other narratives, the story stood more or less alone.  It was
helpful if you read them in order, but maybe not critical.  This one,
however, must be read after the others.  Just take my word for it.  If you
don't read the others first, it will be like picking up Lord Of The Rings
and starting on the last chapter of the last book.

   Not that I'm comparing myself to J.R.R.  Tolkien.  Far from it.  It's
just that most people are familiar with his work, and can visualize how
important it is to have the beginning clear in your mind before you try to
understand what happened in the end.

   Bob

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

   The Master's Project - Sabrina By Beating Off Bob

   One morning I got a call from Martha, of Fred and Martha, who I had
interviewed for my Master's project.  They were a couple that fit my
hypothesis to a "T", looking so much alike after 30 years of marriage that
you would have sworn they were brother and sister, born on the same day. 
This chapter isn't about them.  They were a completely normal couple in
every way and there was no hanky-panky between them and me.

   But Fred and Martha had a neighbor, named Sabrina, and that's who Martha
wanted to talk to me about when she called.

   "Bob," she said, "I want you to hear me out on this.  I know you only
have married couples in your study, and Sabrina, bless her heart, is a
widow, but we were friends with them for fifteen years before Pat died and
they would have been perfect subjects for your study."

   "I don't quite understand," I said.

   "Well the thing is," said Martha, "If you saw the pictures of them
around the house, you'd know they would have been perfect, and even though
he's gone, may he rest in peace, I think you should still interview
Sabrina. They were together for fifteen years or more, met in High School
and married before they even graduated, and the resemblance is eerie."

   What was eerie was Fred and Martha's resemblance, but then, these people
never think they actually look alike.

   "I'm sure she could answer all your questions, even though he's gone.  I
know you'd only get one side of things, but it might help your study."
Martha was really pushing on this.  If I'd have thought about it I might
have suspected she had an ulterior motive, but she was a nice lady, in a
solid marriage, and I didn't think she'd be up to anything.  I thought she
was actually trying to help.  I didn't really think that data from just one
partner would help much, but I told Martha I'd call Sabrina and see if she
was interested.

   "Oh she IS interested!" said Martha excitedly.  "I told her all about
your project and how you interviewed Freddy and me.  She said it sounds
interesting." There was a pause.  "I think she still misses him.  She
looked kind of sad when we talked about your theory."

   "How long has he been gone?" I asked.

   "I think it's been four or five years now," said Martha, sounding
unsure, and a little embarrassed about not being sure.  "He was sick for a
long time."

   "OK, I'll give her a call.  Thanks Martha," I said.

   When I hung up she was still saying excited thank-yous and good byes.

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

   I should remind you here, that this was some eight months after I had
met Ralph and Tanya.  I was, at this time in my life, actively involved
sexually with Tanya, Lisa, and Gertie.  All of these women had me in their
lives occasionally.  Then there were the two most recent women I had become
involved with, Micky and Susan, the lesbian couple.  And, of course, there
was my newly found sister, Kathy.  That mattered.  You'll understand why
later in this narrative.

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

   Sabrina had one of those cultured voices, with excellent diction and a
kind of clipped way of speaking, as if she were in a hurry to say whatever
she had to say.  But she didn't rush anything, or talk about how busy she
was when I called.  She just acknowledged that she had gotten interested in
my hypothesis and would be happy to help if she could.  We set a date for
the first interview.  I asked her if she could have some photographs
available and told her about how long the first interview might take -
things like that.

   "I have all the time in the world," she said.

   Sabrina turned out to be one of those women called 'statuesque'.  She
was thirty-six, and looked like she might be twenty-five.  She had that
naturally auburn hair that has red highlights in it when the light hits it
just right and looks as shiny as the hair they show you on TV when they're
trying to get all those twenty-somethings to buy Pantene or whatever.  It
hung straight and loose just past her shoulder blades.  She had high,
arching eyebrows that gave her a slightly inquisitive appearance, and high,
prominent cheekbones that pulled the corners of her lips in a way that made
her look like she was always about to smile.  Her dark blue eyes, with gold
flecks in them made you feel like she could see right into your brain.  She
was tall, over six feet, and had a classic hourglass figure.  She met me in
a silk blouse and those pants women wear that only go to their calves.  She
had what I call 'bullet breasts'.  If you've ever seen the front bumper of
a '56 Buick, you know what I'm talking about.  They practically exploded
off her chest, firm and looking like they were rock hard.  These days that
suggests those breasts are supported by a healthy dose of silicone, but
breast augmentation wasn't in the public eye back then.  Her breasts made
me expect a woodpecker to land on them any minute and begin searching for
supper.

   They affected the other kind of pecker too - the kind I had - a
"woody-pecker".  You know ...  the kind that craves milk and gives cream? I
have to admit I thought about supper too when I saw them stretching that
lovely silk ten or so inches away from the rest of her body.  I already
knew she didn't play golf.  She couldn't address the ball ...  because she
couldn't SEE the ball.

   In short, she was the perfect image of an Amazon warrior princess who
had been brought to America and had tried to fit in with her drab
surroundings.  Just about any surroundings would seem drab when Sabrina was
in the middle of them.

   I closed my mouth, which I'm sure had been hanging open, and followed
her into the living room.  She settled gracefully into an easy chair, and I
into another.  She crossed her legs with that fluid movement women can do
that makes the moving leg look like it's floating.

   I left my clipboard in my lap, for obvious reasons.  This woman just
screamed to make some lucky man's life incredibly interesting and happy and
tiring.  I couldn't believe she was alone.  I doodled "Drop dead gorgeous"
on my list of questions where it called for a basic physical description of
the wife.

   "So ..." she said.

   Well, she didn't need to be a talker with looks like that.  I could
happily sit there for hours listening to her not talk.

   "Oh! ...  um ...  yes!" I managed.  I fumbled with my clipboard and
almost picked it up off my lap.  I didn't notice it then, but later on
she'd tell me that my clipboard was sitting there at a slant, one edge of
it being lifted off my lap three inches by what was obviously an erection
underneath it.  She was used to that, though.

   I explained everything to her and she reached for a stack of picture
frames on a coffee table between us.  When she leaned over, the cleavage
she showed, while not all that much, looked like the Grand Canyon to me.  I
tore my eyes off that dark valley and looked at the picture she showed me
of herself and Pat.

   If she was the Amazon princess, he was the barbarian prince.  He had
been two inches taller than her, built like the rest of that Buick I was
talking about earlier, and so handsome even I thought he was gorgeous.  He
had the same arching eyebrows and high cheekbones, though on him it made
him look rugged.  His hair was darker than hers, and more brown, but his
eyes had that same dark blue look to them as hers did.  You couldn't tell
in the pictures about the little golden flecks that just mesmerized me
whenever I looked into hers.

   Their pictures started in High School, with a photo of them ready for
the Junior prom, and you COULD see the resemblance between them, even back
then.  A series of later pictures, some of them taken by amateurs and some
in a studio, confirmed that they kept looking alike as they spent the next
seventeen years together.  It turned out he'd only been gone for two years.

   I started asking the normal questions.

   She hadn't been married to anybody else (Duh), and was attracted to him
because she played volleyball and he played basketball.  She called it love
at first sight.  Everyone had tried to keep them apart when it became
obvious how serious they were about each other.  Sabrina handled that
little problem with the simple threat to get pregnant, if their parents
didn't allow them to get married.  She had to agree not to get pregnant
AFTER they got married, at least not until they graduated, which she was
actually in complete agreement with.

   They had lived with her parents until they graduated; he had worked for
her father right out of High School; they had bought the house with help
from both sets of parents, and had lived in it the rest of their married
life.  She didn't have to work because of his life insurance policy.  He
had testicular cancer, undiagnosed until it was too late, and which had
caused them to be childless long past graduation.  They had stayed active,
running together every day - she still ran at least three miles a day - had
lots of friends and were gloriously happy.

   Until, of course, he died.

   Since then she had spent vast amounts of time being a volunteer.  She
volunteered at school, at the library, at the local food bank, at the Red
Cross, and for no less than three different churches.  She had organized
and run the local Crop Walk for two years.  She helped sort through
donations at the Salvation Army thrift store twice a week.  It made me
tired just listening to her describe it all.

   She didn't fit in with all their friends any more.  They all felt
awkward around her now.  I mentioned what I had been told about the threat
that divorced women are perceived to be and she nodded, saying that widows
are perceived the same way.  Several of her friends had tried to set her up
on dates, but it hadn't worked out.  She told me quite candidly that she
either intimidated them, or they were vapid and uninteresting.  She was
thinking about going to college with an elementary education major and then
teaching school.

   My list of questions stared up at me accusingly.  I had only asked the
first five or six, and the rest of them felt neglected I guess.  But I
didn't think it was needed, or even appropriate, maybe, to ask the rest of
them.  Still, I didn't want to leave.  I had only been in this woman's
presence for forty-five minutes.

   "I don't know if I should ask you the rest of the questions or not," I
said.

   "Why not?" she asked, sitting there regally, like a princess.

   "They're kind of personal," I said.

   "Do you ask everyone else these questions?"

   "Well ...  yes."

   "Then ask." She really was a woman of few words.

   I swallowed.  "Um ...  OK ...  what was Pat's best sexual feature?"

   She looked at me.  "My, my, these ARE personal questions, aren't they?"
Her eyes never wavered.  "Are you going to ask what he thought MY best
sexual feature was too?"

   My face felt hot.  I nodded.

   The princess in her might have been mildly offended by the personal
nature of the questions, but the warrior in her loved danger.

   "Pat had a chest and shoulders that made me weak-kneed every single time
I saw them, whether they were covered by clothing or not," she said, her
voice neutral.  "I wanted to sleep on his chest, like it was a bed."

   I scribbled on the paper.

   "My best feature?" she put one sculptured fingernail to her chin.  "I'd
say that if he were here, he'd be trying to get his hands on Bernice and
Rhonda even while you were here asking us questions."

   I looked up, confused, and found her holding those magnificent breasts,
one in each hand.  Well each had a hand under it.  Her hands couldn't
actually hold them.  Imagine a basketball player holding a basketball with
one hand.  That's sort of what it would have looked like if she had tried
to 'hold' her breast.  And she had warrior princess hands to go with the
rest of her too.

   "Bernice ...  and Rhonda?" I babbled.

   She looked down at them and that hint of a smile turned into a real one.

   "He named them," she said.  "I thought it was the silliest thing.  I
mean they're just breasts.  Every woman has them."

   I didn't know what to say.  I was speechless.  She HAD to know that she
had a chest a lot of women would later pay thousands to reproduce.  I began
to think maybe she was fishing for a compliment.  Then I thought that was
unlikely.  Compliments probably schooled around this woman like those
tightly balled up masses of fish you see on the nature channel, swimming in
blue waters above some reef.

   Still, on the off chance that she WAS looking for a man to appreciate
her, I ventured a token compliment.

   "Well, as a man, I understand perfectly why he might feel the need to
pay homage to ..."

   I faltered.  I couldn't say 'a set of knockers that leave me
breathless.' This compliment was getting too personal.

   "uh ...  Bernice and Rhonda," I finished lamely.

   She looked up at me, still holding her breasts.  "Men do seem to notice
them a lot," she said.

   Talk about your understatement of the century.  My babbling 'compliment'
hadn't phased her.

   "How many boys did you date before you met Pat?" I asked on impulse.

   "None," she said.  "I wasn't allowed to date.  But our parents knew each
other from their bridge club.  His mom asked my mom if he could take me out
for ice cream and my mom said it was OK." She smiled, having already told
me about the furor their relationship had caused in their families.  "As I
said, they wanted to change their minds later."

   "And since he ...  left?" I asked.

   "Just those two times I told you about.  One was for a dinner date, and
the other was to a movie."

   I realized this woman didn't actually KNOW much about men.  From the
time she was seventeen to the present day she had only been around one man
enough to really get to know him.  I could also see that, by comparison to
that man, the rest of us were left looking a little flat.

   I looked at my next question.  It was about whether she masturbated or
not.  I couldn't ask it.  'What turns you on' was after that, and I
couldn't ask that one either.  Asking her if she'd ever cheated on him, or
he on her just seemed sacrilegious.

   "Well ...  um ...  I guess that's about it," I said.  My voice cracked a
little and I had to clear my throat.

   "Are you hungry?" she asked, out of the blue.

   "I could eat something," I said.  I didn't want her to go to any
trouble. Actually, I didn't want her to go anywhere.

   "I've got some leftovers in the fridge," she said.  "Would that be OK?
I'm positively starving."

   If she looked like this starving, I didn't think I could take it if she
got healthy.

   "Um ...  sure," I said.

   I followed her to the kitchen.  It was just an automatic impulse.  I
didn't want to let her out of my sight.  She accepted that without any
comment and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table for me.  I sat down and
put my clipboard on the table, since it was no longer needed to cover the
fact that I was rock hard.  She went to the fridge and opened it, bending
over to peer inside it.  That, of course, put her buttocks on display.

   I thought my head would explode.

   I looked down at the clipboard out of pure self defense and started
searching frantically for some kind of question to ask her.

   She pulled several things out and transferred them to the counter.  She
started putting things in the microwave, or transferring them to plates. 
Looking over her shoulder she said "There's a bottle of Coke in the fridge,
and glasses up there." She nodded her head toward a cabinet.  "Would you
mind getting those ready?  I'm going to just faint if I don't eat soon."

   I stood up like springs in my legs had suddenly been released and the
table moved an inch as my hardon hit the edge of it.  I winced and
suppressed a groan, remembering how almost the same thing had happened at
Micky and Susan's house the night I had the best birthday present I ever
got.

   I found myself standing, half bent over, staring at the lump in the
front of my pants and wondering if it would look completely stupid if I
took my clipboard with me to the fridge to get a bottle of soda.  I settled
for adjusting things, and then sidled to the fridge like a crab, sideways.
As I went to get the glasses she told me there was ice in the freezer, and
told me she wanted hers without ice.

   "I like my soda like I like my Scotch," she commented, taking something
out of the microwave and putting something else in.  "I like it chilled and
straight."

   My opinion of this woman went up even more, if that was possible.  I
loved Scotch the same way.  I couldn't afford it, but I loved it.

   She brought plates to the table and set them down about the same time I
put two glasses down, filled halfway with ice cubes.  She got silverware
out of a drawer and handed me a fork and spoon.  She sat down and I
realized my boner was on display, so I dropped onto my chair.  She calmly
dumped the ice cubes from her glass into mine, but didn't say anything.  I
just sat there feeling stupid.

   I don't even remember what we ate.  It was delicious, like lots of
leftovers are, but I can't remember what it was.  I was eating steadily and
not talking when she reached over, snagged my clipboard and slid it over to
where she could read what was on it.  I started to reach for it, but it was
too late.  I couldn't just jerk it out from under her eyes while she read
what I'd written.

   "My goodness these really ARE personal questions!" she said.  She looked
up at me.  "You didn't ask me all these questions."

   You know how people with food in their mouths wave their hands around
and nod and try to communicate without saying anything?  I did that.  I
felt really stupid too.  Finally I swallowed.  Then I had to take a drink
to wash it down.

   "Why didn't you ask me all the questions?" she prodded.

   My face got all hot again.  "Well ...  uh ...  I guess it just seemed
like ...  I don't know ...  like I would be prying," I finished.

   She took a bite, her eyes still on the page.  "You asked everybody else
these questions, didn't you?"

   This woman was perfect.  She could eat and talk at the same time!

   "Well ...  yes," I admitted.

   "Then you should ask them to me too," she said firmly.

   She reminded me of the Senator's wife, who had just wanted to be normal,
part of which was being treated like everybody else.

   Then, just like the Senator's wife had done, she answered the questions
before I could ask them.

   "Yes, I masturbated sometimes.  When he was at work and I missed him,
sometimes I did that.  Now, when I'm missing him a lot I masturbate more.
I'd say I do it ...  I don't know ...  twice a week maybe?" She looked up
at me like I knew how often she masturbated.  I was blown away.  She went
on.  "That's when I'm not missing him so much.  It comes and goes.  When
I'm missing him I probably do it four or five times a day."

   I had this sudden image of the Amazon warrior princess lying on a bed,
naked, her hand busy between her legs.  I almost squirted in my pants.

   Her finger moved.

   "I NEVER cheated on him.  You have to write that down.  I want that in
here for sure.  And if he cheated on me I never knew it."

   Actually, that comment brought some intelligence back into my brain. 
The way she had phrased that was so odd.  She was almost violent about her
not cheating on him.  But the possibility that he had cheated on her
wasn't, apparently, a horrendous idea.  Her off-handed statement that if he
had, she didn't know about it, was so different than her attitude about her
not cheating on him that it caused me to think again.  I took a breath and
felt much better suddenly.

   Before I could ask her about that she had gone on.

   "What turned me on the most I think was having sex," she said.  Her
finger was back at her chin.  She looked up.  "That's silly.  It's more
complicated than that.  What I meant was that the first time we had sex he
didn't have a rubber, and I was terrified that I would get pregnant.  He
took me parking after we had ice cream and I got so excited that I let him
...  and anyway I was horrified when it was over and couldn't eat until I
had my next period."'

   "You had sex on your first date with a boy ...  ever?" I asked
incredulously.

   She nodded.  "I couldn't resist him.  He was so strong and handsome and
his hands felt so good on me.  I would have done anything he asked."

   "But you had a period," I said.

   "Yes, and then it was suddenly like it was the most fabulous thing that
had ever happened to me in the whole world.  I was madly in love with him.
He asked me out again and our parents didn't mind.  They didn't know about
the parking, of course.  Or maybe they did.  He had a reputation.  But
anyway, every time we went out we did it again and I got terrified again,
but it was so wonderful that I never even tried to get him to do anything
...  you know ...  to protect me."

   "Did that have anything to do with you getting married?  So young I
mean?" I asked.

   "I don't think so.  Well, our parents suspected, of course.  But by the
time we'd been going together for six months I knew I'd marry him.  We were
only allowed to go out once a week, and sometimes, of course, we couldn't
...  you know ...  so even though I was worried about it I didn't let that
stop us.  And then, after we got married we used protection until we
graduated.  Then we tried to have a baby right away.  It was funny, in a
way.  What had terrified me before became the most favorite thing for me. I
think trying to make a baby was when I was the happiest I've ever been."

   She had gotten a far away look in those beautiful eyes.  They came back
to me.  "I don't want you to think I wasn't happy at other times.  I was. I
couldn't have asked for anything else in the whole world to make me any
happier."

   She stopped.  I realized that her voice had been saying one thing, while
her body had done another.  Those beautiful eyes were wet, full of tears
about to spill out and down over her perfect prominent cheekbones.  The
thought of seeing the warrior princess cry was almost too much for me to
take and I felt tears in my own eyes.

   "Except a baby," I whispered.

   I didn't mean to say it out loud.  Honestly, I didn't.  But I was
overflowing with emotion.  Being around Sabrina was like that.  She didn't
display a lot of emotion, at least not when I first met her.  Later on that
would change, but in the beginning she somehow transferred all that emotion
to whoever was with her.  I was a wreck, physically and emotionally at that
point.  I felt like I was the one who was empty and lonely and alone.  I
voiced what she couldn't, even though I didn't mean to say it out loud.

   But I did say it out loud.

   She heard me, and those tear-filled eyes locked on mine.  I blinked and
felt my right eye overflow, the tear trickling slowly down my cheek.  I
think my emotion let her show a little of hers just then.  Her beautiful
face twisted and scrunched as she tried not to cry, but then she let it
loose.  Her hands came across the table to mine and I gripped her hands
much too tightly as my female side cried with her.

   "Yes," she whispered back.

   It wasn't a sobbing jag or anything like that.  We just both felt her
loss, and the loss of something to remember him by when he was gone, some
part of him that would grow into an adult and carry on for him.  There were
tears, and we just let them roll down our cheeks, as she told me about the
disease that had taken him.

   They didn't know it, but it had already ravaged his testes when they
first met.  She couldn't have become pregnant by him if she'd have let him
have sex with her five times a day every day of the year.  It was extremely
rare in a male so young, which is why nobody ever noticed it.  His balls
didn't swell up, or anything like that.  When, both as a teen and then
later in life he felt pain in his lower abdomen, he thought it was related
to all those times he got a knee in the groin during a game.  By the time
it got diagnosed, ten years into their marriage, it had already
metastasized.  They fought it for years, but eventually, he lost that
battle.  For the last five years they hadn't even been able to have sex,
partly because he had an unrealistic fear that he could somehow 'infect'
Sabrina, and partly because things just didn't work well in those later
years.

   What can you say to a woman who has gone through that?

   Eventually she said "Thank you," and withdrew her hands from mine.  I
didn't have the faintest idea what she was thanking me for.  I wasn't
really hungry any more either.

   She was, though.  She'd been through the wars, and had emerged alive. 
Life goes on for those willing to live it.  She was looking at the
clipboard again, and I saw her finger slide up to where I had neatly
printed "Drop dead gorgeous".  I winced, but she didn't say anything and
her finger drifted back to the rest of the questions I hadn't asked her.

   "Does penis size really have an effect on marriages?" she asked, one
long nail pinned to the question about whether the couple was happy or not
with the male's penis size.

   "I don't know," I answered truthfully.  "Men seem to think so, and women
deny it so much that you have to suspect that it means more to them than
they'll admit.  I've only had one couple say they weren't happy."

   "Who?" she asked automatically.  Her cheeks went pink.  "Oh, sorry, you
can't talk about that, can you?" I had told her in the beginning that only
first names or numbers would be used in my paper, and pseudonyms if the
participants requested it.

   "How would you even know if you were unhappy?" she asked.

   "You only had one sexual partner in your life ...  right?" I cringed as
I added that 'right?'.

   It didn't phase her.  She nodded.  They her brows went up.  "So some
people DO cheat on each other," she said.

   It sounded like a silly thing to say.  Of course some people cheat.  But
she grasped intuitively how that could affect a relationship, even if the
other partner didn't know about the cheating.  She just said it in a way
that made it clear she understood.

   "I was always happy with him," she said.  "Of course I have no idea if
he was normal or not.  He was abnormal in ways we couldn't see, I mean."
She frowned a little.  Even THAT looked beautiful on her face.  "What an
interesting thing to think about," she said.

   I wasn't going to pursue it.  But she did.

   "You've been asking me personal things.  Can I ask you something
personal?" she asked.  Her finger was still pinned on the penis size
question and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut.

   "Fair is fair," I managed.

   "How big is yours?"

   Now let me tell you, while a lot of guys talk about how big they are, I
honestly don't know that many guys who will admit to having measured it.  I
mean if you're huge, that's one thing.  Championship fish always get
weighed and measured.  But nobody weighs or measures the average fish that
gets caught.  If you think you're pretty average, you might not even WANT
to know how long it is.  I've always been a fan of those who say "It's not
how big it is ...  it's how you use it."

   "Oh ...  average, I guess," I tried.

   "That doesn't tell me anything." She pouted a little.  Her nose wrinkled
and her lips made a little moue.  I wanted to look at her forever.  Man she
was gorgeous!

   "How big was he?" I tried.

   She held up her left hand ...  the one that wasn't pinned to the penis
size question by that long, slim finger.  She held her thumb and first
finger apart.  Maybe three inches.

   "Soft or hard?" I asked in a strangled voice.

   "Hard, of course," she said.  "When he was soft I could hardly find it.
It kind of sucked up into him.  We found out that was part of the defect he
had when he was born.  His testicles didn't descend normally.  They thought
he was a girl when he was first born.  Just for the first few seconds, I
mean."

   "Oh," I said.  I was cringing inside again.  My balls hurt.  I was
suddenly seized by the idea that just being in the house where a man with
testicular cancer had lived and died might somehow affect me.  I shook it
off.  I was smarter than that.  Still, I was shaken.

   "So, how big is yours?" she asked again.

   "Soft or hard?" I gasped.  It was a reflex question.

   For the first time she got a dangerous look in her eyes, like she was
about to be unhappy.

   I held up a hand.  "Sorry," I said, clearing my throat.  "I'm just a
little uncomfortable talking about this with ...  someone like you."

   She pouted again.  "I'm not going to ask to see it Bob," she said. 
"I've just never thought about that and I'm curious.  That's all."

   I couldn't decide if that made me feel better ...  or worse.  Had
someone plopped me on Santa's lap at the mall just then, and had he said
"And what do YOU want for Christmas, young fellow?" I'd have probably said
I wanted Sabrina to ask to see my penis.  Then again, the knowledge that
this vision of beauty wouldn't be judging my phallus any time soon helped
me to relax a little.

   "I guess maybe twice that long," I said.

   "Twice?" she said.  It wasn't a gasp, but her eyebrows rose again and it
was clear she was perturbed.

   "Maybe," I said.

   "But it stuck out just like his used to!" she said.  Her cheeks pinked
up again.  "I mean when you got here.  It was kind of bulging.  Not that I
noticed or anything." Her voice trailed off and she looked miserable.

   "I'm sorry about that," I said earnestly.  "Really.  I didn't mean to
offend you.  You're just so ...  well, you're a really nice looking woman
Sabrina." Now I felt miserable.

   She blinked.  "Oh, you didn't offend me.  That happens all the time. 
Men look at me and then they bulge.  I know that.  I just felt ashamed for
noticing it."

   I perked up a little.  "Well gee, I mean that's pretty normal I think. I
kind of noticed you too."

   She actually smiled.  "You're talking about Bernice and Rhonda.  All men
notice them.  They all get excited about them too."

   She was so self assured.  She was gorgeous, and she obviously knew it,
but she wasn't all hung up on her looks like a lot of beautiful women were.
Her being beautiful was like her having breasts.  Women had them.  She was
good looking.  So what?

   "So can I ask you another personal question?" she asked.

   "Sure." I was feeling much better.

   "If you're so much longer ...  and you're average ...  how come when he
got excited, he looked like you when ...  (she blushed again) you got
excited?"

   In my own mind I knew the answer to that.  When her husband had an
erection, it stuck straight out and pressed against his pants.  When most
men get an erection, it can't stand straight out.  It bends.  Sometimes ...
like now ...  painfully.

   So, with my newfound courage that she wasn't dismissing me as either a
pervert or some kind of unprofessional researcher, I told her what I
thought.

   "Oh," she said simply.  "I guess that makes sense." She giggled suddenly
and finally the hand that had been pinned to penis size came up off the
page and covered her mouth.  "Sorry," she said.  "I don't think I'll ever
be able to look at another man without thinking about that."

   I looked at the fingernail that had been pinned to penis size.  It was
right beside her lips.  All sorts of unwanted thoughts assailed my mind.  I
think I might have even groaned.

   "Oh, it's not all THAT bad," she giggled again.  "After all, you guys
look at our breasts.  Why can't we look at your ...  at yo?"

   When she said 'breasts' my eyes ...  quite naturally, in my opinion ...
went to hers.

   "See!" she laughed.  "Now, YOU stand up.  I get to look at you!"

   Well, that wasn't happening.  I was already back in bad shape again.

   "You said you weren't going to ask to look at it," I tried.

   "I'm not asking you to take it OUT," she laughed.  "I just want to see
what your lump looks like."

   "No," I said, trying to muster a shred of dignity.

   She wagged a finger at me.  It was the finger that had been pinned to
penis size.  "Not fair!" she pouted.

   "I have to go," I croaked.

   "Oh," she said.

   I don't know how women do it, but they can say that word with more
emotion than twenty sentences.  Her face was part of it.  It fell.  You
read about how faces fall, and that's hard to envision in your mind.  Her
face hinted at heartbreaking sadness, and her voice sounded like a kid who
opens a present, expecting to find the latest cool toy, and finds a pair of
socks instead.

   "But you haven't asked me all the questions," she complained.  "Can you
come back later?"

   "Yes!" I seized on that.  I would have seized on anything to get out of
there before I managed to make this woman frown again.  If she'd have said
"Couldn't you walk in front of a bus for me?" I'd have blurted "Yes!"

   "Good," she said.  "I want to be treated just like all the others.

   Naturally, the first "others" I thought of were Tanya and Lizzie and
Rachel and Lisa and Nikki and Gertie and Jane and Micky and Susan and
Kathy. I got light headed.  I was afraid I'd have to actually crawl to the
door.

   I reached for the clipboard, but she snatched it up.

   "I'll just carry that to the door for you," she said sweetly.

   She took a couple of steps and waited for me.  I swear those little gold
flecks in her eyes were glittering.  There I was, with a major boner, which
would CLEARLY show as soon as I stood up.  The woman responsible for that
boner, not counting my reference to the previous women Sabrina wanted to be
treated "just like", was standing there and it was obvious to both of us
that the very first thing she was going to look at when I stood was ...  my
'lump', as I believed she called it.

   I did not want to stand up.

   On the other hand, it felt like all the blood in my brain was slowly
being sucked into my penis, and if I didn't get moving I'd probably just
pass out.  It was tempting, but waking up with Bernice and Rhonda hovering
over me might actually cause an injury of some kind, so I bit my lip and,
trying to be as dignified as I could, stood.

   I couldn't even stand up straight.  I had to lean forward a little, or
make an adjustment, and I'm here to tell you, touching my prick was the
LAST thing I was going to do in front of this woman.  At least the front of
my pants were dry.  If I so much as put a finger on my little buddy, there
would be a catastrophic deluge of wetness there.  Besides, my balls hurt
something fierce.

   I hobbled towards her.

   She stared at the lump.

   "I have to tell you Bob, I think you might be bigger than you said you
were."

   I couldn't help it.  I covered my prick with both hands.  Worse than
that I pressed both hands against it.  Her laughter tinkled in my ears, a
warm, honest, joyful sound ...  that of a woman who has received something
like that as a compliment instead of getting pissed off by the crudity of a
man.

   At least I got outside before she saw the results.





   CHAPTER TWO

   By the time I got to my car I already felt much better.  I got in and
drove straight home, pressing the clipboard, which I don't even remember
her handing to me, into service again as I went from the car to my
apartment.  The deluge had eased the pain, though I now felt sticky and
cold and wet and juvenile.

   I didn't sleep all that well that night, though.  It's kind of weird and
troubling to be jerking your bone practically unceasingly ...  lusting
after the wife of a dead man.

   I guess I got over it though.  I didn't call her for several days.  I
didn't know what to say to her.  No woman had ever made me actually cum in
my pants before.

   Being Sabrina, she called me.  It didn't completely unnerve me like I
thought it might.  Maybe the time that had passed had let me get my
perspective back.

   She didn't tell me who she was.  She didn't have to.  I don't know if
she just knew that, or if she just did that with everybody.  As I learned
later, she really didn't have many friends, and didn't talk on the phone
all that much.

   "So when are we going to finish?" she asked.

   I suppressed my thoughts about the possible innuendo in that question.
She wasn't that kind of woman, even if I wanted her to be.  "I'm free about
any night," I said.  "Evening," I corrected myself.  I thought nasty things
when I put Sabrina and "night" together.  Is 'innuendo' a communicable
disease?

   "I read to children at the library on Tuesday nights," she said.  She
didn't have a problem using that word.  "I practice with the choir
Wednesday nights," she said.  "I play the piano," she added for some
reason. I had no reason to think that her singing voice wasn't just as
beautiful as the rest of her.  Her speaking voice was.  "Then there's the
shelter on Thursday night," she went on.  "Do you have a date Friday
night?" she asked.  "I wouldn't want to keep you away from your special
girl."

   "Um ...  I'm kind of too busy to date," I said.  That sounded lame.

   "Oh."

   There was that word again.  But this time it was a completely different
word.  Even though I couldn't see her face, I could hear the kind of thing
that I wanted to be approval of my non-dating status in her voice.  I
imagined all kinds of reasons why she might be happy that I couldn't get a
girl to go out with me.  Despite all the,(let me be bold here), sexual
prowess, (pertaining to me), I have recorded in these narratives, women my
own age didn't seem to be drawn to me like bees to honey.  Or mosquitoes to
tender skin.  Or flies to ...  well, the analogy breaks down in there
somewhere.  Suffice it to say I was NOT too busy to date.  I just didn't.
OK?

   "So are you too busy Friday night?"

   I had to get a grip.  Her use of the word "night" had set me off again.
Still, if I was the bee and she was the honey, everything was working
exactly like it was supposed to.  Despite my misgivings about ending up
half crippled again, I said Friday night (I actually forced out that actual
word - I was so proud) was fine.

   "OK" she said.  Even that word sounded glorious coming from her throat.
"Be there at six.  I'll feed you.  I love to cook."

   Before you go thinking that every time I say a woman fed me I jumped her
bones, that's not true.  Lots of the other women I interviewed invited me
to dinner.  It's just a normal natural time to sit and talk, and that's
what the vast majority of the interviews were all about - sitting and
talking.  So don't get ahead of yourself here.  It was just supper.

   And then we'd ...  finish.

   I was already a wreck.

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

   I wore a jock strap Friday night.  As I was putting it on I wondered how
Pat had managed to hide his infirmity in the locker room.  I didn't know
what the medical term was for his condition, but I knew that, if it was
observed by other boys, he'd have gotten a lot of shit about it.  And HE
had to have known how different he was from other boys.  You can't be in
any kind of locker room and not find out how you rate in this world.  I
decided that it didn't matter.  He was gone, and I couldn't find out.  What
was more important was that he never let on to his bride, and, at least
until I came along, she had been happy with what he had.  I felt like I had
soiled his memory somehow.

   Bernice and Rhonda met me at the door, firmly ensconced in a loose sweat
shirt.  She grinned at me.

   "I decided to take it easy on you tonight," she said.

   She looked down.  No lump.  I felt inordinately proud.

   "Well!" she said.

   I cannot BELIEVE how much a woman can say with just one word!

   She laughed again and slapped my shoulder.  "I'm just teasing you," she
said.

   "I wore a jock strap," I blurted.

   I almost turned around and left in shame.  I was helpless in the
presence of this woman.  I was mostly miserable in the presence of this
woman too.  I couldn't look at her face and bent my head to fix my eyes on
her feet, which were bare ...  and beautiful.

   Damn!

   I saw her hand before I felt her fingers under my chin.  She had to dig
her fingernails in to get me to lift my face.  She suddenly looked very
serious.

   "Bob, come inside.  I'm sorry.  I shouldn't tease you.  You've been
trying to be a perfect gentleman and I appreciate that."

   She reached for my hand and I stumbled inside.  I could smell food. 
Everything in this house looked or smelled delicious.  She didn't take me
to the kitchen though.  She took me to the living room.  She sat me down on
the couch and then sat, angled toward me, far enough away that her knees
didn't touch mine.

   "Bob," she said.

   I think I looked at her out of the side of my eye, like a little boy
who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and is waiting for the
lecture.

   "I had a good time when we talked last time," she said.  "I don't get to
talk to very many people.  I know I'm good looking.  I don't try to be, but
it's just there.  And most people won't talk to a good looking woman.  Some
men do, but quite often the only thing that's on their mind is what they
can get from her.  I liked talking to you Bob.  I'm normal.  I get lonely
sometimes.  I need human interaction just like everybody else.  That's why
I volunteer so much.  I get to be around people.  But they still won't talk
to me.  You talked to me Bob.  Can't you do that again?"

   The earnestness in her voice cooled me down.  I could understand how
that would happen to her.  I had trouble talking to her too.  I looked at
her.  She had a real frown on her face.

   "I feel helpless around you," I said.

   "Well, maybe we can make it so you don't," she said back.

   "I don't know," I admitted.

   "Will you at least try?" she asked.  "I promise not to tease you any
more."

   "It's not the teasing," I said.  "OK, well the teasing is part of it,
even though I didn't think you were teasing, I mean ...  I don't mean I
thought you were INTENTIONALLY ...  I mean ...  see, I can't even say a
complete sentence," I moaned.

   "You're a sweet, sweet boy," she said, reaching out to touch my knee.

   Boy!  Boy?  What the hell was she talking about ...  boy!  I was a MAN!
In a sudden rush of something I can't even describe I was instantly ... 
all right.  I can't describe it any better than that.  She was only ten
years older than me, and looked like she was my own age, but she thought of
me as a ...  boy.  Talk about the wind being taken out of your sails.  And
I didn't even have a sail up!

   I looked at her fingertips on my knee.  They didn't incapacitate me!  I
was a man!  Regardless of what SHE thought, I was a man, and I was in
control of my own destiny!  I squared my shoulders and sat up straight.  I
started to stand up and she stood with me.  Bernice and Rhonda were right
there, inches away, and I still felt strong and proud.

   Then she took my hand and I looked at her face and there was the Amazon
warrior princess, holding my hand to take me to the kitchen and my knees
got weak.

   Damn she was a good looking woman!

   I got my knees working by the time we got to the kitchen.  The food was
already on the table.  I decided, by pure force of will, that I had to do
something to even the odds a little.  I sat down.  She sat across from me.

   "Can I say something?" I asked.

   "Of course," she said.

   "I am a man," I said.  I didn't yell it or anything, I just said it. 
"And you are an astonishingly beautiful woman.  You're a little older than
I am, maybe, but I'm still a man.  I find you so completely,
overwhelmingly, unbelievably gorgeous that I say stupid things and cannot
control my own body, but I'm still a man."

   I had to take a breath.  That almost smile on her lips was getting
perilously close to being a grin, but her eyes still looked serious.  I had
to go on before I lost it.

   "I don't want you to think that all I can think about is the fact that
you are a complete stone fox, who, in a reasonably good world should have
given birth to ten or fifteen perfect babies, but the fact of the matter is
that biologically I probably won't be able to suppress that kind of
thinking.  Still, I am a man, and I promise you that I will do my level
best to behave in a professional manner ...  to the best of my abilities
... " I ran out of words.  I kept my head high by pure force of will.

   "Thank you," she said graciously, all traces of smile gone from her
lips. "I apologize for calling you a boy." There was no pout this time. 
She was honestly unhappy.  She was unhappy that she had hurt my feelings. I
didn't think about that, though.  All I thought about was that she was
unhappy.

   I had wounded the Amazon warrior princess.

   I felt like trash.

   "I acted like a boy," I mumbled.

   "To the contrary, Bob, you acted like a gentleman." Her eyes were still
serious.  "I meant it when I said that most men won't, or can't talk to me.
I knew I was having an effect on you.  But I have that effect on all men.
Most wives hate to see me coming because of it.  Friends I've had for years
won't even invite me over any more.  Now that Pat is gone they all see me
as a threat.  But you didn't act like most men who want things from me. 
You ARE a man Bob.  You're a REAL man."

   I wanted to wiggle like a puppy whose master has just praised it.

   "Ten or fifteen, Bob?" she asked, without losing a beat.

   "Beg your pardon?" I asked.  I wasn't thinking too well yet.  I was
working on it, but hadn't gotten there.

   "You said ten or fifteen babies," she said.

   The memory of what I had just blurted out began to penetrate the fog my
brain was wrapped in.  Had I actually said that?  My memory slapped me up
side the head.

   "Oh shit Sabrina," I moaned.  "What did I just do?"

   That didn't help anything.  Now I had cursed in front of the Amazon
princess.

   "You made a perfectly wonderful speech and put me in my place, as you
should have, and said that if the world was reasonably good I'd have had
ten or fifteen babies."

   There wasn't anything wrong with her memory.  Of course, come to think
of it, there wasn't anything wrong with anything about her.

   "I'm really sorry about that Sabrina," I said.  "Like I said, I have a
hard time thinking clearly when I'm around you."

   "You made that perfectly clear," she said.  Her hand reached out and
touched mine and then withdrew.

   Where her fingertips had brushed my skin I felt alive.  Everything else
felt like if I looked in a mirror it would be gray and hard to see.

   "But Bob, I think ten or fifteen might be a little excessive," she said,
as if we were talking about the price of stocks.

   Maybe it was the fact that she was so calm about everything.  Or perhaps
it was because she didn't just throw me out because I leered at her and got
a major boner from the instant I saw her to the time I stumbled out of the
house.  It could be that her willingness to talk about intimate things fed
my fantasy that there might be the tiniest possibility that in an alternate
reality this fabulous example, of all that could be suggested by the simple
word "woman", might someday be interested in me as a man.

   For whatever reason, her casual attitude about my having blurted out
something so personal - a whole BUNCH of personal things, now that my
memory was functioning again - helped me calm down again.  It was a real
roller coaster ride when I was around Sabrina.  But the coaster was
climbing for the present, and I could lean back and breath and think,
instead of being consumed by terror and glee and the breathlessness of
those hundred mile per hour dips in the ride.

   I looked at her.  Her face was calm and peaceful, with just the
slightest hint of some kind of yearning in her gold-flecked eyes.

   "Dozens," I said.  I winced mentally, but drove on.  "If I'd have been
honest I'd have said dozens."

   She laughed.  It shocked me to the core.  Her voice was deep, but her
laugh was unrestrained and had lots of soprano tones in it.  It was just
delightful on the ears.

   "Maybe we should just stick with ten or fifteen after all," she said
smiling widely.

   She lifted one leg like a ballerina and her bare foot, with it's crimson
painted toenails, flashed into the air.

   "Surely we don't want me barefoot and pregnant all the time." She smiled
at her little joke.

   The first thing I thought about was her use of the word "we".  I felt
the coaster start to go over the top.  I wasn't ready to be helpless with
the ecstatic terror of another drop.

   So I told her how she had affected me, and what I had thought.  I just
blurted it out.  My memory of all the things she'd said that, in my twisted
mind, could be taken more than one way, was crystal clear, and I just told
her about all of them.

   "So you see, it wasn't you teasing that did anything," I said when I was
done.  "The male mind wants to think along those lines ...  wants there to
be something there that will feed his ego and make the beautiful woman
always want him and all that crap.  We men torture ourselves with thoughts
like those.  The fact is that I didn't KNOW you were teasing me until you
said something.  Everything before that was something I manufactured in my
male brain."

   She had leaned back in her chair while I talked.  The food was
forgotten, which was a shame, because she was a good cook.  She had a
speculative look on her face.

   "You had all those thoughts and didn't make a move on me?" she asked.  I
could hear curiosity in her voice.

   "Of course not," I almost scoffed.

   "Why not?" she asked.

   I was actually in academic mode now.  I had been examining the
phenomenon of how men think about women, and while my brain continued to
send me signals that there was a beautiful, desirable woman within arms
reach, I was able to cope with it and concentrate on something else.

   "Several reasons," I said.  I ticked them off on my fingers.  "First,
you've lost your husband and still miss him.  A man COULD use that to his
advantage, trying to engineer something based on your vulnerability.  But
that would be despicable, and I couldn't even begin to think of trying
that. Second, I came here under the auspices of interviewing you for a
research project.  My professional pride would be seriously damaged if I
allowed myself to be so crude as to approach you sexually.  Lastly, you're
so far out of my league that it would be impossible for me to think of you
in anything more than a fantasy.  I'm quite aware that a guy like me
wouldn't appeal to a woman like you."

   She had leaned forward during my little speech.  She stared at me for a
few seconds.

   "You didn't mention my age," she said finally.

   "I don't think of you as an older woman," I said simply.

   She sat back, relaxing against the back of her chair.

   "Boy, have you got a lot to learn about women," she said.

   "What?" My mouth fell open.

   "Well, lets take them in order," she said, resting her forearms on the
table on each side of her plate.  That put Bernice and Rhonda right over
her plate.  Everything looked delicious, even what was under that thick
sweatshirt.

   "Well, actually, your comment about the vulnerability of a woman who's
lost her man is pretty accurate.  I am vulnerable.  I miss being with Pat.
I do crave attention from a man sometimes and would be very vulnerable to
...  manipulation ...  if I allowed myself to be.  But let's come back to
that later."

   She leaned back enough to pick up her fork and took a bite.  My stomach
growled.  I took a bite too.

   "Now, as to the fact that you're here to do research.  That's true too,
and you HAVE been doing research.  Still, there's nothing wrong with
developing a social relationship with the person you're interviewing. 
You're investigating something very personal, and that can't be approached
without emotion and feeling if it's going to be worth anything.  We have to
come back to that later too," she said.

   She took another bite.  It was amazing how she could do that and speak
clearly while chewing.

   "Now that last part is where you went all wrong.  I'm not out of your
league," she said.

   I choked.  Do you know how embarrassing it is for a manly man, like me,
to choke on a bite of asparagus?

   She looked to make sure I was OK and then went on calmly.  "Bob, it
isn't all physique that women contemplate.  Sure, Pat was a foot taller
than you, and had muscles on his muscles.  But I loved him for much more
than that.  His shoulders got me going, but it was his personality that I
made love with.  When I look at you, I think of a man who came to my house
in an effort to do something that may help other people.  In the process he
found me attractive.  Yet, he behaved as well as he could.  You talked to
me, and listened to me, and cared about what I said.  I liked that.  It
made me feel good.  Here was a man, trying to have a normal relationship
with a woman."

   She leaned forward again.  I felt an almost impossible-to-resist urge to
lean forward too ...  towards her.

   She looked at me for some response.  I nodded.  I was afraid to take
another bite.  The Amazon warrior princess was happy with me!

   "It is true that we strayed a little bit from your research project I
suppose," she said.  "But I was learning things and it was interesting and
I wanted that to keep going.  I DID tease you a little bit, but only
because it made me feel good to see you react.  And I am sorry for that. 
It wasn't nice of me.  Still, you tried to behave yourself.  What you said
about me being vulnerable ...  knowing that you knew that, and didn't act
on it ...  it makes me feel all fluttery inside Bob.  What that means, Bob,
is that I like you.  I like the kind of man you are.  I'm attracted to you.
I'm not out of your league.  No woman is out of your league.  Bob, you're
the kind of man all those single women out there are searching for so
frantically, a decent, caring man.  Don't put yourself down Bob."

   I sat there stunned.  The Amazon warrior princess had pronounced me fit
to be among the tribe.

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

   Now some of you out there might assume that, after a speech like that,
I'd have stood, swept her up into my arms - OK just swept her then - and
kissed her.  After all, she had just said she was attracted to me and that
single women everywhere were diligently searching for me as we sat there
eating dinner.  And she was technically single, right?

   Maybe in a romance novel.  But the fact is that a man can't just change
his league on a whim.  It doesn't work that way.  She was still too
beautiful to stand beside a man like me.  And tall.  She was six or seven
inches taller than I was.  And she was still vulnerable, and I honestly
thought it would be despicable to take advantage of that, assuming I was in
her league at all.  And you can't make all the adjustments necessary to
sally forth into erotic battle under those circumstances just because you
want to.  Besides, she had characterized the single women looking for me as
"them" ...  not "us."

   So the fact is that, after she finished, we both sat there silently and
started to eat.  She got up, grabbed my plate away from me and warmed it up
in the microwave.  That was OK.  I wasn't tasting anything anyway and
needed time to think.  Then she did her own plate and sat back down.  She
had made ravioli, from scratch, and it was in a marinara sauce that was
delicious.  I wasn't watching when it happened, but apparently she was
taking a bite when gravity reached up and pulled the ravioli on her fork
down.  That would be the gravity of the two minor moons located under her
sweatshirt.  The ravioli landed right between Bernice and Rhonda and lay
there, bright red against the tangerine cloth.

   "Damn," said Sabrina.  "I have to get that to soaking or it will stain.
Be right back."

   The kitchen seemed empty without her.  I was thinking furiously, trying
like crazy to figure out what I should do ...  and not do.  I hadn't the
foggiest about either one.  Her words bounced around in my head like little
balls of Flubber from that old Fred MacMurray movie that had been such a
big hit when Hiram and Millie and Gertie watched it.  Those words bounced,
gaining speed until they were a blur.

   Sabrina came back.  She had changed.  She had changed into a plain white
T shirt.

   You might think that the first thing I thought of was that she had just
spilled marinara sauce on something that would show the stain, and that
changing into something white made no sense at all.  But that's not the
first thing I thought of.

   The first thing I thought of was that she had also taken off her bra,
because there were two bumps in that T shirt, which was thin enough that I
could see a darkness under those bumps.  This woman never did anything by
halves.  Her breasts didn't need a metal bra.  They had all the strength
and firmness needed to hold their own.  It looked like a seventeen year old
Dolly Parton had just sat down across from me.  The minor moons of Bernice
and Rhonda sat there and floated under that T shirt.

   And she didn't just have nipples.  There were mountains on the moons of
Bernice and Rhonda ...  twin mountains on twin moons ...  just one peak
apiece, that rose from the surface of each moon to reach for the stars. 
Those peaks strained up off the surface, as if they intended to become
minor moons themselves.  Sabrina's nipples were akin to about half of those
little baby carrots you can get at the grocery store.  You know the ones.
They're peeled and round on each end, about two inches long and as thick as
a finger.  It looked like somebody had taken one of those baby carrots,
sliced it in half, and stuck a half to each breast.

   They were enormous, just like the breasts they sat on.  They were also
erect.  If they weren't a man would be advised to wear safety goggles when
they got that way.  You could put an eye out with one of those things.

   Rather than slay me, the first weapon the Amazon warrior princess
displayed openly made me ...  wary.  She sat down like nothing was odd.

   "You're teasing me again," I ventured.

   "Yes ...  I am," she said, taking a bite.  She seemed to have no trouble
at all controlling what was on her fork.

   "Why?" I asked.  I was confused.  Men get that way pretty easily when
we're out of our league.

   "You're very slow," she said.  She kept eating.

   "Are you trying to seduce me?" I asked.

   I know.  That's the stupidest thing any man could have said under the
circumstances.  I was younger than I thought I was.  I like to think she
took away my ability to think properly.

   "Yes, I am," she said.  She just kept eating.

   "This is kind of sudden isn't it?" I pointed out.  When he doesn't
understand something a man often tries to gather data.  He wants to
understand.  It makes him less nervous.

   "Yes, it is," she agreed.

   For a woman who could say so much that she left me a mindless idiot, she
could also be a woman of amazingly few words.

   "You want to talk about it?" I have no idea why I asked that.  Maybe it
was the psychologist in me, trying to struggle out of the harness in that
roller coaster ...  trying to get out of the car to stand shakily on the
platform ...  trying to get back in control.

   "Would you stand up first?" she asked.  The fork finally paused.  I
noticed it was trembling just a little bit.  For some unaccountable reason
that made me feel better.

   I looked down at my lap.  Even a jock strap can do only so much.  The
biological part of my brain had heard her words loud and clear.  I hadn't
even been aware of it.  I was suddenly aware of the constriction that my
manhood was enduring.

   I stood up, my hands hanging at my sides.  She was quite unashamed at
staring at the front of my pants.

   "And that's WITH a jock strap?" she asked.

   I just nodded.  My knees were feeling a little spongy.  Somehow she had
gotten me back into that roller coaster car and I was firmly strapped in.
It was already moving, and I knew I couldn't get out again for a while.  I
sat down.  I'm not one of those people who tries to stand up on a roller
coaster.

   "You probably think I'm a whore," she said.

   The look on my face must have said it for me.  When faced with something
truly abhorrent, the human face can communicate things that words never
could.  And what she had said was so horrifying that I lost my appetite to
the point that I thought I might actually hurl.  I pushed my plate away.  I
might have even turned that color they sometimes call puce.

   Her eyes welled up and she smiled.  "Thank you," she said.  "Can we
really talk about it?"

   I still felt strangled so I just nodded and waved.  I had no idea if I'd
be able to actually say anything or not, or even what I'd say if I did
manage to free up my throat, but I nodded.

   She stood and held out her hand again.  In a daze I took it and let her
lead me back to the living room.  I was amazingly thankful that that's
where she took me.  If she'd have pulled me toward her bedroom I'd have
collapsed.

   It's interesting, now that I look back on it.  I think I was in so much
sensory overload that I was temporarily incapacitated as a male.  By that I
mean that, had I been called on to perform as a male, I don't think I would
have been able to.  I mean I had the erection to end all erections, but I
still wasn't thinking on a sexual basis.  It was one of those "This isn't
really happening" kinds of situations, where your brain cannot cope with
the reality of the situation.  I'm positive that, had I been required to
bare my phallus, with the expectation that I actually USE it with this
vision of loveliness, it would either have spurted instantly, or simply
fainted and gone flaccid in the same short amount of time.

   But she took me to the living room instead.  We sat in exactly the same
position relative to each other that we had earlier, with me leaning back
thankfully into the cushion, and her seated on an angle to me, her knee
several inches from mine.  Also thankfully, she was able to talk, and all I
had to do was listen.

   "I don't know if I can explain this to you," she started.  "I'm not sure
I understand it completely myself."

   I stared at her face.  Her mouth, actually.  There were Bernice and
Rhonda, with their amazing nipples, right in front of me, and I looked at
her mouth.  I told you I was out of it.

   "Part of it is how you act," she said.  "Part of it is because I'm
lonely.  Part of it is because you're so sweet I just want to gobble you
up." She licked her lips.  "I'm very nervous."

   "YOU'RE nervous?" I think I gasped.

   "Very." She nodded.  "I feel like Pat is right here in the room with
us," she said.  "But it's not like other times.  Remember those dates I
told you about?"

   I nodded.

   "I felt him then too, and it felt like he was unhappy.  I felt like I
was cheating on him or something."

   I remembered how virulent she had been when she insisted I mark down
that she had NEVER cheated on him.

   "Anyway, it's not like that right now.  I like you.  I liked you the
minute I saw you, with your shaggy hair, and your thin, pale looks.  I
wanted to feed you the minute I saw you.  I think that's a motherly
instinct.  Maybe that's why I thought of you as a boy.  But, like you told
me, you're not a boy.  When you said that I felt a shock go through me and
I realized how badly I had treated you.  You looked at me like a woman, but
you treated me like a lady.  That's how Pat treated me, and no other man
has ever done that."

   She stopped for a few seconds.  I realized she was breathing harder. 
Bernice and Rhonda were moving around like they felt constricted too.

   "I wanted you to be my friend," she said.  "I couldn't wait for you to
get here tonight because I knew I'd get to talk to you, and listen to your
ideas, and I MISS that so much.  And then suddenly I wanted you to be more
than just a friend.  I've never felt that for a man other than Pat.  And
when you said I was out of your league, it was like that was going to be
taken away from me and I don't want that."

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

   Now I know you've all been very patient to get to this point in the
narrative.  I mean we're finally at the good part.  And I'm not trying to
tease you or anything, or break the mood.  But I can't change the facts.  I
can't just make up some great paragraph about what happened.  She's worth
so much more than that.  And, unfortunately, I can't remember in the kind
of detail that you'd want to read, exactly what happened on a blow by blow
basis during that first battle that the Amazon warrior princess initiated.

   But I will tell you what I remember.  I'll try to make up for it later.
Later I was in better shape mentally, and CAN provide more detail.

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

   Quite suddenly we were kissing.  I don't know if I kissed her, or she
kissed me.  There was an explosion of some sort in my head.  Maybe it was
stars in my eyes.  She did drag me to the bedroom, eventually, with kisses
along the way and a lot of moaning and groaning.  Again, I don't know if it
was hers, or mine, or maybe even both of us.

   I remember Bernice and Rhonda, in all their naked glory, and the feeling
that I was suddenly two years old again, sucking my thumb.  I remember hot
flesh against mine, and moans in my ear as greater heat surrounded my penis
and long sharp fingernails dug into my back.  I remember the rolling waves
of a roller coaster ride that wasn't scary any more, though she screamed
and went tense several times during that first ride.  I remember every
ounce of my very essence forming into a tight knot, somewhere in my groin,
and growing, swelling until I couldn't contain it any longer, lest I burst.
I remember the relief I felt when that huge ball of passion inside me found
an outlet, rushing from me into her in waves of indescribable sweet agony
and relief.

   Most of all I remember feeling the relief and acceptance that this was
what she wanted ...  needed ...  that she wanted ME ...  needed ME ...  if
only for this one time.  That, I think, is what made all the difference.  I
WAS able to meet the Amazon warrior princess in erotic battle, and though
she vanquished me mightily, and I became her slave in that combat, I fought
valiantly and well.  There was violence, of a sort, and blood was drawn
during the struggle, but unlike martial conflict, both opponents emerged
from battle victorious.

   Other than the fact that I was her slave, of course.

   Yet, even a slave can be happy if the master is kind and compassionate.

   CHAPTER THREE

   I awoke in the dark of night.  I was surrounded by the fragrance I
hadn't noticed before, but would never be truly happy without again.  There
were also a myriad of tactile sensations ...  the linens touching parts of
me ...  the deep softness of the pillow on which my shaggy-maned head lay
...  and warm, soft flesh pressing against me.  Drifting back to sleep
under those conditions was immensely better than sleeping in on a rainy
Saturday morning.

   When I woke again, something was wrong.  The pillow and linens were
still there, but the warm yielding flesh was gone.  I felt a terrible loss
for a few seconds, but my nose informed me that Sabrina was cooking.  A
woman doesn't get up and cook if she's unhappy, does she?

   I had to search for my clothes.  Like a drunkard, I had no idea where
I'd left them.  I found bits and pieces scattered along the hall, where
they'd been dropped.  They were mixed in with pieces of her clothing, lying
together, touching each other like we had touched each other the night
before.  I suddenly wished I had fresh clothes to put on, but covered my
pale, skinny body with what I found.  It was almost sad, somehow, to pull
my things away from hers.

   She was in the kitchen, humming.  That was music to my ears in more ways
than one.  I stood and just looked at her for a minute.  Her back was to me
as she stood at the stove.  She had put on the same T shirt she'd had on
the night before.  Being a tall woman, the shirt covered only half her
buttocks.  They were bare.

   I hadn't put on the jock strap.  I hadn't even seen it.  It would have
been handy just about then.

   I must have made a sound, because she turned and her face lit up.  The
relief in my stomach was palpable.

   "Hi.  I was just about to come get you," she said.  "Can't start the day
on an empty stomach."

   She loved to eat.  Of course she needed a lot of fuel to keep that body
going.

   She put down the spatula and came to kiss me.  I was intimately aware
that I probably had morning breath, but she had been married a long time
and knew how to kiss without that being a problem.  Her mons pressed
against mine gently, briefly, and she backed off, leaving her wrists on my
shoulders.

   "I'm glad to see you still find me attractive," she smiled.

   "You've ruined all other women for me for eternity," I said.

   "Nonsense." She tossed her beautiful mane of hair.  "Eat something.  You
have to go.  I have plans today," she said.

   Sadness gripped my gut.  It must have shown.  She laughed.

   "Oh, don't you worry.  We're going to do that again."

   She came back for another kiss and then leaned back again, just enough
so that Bernice and Rhonda could tickle my chest with those fantastic
nipples.

   "We're going to do that again lots of times." Her gold flecked eyes
stared into mine.

   "Yes ma'am," I said back, feeling goofy.

   She laughed again and went back to the stove.

   Oddly we didn't have all that much to say to each other over breakfast.
I think we had communicated quite well the night before, and that was
enough for then.

   I know it almost killed me to walk out of that kitchen.  She didn't see
me to the door.  She kissed me one last time there in the kitchen.

   "You have to go now," she insisted, pushing me away.  "I'm having
trouble controlling myself right now and I really do have things I have to
do today."

   "Control is way overrated," I suggested.

   For that I got another laugh, a warning squeeze on the front of my pants
from the Amazon warrior princess' gauntleted hand, and a forceful shove
toward the living room.

   "I'll call you," she promised as I dragged my reluctant feet to the
door.

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

   She did call me too.  Later that night.

   "I'm free all day after noon tomorrow," she said into the phone.

   Again, she didn't tell me who it was, and again she didn't have to.

   "You still haven't asked me all the questions," she reminded me.

   I had my hair combed when I showed up this time.  Martha, next door, was
standing on her porch.  She "Yoo Hoo"ed me and I waved the clipboard at her
and smiled.  She waved back and smiled as I pushed the button beside
Sabrina's door.

   Sabrina was a classy lady.  She didn't come to the door naked or
anything like that.  She was dressed in a sweatshirt again.  This one was
purple and had "K State" emblazoned above Bernice and Rhonda.  The power
cat under the letters had Rhonda in its mouth.  Or maybe it was Bernice.  I
hadn't learned which was which yet.  In any case, the power cat didn't
stand a chance.  It looked like a bobcat trying to carry off a hippo. 
There weren't any 'periods' there, so I suspected she was wearing a bra
again.  Her smile was genuine, but there was nervousness in her eyes.  She
led me to the living room and sat in a recliner.  I looked at the couch and
my knees got weak again so I took an easy chair instead.

   "Are things awkward between us?" she asked.

   "Hmmmm" I responded.  "Other than the fact that the most beautiful woman
I ever met is interested in me, which is impossible to believe, and that I
had the most wonderful night of my life in the bed of the Amazon warrior
princess, which is impossible to believe, and that since all this is
impossible to believe, yet I'm here ...  I'd have to say I feel a little
awkward."

   "Amazon warrior princess?" she probed.

   "Uh ...  sort of a nickname ...  like Bernice."

   Her cheeks got pink and she wiggled in the chair.  The nervousness in
her eyes vanished.

   "Could you ask me the rest of the questions ...  in bed?" she asked.

   "I wouldn't be able to remember my own name in bed," I said, a little
breathlessly.

   "Oh, well then I guess we'll have to do it the old fashioned way," she
said.  She was decidedly pink above that purple sweat shirt.

   Sabrina was like that.  That's why I said she was classy.  She wanted
something ...  something she knew I wanted too ...  but she was able to
handle that desire ...  to delay gratification in a way that made that
gratification as gratifying as it was possible to be.  Her control, and the
knowledge that she wanted exactly what I wanted, and would still want it
later, gave me the control necessary to retain my composure.

   So I asked her the questions.  All of them.  And she answered them,
talking about how, once they were married and their sex life became more
normalized, they worked toward the goal of children.  That was really all
she wanted, in addition to glorious sex, of course.  When it became clear
that no children would issue, she had come up with some relatively tame
fantasies to replace the passion that trying to make a baby had inserted
into their lovemaking.  Pat, though, hadn't been into role playing.  He
felt like that cheapened the relationship.  She hadn't pushed it.  A few
years later his symptoms began showing up as the cancer spread, and then
there were the years of his lingering suffering as she cared for him.  She
wasn't sad that he had died, in the sense that he was just a shell of his
former self, and his death ended the agony for both of them.  But that
didn't mean she didn't miss him, or need what she had lost.

   We probably talked for two hours, about this and that, some of it
pertaining to why they got together and why they stayed together, and some
of it just talk about how she felt.  I didn't say all that much.  There was
a lot of sadness in the room.  Eventually we wore out mentally, and it was
quiet.

   "No more questions?" she asked.

   "I've asked every single one," I said.

   "Good," she said.  I will be forever astounded at how much she could put
into a single word.

   "I need to tell you something," she said.

   "OK," was all I could think to say.  When you're an exceedingly ordinary
man who has the attention of an astonishingly beautiful woman, you kind of
live on pins and needles.  Not believing that she could actually be
genuinely interested in you emotionally makes you think that the dream will
come to a crashing halt any second.  You kind of cherish each second it
doesn't.  But you still worry.

   "I love you," she said.

   She held up a hand to keep me from saying anything.

   "I'm not in love WITH you," she said, "but I love you."

   "I'm not sure I understand that," I said honestly.

   "I was in love with Pat," she explained.  "The sun rose and set on him
as far as I was concerned.  I'll never feel that way about another man I
think.  I'm not sure I'd want to.  Losing that was very very painful Bob."

   I nodded.

   "But I've also never felt about any other man like I feel about you.  I
think about you a lot - not all the time, like with Pat - but a lot.  I
love what happened between us.  I want you in my life, and I don't want you
to go away."

   Me?  Go away?  Run away from the Amazon warrior princess?  Was she
insane?

   Apparently my face is much more expressive than I thought it was.  Or I
had lips that spoke that I didn't know about.

   "I want to make love with you," she said.  "I'm going to want to make
love with you a lot of times."

   My heart was thumping in my chest like a jack hammer.

   "But I'm not sure about it," she said.

   The jack hammer ran out of air.  A massive sand compactor took its
place, threatening to push crushed ribs through my skin and ruin my best T
shirt.  I couldn't have said a word if there would have been any words in
my brain.  I was also strangely out of air.  Maybe that jack hammer had
used it all up.

   "I'm not sure I want you to be IN love with me, and I'm afraid that if
we make love, you might fall in love with me," she explained.

   I gasped for air.  It was either that or pass out.

   "I've upset you," she said softly.

   I held up my hand.  If she kept talking I'd just explode.  She started
to say something and I pushed my palm at her twice.  She bit her lower lip,
which just about undid me, but I breathed and counted in my head until my
breathing was relatively normal.  I got to sixty-six.  Along the way I
decided I had to tell her what was happening to me.  It might be the worst
thing I could ever do, but I had to or I'd end up in a straight jacket.

   "Sabrina." I got that much out.  She just stared at me.

   "Maybe I can explain everything I've been feeling some day," I said.  "I
don't know.  My brain doesn't work very well when I'm around you."

   She took a breath and I pushed my hand at her again.  I was mildly
surprised to see it still up there, facing her.  I put it back in my lap.

   "I'm not sure what being in love feels like," I said.  "If it's any more
intense than what I've been through in the last few days, I'm not sure I'd
survive it if it happened."

   Now she just waited for me to go on.

   "It's a little bit like hoping for a drop of rain, because you're
parched and there has been a four year drought, and then it rains twenty
inches in two hours.  I'm the slave of the Amazon warrior princess, and
I'll do whatever she requires of me to stay a slave.  If that means not
falling in love with you, then I'll die trying not to fall in love with
you."

   "You have such a way with words," she sighed.

   Me?!

   She stood up, towering in the room.

   "Come with me slave," she commanded.

   I bet she kissed me twenty-five times on the way to the bedroom.  They
were long, wet kisses and Bernice and Rhonda tried to push me through the
walls during them.  She was gentle, in a man-handling sort of way, and I
felt like I was in the midst of that flood of twenty inches of rain that
had poured down on me.

   But I could swim.  I was a strong swimmer.  And I held onto Bernice and
Rhonda like they were life preservers that would support me in the flood.

   In the bedroom she disrobed me, making me stand naked in front of her.
She stood back, looking me up and down.  I was, again, painfully erect, but
her eyes looked at every part of me, not just the proof of my desire.

   "You're not much to look at ...  slave," she said.  "But you'll do. 
Undress me," she ordered.

   I wasn't to find out until a month later that one of the fantasies
Sabrina had, and that Pat would not indulge, was the fantasy in which she
was HIS slave.  She had wanted to be taken by the man she loved so much. 
My unplanned nickname for her appealed to her in ways I couldn't
understand. Her fantasy wasn't based in submission or domination, it was
just a role playing fantasy that she thought might be fun.  And, when I
pronounced her as my mistress, she simply altered the fantasy a little bit
and ran with it.

   Since this was her first fantasy being actually acted out, she kind of
slipped in and out of her role.  As she raised her arms for me to get
Kansas State University out of the way, and her flat belly came into view,
I couldn't help but put my tongue in her navel.  She jumped and her hands
came down on my head.  The shirt, which was already over her head, got
stretched a mite while I drove my tongue into her little cavity and grabbed
her buttocks.

   I also couldn't resist moving upwards, pushing the rest of the shirt out
of the way.  The bra she was wearing opened in the front.  If Goliath had
been standing beside us, and if there had been a stone in that bra cup when
I released the catch, he'd have sworn David was right there.

   Bernice and Rhonda were truly magnificent, and my mouth watered as I
nosed all around the nipple on one of them while she tore the shirt off her
head and flung it across the room.  I had a pretty good idea in that
instant how our clothes had gotten thrown everywhere in the house the night
before.

   I kept kissing and licking the areola all around the nipple.  I didn't
put an eye out, but only because I was thinking about what I was doing.

   "You're teasing me," she said, her already low voice even huskier.

   I switched to the other minor moon, kissing my way between them and did
the same thing to it as she tried to move my lips onto that nipple.  She
was strong, and I think if she'd really have meant it she could have forced
my mouth onto the nipple, but she also liked being teased I think, which is
why she just made a token attempt with her hands.

   "You're TEASING ME!" she complained.

   I reached up and found the first nipple and squeezed it.

   Her head went back and she would have fallen backwards, or taken a step
or something, except my hand slid to her naked back and held her.

   THEN I sucked her other nipple into my mouth.

   Now her hands took on the feel of steel.  I was pinned to Bernice ... 
or Rhonda ...  and wasn't leaving soon.  That was fine with me.  I had a
mouthful of tasty rubbery stiff nipple and I was sucking on it like a
starving baby.  She stood back up, leaning against me.  All I had to do was
bend my knees just a little and my face was at the right level for what I
was doing.  She really was a tall woman.  But that put her pants within
easy reach of my hands, and when I didn't have to use them to keep her
standing any more, I attacked them.  She wiggled her hips to help me and
lifted one knee, getting one leg out.  Then she stood on them as they fell
and stepped out of them with her other foot.

   She threw me on the bed.  I mean it.  That woman had muscles.  I lay
there on my back, my feet hanging off as she stood there.  Her eyes were
wild and she looked ferocious.

   "I want to suck you," she said.

   That was another thing Pat wouldn't let her do.  He thought of his penis
as 'diseased'.  It was one thing to make love to her with it.  But seeing
it in her mouth was something he couldn't take.  She managed to get it into
her mouth once, in the morning, while he had a morning woody, but when he
woke up he was mad about it.  It had been one of the few fights they'd had.
Of course I didn't know that just then.  I learned a lot about Sabrina's
fantasies over the next few months.

   She got down on her knees and grasped mine in her hands.  Her grip was
like steel too.  She pulled my body toward her like I was a doll, until my
butt was on the edge of the bed and my erection was standing up, waving
drunkenly in front of her.

   Her grasp on my prick was surprisingly gentle by contrast.  First she
just held it, wrapping her hand around it and squeezing it a little.  The
head was above her hand.  Then, staring at it she moved her hand up and
grasped it just below the crown.  Very slowly she pushed down, and my
foreskin slid off the glans.

   "It's beautiful," she breathed.  "So long."

   I felt that jackhammer start up in my chest again.  It was using way too
much of my air too.  She played with it for a while - I couldn't say if it
was thirty seconds, or a minute, or even longer.  I felt precum seep
through it and looked to see her squeeze a drop out on the upstroke.  She
saw it too.

   "What does it taste like?" she asked.

   It wasn't a stupid question.  She'd never done this before.  Fantasy is
one thing, but actually doing it makes you think a little more.  I held in
a hysterical burst of laughter at the mental image of me trying to suck my
own dick.

   "I don't know," I rasped.  My neck muscles were getting tired of holding
my head up.  But I didn't want to miss a single second of what was going on
down there.  I turned my head and looked for a pillow.  It was too far away
when I reached though.

   "Oh, you poor baby," she said.

   She stood up and towered over me.  Seeing my poor emaciated pale body
lying half off her bed must have reminded her of her station in life.

   "Get up on the bed slave," she tried to growl.  She wasn't very good at
it, but I didn't care.

   I scooted up onto the bed, resting my head on a pillow.  That helped,
but while she crawled onto the bed between legs I had thoughtfully spread
for her, I reached up and doubled it up.  Now I could see perfectly.

   She looked like some tawny beast, crawling toward me between my legs. 
Her hair was hanging down, half concealing those luscious eyes, which were
pinned to mine, instead of her target.  I could see her teeth.  Her lips
were stretched wide in a feral grin.

   "It had better taste good slave," she growled.  She was getting better
with practice.

   Now I had a quandary.  Other women had swallowed my sperm, among them a
fourteen year old girl, who hadn't made any complaints at all.  But you
never knew.  I felt a twinge of worry.

   But while she may have been half embroiled into one of her fantasies,
she wasn't stupid.  When she got there that bubble of precum was still
there.  She leaned down, like a big cat leaning to drink at the oasis.  Her
hair almost covered everything, but I managed to see her tongue stick out,
long and thin, while she licked the tip of my penis.

   Then, out of character again, she got up and sat back on her haunches. I
watched her taste me, smacking her lips.

   She didn't say anything.  She just leaned forward and her mouth swooped
down on my poor penis like an eagle onto a field mouse.

   She took as much as she could comfortably get in her mouth ...  and then
chewed.

   I let out a strangled yelp.  This kitty had sharp teeth.

   She looked up wide-eyed.

   "Teeth," I gasped.

   "Oh!" She looked crestfallen.  "I like it a lot when you chew on my
nipples."

   "Just be careful," I said.  I hadn't been aware that I "chewed" on her
nipples.

   After that I lay there half comatose as she learned how to suck and use
her cheeks.  She had thought about this a lot, and practiced it in her
mind. My reactions helped too.  When she sealed her lips around the glans
and played with her tongue I about came unglued.

   After what seemed like days she came up with a happy smile on her face.

   "I want to taste you some more ...  but later." She sat back on her
haunches again and one hand dipped between her legs.  "Get up slave.  I
want to lie there."

   I moved and she dove, giggling to bounce and land on her back with her
hair all over the place.  She put her hands up to pull it away and I dove
on top of her, wiggling all over.

   "Mmmmm you feel good against me," she purred.  "Please me slave."

   I wanted to taste her too, but I was strung as tightly as a short piano
wire.  She watched, interestedly, her hands flung out beside her as I
notched my prick between lovely pussy lips and pushed.  I have to admit I
pushed hard.

   "Uhhhhhng" she complained.

   I don't know why I didn't notice it the night before, but I should have
known.  This was only the second time in her life she'd had more than
something just a little larger than her nipples in her.  She was tight.  It
had never occurred to her, when he got sick and couldn't make love to her
any more, to use a dildo.  She just didn't think that way.  She didn't
think this way either ...  until I came along.  She had resigned herself to
a celibate life, something that astonishes me still.  But her complaint
didn't last long at all.  I wasn't huge, by any stretch of the imagination,
and she was a big girl everywhere else.  It wasn't long before she was
bucking up against me and I was holding on for dear life, making jack
rabbit lunges into her hot wetness.  I remember the night before, being
close to orgasm, with that fullness that threatened to blow me into
confetti if I didn't cum.  Then I had strained toward release, somehow
knowing that she was already satisfied with what had happened.

   This was different.

   Now I was straining with every fiber of my body NOT to cum ...  at least
not until I heard or saw something that told me the mistress was again
satisfied.

   She did make all sorts of noises.  There were moans and growls and
squeaks and other noises I can't describe.  Her head went back and forth,
her hair flying, like she was violently saying "NO!", except that the rest
of her was shouting "YES!" even more loudly.  Like her humming in the
kitchen, they were all music to my eyes and ears.  I wanted her to make
those noises for the rest of my life.  Still, I was losing it fast.  I was
not 'making love' to her, so much as wiggling around on top of her, due in
large part to her own movements.  I was about ready to just stop, hoping
that would be OK for a little bit, when her grunts went rhythmic and became
a string of "Oh Bobby ...  oh Bobby ...  OH BOBBY!" That last Y turned into
a long EEEEEEEEEEE and she screamed.

   Apparently Bernice and Rhonda were hollow, and attached to her lungs.  I
mean she was a big woman, and she obviously had big lungs, but she was
LOUD. And that scream went on as she went rigid all over, with the possible
exception of her legs, which wrapped around me and then went rigid,
threatening to crush my pelvis.

   That was it for me.  All done.  I felt semen rushing through my prick
and tried to help it along with one more lunge.  Her legs quit crushing my
pelvis and her heels hit the bed beside my thighs.  She lifted us both off
the bed so violently that I almost came unglued as my cock continued to
hose her down like a three alarm fire.  She strained upward for five
seconds or so and then collapsed in a heap of soft woman flesh, not a rigid
muscle in her body.  My face was between Bernice and Rhonda, snuggled
between them, her arms around my neck.  I thought I had gone deaf from her
scream at first, but then realized that my ears were covered.

   I told you she was big.

   I lay there like I was dead.  For the first time in my life I didn't
feel like I was uncomfortably heavy on top of a woman.  I realized my head
was rising and falling, and lifted it to hear her gasping.

   "I don't breath this hard after a half mile sprint," she panted.

   She lifted her head and looked at me, way down there by Bernice and
Rhonda.

   "Kiss me Bobby," she panted.

   I wiggled my way up, getting Bernice and Rhonda about where my solar
plexus was and got a nice, long, sweet, session of something very nearly
like mouth-to-mouth resuscitation as she panted into my mouth and I panted
into hers.  It wasn't so much a kiss as it was rubbing our wet lips and
tongues all over each other in the vicinity of our lips.

   "Lots more," she panted as I nibbled her ear.

   "Mmmmm?" I tried not to deafen her.

   "We're going to do this lots more," she said.  "When can you go again?"

   Once, the night before, might have been enough for the Amazon warrior
princess.  But this evening she was insatiable ...  a tigress ...  a very
demanding mistress.  I stayed the night again.  By the next morning I felt
like a wrung out dishrag.

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

   The next morning, when I went out the door to go to school, in
yesterday's clothes again, Martha was sitting on her front porch, rocking.
She waved and smiled again, like I lived there or something.  I got a
little uneasy until I realized my car had already told her everything she
knew ...  both last night, and the night before.  Taking the bull by the
horns I walked over and leaned on the railing around the porch.

   "I'm so happy for her," said Martha.

   In all the interviews I had done with Martha and Fred they had come
across like a normal, middle class, more conservative than
middle-of-the-road couple.  Their marriage was one of those where they took
their wedding vows very seriously.  They had married, and they would stay
together until one of them died.  They looked almost identical, as I said
before.  But I would never have figured Martha for being accepting of the
woman next door "carrying on".

   I must have been staring at her.  She smiled and rocked.

   "Why do you think I sent you over there?" she asked.  She giggled like a
school girl.  "I heard her twice last night ...  all the way over here.  I
had to wake Fred up in the middle of the night.  We had fun too."

   I flushed beet red.

   "Oh, go on." She waved a hand at me languidly.  "She's such a nice
woman, and she's been through so much pain.  She deserves to be happy.  I
had a feeling she'd take a shining to you.  You must be very good to her."
She giggled again.

   If you've ever been standing and talking to a woman old enough to be
your mother, except she's not your mother, and she's talking about how
"good" you must be ...  right after telling you she heard how "good" you
were last night ...  across the yard ...  Well, you know how tongue-tied
you are in that situation.  If you haven't been in that situation, just
think about it for a few seconds.  I think you can empathize.

   "What in the world made you think she'd be interested in me?" I finally
asked.

   "Silly, you're a nice boy.  Most women hope to find a nice boy."

   Today I didn't get upset at being called a boy.  Maybe it was because
Martha was in her sixties.

   "Are you going to marry her?" asked the woman who had just called me a
boy.

   "I don't think she's thinking that way," I said.  I hadn't thought that
far ahead.  And I still didn't believe the Amazon warrior princess would
stay interested in me for long.  One day soon she'd see a real man and her
interest in me would wane.  That was what I assumed would happen.

   "Well, you just keep doing to her what you did to her last night," said
Martha smugly.  "She'll come around."

   "Martha!" I chided.

   "I may be old, but I'm not dead," she grinned.  "Neither is Fred, the
old fart."

   "Who says I'm interested in marriage?" I said a little crossly.

   She stopped rocking and leaned forward.  That woman could look mean when
she wanted to.

   "You hurt that girl and I'll hunt you down like a dog."

   She leaned back in her chair and rocked again, like nothing had
happened.

   "Besides," she said.  "You're not stupid."





   Chapter 4 Posted: December 08, 2006 - 09:25:01 am?  Sabrina called me
that night.  "Hi," came her sultry voice.  I felt my dick start to stiffen
from just that one word.  "Hi yourself," I said lamely.  "We have a little
problem," she said softly.  "Name it and I'll fix it," I said.  I'm like
any man; when he sees a problem he wants to fix it.  Like any woman, when
she sees a problem, Sabrina wanted to talk about it.  "We just need to
talk," she said.  I felt the pit of my stomach lurch.  Could she have tired
of me so soon?  "We can't talk face to face, though," she went on.  I
figured she wanted to let me down easy...  and not deal with the tears and
begging and moaning I would do if I was there when she banished me from the
tribe.  "Sure we can," I said, my upper lip so stiff that any Englishman
would have been proud of me.  "No, we can't," she said.  "When I'm around
you I can't think properly." "Oh," I said, stunned.  "But I don't want to
talk about this on the phone," she said.  It's just like a woman to say you
can't do it this way, and you can't do it the other way, and those are the
only two ways of doing it you can think of.  "You want to write me a
letter?" I asked.  I know it was stupid.  I'm a guy.  Cut me a little
slack. "No," she said mournfully.  "What are we going to do, Bob?" I could
think of a dozen things I wanted to do with her...  to her.  Six years of
college had pounded enough intelligence into me that I know that wasn't
what she was talking about, though.  "Do we have to...  do anything?" I
asked.  "This is all your fault," she said.  "Of course it is," I said
heavily.  "I mean it!" she said, her voice rising.  "I was finally getting
used to the idea that...  well that I didn't have a man in my life...  that
I didn't NEED a man in my life.  And then YOU show up and...  and..." I
heard quiet sobbing through the wires.  I had wounded the Amazon Warrior
princess yet again.  I had reawakened something in her that she wanted to
leave sleeping.  I made the most intelligent decision of my life, at that
point.  I'm older now, and I've made a lot of decisions since then.  But
stack them all up, along with all the decisions I ever made before that,
and they pale to insignificance in comparison to the decision I made while
I listened to those quiet sobs.  "I'll be right over," I said.  I didn't
wait for her to forbid me.  I just hung up and grabbed my jacket and hit
the front door.  I have no idea why I didn't get a ticket on the way over
there.  Maybe the donut shops were having a end-of-the-day sale or
something.  I saw her head through the glass in the door as I stepped up to
knock.  She got the door opened before I could knock.  In a perfect world,
I would have swept her into my arms and confessed my undying love for her.
I would have overcome her resistance and taken her like a cave man.  But,
as I stated before, the world isn't perfect.  In those few short moments I
had been screaming across town like Mario Andretti, what I had been
thinking of was the fact that there were all these other women in my life.
And babies.  There were all these babies, some newly made, some almost
ready to take out of the oven.  Sabrina didn't know about any of that, and
I knew I couldn't hide that from her.  It wouldn't be fair.  Not to her. 
And, strangely, not to the other women.  I don't know if it was something
in my eyes that told her all was not well, or whether she was still trying
to make distance between us.  Men don't do well in these situations,
generally speaking.  For that matter, I didn't know if she was mad at me,
or wanted me around.  I just knew she was unhappy, and I couldn't let it
stay that way.  If there was going to be a break, it needed to be clean, so
we could both heal afterward.  We made it to the living room without saying
anything to each other.  she sat me down on the couch, just like she had
before, and sat angled toward me, not touching me, just as she had before.
"I told you not to fall in love with me," she finally said.  "I'm trying
not to," I said.  I wanted to delay the end as long as I could.  "Now I've
gone and fallen in love with you," she sighed.  Gridlock.  Mental gridlock.
Deer-in-the-headlights-frozen-solid-and-can't-think mental gridlock. 
Hearing her say that was like being in the middle of an orgasm, except that
all of my body was involved in the feeling, instead of just my groin. 
Then, suddenly I could move again.  I stood up and did the Snoopy dance,
right in front of her.  I think I chanted "YES!...  YES!...  YES!" while I
did it.  I stopped, panting, and she was grinning at me.  "You don't think
I'm too old for you?" she asked.  "I think you're too beautiful for me," I
said foolishly.  "I think you're too smart for me.  I think you're too much
woman for me to ever even THINK about handling." I stood and looked at her.
"But I just can't think of you as an...  older woman." "I take it you're
not mad at me?" She smiled.  "For falling in love with a young single stud
who has his whole life ahead of him?" Despite the thrill of this woman
characterizing me as a "stud"...  or maybe because of it, her comment
brought to mind the life of my recent past...  and the life of my future,
that I had thought about on the drive over.  I sat down heavily.  "There
are things you don't know about me," I said.  I straightened my shoulders.
"Things that may change the way you think about me." "Are you married,
Bob?" she asked, her voice somewhere between steely and diamond hard.  "No,
of course not," I said, frowning.  "Well, then, I can't imagine anything
that would make me lose interest in you," she said.  "Your girlfriend will
just have to compete." "I don't have a girlfriend, I said.  "You know
that." "Why don't you just tell me what's bothering you, and then I'll
decide...  what I'm going to do with you." The pause in her sentence made
me a little nervous.  Suddenly it was time.  Time to confess how much of an
alleycat I was...  that I had bedded all those women...  impregnated some
of them...  and then sauntered away from them like a cad.  Suddenly, I
wasn't at all eager to make that confession.  "Well?  she asked.  "Things
happened," I started.  "When I was doing interviews, some strange things
happened." She arched an eyebrow.  "I'm not the first." It was a statement.
She really was an intelligent woman, who could read between the lines. 
"Not exactly," I agreed.  "But they were all married," she pointed out. 
Then she looked startled.  "Except I wasn't married.  Were there more like
me?" "No," I hastened to say.  "So you had sex with married women...  while
you were interviewing them." That diamond was back in her voice.  Things
were not going well.  "It wasn't like that," I said.  "Like I said, the
circumstances were very strange." "I think you need to tell me about
those...  circumstances," she said.  leaning back against the couch.  "And
quit looking at Bernice and Rhonda until you're done," she added frostily.
"That privilege is temporarily suspended." I hadn't realized I was staring
at the twins.  I averted my eyes.  I told her about Tanya first.  I told
her the whole story, and how things happened, and how surprised I was.  I
finished by telling her how far along Tanya was.  When I quit talking she
sat there for a minute.  "That's not so horrible," she said finally.  "I
mean you did a nice thing for them.  I know what it's like not to be able
to have children." So I told her about Todd and Lizzie...  and Rachel.  She
sat there again for a minute thinking.  "So this woman wanted to show
herself to a stranger, and her husband thought that was sexy." "Uh huh," I
nodded.  "And the daughter...  instead of going out and having sex with
some boy...  they used you to teach her what it was like?" "I guess you
could say that," I said.  I was slightly heartened by her positive slant on
things.  "And you don't see them any more?" she asked.  "They wanted to
cool things off a little bit, I think," I said.  "Is there more?" she
asked. That question didn't sound too positive.  I nodded miserably.  She
stood up and paced, her arms folded under Bernice and Rhonda.  I looked at
her feet.  "Well, go on then," she said, her voice tight.  So I told her
about my nudist friends, Kent and Lisa, and about their practice, and about
how Lisa teased Kent with me.  I gritted my teeth and told her about Nikki
too, but made sure that she knew Nikki had a boyfriend.  She paced some
more.  She stopped, staring at me.  "I suppose that's not the end, yet."
she said, tapping her toe.  "Not exactly," I moaned.  "Continue," she
ordered.  Suddenly I was the slave again, except this time the slave wasn't
being rewarded for anything.  Of course Mildred and Gertie were next.  She
sat back down, and her mouth sagged open a little as I spun that tale for
her.  I confess I waxed a bit poetic when describing how backwards that
family was...  how innocent.  I made sure she knew that no one was quite
sure who had fathered Gertie's baby.  I felt like I was grasping at straws,
but it was, after all, uncertain.  This time she just sat there staring at
me, and said "Go on," like she just took if for granted there was more.  I
was so unnerved that I used Jane and John's actual names when I told her
about them.  Her eyes widened and she held up a hand.  "I know her!" she
said.  "We work together in a charity organization." "Oh," I said.  "I
wondered what had happened in her life," mused Sabrina.  "We don't chat all
that much when we're together, but I knew something must have happened in
her life to make her so much happier lately.  So I told the Amazon warrior
princess why Jane was so much happier.  When I was done she just looked at
me.  "She actually came to your apartment..." she said finally.  I nodded
and, wanting to get it over with, launched into the situation with Micky
and Susan.  She got up and paced again.  When I was done she whirled to
face me.  "It sounds to me like these women will want to keep seeing you,"
she said.  "I get the same impression," I said meekly.  "When was the last
time?" she asked.  I thought hard.  I didn't keep track of such things.  "I
don't know, maybe a couple of weeks ago?" "You can't remember when you made
love to two women at the same time?" Her voice rose an octave.  "They're
just friends," I said, trying to weasel out of things.  "Friends," she
repeated.  "Can there possibly be anything else, Bob?" I looked at the
ceiling.  She sat back down.  "Go on," she ordered tersely.  I told her how
I had found my brother and sister, and that we were working on trying to be
a family again.  I tried to get her to understand their taboo
relationship...  and my part in it...  as the result of something very dark
and sinister in our past, that was fought off with love.  She sat there a
long time, this time, staring at the floor.  Finally she looked up at me,
question in her eyes.  "That's it," I said softly.  She stood up
immediately.  "Thank goodness for that!" she said stridently.  "I've had to
pee for over an hour!" She stalked off to the bathroom.  I didn't know
whether to leave quietly or not.  I figured I deserved whatever was going
to happen, and that I owed it to her to stay there for the flaying I was
sure she was going to administer.  She was gone a lot longer than it takes
a woman to go to the powder room.  When she finally came back, she sat down
restlessly.  "So, let me get this straight," she started.  "You've
basically built yourself a harem, of sorts." "Please, Sabrina," I begged.
"It's not like that at all." "OK, then, you've cast your seed far and wide,
and indiscriminately made women pregnant, basically on a whim." "I didn't
PLAN any of this," I objected.  "How many couples did you interview?" she
asked heatedly.  "I think the total is almost eighty," I said immediately.
"And you had sex with ten percent of them?" she asked, her voice high
again. I decided not to correct her.  Including herself, I had had sex with
eleven women.  Depending on how you counted that, it could actually be
considered more than ten percent.  "I guess so," I said miserably.  "And
three of them...  the lesbians and your sister...  expect you to continue
to...  see to their needs?" "Well, there's not actually any formal
agreement," I whined.  "What if...  Tanya was it?  What if Tanya wants to
have another baby?  Are you going to get her pregnant again?" Her voice was
either acid, or caustic, depending on how you wanted to look at it.  I
didn't answer and she kept staring at me.  "Well?" she prodded.  "I guess,
under other circumstances...  I would have been willing to do that," I
almost whispered.  "Other circumstances?" she was on it like a Terrier on a
rat.  "What other circumstances, Bob?" "I didn't plan on meeting you," I
said defensively.  "I didn't plan on falling in love with you." "You didn't
plan ANY of this...  if you're telling the truth!" she almost shouted. 
"NO!" I shouted back.  "I DIDN'T!" I calmed down, shocked that I'd yelled
at her.  "I didn't mean to hurt anybody...  I didn't mean to hurt you." She
stood up, tall and strong.  She was every bit the Amazon warrior princess
at that moment, regal and commanding.  "I think you should leave now, Bob,"
she said, her voice low.  I slunk out.  I didn't look at her.  I didn't
beg. I just slunk out like the dog I was.  I knew, as I left, that I didn't
dare glance over at Fred and Martha's house.  Martha had warned me what she
would do if I hurt Sabrina, and I believed her. 
=============================================================== Over the
next three days I thought about just moving away from all this.  I lost
interest in the paper, which was only a quarter written.  Suddenly I wanted
to just stand behind a counter and ask people if they wanted fries with
their burger.  Someplace in Arizona, maybe.  Someplace far away.  But I
couldn't do that.  I had just found Randy and Kathy, and I couldn't leave
them like that.  That's where I broke down and bawled like a baby, while
Kathy held me and rocked me back and forth on the couch.  I had a month in
which the best thing to happen in my whole life had happened - I had
actually DONE the Snoopy dance - and the worst thing that could happen had
trotted up, panting through bared teeth, and licked my face until I almost
couldn't breathe.  Kathy didn't say much to me as I sobbed out the whole
story.  It was the first time she'd heard the details of my indiscretions
too.  She just rocked me and said that it would be all right.  I stayed
there that night, but I slept on the couch. 
=================================================================== By day
three of my now miserable existence, I had finally gotten up the energy to
remind myself that I knew it wouldn't last anyway.  She really was out of
my class...  not like Jane was, but in a similar fashion.  I was never
fated to be paired with an Amazon warrior princess.  I was just a guy,
trying to get through college, so he could figure out what to try to get
through next.  Most of us are that way.  We just cope, day to day, and hope
things don't get worse.  We might make a few plans for the future, but
nothing like reaching for the stars.  There are those who do that... 
movers and shakers...  but most of us aren't movers and shakers.  I had
just sat down and pulled out the notes for the project.  I had pen in hand,
and was about to continue with writing the paper when there was a knock on
the door.  For some reason I thought about Geoffrey, the Doe's huge black
bodyguard/chauffeur/problem solver.  When I opened the door, it wasn't an
African tribal chief who I faced, though.  It was the Amazon warrior
princess. 
=================================================================== I stood
back mutely and she breezed past me, her perfume leaving me weak-kneed.  I
closed the door.  I was so surprised that I didn't even think about what
the apartment must look like.  I had let both it and myself go to seed a
bit over the last three days.  "So this is where you made love with Jane,"
she said, surveying the room.  I was suddenly acutely aware of how shabby
it was.  I was even more aware of it than when the Senator's wife had
walked in and taken off her clothing.  "I talked to her," said Sabrina.  I
groaned.  It was partly because of the confidentiality issue, but mostly
because I now knew I had TWO women pissed off at me and wanting to hang my
balls up over their mantles.  I had a sudden image of the two of them,
fighting over my balls, pulling...  stretching...  tearing.  "She
apologized to me," said Sabrina lightly.  "What?!" I gasped.  "She said
that if she'd known about us, she would never have intruded." "but that was
before...  How could she have known about...  us?" I asked helplessly. 
Sabrina turned to face me.  She was so beautiful, so regal looking; even
under those circumstances she left me weak.  "You made her very happy,
Bob," said Sabrina.  "Very happy," she repeated.  I confess, I was
speechless.  "I've been thinking," said Sabrina, taking off her jacket. 
Bernice and Rhonda beamed at me...  braless...  with their mountain peaks
proudly thrusting through her blouse.  She tossed the jacket onto my
recliner.  Speechless is an affliction that can last and last.  "I've been
thinking about what you did," she added.  Her words: "what you did" rang in
my head like a gong.  It sounded like a mother's voice, when she reminds
her child of "what he did" that didn't make mommy happy in any way, shape
or form.  "We need to talk some more," said Sabrina.  Speechless is also an
affliction that can sometimes lead to other diseases, like foot-in-mouth.
"Look, Sabrina, I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry I hurt you, and you have
every right to be mad at me," I blurted.  "I love you...  I know I'm not
supposed to...  and I don't have any right to...  but I do, and there's
nothing I can do about that, except to tell you I understand how you don't
want to have anything to do with me any more, and I wish I could do
something..." I had to take a breath because I ran out of air.  If you
think I'm lying, just to cover up a run-on sentence, just take a deep
breath and read that last statement out loud.  Anyway, she had just stood
there staring at me as my speechlessness vanished and I vomited words
impulsively.  I dragged in a breath and she suddenly reached up with one
long, manicured finger and pressed it to my mouth.  "Shut up Bob," she said
evenly.  Isn't that just the way it is?  A woman says "We need to talk,"
and the next words out of her mouth are "Shut up." "I know why you did the
things you did," she said.  Her finger slid across my upper lip and then
left my face.  I felt the most insane urge to kiss that fingertip, but
swallowed instead.  I was already in enough trouble.  Of COURSE she knew
why I hopped into bed with all those women.  I was a man!  "I couldn't
sleep for two nights," she complained, even though her voice didn't sound
complaining.  "All I could do was think about all the things you had done."
"I'm really, really sorry," I whined.  "Shut up, Bob," she repeated
herself. I slumped, dejected.  Not only was I a bad person, I wasn't even a
good slave.  "And as I thought about it, I realized that really, all you
did was help people." She sounded puzzled by that.  I know I was puzzled.
What the hell was she talking about?  "You helped Tanya be happy, and you
helped Lizzie explore her feelings in a safe way.  Even with their
daughter, you provided a safe alternative for normal exploration that
usually isn't safe at all.  And the nudist couple - I forget their names -
but their relationship is stronger now because of you." She went on, as I
listened, shocked that she could find something good about each of the
relationships I had had with all those women, and how I had helped them
with some part of their lives, resulting in more happiness than if I hadn't
ever met them.  I felt dizzy with the sudden relief that came with her
words, which instead of cutting me, as I felt I deserved, actually praised
me for being open-minded enough to enter into risky situations and then do
something at least intended to be positive.  "You tend to shake up people's
lives, Bob," she went on.  "You shook up my life too.  My life had been
flat and dull for years, and I didn't even know it until you walked in my
door and I started flirting with you." I sat down, mostly because I was
going to fall down if I didn't.  "Where did you make love to Jane?" she
asked suddenly.  My eyes darted to the bedroom door, which was open at the
moment.  She saw, and walked over to look into the room.  Then, without
comment, she disappeared into my bedroom.  When she came back out she had
my bed linens in her arms, pressing against Bernice and Rhonda.  "Your
sheets need to be changed," she said, dropping them on a chair.  "Put new
sheets on the bed." I levered myself to my feet automatically.  There was a
part of me that knew she wasn't incurably angry with me after all, and that
there was some measure of hope in the offing, and that part of me used a
cattle prod to jar me into action.  It was like a tiny part of my brain was
screaming "DO WHAT SHE SAYS, YOU IDIOT, BEFORE SHE CHANGES HER MIND!" That
part of me warred with the other part that all of us have, that keeps
whispering that we can't find happiness, because we don't deserve
happiness, and that it's fruitless to try to reach for happiness, because
we'll never be happy.  The cattle prod got me moving, though, and I dug out
my extra set of sheets.  I put them on the bed mechanically, not paying
specific attention to her, though I was aware that she was in the room
watching me.  The cattle prod kept poking me, telling me that I had to do
what she wanted me to do, and do it perfectly.  I only owned three pillow
cases, two of which were lying on my chair in the living room.  I encased
one of my two pillows with the clean one, and then stood, looking at the
other pillow lying there, naked.  I felt a pang of regret that I couldn't
make the bed like she wanted me to.  "I don't have another pillow case," I
said, as if I was talking to the pillow.  "Put it in this," came her voice.
I turned and she handed me her blouse, which she had taken off while I made
the bed.  Bernice and Rhonda shone at me in naked glory, their nipples
standing tall and brown.  "What are you doing?" I croaked.  "I like Jane,"
she said calmly rebuttoning her blouse to make a pillow case of sorts. 
"But you're mine, now, and we're going to erase her memory from your bed."
I was almost overcome by the sudden burst of incredible joy that washed
through my body.  It was better than any orgasm I'd ever had in my life. 
That one burst of joy was worth living my whole life for.  By the time I
got my pillow inside her blouse she was naked.  She helped me straighten
the blanket and then pulled everything back to climb into my bed.  She
didn't cover herself as she lay there, looking at me.  "You're not naked...
slave..." I got naked.  She was warm...  the kind of warm that soaks into
your whole body and makes you feel like you're lying in the sun.  She
smelled good too, and that smell was on the pillow I pushed my face into -
the one with her blouse on it - as I obeyed her silent desire to have me in
her at once.  Her hands guided my hips, but I had to do everything else.  I
slid in deep, remembering at the last second to go slow, because she wasn't
used to a normal penis.  Her soft moan of contentment as I sheathed myself
in her made me dizzy, so sweet was that sound.  Her legs wrapped around my
thighs and she held me tightly inside her.  "Just lie there for a while,"
she whispered in my ear.  Shivers raced down my spine and I shuddered on
top of her, disobeying her command unintentionally.  "I love so much
feeling you inside me," she whispered on.  "So strong...  so hard." I felt
her pussy muscles ripple and squeeze, and it made me want to be bigger and
stronger, so I could go even deeper.  I ground against her, unable to help
myself.  "Mmmmmmmm," she murmured.  I felt like electricity was jumping all
over my body, racing from here to there randomly, just like a colt frisking
in the green grass of the summer meadow.  I groaned with the pleasure of
it. "I couldn't stay mad at you," she whispered.  Her hips thrust up
against me, giving me permission to move.  I inched back, but could only go
a couple of inches, and then sagged back into her as her legs pulled at my
buttocks.  "I couldn't be without you," she moaned, as I ground my loins in
a circle.  "You made me happy again too, Bob," she said more loudly, her
body beginning to move more rapidly under me.  Her legs came off mine, and
she planted her heels in the fresh sheet under us.  I gave her three or
four jack-rabbit thrusts, but couldn't stand the cool air around my prick
when it pulled out of her.  Instead I stayed deep, and rotated my hips some
more.  I could feel the tip of my prick digging into her rubbery cervix. 
Suddenly she was gasping, and her pussy muscles went crazy, grabbing and
loosening as she panted and then began to make those sounds that Martha had
heard, through two sets of walls and the yard between the two houses.  "I
Loooooove you Bob!" she moaned.  Her nails dug into my back, and there was
something of the feel that, despite her words, she wasn't completely happy
about loving me...  about having to love me.  Some small part of her
resisted, and I understood that.  "I'll never hurt you again," I whispered
into her ear.  I kissed her throat and she arched her neck, shoving at my
face with her jaw until she could get her lips to mine.  "Oh Bob!" she
cried as the kiss broke quickly.  She entered the full intensity of her
orgasm and I rose and fell as her strong Amazon warrior body writhed under
mine.  I felt my own release burst upon me and saw stars with the intensity
of it.  I shoved deep and spurted over and over, thrusting with each spurt
and groaning with the sweet pain of it all. 
===============================================================
Surprisingly, her pillow talk as we lay, relaxed, cuddling, was about
completely inconsequential things.  She talked about where she'd gone since
I saw her last, and what she'd done, even what she'd had to eat, when she
was hungry at all.  And though she never mentioned me at all, I could hear
myself affecting her over and over again, whether it be because she
couldn't sleep, or wasn't hungry, like she normally was.  Even the things
she did over those three days were described in ways that made it clear she
didn't throw herself into them like she normally would have.  And she
wanted to know what I had done...  where I had gone.  She didn't ask who I
had seen, but I knew her mind questioned.  I knew that whatever it was that
had punished me with those fingernails was lurking beneath the surface, and
would fester if it wasn't exposed.  I raised up on one elbow.  I gazed at
Bernice and Rhonda, their nipples relaxed now, which meant they were only
half an inch long, and soft looking, rather than hard rubber bullets
perched on firm mountains.  I let my eyes wander up her chest to her neck,
and then chin, and then lips, until I found the eyes that had so enslaved
me staring back into mine.  "I mean it," I said.  "I'll never hurt you
again." "I know," she sighed.  "But still..." "If you want, I'll never see
any of the women again," I promised.  "I didn't say that," she said.  I
stared, uncomprehending what she could possibly mean by that.  "You made
babies in some of those women," she reminded me.  "You can't just disappear
from their lives.  You have a responsibility to them." "Well...  yes," I
stammered.  "But...  what I meant was...  my...  um...  relationship with
them.  I won't do that any more." She smiled.  "I'd like that," she said. I
relaxed a little.  "But I still have to think about that a while." "What's
to think about?" I asked, truly unsure of what she meant.  "I told you you
were good for them," she said, staring at me with those gold-flecked eyes.
"You did a wonderful thing for Tanya.  She might want you to do it again."
I had a sudden flurry of butterflies in my stomach as I thought she sounded
like she was about to say "This would be great...  but..." A lot of
relationships crash on those rocks.  That "but" can mean a hundred things,
but it almost always means "but we can't have what we want all the time."
"OK, maybe, but that doesn't mean I HAVE to do that again!" I said
urgently. "I haven't decided yet," she said calmly.  "I want to meet them."
"Meet who?" I asked, dreading the answer.  "All the women you made love to,
of course," she said, just as calmly.  "And their husbands too," she added,
like that was a new idea she had just thought of.  "Oh, Sabrina," I moaned
a little.  "I'm not sure that's a good idea at all." "Of course it is," she
countered.  "Are you ashamed of me or something?" Those flecks in her eyes
seemed to wiggle and dance.  "That's ridiculous," I said instantly.  "Any
man in the WORLD would be proud to have you on his arm." "So...  they
shared their lives with you...  invited you into their lives...  and you
made their lives better because of who you are," she said.  "I wasn't part
of your life then, but I am now.  Don't you think they'd be interested in
this new part of your life?" She had a way with words, did Sabrina.  I
hadn't thought about that since the last time I'd seen her.  I suddenly
knew that, whatever my future was going to be, Sabrina would get whatever
she wanted in it.  "I'll have to ask them if it's OK," I finally said.  "As
you should," she agreed.  "But I really want to meet them.  They're part of
your life, and I'm going to be part of your life from now on, so I'm
interested in them." That also sent shivers of happiness through me.  I
wasn't stupid enough to think that I'd be with a woman like Sabrina
forever. Sometimes a new relationship is like a new toy.  You wanted it,
and pined for it, and now you have it and you play with it all the time. 
Eventually, though, you get tired of the toy and...  Still, the idea of
being with Sabrina was a fantasy very much worth indulging in, so I shoved
my doubts back into a dark corner in my mind and took her words for exactly
what she had said.  "OK, I'll see what I can do." "You don't need to call
Jane," she said needlessly.  "We already talked.  She doesn't need you any
more.  She's pregnant, by the way." "I know," I said uncomfortably.  "I saw
them at a rally a while back." I hadn't told Sabrina I knew Jane was
pregnant.  Sabrina looked at me archly for a moment, but then smiled.  "She
has no idea if it's yours or not.  When she forgave her husband, their sex
life improved...  substantially.  She says that was your doing too." I got
a long, wet kiss from my princess, for doing something nice for Jane.  I
enjoyed the kiss...  as a kiss...  but I enjoyed the spirit in which that
kiss was given more than anything else.  That kiss told me that I, too, had
been forgiven.  I'm amazed I didn't float up off the bed. 
==================================================================== I know
there is some guy out there whining that I didn't do anything to be
forgiven for, seeing as how everything I did was before I met the woman
doing the forgiving.  To him, I say: Just shut up.  OK?  You'll be happier
if you accept forgiveness any time it's offered. 
================================================================ I learned
something else about people in general, and women in particular, that I
hadn't really been clued into before that.  When a woman has had sex with a
man, under circumstances in which she is not "in love" with the man, and
circumstances that didn't do anything to hurt her relationship with the
important man in her life...  she'll be quite happy to meet the important
woman in YOUR life.  It's complicated, but as I had time to think about it
(and talk to the women), I figured out it was a product of a complete lack
of guilt.  If you don't feel guilty about a sexual liaison, you're much
more willing to discuss it, and how it affected your life.

   Chapter 5 Posted: December 08, 2006 - 09:25:01 am?  Tanya couldn't wait
to meet Sabrina.  She insisted that we come over for dinner within days. 
The most humorous part of the whole visit was that Ralph and Sabrina
looked, at least physically, like they'd be the perfect match, while Tanya,
her belly bulging with what I thought of as our eight month old baby, was
much closer to my size.  The fact that my baby was pressed into
Sabrina's... well...  upper thighs...  during her welcoming hug, could have
been a rough spot, but Sabrina didn't bat an eye.  She already knew about
it, of course, and approved, based on what I had told her.  She spent the
evening getting the kind of information that confirmed her approval.  We
only stayed an hour past supper, but that was because Sabrina dragged me
out of there and back to her bedroom to reward me for being so nice to
Ralph and Tanya.  "I like them," she said into my ear as I filled her
welcoming pussy.  "She's very pretty too.  I can see why you were tempted."
"She's OK, but I like you a lot more," I grunted, straining to make her
happy.  "Good boy," she murmured.  She ended up making me happy too. 
================================================================== I hadn't
seen Hiram and his mini-harem for two months.  I was a little worried about
them.  It was a combination of thinking that Gertie might be way too
affectionate towards me, and of being a little nervous about what changes
might have exploded in that household.  Change isn't always comfortable,
and I wasn't at all sure that they would still be as happy, with what I had
brought to them, as they were when I last saw them.  When I called, though,
Hiram was joyous in his salutation to me over the phone, and scolded me
just a little for not keeping in closer contact with them.  The house
looked exactly the same on the outside, when I walked Sabrina up the walk.
She was delighted with the yard, and stopped to admire - and identify -
various plantings on display.  It turned out she had done a stint of
volunteering to work with handicapped people in gardening, about a year
back.  Gertie met us at the door, gloriously pregnant, and wearing jeans,
which was almost a shock to my eyes.  She immediately hugged me.  Her hug
was merely friendly, though, and with sparkling eyes she pushed me away to
survey Sabrina.  "Boy, howdy, Bob, you sure know how to pick 'em." She
grinned and stuck out her hand to Sabrina.  "If Bob thinks you're special,
then you're special to me too." Sabrina ignored the hand and took Gertie
into a hug, saying how happy she was to meet her.  Inside, it was a whole
new place.  New furniture filled the place in a tasteful and thoughtful
arrangement.  They hadn't just gone out on a spending spree.  A lot of
thought had gone into softening what had been a very stark and Spartan
residence.  Millie had expanded her sewing hobby, and had made throw
pillows, and wall hangings of quilted designs.  Hiram, being the primary
gardener, had crafted floral arrangements that would have made any florist
proud.  The kitchen had been updated, and wonderful smells were coming from
there, where Millie, her own belly bulging proudly, was putting the last
touches on dinner.  I got to meet Beauregard, who was introduced as "Bo" by
Gertie, her arm nestled through his.  "I'm in love with him," said Gertie
gaily, her other hand stroking her swollen abdomen.  Bo actually blushed.
Bo was, as a lot of men might be, completely overwhelmed by Sabrina.  He
did a lot of gulping and stammering at first, but settled down eventually.
Sabrina had a knack of making people feel comfortable around her when they
took the time to be with her on a social level.  Well, everybody but me.  I
still was amazed that I got to be with her daily...  and intimately.  Talk
around the table at dinner was completely normal.  There was talk of plans,
and futures, and dreams, as well of what was in the news.  In fact, other
than the outside appearance of the house, this family seemed just as normal
as it was possible to be.  When we left, Sabrina sat quietly in the car for
a few minutes.  "I thought you said they were odd," she said.  "They were."
I shrugged my shoulders.  "They're not anything like you described them,"
she said.  "What can I say?  People change," I suggested.  "The way you
described them, I was expecting...  something else," she murmured. 
"They've made some serious strides," I said modestly.  I felt eyes on me
and turned to find Sabrina's gold-flecked ones pinned on me.  "I think
maybe you had something to do with that," she said.  Actually, I didn't
feel responsible for those strides.  There was nothing wrong with any of
the brains in that house.  All they needed was the freedom to use them.  I
said something to that effect.  Again, though, when we got home, Sabrina
was feeling frisky.  She wanted me to take a bath with her.  As I sat in
her oversized tub, leaning back while she sat in front of me, relaxing back
on my chest, I got to play with very slippery and soapy Bernice and Rhonda.
"What do you see in the future, Bob?" she asked, her head lying on my
shoulder, her eyes closed.  I was so comfortable that, like many men, I
didn't recognize that question as a very important one.  "I don't know. 
I've never thought much about the future, except for school." "Mmmmm" she
murmured as I played with her stiff nipples.  Forty-five minutes later, we
sort of cancelled out the bath we had just taken, as I heaved, sweating, on
top of her and she heaved, sweating, under me.  "That's twice I've felt
your baby pressing against my stomach," she panted, her pussy muscles doing
amazing and wonderful things to my prick.  "Gertie's not all that sure it's
mine," I huffed.  "We've been making love a lot," she gasped.  "For which I
am excruciatingly happy," I groaned.  "I'm not on any birth control, Bob,"
she grunted, straining up against me.  "Ohhhh babeeeeeeee," I gasped,
spurting instantly into her hot sheath.  whether that was her intent or
not, I didn't know, but the thought of making the Amazon warrior princess
pregnant was...  well...  If I'd have found Ali Babba's lamp, and the genie
had popped out and said I had only one wish...  it would have been for my
seed to take root in Sabrina.  In the afterglow, lying there together, I
found her staring at me.  "What?" I asked.  "You haven't thought about the
future...  our future?" Her voice was very calm.  "To be honest," I said in
my own defense, "I was never very sure there would even BE a future...  I
mean with me in it...  and you..." This wasn't going well at all.  It was
VERY hard for me to really accept that a woman as beautiful as Sabrina
could ACTUALLY be interested in me in a SERIOUS way, for very long at all.
Every time I thought about us I begged the powers that be to let it go on
just a little longer.  But how do you explain that to a woman who doesn't
see herself the way YOU see her?  "You're going to marry me some day, Bob,"
she said calmly.  I jerked so hard that Bernice and Rhonda wobbled next to
me.  "I am?!" I asked incredulously.  "Oh yes," she said firmly.  "If you
think you're going to knock ME up, like you did all those other women, and
then go off and find some other woman to make pregnant...  you're not
nearly as smart as I think you are." I sat up in bed.  My heart was beating
so hard that I expected to see the skin on my chest moving with the beat.
"You'd actually consider marrying...  me?" I gasped.  Those eyes just
stared at me.  There was something that looked perilously close to pity in
them.  "Well I would have ten minutes ago," she said.  "But now I think I'd
have to think about it for a while.  I don't think you're as intelligent as
you let on.  Maybe you have people fooled." "What are you TALKING about?" I
cried.  "I'm talking about the fact that you've been making love to me now
for over a month, and if you think I'm just some randy woman out having
fun, or trying to catch up to what I missed...  then you're an idiot." Ten
minutes ago I had been on cloud nine.  Now I was sixty feet under water,
and only had fifty feet's worth of air.  "Are you in love with me, Bob?"
she asked.  The first thing that popped into my mind was when she said,
what seemed like ages ago, that I wasn't allowed to fall in love with her.
Even in that moment of terror, I knew better than to say that.  But the
fact was that I had only known Sabrina for a month, during which the roller
coaster ride had been so wild and wooly, that half the time I didn't know
if I was in deep trouble, or the luckiest man alive.  I knew that Sabrina
felt...  something...  for me.  I wasn't that much of an idiot.  And I knew
that she wasn't a slut, by any stretch of the imagination.  At the same
time, I had no real idea of how she would react if I got...  serious. 
Maybe that's why I hadn't tried to push things.  Maybe that's why I didn't
look to the future.  But I had used up my grace period, and it was time to
take a dump, or get off the pot.  "If I had a hundred years," I said
slowly, "I couldn't fall more in love with you than I already am." "Good
boy," I heard as my face was pulled into Bernice and Rhonda. 
===================================================================== I
know that, by now, most of you think I was unhinged at that time in my
life. Here was the perfect woman, making hints that even a chimpanzee would
be able to understand, and allowing me privileges that, in my opinion, some
Kings never had the like of.  But I was young, and I hadn't thought of
getting married...  ever.  There was still a residue of self doubt in me
that kept whispering in my mind that I wasn't worthy of her.  That self
doubt kept me from asking the obvious question to the obvious girl, who
would give me the obvious answer and make my life obviously perfect.  I can
only thank my lucky stars that Sabrina was smarter than I was.  And
patient. ================================================================
When I didn't ask her to marry me, Sabrina simply got up and fixed
something for us to eat.  As we sat there she asked when she'd get to meet
the other women.  After Todd and Lizzy had taken a 'breather from Bob, '
they had called and asked me to come back to visit.  I had thought it
probably wasn't a good idea, mostly because of Rachel.  If I got Lizzy
pregnant, I wouldn't feel all that badly.  Rachel was another matter.  Now,
I didn't actually know if I was welcome there or not.  When I called, it
was probably fate that Rachel answered.  I didn't know whether to explain
to her that I had a...  girlfriend...  or to wait and talk to Lizzy first.
When she wouldn't turn over the phone to her mother, I eventually had to
tell her I had a girlfriend who wanted to meet them.  I was astonished when
Rachel whooped and yelled and told everybody in the house what had
happened. Lizzy took the phone by force and we actually had a nice
conversation.  She said that, of course, they'd love to meet Sabrina. 
Since she didn't ask how Sabrina knew they existed, I didn't explain it. 
That meeting, too, was as uncomplicated and normal as a social get-together
could be described to be.  They plied Sabrina with questions about her
work, and what places she had traveled to and things like that.  Lizzy told
her she was a lucky woman to have found me.  Of course they didn't know
that Sabrina knew everything that had gone on in that house, and she didn't
give them any indication that she did know that both women had felt the
very same thing she had been feeling with great regularity lately... 
namely, my penis inside her.  When we left THAT meeting, Sabrina was quiet
for the first ten minutes of driving.  "You know what I can't figure out?"
she finally asked me.  "What's that?" I responded.  "You make all these
people sound like they're so strange and abnormal, but everyone I've met so
far are just the nicest people in the world." "Well...  uh...  I guess they
seemed odd to me," I said weakly.  "You really took that girl's virginity?"
she asked.  "Uh...  yeah, I guess I did." She shook her head.  "I don't
know why I'm so surprised.  You worked your magic on me too." "Now come
on," I objected.  "It wasn't like that at all.  I didn't TRY to do anything
with them...  or you either for that matter." "Yeah, yeah," she snorted. 
"I know what you did to me.  I was helpless." "Don't even try it!" I
groused at her.  "I'm the slave in this relationship, remember?" She
smiled. "Get me home, slave.  Your mistress needs to be shown how much of a
slave you are." She worked me over hard when we got back to her house.  So
hard, in fact, that I stayed the night again. 
=============================================================== Kent and
Lisa were next on the list.  Nikki was off at school, and she and her
boyfriend were hot and heavy, according to Lisa.  When Lisa found out what
I wanted to talk to her about she laughed, and asked if she and Kent should
meet us at the door naked.  I almost begged her not to and she laughed
again.  She didn't ask what my new girlfriend's name was, and I guess I
didn't mention it.  When we got there, I was prepared for just about
anything to happen except what did happen.  Lisa opened the door and there
were twin gasps from her and Sabrina.  I knew that Sabrina read to children
at the Library as a volunteer sometimes.  I knew that Lisa worked at the
library.  I had just never put two and two together.  Lisa and Sabrina had
known each other for two years.  Again, Sabrina rose to the occasion.  She
knew all sorts of things about Kent and Lisa that they were unaware of, and
she never let on even once about that knowledge.  She also knew that, while
I had gone to the house and gotten naked with them, that sex was not a part
of our current relationship, so maybe that helped.  In any case, that visit
went splendidly, from my point of view.  This time I was the one who was
informed how lucky I was.  "Sabrina's a favorite with the kids at the
library," Lisa said.  "She reads so beautifully.  And the children almost
fight to see who gets to sit closest to her while she reads." It was really
a lovely evening, with no overtones of anything sexual.  Again, though,
when we left, Sabrina wanted to be loved.  When we lay, sated, that night,
I asked her about that.  "Silly boy," she said.  "All these women got to
have you, and when I meet them I always find out how nice they are.  But
you're mine now, Bob." "You're marking your territory?" I teased. 
"Something like that," she said, poking me.  Then she kissed me.  "But
mostly I just crave making love with you.  Seeing how happy you made them
reminds me of how happy you make me." "That just astounds me," I said
honestly.  "Silly boy," she murmured, and kissed me again. 
================================================================= I had
kept in touch with Micky and Susan after I met Sabrina.  Sabrina and I
didn't spend every night together, though I would have if she'd have had
the time.  But she had her own life too, and she was involved in important
things.  That's one of the things I didn't push.  So Micky and Susan knew
about her already.  They didn't know quite how intimate things had gotten,
but they could tell that I was smitten by her.  I was a little nervous
about Sabrina meeting them too, but I couldn't have told anyone why.  Micky
and Susan and I were friends first, and lovers second.  In fact, I hadn't
even noticed that, since I had begun talking about Sabrina, there hadn't
been any threesomes.  We had still gone out or stayed in and done things
together, but it just didn't include sex.  I was over at the house one
night, when Micky asked the obvious question.  "So when do we get to meet
her?" "I don't know," I answered.  "I'm nervous about it." "You think we'll
try to steal her away?" Micky grinned.  I didn't grace her with an answer.
Both of them were pregnant and showing by now, and they were happy about
it. I tried to imagine naked pregnant women making love to each other, and
got stiff.  "You think she might be upset that we're lesbians?" asked
Susan. I was so distracted that I answered without thinking.  "No, she
already knows that." "She knows about us?" asked Susan.  The cat was out of
the bag now, and they WERE my friends, so I filled them in.  "Wow!" said
Micky.  "She knows about all your...  indiscretions...  and still lets you
hang around?" "I'm just as amazed by it as you are," I insisted.  "We have
to meet her, Bob," they said, almost together.  But the fact was that it
was another month and a half by the time I had the courage to make it
happen.  ============================================================
Instead of taking Sabrina to meet the lesbians first, I took her to meet my
brother and sister.  Sabrina had to needle me to get that to happen too. 
So far, everybody Sabrina had met were more or less normal people, who had
a few kinky behaviors.  If you didn't dwell on that kinky behavior, all I
had really done was take Sabrina to meet friends, who consisted of married
couples.  Now, though, I was taking Sabrina to meet my brother and sister.
Other than Sabrina, nobody else knew that Kathy and Randy were related,
either to each other, or to me.  But Sabrina knew...  and they knew she
knew.  My brother and sister knew how important Sabrina was to me, and she
knew how important THEY were to me.  In this situation, nobody could
pretend that there was no elephant in the room.  Randy and Kathy, once they
realized how serious things were between Sabrina and me, simply asked if
she was going to be able to live with the facts of this particular life or
not.  All I could tell them was that I hoped so.  Sabrina, on the other
hand, asked me if it would be too awkward for her to meet them, considering
that she knew who they were.  "I think that depends on how you react," I
told her honestly.  "You've never actually told me how you feel about... 
them." "I don't know how I feel about them," she said, just as honestly. 
"I haven't met them yet." "I mean about the...  incest thing," I said. 
"I've never met anybody like that," she said.  "I don't know how I'll
react." Sabrina was like that.  She didn't make up her mind about something
until she had explored it.  I had lots of biases.  Sabrina took life at
face value, making decisions based on things other than bias.  I think
that's one reason our difference in age didn't bother her.  So, the fact
was, that I was taking my lover to meet another woman who occasionally
invited me lovingly into her bed and was now pregnant with a child that
could have been put there by either of her two brothers.  And the fact of
the matter was that neither Sabrina or I knew if it would freak her out or
not when she actually met them.  Add to that the fact that Kathy and
Sabrina were the two most important women in my life, and you understand
how important it was for me for them to get along well.  That's why I
didn't get them together until I just had to.  It had the potential to
wreck things. 
=================================================================== "Relax,
Bob," said Sabrina as we walked up the walk to Randy and Kathy's house. 
She already knew me well enough to read my moods.  I didn't say anything.
What could I say?  I may not have mentioned it, but Kathy is only about
five feet, seven inches tall.  Of all the things I'd thought about, that
wasn't one of them.  Kathy opened the door...  and craned her neck to look
up at Sabrina.  She even leaned back a little bit, which made the slight
swell of her recently pregnant belly more pronounced under her blouse.  Her
mouth dropped open.  Then she looked at me with what was the very first
time I was to see steel in her normally happy-go-lucky gaze.  Of course I
expected her to blurt something like "Good grief, Bob, you didn't tell me
she was a foot taller than you!" And of course, being Kathy, she did
nothing of the sort.  "You didn't tell me she was GORGEOUS, Bobby!" she
said, her voice almost a sigh of admiration.  Then she was happy-go-lucky
again, and hugged Sabrina, telling her how happy she was to "FINALLY" meet
her.  I got a hug too, and then we went on in.  The elephant seemed to bray
almost instantly.  "I wonder if you would mind having a brief, private chat
with me," suggested Kathy to Sabrina.  She turned to me.  "Would you and
Randy set the table while we're gone?" They headed off to the bedroom and I
cringed.  I knew what Sabrina had thought about the bed where Jane had made
love to me, and how she had chased Jane's memory out of that bed forever.
Now she was being taken to a room, where there was a bed, where she knew I
had lain on top of Kathy, grunting and thrusting...  spurting... 
gasping... Randy looked at me and shrugged.  "I have no idea," he said.  He
smiled wryly.  "What should we do if we hear sounds of battle?" I looked at
him helplessly.  There were no sounds of battle.  In fact, there were no
sounds at all.  They were gone for what seemed like an hour, but, when I
checked my watch, was less than five minutes.  Randy and I both watched as
we heard them coming back down the hallway.  When they came back into the
living room the two women looked at us, still standing where we had been
standing when they left.  I know I looked nervous, and Randy might have
too. "I thought I asked you two to set the table!" barked Kathy, frowning
at us.  Both Randy and I jumped and, for lack of anything else to do,
headed for the dining room.  I swear I heard a snicker behind us.  Then,
just like that, Kathy and Sabrina started chatting like they'd known each
other for years.  They supervised the two males, straightening silverware
that we put down askew, and bringing dishes of food to the table together,
shooing us into our seats.  Then we ate dinner.  That elephant was nowhere
to be seen.  I think Randy was just as shocked as I was.  The women did
most of the talking at first, but eventually he joined in.  I just sat
there in amazement.  When we left Kathy hugged me longer than she had when
I arrived.  "Thank you for bringing her," she said softly in my ear.  She
hugged Sabrina again too. 
============================================================= On the way
back to Sabrina's, I had to ask what had happened in the bedroom.  I had a
feeling I shouldn't, but I had to.  "She told me she loved you, and that
she knew you loved me, and that it was important to her that I make you
happy," said Sabrina, as if they had only talked about what running shoes
might be the best to buy.  I was speechless.  She went on.  "So I told her
that I loved you, and that I knew you loved her, and that I intended to
make you very happy.  "That's it?" I gasped.  "Oh, we talked about a few
other things, but that's just between us girls," she said, turning her head
to look out the back window of the car.  "Can you hurry up a little? 
Traffic is backing up behind us." We didn't talk the rest of the way.  I
still didn't know how she felt about...  things.  I found out when we got
home.  She pulled me immediately toward the bedroom.  "I don't want to talk
tonight," she said as she got undressed.  Again, our clothing flew all over
the room.  She rode me that night, alternating between rocking furiously,
and sitting stock still, dropping her nipples into my mouth to shudder
through an orgasm that way, and then riding again.  I knew instinctively
that she wanted me to last, and, oddly, I had no trouble thinking of myself
as a tool, at that moment, a tool designed to produce wonderful feelings in
her.  She had four or five orgasms in a row, and then leaned over to kiss
me softly.  "I want you to cum in me, Bob," she said softly.  Then she rode
me wildly until I spurted.  When she felt it sat up straight and wiggled,
getting me as deep inside her pussy as possible, as she pulled hard at both
of her nipples.  Her pussy spasmed as she had one more orgasm, and milked
me for every drop I could produce.  She lay down on me, her breasts warm,
her head propped on a pillow beside mine.  She nibbled my ear.  "Good boy,"
she whispered.  As I drifted off to sleep, I reminded myself to tell Kathy
that I was, indeed, very...  VERY happy.

   Chapter 6

   Sabrina never actually talked about how she felt about what Randy and
Kathy did together...  or how I fit into that scenario.  From that point on
she just talked about them as "Randy and Kathy", as if they were any of a
number of couples we knew.  And, after that, taking her to see Micky and
Susan didn't seem so uncomfortable.  I didn't analyze why.  I just set it
up.  If you would have lined up all the women who were...  or might be
pregnant with my babies, they would have gone from the gentle beginning
swell of Kathy's abdomen, to the full, heavily gravid belly of Tanya, who
was beginning to waddle when she walked.  Micky and Susan would have been
in the middle of that line, a little closer to Kathy, with Gertie between
them and Tanya.  Susan opened the door, with Micky standing right behind
her.  Both had almost eager looks on their faces.  Micky had a smudge of
something blue on her cheek.  Both were dressed in old sweats.  "Sorry,"
gushed Susan.  "We were painting in the nursery and forgot the time.  We're
not dressed." Sabrina smiled and said "Nonsense.  You're at home, and you
can dress any way you like." They ushered us in.  There were no hugs this
time, but a round of handshakes that seemed a little tense and forced. 
Susan led Sabrina into the living room, while Micky sidled up an nudged me
with her hip.  She grinned and mouthed the word "WOW!" silently.  I
grinned, somewhat sheepishly.  I didn't think conversation was going to
take off this time, and it didn't, really, until Sabrina asked if she could
see the nursery.  We straggled toward the second bedroom, and I saw that
the floor was covered with a tarp.  Three walls had geometric like designs
penciled on them, parts of which were filled with paint that was pastel
pink, yellow, blue, white and a little of something I'd call violet.  The
remaining wall had a mural on it, green and brown vegetation at the bottom,
with a brilliant blue sky and fluffy white clouds above.  Arching through
the sky was a rainbow.  Directly under the rainbow were a pair of cradles.
"Oh!" gasped Sabrina.  "This is going to be BEAUTIFUL!" Susan looked at the
floor.  "We're not very good, but we have a lot of ideas, and we want the
room to be bright and cheery." Sabrina bent over to look at the vegetation.
"This is wonderful work.  Where did you learn to do that?" she asked. 
Micky laughed.  "Bob Ross, on TV, believe it or not.  The whole thing was
done with a regular paint brush." Sabrina stood up grinning.  "I LOVE Bob
Ross!" she said.  "I just love to watch him make something out of nothing.
I've always wanted to try it, but never took the time." She pointed to an
area that was blank, and which was long and slanting.  "What's going
there?" she asked.  Susan sighed.  "There's supposed to be a stream there,
but neither of us knows how to paint that." Within ten minutes it was like
I wasn't even in the room.  Eventually Susan turned around and saw me. 
"Bob, honey, would you please go see if the roast is done?  It should be
tender enough to pick apart with a fork." I cringed at her characterization
of me as "honey", but Sabrina didn't seem to notice.  She was deep in
conversation with Micky about mobiles that would be hanging from the
ceiling.  I checked on the roast.  It had been done for a while, and looked
like something I might have tried to cook.  Still, it wasn't burned.  I
took it out of the oven.  The potatoes were still simmering in a pot on the
stove.  They were done, so I took them out and mashed them, adding a little
milk and seasoning it to my own tastes.  I was feeling a bit neglected, I
think.  I opened a couple of cans of green beans and put them in the
microwave, and then made gravy out of the drippings in the roast pan.  My
gravy isn't all that good, but I needed something to do.  Finally, though,
it was ready, and getting cold, so I went and called to the women to come
to supper.  They chattered all the way down the hall, and kept it up during
supper.  It was almost like I wasn't even there.  I did get a nod from
Susan.  "Thanks for taking care of dinner," she said, chewing industriously
on the somewhat dry roast.  "You're handy to have around in more than one
way." Everything stopped as she blushed and covered her face with both
hands.  Sabrina broke the tension.  "He IS nice to have around...  isn't
he?" Then they chattered on about the nursery, talking about this and that
until I just wanted to scream.  When Sabrina offered to come over the next
day and help them paint I felt a mixture of elation...  and a little
jealousy, I think.  There WERE hugs all around when we left, and two more
of my babies got pressed against Sabrina's flat abdomen. 
=====================================================================
Sabrina was effusive.  As soon as we got in the car she said "I LIKE them!"
sounding a little surprised.  She was quiet for a few minutes as I got
things moving.  By now, it was just habit to go back to her house.  Every
time I'd introduced her to one of the...  odd...  couples, I'd gotten
treated to some fantastic loving, and I just assumed we'd do the same
tonight.  "It's a good thing I met you before I met them," said Sabrina.  I
shot her a look and she looked out the window.  Not before I saw the little
smile on her face, though.  When we got there, she started disrobing right
in the living room.  "I've never thought about making love with another
woman," she said, posing for me, Bernice and Rhonda gorgeously staring at
me.  "I wonder what it feels like?" I manhandled her to the couch and sat
her down, leaning her back and spreading her legs as she giggled.  Then I
dove between her legs and did my best to convince her that I could lick her
pussy better than anybody else on the planet, male OR female.  Later, as I
got ready to socket my iron hard prick in her pussy, she gripped it, aiming
it.  "I could never do without this, though." I pushed, trying to get the
tip of my prick between Bernice and Rhonda.  "Ohhhhhhh yessssss," she
moaned.  "I could never do without that."
===================================================================== It
was Gertie's wedding that did me in.  Of course that depends on how you
define "being done in." It took place about three months after I'd met
Sabrina, and the invitation was sent to her, instead of me.  It said both
of us were invited.  It was a fairly small affair.  They were just now
expanding their contacts and meeting new people.  The thing that made it
nice was that everyone there really wanted to be there.  I had no idea that
they made wedding dresses designed just for pregnant women.  Gertie was
"about half done", as Hiram put it, grinning.  He walked her down the aisle
and gave her away, which was more than just symbolic, in this particular
wedding.  Sabrina cried, and her hug for Gertie in the reception line was a
long one.  We were sitting at a table, and just happened to be alone at the
time.  Our table mates were all up dancing.  Sabrina was radiant, her hair
done up on top of her head, in whorls of auburn that glinted red in the
bright lights of the hall.  She had worn a dress that, had I not known her,
would have staggered me with the amount of cleavage it showed.  There were
probably a lot of very unhappy wives around us.  Today she was the
princess, and it showed.  "I haven't been to a wedding in years and years,"
she sighed, looking around.  "Weddings always make me happy." "It doesn't
cause...  pain?" I asked.  She looked at me seriously.  "A little, I
guess," she admitted.  "But my wedding day was the happiest day of my life.
I was just a girl, but it was like I was in a fairy tale.  I loved every
second of it.  I still miss him.  I'll always miss him.  But I have that
memory, and this brought it back." I smiled at her.  "I'm glad then," I
said.  Something almost wistful came into her eyes.  She stared at me a for
a few seconds, and I sank deep into those gold-flecked eyes.  "I have you
to thank for this, in a way," she said.  "I wouldn't have met Gertie, and I
wouldn't be here right now, having such a good time, if it hadn't been for
you." "Aw, shucks," I quipped.  "It weren't nothing." "Yes it WAS," she
corrected me instantly.  "And Gertie wouldn't be here either if it weren't
for you.  She's insanely happy, just like I was, and it really was you who
brought this about, Bob." Her wistful look turned to something else... 
something I wanted to perceive as respect.  "You're a mover and a shaker,
Bob.  You might not be powerful and rich, but you shake things up, and you
move people in ways that are life-changing sometimes." "I'm just a guy," I
objected.  Being put on a pedestal means you can fall off that pedestal. 
"You're unique," she said.  "Yeah," I quipped again.  "I'm unique...  just
like everybody else." "You're the only man I love," she said softly.  "That
makes you unique to me." She glanced away, and then back to me.  "Do you
want to dance?" For the first time, her casual admission of love for me
entered my ears in a way that was somehow different than it had ever been
in the past.  This time, when she said she loved me, it just sounded right.
It sounded real...  and it sounded like something I might actually deserve.
I felt something deep inside me begin to expand.  I can't describe it, but
it was impossible to control, or keep in.  If I hadn't know what it was, I
might have thought I was having a heart attack.  But I did know what it
was. It was a concept...  one that I hadn't believed was really possible,
but now I knew was ordained by fate.  That concept demanded to come to
fruition, and it swelled inside me until the only thing I could do was give
voice to it before it just killed me.  "No." The word just popped out of my
mouth.  She had stood, assuming I would say "Of course I want to dance."
She looked startled, her eyebrows rising.  She looked so beautiful I felt
faint.  "What I'd really like to do is marry you." Those words also burst
out of my mouth without conscious thought.  I couldn't have kept them in
with duct tape.  And the oddest part of it was that, as soon as those words
left my mouth, the terror I had always felt at the mere thought of speaking
those words was completely absent.  I was sitting, and she was standing,
but I still felt ten feet tall.  She held out her hand.  Her smile left me
breathless.  "Today is Gertie's day.  Today we dance.  Then I'll marry
you." ===================================================================
I'm not too clear on the next ten or fifteen minutes.  I think she sort of
held me up as we swayed back and forth in a slow dance that didn't depend
at all on the music being played.  My face was turned sideways, my chin
resting on Bernice.  Her cheek was pressed to the side of my head.  I'm
sure we looked ridiculous, but I don't think either of us cared.  It might
have been Gertie's day, but those ten or fifteen minutes were ours, as it
soaked into my bones that the Amazon warrior princess had said she would
accept me as her prince.  I woke up completely after the ten or fifteen
minutes because of something she said.  "I'm so glad you asked me before I
had to tell you I'm pregnant."
===================================================================== I
know I should have expected it.  She had even alluded to the fact that our
lovemaking was taking place without protection.  But the same thing that
had kept trying to tell me that the Amazon warrior princess could never be
mine, also kept whispering that I wasn't man enough to make a woman like
her pregnant.  It just couldn't happen.  I had made Tanya pregnant.  I had
a pretty good claim on the baby that was so lovingly displayed by Gertie's
custom-fit wedding gown.  I liked to think I had made Jane pregnant.  I had
impregnated Micky and Susan, and it was a real tossup whether Kathy was
going to have Randy's or my child.  I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt,
that, because of my Master's Project, I was going to be a father.  But none
of that prepared me for the feeling as Sabrina whispered that one little
sentence.  So I hyperventilated, and sagged to the floor, despite the
Amazon warrior princess' best efforts to keep me vertical.  It caused a
scene, of course, and people gathered all around as I blinked up at them
and gasped.  Sabrina reassured them that I was just "a little faint" and
that I'd be fine.  A couple of guys helped me up and sat me down.  Gertie
and her groom showed up, looking concerned and Sabrina whispered in her
ear. Gertie lit up, but Sabrina shushed her.  "This is your day." Then she
grinned.  "But you're invited." "When?" asked Gertie.  I looked on in
amazement as Sabrina calmly gave her a date, as if the whole thing had been
planned all along.  "I knew he'd come around before then," said Sabrina
confidently.  I recuperated, and actually danced with Gertie and Mildred.
It's not easy to dance with a pregnant woman, by the way.  Gertie pushed
our baby against me firmly, and thanked me for "everything".  "You did the
right thing, Bob," she said.  "You're lucky to have Sabrina."
=================================================================== Our own
wedding was a reunion, of sorts.  My list of invitees would have only been
fifteen or twenty people, almost all from the university community except
for one thing.  I included all the couples I'd interviewed.  The interviews
had, after all, been about marriage.  Sabrina's list was longer, but not by
much.  She had family, which I wasn't used to having, and she had met a lot
of people in her volunteer work and had invited some of them.  Randy was my
best man, of course, and Ralph and Ted, my advisor, stood with me. 
Somewhat to my chagrin, my sister, Kathy was the maid of honor, and Micky
and Susan stood with her and Sabrina.  The four of them were practically
inseparable these last few months.  Micky and Susan were ecstatic to have
straight friends and all four of them teamed up to work on the nursery. 
Then they went on to design and decorate two more.  What that meant was
there was a line of pregnant women waiting for a pregnant bride.  Sabrina's
gown had also been cut to accentuate, rather than hide, the gentle swell of
new life in her body.  It almost looked like Sabrina was walking toward
what she would look like in a few months, and then a few months after that.
In the congregation was Lizzie, who was pregnant again after Todd's
successful operation.  John and Jane also came, which added another woman,
great with child, to the throng.  Mildred had started up a catering
business, and we were one of her first customers, which meant the caterers
looked like they had swallowed watermelons whole.  To say it was a thought
provoking would be like saying the Great Pyramid of Giza is just a tomb. 
It was a sensation.  Of course most of the people present had no idea who
was responsible for all those swollen bellies.  They had some clue about
Sabrina, of course, but most of the older guests just smiled and nodded,
seeing life going on and reminding them of earlier years in their own
lives. Tanya, recently delivered, brought her baby boy, named Christopher,
after Ralph's father.  Sabrina cradled the infant against her own swelling
belly and peered intently into its face.  "You're a handsome young man,"
she cooed.  "Maybe mine will be handsome too." She and Tanya grinned
conspiratorially.  Tanya took back the child, which had discovered Bernice
and Rhonda and was trying to do what was natural for babies.  Tanya simply
sat down and nursed little Christopher as if she were alone in her home. 
There WAS, as it turned out, one very suspicious guest, though.  Fran came
with Ted, of course, and during the reception she got in line to dance with
me.  She pressed herself against me firmly as we started dancing, and put
her face beside mine so her lips were right by my ear.  "I did some
checking around," she said softly.  "It seems all these pregnant women had
something to do with your project.  Your new bride too.  I talked to all of
them." "Uh huh," I said blithely.  I was too happy to sense the suspicion
in her voice.  "I thought you were interviewing older couples," she probed.
"Some of them turned out to be younger, I guess," I said.  "And all of them
got pregnant after you interviewed them," she went on.  "Who'd have thought
it?" I asked.  "All those women think you're the best thing since sliced
bread," she murmured.  "Hey, I'm just a guy." I tried my usual line on her.
"Those two over there," she nudged me and turned me.  Micky and Susan were
laughingly trying to dance around their bellies.  "Those wouldn't be the
women you were asking me about...  would they?" "Frannie," I chided. 
"You're not asking me to break confidentiality, are you?" "And THEY'RE
pregnant too!" she hissed.  The dance music finally ended.  I was ready for
it to end by then.  I liked Fran, but she was getting way too close to the
truth.  She didn't let me go right away, though.  Instead she stepped back,
still holding my forearms in her hands.  "And to think I was foolish enough
to flirt with you," she said, her eyes twinkling.  "Frannie!" I said,
trying to sound shocked.  "I'm a married man, now!" "Well THAT's a good
thing," she laughed.  "I feel like I just barely escaped being run over by
a truck." "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said, with as much
dignity as I could.  Fran was a sharp cookie.  I was saved by Sabrina
coming up to us.  Or at least I thought I was.  "May I have my husband
back?" asked Sabrina sweetly.  Fran laughed.  "I was just telling him that
when I flirted with him all these years I had no idea he was so dangerous."
Sabrina caressed her swollen abdomen with both hands.  "It's good you found
out in time," she said, the sweetness almost dripping from her voice.  I
had never heard Sabrina use that voice that women have, that says one
thing, and almost shouts something else, and it shocked me.  Then she
whirled off with me to dance.  While we were doing that she told me she was
glad I was graduating, because she didn't like the idea of me being around
Fran any more.  "Tanya, and Micky and Susan needed you," she whispered in
my ear as she caressed me with the three parts of her body that stuck out
the most.  "And I even understand Kathy...  but that woman has her own man.
She doesn't need you Bob." I was smart enough not to say anything.  I just
danced. 
====================================================================
Epilogue There was something that went on at the wedding that I knew
nothing about until later.  Rachel came with her parents, and spent the day
going from one pregnant woman to the next, asking for and receiving
permission to caress each swollen belly.  She also spent a lot of time with
Tanya and Christopher.  No one had told Sabrina that Rachel wanted me for
her birthday.  To be honest, we all thought it was a phase she would soon
grow out of.  Apparently, it really IS true that a woman never forgets her
first.  Rachel plopped down beside Sabrina while I was dancing with Martha,
who was elated, as she said it, that she didn't have to oil up Fred's old
double barreled shotgun, now that I had done the smartest thing in my life.
While that was happening, Rachel calmly announced that her birthday was in
five months.  Then SHE informed Sabrina that there was a "prior claim", as
she put it, on me, and asked Sabrina if she would still honor that claim.
It was audacious in the extreme, and something I never would have even
dreamed might happen.  Sabrina, though, saw or heard something in Rachel's
young voice that she sensed was quite serious.  As they talked, she found
out that, after we had visited them, Todd and Lizzie had called Rachel's
'birthday present' off, and had offered to let her date as a substitute. 
She turned them down flat, saying that she'd forgo the dating, insisting
that she wanted me to make love with her again.  Then Lizzie told her she'd
have to get Sabrina's permission.  Lizzie, of course, assumed her daughter
would never think of doing that, and that Rachel would eventually forget me
and grab at the chance to go out with boys.  The REASON Sabrina told me all
this, so long after it happened, was that an invitation to Rachel's
fifteenth birthday party showed up in our mail box, addressed to me.  "What
am I supposed to do?" I asked, goggling at my bride, who was now bulging
like she had a basketball under her shirt.  Sabrina sighed.  "She's just
such a sweet girl." "That doesn't tell me what I'm supposed to do," I
complained.  "I'm a married man now." "Did you promise her she could have
you for her birthday?" asked my wife.  "Well...  I don't remember exactly,"
I said uncertainly.  "I mean it was kind of a joke...  you know?" "She
doesn't think it was a joke," said my wife.  "The way I was brought up, a
promise is a promise." Sabrina completely ignored the fact that I hadn't
validated "the promise".  I stared at her.  In the five months we had been
married, I had made hot, passionate love to the Amazon warrior princess,
frequently, and hadn't even thought about any other woman.  When you're
with a woman like Sabrina, that's just the deal.  You're also too tired if
Sabrina is involved.  "You can't be serious," I choked.  "That would be
cheating!" "You had sex with married women before," said Sabrina
maddeningly.  "You cheated with them then." "But I wasn't married then," I
said.  "I couldn't have cheated on you then, because I didn't even know you
existed!" "If I gave you permission, it wouldn't be cheating," she said
simply.  "This is crazy!" I moaned.  "You're not going to tell me I can go
out and do that!" "Is it any crazier than what you did with Tanya, or
Lizzie, or Micky, or ANY of the rest of them, Bob?" she drove on.  "I
believe you told me they had 'odd life styles'.  Wasn't that what you
called it?" "Are you actually telling me you WANT me to go have sex with
Rachel on her birthday?" I croaked, my voice breaking.  "All I'm saying,
darling, is that she's a sweet, sweet girl, who has given up what most
girls want, to be able to have a special birthday with the man who made her
a woman." Being a woman, she didn't actually answer the question.  It
wasn't fair.  Had she asked a question, it would have been something like
"Does this make me look fat?" You know, one of those questions you can't
answer, because if you tell the truth you're in big trouble, and if you lie
she somehow knows it, and you're still in big trouble.  But, let ME ask a
question...  a simple one at that...  and one that I actually WANTED an
honest answer to, regardless of what that answer was, and...  nothing.  No
guidance.  No permission, or lack thereof.  Apparently, it was all up to me
whether I went to Rachel's birthday party, and what would happen there. 
Now you know why men go crazy when there's a woman in their lives.  It sort
of sounded like she might be telling me that she wouldn't throw me out if
I...  did...  something.  By the same token, if I did...  something...  it
might cause the coaster car to come off the tracks.  Rather than have a
mental breakdown, I held up my hand.  "I need to think," I said.  "Please
go be beautiful and desirable somewhere else for a little while." Sabrina
kissed me, and smiled a smile I had no idea what meant, and toddled off to
the kitchen.  She turned and spoke over her lovely shoulder.  "By the way,
I can't go to her party.  I'll be busy that night over at the women's
shelter.  I believe I have phone duty from five to midnight." I was trained
in psychology.  I retreated to the realm of the unknowable, to ponder the
unsolvable. 
================================================================ If you've
ever watched TV, or been to an action adventure movie, you have watched,
often with glee, as some bad person was blown away, or dropped from a tall
building, or whatever.  If you had a date with you, she may have clapped
when it happened.  I remember, in college, a foreign film was screened.  It
was called "The Bad Seed" and it had subtitles in English.  It was also in
black and white, so you'd have thought nobody would hang around to the
finish.  It was about a girl, maybe eight or ten, blond, cute, adorable in
every way, except for the little fact that she killed people.  She killed
them without mercy, and in horrible ways.  She...  was the bad seed.  In
the end, as I recall, she was on a pier, sticking out into a pond or
something like that.  When she was struck by lightning, six hundred voices
rose in exultation from the audience.  The place went absolutely crazy as
people jumped up and danced.  The bad seed had gotten what she deserved. 
Now, take your date out on the street.  It is pitifully simple to find a
bad seed in any city you choose to name.  Maybe this bad seed doesn't kill
people in gruesome ways, but still, they are wasting perfectly good air
just by breathing it.  If you spent any effort at all, you could find one.
You KNOW that is true.  Point one out to your date.  "See there?  That, my
darling is a bad seed!  Quick, get me my pistol out of the glove box!  I'm
going to rid the world of this malodorous evil-doer." Do you think she'll
hand you the pistol?  Do you think your best friend would?  Not a chance.
They'd all be horrified by the idea of you doing what actually needed to be
done to make the world a better place.  On the other hand, imagine reading
in the paper how the same person was killed, maybe by an "unknown
assailant", or a victim, who fought back when the bad seed was trying to do
something horrible to him.  Most people would nod sagely and say "Got what
he deserved!" You see, we all know what should and should not happen.  Call
it conscience if you want to.  And we all know that predators should be
dealt with, so the rest of us are safer.  But nobody wants to be the one to
do it, or facilitate someone else doing it.  That's what the law is for,
right?  We sanction that activity if it's done by those we hire to do it,
or by someone who is defending themselves.  Now, knowing that, turn it
around to something nice, and pleasant and happy, like a fifteen year old
girl wanting something that isn't sanctioned by society.  All she wants is
one particular penis to be driven deep inside her, where it will spurt
dangerous sperm while she has an orgasm.  She's a dear, sweet girl, who
wants this one little slice of happiness, and has given up much to get it.
Most people can't just say out loud that she deserves that happiness, and
the wouldn't think of doing it themselves, or sanction their mate providing
the penis that would make it all happen.  And...  there is no beaurocracy
whose mission it is to service the needs of horny young girls.  On the
other hand, if the girl was happy, and you didn't actually KNOW who had
made her happy, how upset would you be?  Thinking about all that resulted
in me having an epiphany about my lovely wife.  She liked Rachel, and
wanted Rachel to be happy.  She thought Rachel deserved to be happy on her
birthday.  But she couldn't just say that.  She couldn't just say "Bob, I
think you ought to go over there and ring her bell...  just fuck her socks
off!" That just isn't done...  isn't proper.  But what she didn't KNOW
about...  what she didn't actually sanction, or officially approve of... 
well, that was a different matter entirely.  Maybe.  She had given me all
sorts of hints that, if Rachel was somehow made happy, she wouldn't mind
all that much.  Maybe. 
=============================================================== That night,
in bed, I cuddled up to my sunshine, resting a hand on thin covering of
skin between me and the baby I would actually get to raise.  "I love you,"
I said.  She stopped reading and rolled her head.  Those gold-flecked blue
eyes gazed into mine.  "I know that," she said.  "But you're a very good
boy for telling me again anyway." "I love you more than I can remember
loving anyone in my whole life," I said.  "And you are the center of my
universe," she responded.  "I want to be with you forever," I said,
stroking her belly.  "You'll have to be with me forever if I'm going to
have those dozens of perfect babies you promised me." she smiled.  "I
believe I said you deserved them.  That's different than promising to knock
you up dozens of times." "You have brought great happiness to my life,
Bob," she said seriously.  "You're very good at doing that.  It's one of
your strengths.  You have a talent for making other people happy too." That
was about as close to permission as I was going to get. 
============================================================ On the night
of Rachel's party, I was sitting in the living room, leafing through a
magazine.  I had on jeans and a T shirt, like I usually do...  like I was
going to stay in all night.  I hadn't said a word about the party.  Sabrina
came over and bent over me, her lips close to mine, as she was on her way
out to go 'man' the phones.  "I love you darling," she said, kissing me
with soft, warm lips." Her nose wrinkled.  She stood back up, putting her
hand in her back.  Just before she went out the door, she blew me another
kiss and spoke.  "Tell Rachel happy birthday for me."
============================================================= I did, too. I
reminded Rachel at least three or four times that her present was actually
from Sabrina.  She was appropriately, and very vocally, thankful. 
============================================================== I was in bed
when Sabrina got home.  She opened the door and peered at the bed in the
darkened room.  I was awake, and moved, to let her know I was there.  When
she slid into bed, naked, she moved immediately to cuddle.  "I missed you,"
I said.  Her hand went to find my manhood, and she found it strong and
tall, the way she liked it.  "Good boy," she murmured, as she climbed on
top of me. 
================================================================ She never
asked what happened with Rachel.  I got the impression Rachel expressed her
thankfulness to Sabrina, but Sabrina never actually said anything about it.
Babies were born, and all of them were, thankfully, healthy and happy in
their new homes, all over town.  The members of the impromptu club met,
occasionally, and babies were compared.  Everyone, of course, thought hers
was the best looking, or most well behaved, or easiest to take care of.  I
had gone back to school, to pursue a doctorate, and I came home one evening
to find a note on the fridge.  It said: "Out late tonight.  Mandy is over
at Tanya's.  While you're there, she might need some help with something.
Love you." Mandy is our daughter, by the way.  Sabrina's stylized "S" was
placed beneath the note.  I went over to the house of the couple who were
now two of our best friends.  Mandy and Christopher were both toddling now,
and Christopher loved chasing after his half sister, not that he knew they
were related.  Ralph was crawling around on the floor, playing horsy. 
"Tanya's in the bedroom," he said, nodding his horsy head and whinnying. 
The toddlers screamed their delight.  Tanya WAS in the bedroom.  She was
under the covers, reading.  She flipped the covers back to reveal her more
mature, but still beautiful naked body.  "I'm ready for number two, Bob,"
she purred.  "You talked to Sabrina?" I asked.  "That's on a need to know
basis, and you don't need to know," she said, holding her arms out to me.
================================================================ Sabrina
reminded me, from time to time, that I was neglecting my other children. 
Most often, the reminder was about Micky and Susan.  I was sent,
occasionally, to "do a sleepover to interact with the children".  Of
course, the children went to sleep around eight or nine.  There were, it
turned out, others in the house who wanted to...  interact...  with me. 
Micky and Susan never said they got permission.  All they ever said was
that they loved Sabrina, and that what we did in their house stayed in
their house. 
================================================================== We saw
Kent and Lisa every other month or so, and they converted Sabrina to part
time nudism, like me.  It happened while she was pregnant again, and she
was nervous about it, thinking that her "big fat belly would look
ridiculous naked." She was disabused of that notion quickly.  Nudism was
all we did with them, though.  It was something that amazed her, once she
got the hang of it.  There were two more of Rachel's birthdays, before she
skipped one and then invited us to her own wedding.  Like it was some kind
of tradition or something, she walked down the aisle pregnant.  She and
Sabrina compared bellies.  Rachel was proud to claim that hers was a little
bigger.  Tanya got the children she wanted.  It turned out that one apiece
was enough for Micky and Susan.  All those times we "tried" and failed
seemed pretty suspicious after a while, but I didn't say anything.  I was
being sent there, after all.  I became "Uncle Bob" to the children who
lived in other houses.  That wasn't so bad, because I had about half of a
basketball team calling me Daddy at home by then.  There eventually came a
time when the only woman in my life was Sabrina.  You know the interesting
thing?  I actually liked it a lot better that way. 
============================================================ The paper got
published, and it caused quite a bit of discussion.  Of course there was no
hard, fast evidence to support my conclusions, but Ted said I laid out a
convincing argument that looking alike was, at minimum, a strong indication
that a marriage was strong, and would last.  There was only one problem. 
Psychology review published the paper, and when they learned I had gotten
married, they asked for something I just couldn't give them...  A
picture... to go with the article...  of my wife and I standing, side by
side.  The End
   


  
the_masters_sabrina