
THE MEASURE OF MAN

An Epic by Gil Gamesh

Chapter Twenty-Two

 As for you, Gilgamesh, fill your belly with good things; day and night, night and day, dance and be merry, feast and rejoice. Let your clothes be fresh, bathe yourself in water, cherish the little child that holds your hand, and make your wife happy in your embrace; for this too is the measure of man.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS:
Kieran Stuart, 40 in story; Siobhan Stuart, 39 in story, 20 in flashback; Kavan Stuart, 13; Arial Stuart, 11 (and ½); Kerry Stuart, 7 (almost 8)

Andel Alesandro Tomaro, 21 in flashback

TELLING THE STORY:
Kieran Stuart, Siobhan Stuart

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(KIERAN)

I called Siobhan about mid-afternoon on Friday to tell her I was coming home from work early. She listened patiently while I complained of being hot and sweaty, angry and depressed, having a pounding headache, and generally feeling miserable.

“Don’t bring any work home for the weekend, Kieran,” she advised. “If you can do that, your family can take care of anything else. Hurry home.”

A few minutes later I was out the door, briefcase and laptop computer still in my office. Twenty minutes later I drove into our garage and, surprise, found that there were no bicycles left in the way where I parked.

When I climbed the stairs to the kitchen, the blinds were all closed against the afternoon heat and light. The overhead fans were turning quietly and all the lights were soft and low. I could hear some of my favorite music playing softly in the background, an orchestral rendition of some of Puccini’s opera music. I hung my coat on a hook behind the door.

Siobhan and the kids were all sitting on barstools around the kitchen counter, naked as usual in the summer, drinking what looked like lemonade. I looked at the empty stool and saw a big glass in front of it with two pills.

“No beer? I said, wondering why my favorite hot weather drink had been replaced.

“No, Dad,” Arial said, “You’ve got two extra-strength acetaminophen for your headache. You can’t have alcohol with headache medication.”

“Give us all a kiss, Kieran,” Siobhan said. “We’ve got everything ready in our bedroom to take care of your problems.”

That made me raise my eyebrows and I looked at her questioningly. She only smiled at me.

I hugged Siobhan and gave her a brief kiss on the mouth. She pulled my head against hers and I stood for a moment breathing in her smell and luxuriating in the feel of her hair against my face.

I hugged Kerry and reached around and patted him on the butt. “How’s your beautiful little butt, Kerry?”

His butt was a standing joke between us. “Just fine, Dad, wanna kiss it?” 

I was used to his quick retorts but this was a new one. “Sure.” I grabbed him in my arms, manhandled him until his rear was in front of my face, and planted fart-sounding kisses on each cheek. 

“Damn, Kerry,” Kavan said, “Dad doesn’t want your farts in his face.” 

That started all of them to giggling and I found myself smiling in spite of the way I felt.

I grabbed Kavan, still on the bar stool, hugged him, and reached down and gave his penis a quick pull. “Been exercising it today, Kavan?” I asked.

“Just a couple of times so far, Dad,” he answered with a big grin.

And last I pulled my beautiful angel, my princess, Arial into my arms. I could feel her budding breasts against my chest and her long legs against mine. I stood still, holding her for a minute, wondering why girls always smelled so much better than boys.

I sat down, threw the two pills in my mouth, and took a long drink of the lemonade. It was perfect, just the way I liked, with its blend of lemony tartness and sugary sweetness. I drained the glass and looked around at my family.

Siobhan and Arial held out their hands to me. Kavan took my coat off the hook and folded it neatly over his arm. My wife and daughter led me down the hall to the bedroom. Again the blinds were drawn, the room was dim, and the bed was freshly made with clean sheets.

Siobhan stopped me at the foot of the bed and removed my tie and then started unbuttoning my shirt. Arial loosened my belt and unzipped my pants. Kavan and Kerry knelt and untied my shoes. I put a hand on Kavan’s head for balance and they pulled off my shoes and socks. Siobhan pulled my shirt off while Arial pulled my pants down and off, then did the same with my boxer shorts. 

“Kavan’s going to shine your shoes so they’ll be ready Monday,” Siobhan said. “Arial’s going to check your suit for spots. As sweaty as you smell, I think it’ll need cleaning. Kerry’s going to hang up your tie and belt and put your dirty clothes in the laundry. But right now, we’ve got something else for you. Kerry, would you get them out of the freezer?”

Kerry ran from the room with his usual run-skip-hop and gave us one more exhibition of his beautiful little butt. He was back in seconds with a plastic pan. I looked in it and saw it was full of washcloths.

Siobhan handed one to each of the kids, unfolded hers, and then covered my face with it. It was a cold washcloth. She started gently wiping my face and I felt two kids raise my arms and start wiping my armpits with two more. I felt still another on my back. I thought that if this wasn’t heaven, it was close to it.

When Siobhan moved down and started wiping my neck and shoulders, I stood with my eyes closed, close to tears that my family loved me enough to welcome me home like this. Evidently they had more than a single cloth each because I felt some newly-fresh and cold ones on my skin as they moved lower. 

I opened my eyes and looked around. Siobhan in front. Arial and Kerry on the sides. Kavan behind. Kavan wiped up between my ass cheeks with a cold cloth and I shivered involuntarily. 

“Thanks, Kavan, haven’t had my ass wiped by anybody else in almost forty years.” 

“You’re welcome, Dad. I love you. I don’t mind.”

Siobhan enveloped my cock and balls in another cold cloth and held them for a few seconds. I shivered again. I looked at Arial and Kerry and noticed that they were watching what their mother was doing. 

“Careful, Mom,” Kerry said, “you’ll masturbate Dad’s headache.”

I puzzled over that one. “Kerry, I think the word you wanted to use was exacerbate, not masturbate. Exasturbate, I mean exacerbate, means to make something worse.”

“That’s a good word, Dad, but doesn’t masturbate make it better,” he replied, and then gave me a big Kerry grin, tickled at his own quick wit. I couldn’t disagree with him.

When they finally got down to my feet, I was pushed down in a chair and my legs put up on a hassock. Siobhan got a bottle of alcohol out of the plastic pan and poured a little on each of the kid’s cloths. Don’t ever think an alcohol bath on hot tired feet is not a memorable experience.

Siobhan pulled me to my feet and led me to the bed. She lay down first and held out her arms to me. When I crawled on the bed to her, she moved my pillow downward so that it was near her breasts. When I put my head down, she pulled me to her, guided one of her breasts to my mouth, and wrapped her hands around my head. I wondered if the kids were still watching when I opened my mouth and started sucking gently on her nipple. I didn’t really care if they were.

I felt someone crawling on the bed behind me and, from the hair rubbing against me, I knew it was Arial. She spooned up against my butt and wrapped one arm around me. I felt the buds of her breasts press against my back and she threw one leg over mine.

“Arial,” I mumbled, “do you know that there’s one thing that will always turn a man’s stomach?”

“No, Dad, what’s that?”

“A pair of stiff titties poking him in the back.”

“Oh, Dad, I don’t have titties yet. Mine are just bee stings. I wish they were titties.”

“Yeah, well it doesn’t work anyway if he’s got another pair in front of him. And one of those is in his mouth.”

“Mom, sometimes when we have time, will you tell me why men like our titties – our breasts – the way they do?”

In an inspired flash of humor, I said, “It just proves that a teat in the mouth is worth two in the back.”

“Oh, you men!” Arial giggled and left the room, I knew, to tell her brothers what I had said.

Kerry came in next and snuggled up against my butt. “Dad, I like it when you spoon up to me and I can play with Mom’s breasts. I feel like you both love me. Do you feel the same way when you’re in the middle?”

“I do, Kerry, but quit poking me with your dick.”

“Dad, I’m not poking you. First it was Arial’s tits and now it’s my dick. You got poking on the brain today?”

He remained still about as long as he was capable, about two minutes, and then bounded out of the room. I wondered what the three would plot next. After a few minutes, I heard the microwave oven signal that time was up. I couldn’t imagine.

Kavan came in next and walked around beside the bed, behind me. “Dad, can I have a turn? It’s been a long time since I got to spoon up against you or Mom.

I grunted in the affirmative, to keep from talking with a mouth full.

He crawled on the bed and stretched out behind me. “Arial and Kerry said you’ve got poking on the brain. Are you going to poke Mom? If you are, I’ll leave and close the door for you.”

“No, Kavan, I haven’t made any plans to poke your mother. Tomorrow night I’ll see if I can get my weekly poke.”

“Bullshit, Dad, I know it’s more than that because I see your door shut and I hear you when you both start coming. You’re a little noisy, sometimes.”

“You listen to us, Kavan?” his mother asked.

“Mom, I can’t help but hear you sometimes. I like to hear you because it helps me understand what it’s like to love somebody like you two do. Sometimes it gives me a hard-on and I jack off. But there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“No, Kavan, there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s a lot right about you.”

“Even my sense of humor, Dad?”

“I love your sense of humor, Kavan. You got that from me, I think.”

“That’s good, Dad, ‘cause Arial and Kerry wanted me to poke you.”

“WHAT THE HELL?” I yelled out as I felt something smooth and rounded and long and warm and slippery slide between my thighs just behind my balls. I turned toward Kavan but he was already off the bed. Whatever it was, it was still there.

“Relax, Dad, it’s just a cucumber. I warmed it the microwave and buttered it and used it to give you a poke. What’ja think it was?”

Later that evening, the kids served us a dinner of sandwiches and a mixed-fruit salad and iced tea on the deck. We sat around and talked until the light was all gone. As we were getting ready for bed, Siobhan said to me, “Describe Kavan.” I had to think for a minute or so until I realized that my heart knew the words. “A rock to stand on, a chain to hold. Solid, substantial, dependable, trustworthy. Broad shoulders to carry. The child I trust with my soul. My man for all seasons.” She smiled at me and nodded agreement.

I went to bed with my wife, sated with love, satisfied without sex, delirious with happiness, and slept the sleep of a contented man.

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(SIOBHAN)

	After his morning coffee, Kieran was in the best of moods all day on Saturday. Our Friday night cure for his problems had turned a grouch into a loving husband and father. I even forgave him for getting into a watermelon seed-spitting contest with the kids in the backyard. 

We curled up in bed together early that night, giving the kids permission to do whatever they wished until they wanted to go to bed. I guessed they’d try to stay up until midnight and Kieran would then have to carry them to their own beds.

Kieran started begging me for a story. Another college-caper, as he called it. Back in the days when I was burning up the campus like Sherman did to Atlanta. I’m sure he didn’t get such a hot story when I told him about Ales. 

His name was Andel Alesandro Tomaro. His friends called him Ales, not ales, as in beers, but A-les, two syllables. He was every young girl’s dream of a Prince Charming. He was a mixture of American and European, born American while his ambassador-father was serving in the United States, European from his childhood and education in elite schools in different countries. He spoke a mixture of British and American English, was fluent in French and Italian and conversationally adept in Spanish. And he told me when I first met him that he hoped we would be friends.

He was slightly over six-feet tall, slender, beautifully proportioned, and, as I found out, quite muscular under his always-elegant clothes. He was handsome, as all Prince Charmings are. His face was chiseled in its angles but smooth in his high forehead and cheeks. His eyes were dream-like, always changing in different lights; his eyelashes long and thick, fitting for the sensuous looks he bestowed on his admirers. His mouth was a perfect bow with full red lips, provoking dreams of long lingering kisses.

I was sophomore in summer school that year, to be a junior that fall, taking a course in European culture and history. The professor dropped a bombshell at the beginning of class one Monday. Ales’ father was coordinating an exhibit of religious cultural artifacts from central European countries. The exhibit was to be hosted by the museum in the city where I attended college. Our professor had been asked to find students who could be hired as exhibit guides. Were we interested? Every hand in the class went up. Of course, none of us knew then that the ambassador’s son would be involved.

The ambassador, his wife, and son were visiting the city in July to finalize plans for the exhibit. There was to be a black-tie dinner and dance in their honor in recognition of their generosity. Anyone in our class interested in being a guide was invited but they had to provide their own tuxedo or evening gown and transportation. We would also be invited to an informal party, hosted by the ambassador’s son the following week. The ambassador’s son would stay with the exhibit until the end of the year. He would make the final decision on hiring of guides. Any students in the class could study the preparatory material for the exhibit for extra class credit. That was certain to garner an A since the professor was notoriously easy on grading. Any student not initially chosen might later be called to be an occasional backup guide or even replacement. In the student union later, the entire class decided to become experts on European cultural artifacts.

I threw caution to the winds and sought out the best for the formal reception dinner. In a shop specializing in old but elegant clothing, I found a regal but simple long gown, an antique ivory dream trimmed with old lace. When the woman who ran the shop heard my description of the occasion, she found an antique shawl in her own private collection. Its color was so close to the gown that we could see no difference. The jewel of the shawl was an image of a red rose, worked into the shawl in the 1800’s, so perfect that the image was the same on both sides of the material. The color of the rose was an almost perfect match for my hair. The shop owner became so engrossed in the project that she even called her hairdresser and they spent hours together, planning how to cut my hair and how to complete my presentation. 

My college friends volunteered to be coachmen/women and to provide an appropriate pumpkin to get me to the ball. One of my best friends coaxed her boyfriend to act as chauffeur and to borrow his dad’s Mercedes. I was a princess when we drove up at the entrance to the hotel – a nervous and slightly scared princess. But I supposed that would be normal even for royalty.

I didn’t trip going in. When I gave my name at the ballroom, I was announced to the waiting reception line: the ambassador, his wife, and Ales. I thought the ambassador would never release my hand; his gaze lingered too long on the tops of my breasts and his wife politely coughed. She gave me a welcoming smile, leaned forward, and suggested that I spend an equal amount of time with A-les. For a cultured and sophisticated European, I was surprised when he too had difficulty looking at my face. As had been suggested to me, I let the shawl slide off my shoulders. Ales easily beat his father in retrieving it.

The dinner seating was pre-arranged but I noted the looks I received from Ales at his table, as well as those from most of the males present. When dancing started, he was the first one to request a dance with me. While we were dancing, he held me close enough so that my cheek was against his – and my breasts pressed against him too. He asked my name again and then my telephone number. And he said that he hoped I’d understand that he had to dance with most of the women present, even his mother. I didn’t lack for dance partners for the rest of the night.

The informal affair was a picnic under the trees on campus. I decided to display different assets this time so I went in shorts and sandals, knit shirt, an ivory-colored ribbon in my hair. Ales led me through the serving line and then ate with me. 

“I thought American girls were supposed to be shallow, all ‘kinda like’ and ‘you know’ with blank minds and bad manners, big butts and bad hair. No one warned me of someone like you.”

“And I thought central European men all wore black leather, had pierced noses and spiked hair, and smoked vile-smelling cigarettes.”

“That’s my brother,” he joked. “Would you please come to dinner at my apartment with my parents the night before they leave?”

And that’s how it all began.

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It turned out that Ales was staying for a year and would be attending classes at the University to help him learn more about our country. He was unburdened by the need to earn a particular degree and was free to take any courses he chose – with the consent of his father and mother.

Between my classes, studying, and working as an exhibit guide, I was hard pressed for free time. Ales always seemed to occupy that time. It might be breakfast one day, lunch another, and then dinner on occasion. I introduced him to beer and barbeque; he helped me with French cuisine and wine. I tried to explain football; he tried to explain soccer. I loved every minute of it. The one exception was that Ales seemed reluctant to demonstrate any real affection for me. I always got an air kiss on each cheek whenever we met. He held my hand when we walked. He gave me a hug and more cheek kisses when he took me back to my dorm room.

He seemed to genuinely welcome me to his apartment. My dorm room was tiny, lived in by two girls, and looked like it. His apartment was spacious, beautifully decorated in elegant simplicity, and always clean. I later found out he had a cleaning lady two mornings every week.

Still he kept his distance. I loved his company, his sophistication, his knowledge of different cultures and music and wine. He was surprised that I’d traveled in Europe with my family. When he learned I’d spent a summer in Greece, he told me about his summer there. We agreed we both loved the people and culture but hated ouzo.

That all changed one late-Fall Saturday afternoon. I went to his apartment dressed in Jeans and sweatshirt and, surprise, found he was wearing the jeans and college sweatshirt I had bought for him. He started to give me his usual perfunctory kiss and misjudged by a fraction of an inch. When he started for the other cheek, his nose bumped mine and his lips brushed mine. He never made it to the other cheek. He stared – gazed deeply, I suppose – into my eyes then brought his lips back to mine.

When I felt his lips and then just the tip of his tongue, I opened to him. In seconds, he had one hand on each side of my face and I was drowning in a sea of red lust. For all his reserve and culture, he revealed an ardent mastery of kissing. I think my nipples were erect and my panties wet before anything else happened.

I don’t remember who undressed whom, whether we did it individually or for each other or where we did it. I do know I picked up my clothes in a trail from the front door to the bedroom. But that was hours later.

At some point he picked me up and then laid me down on the bed. He walked the few steps to the window and closed the blinds against the afternoon sun. I loved the way his rear looked on the way going and the way his cock bounced up and down on the way back. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking at me, a look of near worship on his face. When I held up my arms to him, he said, “Wait, please,” and continued looking at me. 

I had no way of knowing what sort of lover he would be. He lay down on the bed, half over me, and started kissing me again. Kissing was one art form he had perfected. I was beginning to think I would never tire of it but I wanted more than just kisses. When he sought out my breast with one hand, I was ready – eager – for more than kisses. Too shortly, his lips left mine and his hand moved down between my legs. He was equally adept at bestowing his kisses, lips and tongue on my nipple and breast. His finger slowly insinuated itself between my vaginal lips and very, very gently explored me. I opened my legs wider, hungry for his touch.

Miscommunication. Either I sent a signal too soon or he misinterpreted it. He quickly moved over me, between my outstretched legs, held his cock in one hand and probed with the head between my vaginal lips. I was already slick with my lubrication but I wanted to protest that I wasn’t ready, that I wasn’t as receptive as I wanted to be. But he was blind, literally and figuratively, his face buried in my hair, his consciousness already lost to his hunger. He pushed into me, with no pain on my part, but with a sense that said his cock wasn’t quite welcome. As with every woman, I wanted him on my terms; he took me on his.

But credit should be given where credit is due. He was as good at fucking as he was at kissing. His cock was gloriously filling and he knew now to use it. Use it, he did. We stayed in the basic missionary position but he knew every variation of that and, I think, he even invented a few new ones. If he’d been cutting wood, I suppose he used his crosscut saw, his keyhole, his jigsaw, and his rip saw. Finally, I realized I seemed no closer to coming than I had been thirty minutes or more ago. The only bad part was that he also seemed no closer either and I was feeling a little irritation deep inside.

I realized I had to take matters into my own hands so I pulled his mouth back to mine, began to tongue-fuck him, and sunk my fingernails into his ass cheeks. Very quickly after that, he gave one last uncoordinated series of thrusts and collapsed on top of me. I was sore, unsatisfied, and tired.

We lay side by side, breathing heavily, hardly touching for minutes. Finally, he stood up, smiled at me, went in the bathroom, and shut the door. I closed my eyes, very close to tears, and listened to the water running in the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, he came out, wiping his hands on a towel. I looked at his crotch and could easily tell from his wet pubic hair and clean cock that he had cleaned off any signs of our coupling.

He stood at the foot of the bed again, his cock still engorged but limp now, looking down at me. I could feel something drooling out of my cunt and downward toward my ass cheeks. I could almost see a frown in his lowered eyebrows.

“I think you need to use the bathroom now, don’t you?” he said, frowning slightly at me.

I rolled off the bed without a word, went in the bathroom, and shut the door – loudly. I peed and was still pissed off. I found a cloth and washed myself and was still pissed off. I still didn’t feel clean and fresh so I got in the shower. When I got out and dried off, I was still pissed off. I brushed my hair angrily, determined to leave some red hair in his hairbrush. I took one or two deep breaths and put my hand on the doorknob. I tried to leave my pissed-off attitude behind.

When I opened the door, he was asleep on the bed.

I stood watching him, angry, puzzled, pissed, dumbfounded, and a host of other emotions. I looked for my clothes and started to round them up but I finally decided that he might simply be inexperienced or lacking in knowledge to satisfy a new lover. I decided to be considerate and give him one more chance. I stretched out on the bed beside him, untouching, untouched, and went to sleep.

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When I woke up later, the sun was still shining. The bedroom was dim but the adjoining room, his living room, was bright with sun streaming in. I went looking for him and found him wrapped in a beautiful burgundy robe and sitting on the sofa. He had glasses on his face and he was quietly reading a book.

He put the book down and looked up at me smiling.

“You are so beautiful,” he said.

I felt a small decrease in my anger and waited for him to continue.

“I’ve been so afraid of you,” he said. “I couldn’t imagine that a woman as beautiful as you would want me to love her. That first night, when I saw you in that gown, with the rose on that shawl, I felt something grab me inside. I don’t know what it is. It’s something I’ve never felt before.”

“I thought you’d have been experienced with all sorts of beautiful women in Europe. Most women would consider you a very rare catch.”

“There’ve been a few girls. We played. But you’re different; you’re a woman. I don’t know what to do.”

If it was a line, it was a damn good one. I felt my heart melting again. Inexperience? Perhaps. Could he learn to be a good lover? Perhaps. Did I want to teach him? I honestly didn’t know. I had thought he’d be teaching me.

He continued to watch me and I saw his hand slip inside his robe. I watched the furtive moments, wondering why he was reluctant to open his robe.

“Open your robe,” I whispered.

“No, please, I don’t want you to see me. I’m not beautiful like you are.”

I was dumbfounded again. “Where’d you ever get that idea? You’re every woman’s dream of a handsome prince. Why do you think a woman wouldn’t want to look at you?"

He was silent for a minute or two, evidently thinking. “I’ve always felt that way. My earliest nanny used to bathe me and then scold me when I got an erection. An American girl put her hand on me when I was about fifteen. I came in her hand and she said, “Gross,” and tried to shake it off her fingers. The only other girls have wanted to do it in the dark so they didn’t have to look at me.”

“Ales, you shouldn’t be that way. Could we start over? And please listen to me, not to other girls or women.”

He looked at me, evidently still unsure of what he should do and whether he should let me lead him.

“Ales, open your robe. Put your hand on your cock and hold it for me. Show it to me. If you want to love me, you’ve got to be proud of your own body. It’s beautiful to me.”

He did as I asked. I watched, hoping that we could make everything better.

I looked at him, trying my best to reassure him by my smile that he was beautiful and that I wanted to see him.

I led him back in the bedroom and, this time, pushed him down on his back. I crawled on the bed, partially over him and sought his lips with mine. Again, he was an ardent, skilled, loving kisser; no woman could have wanted more. I reached down and tried to take his cock in my hand. He seemed to pull away from me and I gently insisted that I wanted to touch him, to feel his cock and balls. When I won the battle, I found that it had lost some of his stiffness, if not some of its size. I stroked it slowly, feeling the skin move easily up and down his shaft. He was uncircumcised, like most European men. His cock seemed to gradually resume its hard upright stance. I held it, kissing him, and pulled his hand against my breast.

We lay quietly, kissing, holding, caressing. He seemed slow to take the initiative so I did. I left his mouth and moved downward to his cock. He gasped and tried to pull away when I took the head in my mouth. The next second, his body betrayed his mind and he tried to shove it down my throat.

“Please, Ales,” I said, “try to relax. Let me love you. I want to, to please me, and then to please you.”

“But you’re not supposed to do that. Nobody’s ever done that with me before.”

“Did you like it, Ales?” He nodded. “I like doing it to you.”

I crawled between his legs and held his cock upright with one hand, supporting my weight with the other. I took the head of his cock in my mouth and started sucking, looking up into his eyes and watching his reaction.

 He kept his eyes focused on mine and on my mouth on his cock. I waited for some sign of pleasure, some indication that he was enjoying what I was doing. His face remained almost impassive. Finally, he began thrusting upward, gently, just slightly rocking his hips. His hand reached downward toward my face. I placed my hand in his and he held it as I continued to suck his cock.

“Please stop,” he whispered, “or I’ll come. I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

I made no sign that I had heard him.

“Please, Siobhan, you must stop.”

His tone of voice made me stop. I looked up at him again, trying to understand.

“I don’t want to come in your mouth,” Ales said. “I want to come inside you, where it’s proper.”

I forced a smile onto my face and moved up over him until I was straddling his hips. I lowered myself onto him so that his cock was pressed against his stomach. I rocked my pelvis back and forth, feeling my moisture transferring from my vagina to the under-shaft of his penis. I rode him, slowly, sensuously. He watched intently, his red lips rounded into an O.

I knew we were both wet enough. I reached down, held his cock up right, and found the head of it with my vaginal lips. I slid down just slightly, up, then down more, up, and then down until he was enclosed entirely inside me. As he reached my depths I threw my head back in closed-eyes ecstasy and ground my pelvic bone against his, my pubic hair against his.

He sat up suddenly, wrapped his arms around me, and twisted around, throwing me down on the bed. Without ever loosing our connection, he spread-eagled my thighs and started pounding into me. I put my arms around his chest, thought “Oh, shit,” and wrapped my legs around his ass. Quicker this time, much too quick, he rammed into me as hard as he could. I felt his shuddering contractions and knew he’d come inside me where it was proper. I hadn’t even been close. Seconds later, he rolled off me onto his back. He put one hand, palm upward over his face, hiding his eyes.

“Would you like to bathe first this time, Siobhan?”

Siobhan bathed first. She also picked up her clothes while he was in the bathroom and was dressed when he came out. She gave him a couple of quick air kisses on each cheek, drove herself home, and spent the afternoon crying.

Late that night, I realized he had said nothing to me about birth control. I knew it was a good thing I was on the pill.

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(KIERAN)

“Enough, Siobhan, please, that’s enough for tonight. You don’t need to finish your story.”

“I want to finish it, Kieran. I want you to understand why I was reluctant to get involved with you. You were my second Prince Charming. You were everything he was and more. Outwardly my first was every Cinderella’s dream; inwardly, he was a psychiatrist’s nightmare. I wanted to love him. I wanted him to love me. I should have known that first afternoon together that it was impossible.”

“It’s not impossible for me to love you. I wish I could take my heart in my hand and give it to you. So you’d know how much I love you.”

“Keep your heart inside, Kieran. I already know it’s mine. But could I borrow your cock for tonight?’

I smiled at her and lowered my face to hers. Her hand held me behind my neck and pulled me against her until I thought I’d bruise her lips. She opened her mouth to me and teased me with her tongue. When I teased back, she sucked my tongue into her mouth with strength and hunger. I wondered if she was remembering her need to be loved by Ales, a need he never satisfied.

I settled into our same-old, always-new, never-boring routine. When she relinquished my mouth, I moved down to her breasts. I tried to remember the old Beatles’ song about strawberry fields forever but the lyrics escaped me. I wanted my mouth between her legs as much or more than I ever had. But I tried to be slow and patient, paying attention to all of the temptations on the way down between her legs.

When I finally arrived there, I found the lips to her vagina wet, almost dripping. It was no surprise since the fingers on my left hand were the culprits in stirring up the broth. When I pulled the lips apart slightly and ran my tongue up her, from as close to her puckered rear opening as I could reach, over her perineum, up between the open vaginal lips, finally to the hood over the hard bump of her clitoris, I heard a slow exhalation from her. Aaaaahhhh! I was home again.

I reached up with both arms and found her breasts with my hands and her nipples with my thumbs and fingers. She reached down and held her fingertips just on the sides of my face. In her own time, she came again, her fingers in my hair, trying to pull my face into her cunt.

I curled up beside her, my right leg over hers, my hand cupping her breast. My cock was still erect, pressed against her hip, but I was content and ready for sleep. She wasn’t.

“I want to suck you off, Kieran.”

“You don’t have to do that, Siobhan.”

“I know. But you didn’t come last night. Your balls must be full of sperm. I want to suck you off. I want you to come in my mouth. I want you to give me a big mouthful of your hot semen. I want to swallow it. I want to wake up tomorrow morning with the taste still in my mouth. Will you kiss me then?”

“I always do, don’t I?”

She had me straddle her, my knees on each side of her chest. She had me hold onto the headboard of the bed with both hands. I was leaning over her, my balls dangling below her chin, my cock above her face, chin to forehead. She shifted her position slightly, bent my cock down, and took it in her mouth. She held it with one hand and played with my balls with the other. I surrendered to her.

A minute or so later, I gave her a big mouthful of my hot semen. She held it, still sucking, until I felt emptied. She swallowed. I collapsed beside her.

We wrapped ourselves up in each other and rested in the cool and the quiet. I held her left breast in my right hand with her nipple trying to protrude between my two middle fingers.

“You asked me to describe Kavan. I’ve been thinking about Arial off and on today. Would you like to hear my description of her?” She nodded. “Soft fingers around my heart. Blue eyes and blonde hair and a cute little nose. A sweetness and caring that permits no further definition of love. If angels exist, she’s God’s model.

“She’s just a girl, Kieran.”

“She’s you, Siobhan. She’s me. And she’s so much just her own self.”

I went to sleep spooned up against her naked ass with my hand on her breast. I knew I was blessed to be a man in a world with women like Siobhan, my wife.

<><><>

On Sunday morning, I was awakened when Siobhan started moving to get out of bed. I grabbed her, gave her the kiss I had promised her the night before, and turned over and pulled the pillow over my head. 

 Sunday was a quiet and peaceful family day.

 Siobhan had coffee made when I wandered into the kitchen, still smelling of sex. She was already clean and smelling of herself and herbs and spices and flowers as usual. She let me have one cup of coffee before sending me to take a shower. When I returned, she put an onion bagel with cream cheese in front of me and another cup of coffee. She scrubbed a fresh peach for me and then cut it into eights, the way I liked it, and put that in front of me.

The kids came in next and she fixed them breakfast to order and then gave them their first fresh fruit for the day. For the rest of the morning, Siobhan and I read the paper, did the crossword puzzle, and let the kids do whatever they wanted to do. After lunch of leftovers, we all put on clothes and went for a walk down the hill to the creek bottom.

A couple of hours later, we climbed back up the hill, took off our clothes poolside, and played for an hour or so. I finally called the kids out and we went in through the basement for our usual shower. Afterwards we made sandwiches for supper. I went back to our bedroom, chose clothes for work on Monday, and then turned on the overhead fan and lay down on the bed. Siobhan came in a few minutes later, asked what I was doing, got “Nothing” in reply, and crawled in beside me. She put her head on my shoulder and I curled my arm around her. We didn’t need to talk; life was perfect.

After a little while, Kerry came in, crawled up in the bed, and wiggled himself between us. He put his hand on one of Siobhan’s breasts and his mouth on the other. I spooned up to his butt and watched what he was doing. He gave a big sigh of happiness or contentment; life was perfect.

Arial was next. She stood at the foot of the bed, watching us; her face was that of a beautiful angel, her body a forest nymph or sprite. I watched as her eyes misted up as they often did when she was emotionally happy. She curled up behind me and wrapped her arm around me. I waited, knowing that Kavan would soon show up. When he did, he grinned, said, “Ah, hah, fooling around again, aren’t you?”

When nobody said anything, he stretched out behind his mother, put one arm over her, pushed Kerry’s hand off her breast, and replaced it with his own. Life was perfect.

We all lay quietly, lost in our own thoughts, or without any need to think. Arial broke the lengthy silence.

“Dad, could we have another good talk tonight, you know, about love and sex and stuff like that?”

“Yes, Arial, what do you want to know?”

“Kavan and I’ve been talking. Kerry too, but I don’t think he understands that much yet. We’ve been reading that book you and Mom gave us, the good one with all the pictures of people doing stuff with each other.”

“Are you having trouble understanding some of it? I’ve told you I’d give you honest answers. You’ve got to get used to asking me honest questions.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Kavan came in, “we’ve been reading the chapters on cunnilingus and fellatio. Am I pronouncing them right?”

“Yes, Kavan, but it’s not important that you learn to pronounce them right. What is important is that you learn to do them right.”

“We read about how people do it. We looked at the pictures of them doing it. But we don’t understand why people want to do it. Arial tried it with Kerry and they didn’t understand why it’s such a big deal. She says she doesn’t want to do it with me because I come now. I tried to talk her into doing it with me. If I do want to do it, is it OK with you and Mom if Kerry and I do it with her?”

“You must ask Arial if it’s OK with her,” I said. “Don’t ever force yourself on her. There’s only one thing we don’t want you to do with your sister. You know what that is.

“Yeah, I know,” Kavan responded. “I’m not supposed to try to get my dick in her pussy. We don’t want another little Squirt.”

“Kavan, maybe there are some things you’re too young to understand,” Siobhan said. “The simple answer is that we love each other very much. I do it to Kieran because it gives him a lot of pleasure. He does it for me for the same reason.”

“But Mom,” Arial said, “Kavan comes now. I see the stuff that comes out of his dick and I don’t want that in my mouth. Does Dad do that in your mouth?”

“Yes, Arial,” she answered truthfully. “He comes in my mouth occasionally. Sometimes we do oral sex to get warmed up, what’s called foreplay. Most of the time, he comes in my vagina.”

“Well, if he comes in your mouth, whaddaya do with it?” Kerry wanted to know. He rolled over on his back and I looked down at his rigid three-inch hard-on.

“Your Dad ejaculates more than Kavan does, Kerry,” she answered. “Kavan’s body is just changing into a man’s. But most of the time, a man’s come – ejaculate, if you want the big term – the volume of it is only about a teaspoon. What did you do with that teaspoon of cough medicine I gave you last winter?”

“I swallowed it, ‘cause you told me to.”

Kavan gave me a big smile at that, Arial said “yuk,” and Kerry said “yeah, gross.”

“There’s nothing gross about it,” Siobhan insisted. “If you really love someone, there’s nothing gross about that person’s vaginal or seminal fluids. Your dad puts his mouth on my vagina and uses his tongue and lips to help me have orgasms. I take his penis in my mouth and help him. It’s not gross. You’ve seen me and your father kissing. You kids might call it French kissing or deep kissing. Is that gross?”

“No, Mom,” Arial said. “I like to watch you two do that. It makes me know you love each other. Kinda makes me get all hot down there.”

“We kiss each other the same way after we’ve had oral sex with each other,” Siobhan said. “There’s nothing gross about it. Kinda makes me get hot down there too.”

“Yeah, same goes for me,” the other of us two said.

“When was the last time you did it with each other? Arial asked.

Siobhan looked at me, questioningly, and I said, “Last night.”

“Really,” squealed Kavan, his voice cracking in the middle of the word. He rose up and I saw another rigid hard-on, at least twice as big as Kerry’s, sprouting from a sparse patch of red pubic hair.

“Neat,” said Kerry, “I wish we could have seen you two doing it. That’d be better than those dumb pictures any day.”

“Mom, Dad, could you do it again tonight?” Arial begged. “And let us watch?

“Yeah, Mom and Dad, please, that’d be neat,” said Kerry.

“Yeah, Mom and Dad, please, do it again, please,” Kavan begged. “We won’t bother you. We just want to watch. We’ll go to bed when you’re done and you two can sleep together.”

I smiled at the idea of our children giving us permission to sleep together. I looked at Siobhan and raised my eyebrows, asking if she wanted to let our three kids watch us.

The previous night was a dress rehearsal. On Sunday night, we put on the full performance, for an appreciative audience. I gave her a good licking and then sucked her little red pearl until she squealed. She showed them how she uses her hand and mouth in combination. She even swallowed when I came. I lay there with my eyes closed, waiting for my heart and breathing to slow down. 

When they left, I heard Kavan telling Arial something that sounded like “See, Arial, Mom looked like she enjoyed doing it with Dad. You could learn to like it.” 

I rose up and looked at three beautiful butts going out the door.  I think Arial said something about him learning to make her squeal like Mom did. I know I heard Kerry say he’d like to practice whenever she wanted to.” 

I looked over at Siobhan. She had her head on her pillow with a wild tangle of red hair. She had her eyes closed and was smiling like Mona Lisa.

(SIOBHAN)

On Monday night, Kieran asked me if I wanted to complete my story about Ales. I hesitated, unsure.

“You don’t have to, you know. If it’s hurting you, you can stop. If it ends painfully, just say so and we’ll forget all about it.”

“It hurt then, Kieran, but it didn’t end painfully. It just ended. I never understood why but it did.”

“You left off where you went back to your apartment and cried. I can understand why. Did Ales begin to understand and try to…what…love you, fuck you… whatever…, so that you were happy with him?”

“I don’t know. I’ll let you be the judge of that. Anyway, he called me on Monday and we talked. But not about what we had done. He called on Tuesday and we talked some more. He invited me to have lunch with him at the museum on Wednesday. I was surprised at that because he’d seemed reluctant to let others see our growing closeness.”

<><><>

We were eating lunch in the Museum cafeteria. Ales was talkative, bubbling over with fascinating glimpses of what his life in Europe had been like. At one point, he put his hand on the table, palm up, making some point. I put my hand on top of his. His fingers closed around my hand.

Suddenly he looked at me and then looked around at all the people in the cafeteria. I started to remove my hand but he held on to me. When I looked at him, I thought I could see a sudden reflection off tears in his eyes.

“Don’t pull away from me, Siobhan. Please understand. I’m not free to do whatever I want. If I were, I’d make you stand up on this table with me and I’d kiss you for the whole world to see. My father’s and mother’s grips aren’t easily loosened.”

Of course a mushy line like that was enough to warm a poor girl’s heart. I smiled and slowly eased my hand away.

On Saturday, I had guide duty at the Museum in the morning from nine to one. He called on Friday, asked me to have lunch with him, not at the Museum, but at an Italian restaurant he’d found. I couldn’t refuse. But I wondered what he had in store for Saturday afternoon.

The lunch was a special occasion – at least for me, perhaps ordinary for Ales. He surprised the restaurant staff with his easy use of Italian and soon we were receiving the very best of service. The restaurant owner even came out, carrying a bottle of something, with three glasses. He sat with us while he and Ales decided what we should have for lunch. We had to wait almost another hour before we were served and the restaurant was almost empty of other customers. I tried to hold back on the fresh bread and the herbed olive oil dip. The wait was well worth the time. 

In Ales’ car afterward, neither of us spoke. He darted smiling glances at me while he drove me wherever he wanted – back to his apartment.

Once inside, I took off my blue guide blazer. I loosened the top button on my cotton shirt and threw my hair back loosely over my shoulders. Ales watched when I reached down to the button on my skirt. I unbuttoned, slid the zipper part way down and stopped.

“I’m stuffed,” I said. “Do you mind if I get comfortable?”

He smiled at me, said excuse me, and went to the bathroom, shutting the door very quietly. But I could still hear him, drilling down into the toilet bowl like a fire hose. He lingered long enough afterward that I knew he had washed his hands.

“My turn,” I said, when he came out.

The seat on the commode was down. It was dry. The ultimate test. I thought perhaps Ales had some potential yet.

When I came out, Ales was in the bedroom, sitting on the foot of the bed. He was taking his shoes off. I watched as he pulled his socks off, stood up and pulled his pants off, carefully folded them and put them in the closet on a hanger. He was cute standing there in his white shirt and white briefs. When he took off the shirt, I decided it was my turn. I removed my shirt and skirt and tossed them on a chair. Ales watched fascinated as I reached behind to release my brassiere. He shook his head in mock puzzlement, wondering why the clasp was in the back. When my breasts spilled out, he opened his mouth and gasped.

I started to peel my panties down but he said, “Wait.” I watched as he removed his briefs and his cock quickly stood up in welcome to me. “Would you get on the bed, please? Let me look at you?”

I stretched out on the bed, stretched, as in cat, and let him watch. I kept my legs apart and his eyes locked on my white panties. He stood still for minutes, breathing deeply, looking at me. I could see his hard cock jerking involuntarily every few seconds.

Finally he crawled on the bed, up between my legs. He put his head on my stomach, face down, inhaled deeply, and then turned to one side. His hands began to move over me, sliding softly up to my shoulders, over my breasts, down along my sides, to my hips, and down my legs. Again and again. I began to think that, yes, there might be hope for Ales yet.

Eventually he moved lower, caught my legs one at a time, and lifted them on his back. He put his face down between my legs, his nose and mouth directly over my vagina. He breathed deeply, slowly, and then slid his hands up under my ass. He lifted me slightly and I turned my pelvis slightly to make myself more accessible to him. I felt his wet tongue licking upward on my wet panties. I wanted desperately for him to take my panties off.

Finally he did. When he had them off both legs, he put his head back on my stomach. His breath was uneven, as though he might be crying. I felt warm tears on my stomach and wondered what the hell was going on.

When he slowly, hesitantly, moved lower, I looked down and saw that his eyes were closed. “Look at me, please. Ales, please look at me.” He looked upward at my face first and then downward between my legs. I knew my lips there were open and wet. He finally put his mouth there and I put my head back on the pillow and shut my eyes. He was so tentative, so slow, so gentle, when I wanted him to lick me hard, to suck on me, to make me come.

He moved back up on my stomach and I felt his ragged breathing and sniffing. He stayed there for just a minute this time and then moved back down. This time, he seemed to lose all reluctance. He completely changed and started licking everything his mouth could find. He caught my vaginal lips between his teeth and mouth and pulled and then sucked. He probed as deeply into me as his tongue would reach. He almost rooted in me, as a pig might root for truffles. Eventually he found one. I held his head unmoving in my hands while he tongued and sucked my clit until I burst into a skyrocketing orgasm.

When I opened my eyes, Ales was on his hands and knees between my legs. If his tongue had been hanging out, I’d have patted him on the head and said good boy. His tail was wagging but it was pointing the wrong way, toward me. It wasn’t his tail, just joking.

He smiled and then left the bed and went to the bathroom. When he came back, his face was freshly washed and his hair was freshly combed. He gave me a quick kiss when I rolled off the bed and I could tell he’d also brushed his teeth. I took my bathroom turn, still trying to understand him.

When I came back, he was stretched out on the bed, cock still hard and pointing upward on his stomach. I curled up beside him, gave him a quick kiss, and put my hand on his cock.

“Ales, I’m going to give you a choice. It’s your turn now but I want you to do what I say. I’d like to give you a blow job,” he frowned at that, “I’d like to make love to you with my mouth the same way you just did. If you won’t let me do that, I want to get on top of you and make you come that way.”

He thought for a minute and I could see his brows tighten. “But why, Siobhan? I didn’t want to do that to you. But I did want to, I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to but I didn’t; does that make any sense?”

I couldn’t think of a good answer.

“And why do you want to have sex with me with you on top? Why can’t we do it the proper way, with me on top?”

“Ales, I’ll give you a third choice. I’ll get on my hands and knees and you can fuck me from behind.”

He looked at me with quick surprise and I wondered if he thought I’d meant in the Greek way.

“In my cunt, Ales, in my pussy, my vagina, not my anus.” I wondered why I hadn’t said asshole.

He finally made his choice. He wanted me to suck him off. I did. He came. I swallowed. He wouldn’t kiss me again until I got up and washed my face and brushed my teeth. Poor Ales. I knew he was hopeless.

After that I suppose he sensed my reluctance to meet with him. We had lunch two more times but I begged off on going to his apartment. I saw him a few times around the museum after that but he didn’t seem to see me. I resigned from my guide job the next week, begging off with the excuse that, with all my college study load, I didn’t have time. Poor Ales.

(KIERAN)

“You describe Ales so well in some ways. But it’s like there’s some part of him missing, some big emptiness, maybe something like a knot that can’t be untied. I guess that’s what I can’t understand.”

“I couldn’t understand it either, Kieran,” Siobhan said, “and perhaps emptiness is a good way to say it. Or maybe an empty enigma. I cried myself to sleep too many nights trying to understand. I had to tell him goodbye to keep myself whole. I knew I couldn’t be like him; I didn’t think he could be like me.”

“May I change the subject,” I asked. “I’ve tried to use words to describe two of our children. I dare you to try to do it with Kerry.”

She was silent for a few minutes. Kerry was an enigma too, not an empty one but one bursting with life and love.

“Joy, laughter. A beautiful body, an enigmatic mind, a rapier wit, a never-ending delight, a bouncing hop-skip-jump, an eternal boy. Something about love, about how he gives it so freely.”

“Not bad. I’d add something else like – the miracle our love created.”

Poor Ales. Why did he end up as Poor Ales? How did I get to be rich, very rich, Kieran? Siobhan, Kavan, Arial, Kerry. No man could be richer.

It was getting late. We both had to be up at our regular time for work and school tomorrow. But I knew I couldn’t let my wife go to sleep without showing her how much I loved her.

She had pulled the sheet over us when she started the second part of her story about Ales. I kicked it down to the foot of the bed and moved up on top of her, my thighs between her widespread legs. My cock was hard, drooling again, pinned between our stomachs. I wanted to travel the old, always-new, journey I’d traversed so many times before. I started with gentle kisses, nips and smacks, licks and brushes, evolving slowly into open mouth tongue sucking and fucking. 

In time, I moved down to her breasts, wishing that the lights were on so that I could see with my eyes what I was feeling with my mouth.

In time again, I moved downward on her, pausing at her navel, still a taut upright oval of an indentation, before finally heading, yes, heading, toward my goal. She held me gently by my ears while I licked her to gentle ripples of coming, like pebbles dropped in a pond, and finally to a splash of orgasm, like a boulder dropped from a cliff. 

I moved back up to her mouth again, my mouth redolent of her vagina, and kissed her slowly and gently. Poor Ales.

When she started moving her body against mine, I pulled her over on top of me. She ground her pelvis against mine until I reached down, held my cock upright, and she slowly slid down its length. She moved onto her knees, leaning back impaled on my cock, and began to move up and down. Her hands were on my chest. I knew this was as proper as any way we could join together. I reached for her breasts and felt the tangle of her hair on my arms. She came again, a wrenching orgasm that made me wonder if she could possibly snap my cock off at the root. Poor Ales.

I waited again, knowing she would signal me when she was ready. Without a word, she started rolling over on her back. I held her and we completed the move, still connected. I started slowly as always, savoring her flesh on mine, and quickly lost consciousness of anything except our coupling. When I felt the first twinges of urgency, I simply let my body do what it wanted to do – pour out my semen at the entrance to her womb. 

Poor, poor Ales. Rich, wonderfully-rich Kieran.


TO BE CONTINUED:
