Country Cousins

[EasyRory]

Chapter One - Marlee​

“Marlee Martha Willis Perry,” I scolded myself, “You can't go on denying things. That son of yours, Willis … There's something about that boy … His sister, Emmalene, totally different … For twins, even non-identical twins, you'd think ...” Luna interrupted.

Luna Smith Smith, my bestie since boarding school, was born a Smith and married another. Frankness has been the hallmark of our friendship. She practically shouted at me, “Marlee, get that boy away from Tommy Lynn! You'll have the whole party talking!”

Tommy Lynn wasn't really Willis's uncle, we just called him that. Tommy was my husband Fairfax's business partner and our nearest neighbor. In fact we had carved out fifteen acres from the farm so Tommy could build a house that doubled as the partnership's office nearby. In addition to being a successful investment banker and a dear family friend, he was also just about the best barbecue cook in the county.

Following Luna's direction I glanced through the crowd and saw the reason for her hysteria. Willis was standing at Tommy's side taking instruction in the art of barbecuing. Which was fine I guess; God knows his father couldn't teach him a thing about cooking. The not so fine part was especially shocking since Tommy and Willis were both wearing blue shirts. Dressed almost alike, they looked like twins. You had to look closely to detect the age difference.

“Marlee, people will be talking, I'm telling you … Don't say I didn't ...” Luna walked back into the crowd waving her hands in the air making her jewelry jangle as I followed.

“Willis, sweet boy, could you do me a favor and watch the young ones at the pool? I knew I should have hired a life guard for the day. Thanks so much, honey. Tommy, that ox looks good enough to eat.”

“Thank you, Marlee.” Tommy bowed at the compliment. “You must be proud of Will and Emma. After one year at college, they are just as good at hosting a party as you and Fairfax. ...”

“Well, that's over,” Luna hissed. “You should have those two's DNA tested. Probably Emmalene, too.”

“What are you accusing me of?” Luna's eyebrows answered for her, soaring upward. I tried to dismiss her comment. “I swear, Luna-tic, you continue to earn your nickname.”

She hated being called Lunatic, but with her first name it was unavoidable. My problem was she was right; even the most casual glance showed the resemblance. Except that I KNOW I never had sex with Tommy, and I sure didn't believe in anything supernatural, I would worry myself. Once Luna had even suggested that Tommy must have slipped me a ruffie and done the deed without me knowing a thing. Well, that was absurd. A girl knows when she has been fucked; she may not know who, but she knows.

And Tommy wouldn't have. I know he wouldn't have. Tommy Lynn dated, shall we say, older women, women who just wanted a necktie to take them any place but bed. The bald truth is Tommy is gay. He told me himself in order to get me to stop trying to marry him off. His secret was safe with me. I never even told Luna and I tell her everything.

Which, of course, didn't solve a thing. Luna was right. The resemblance was astonishing and undeniable. People probably were talking already. I had to do something if only for my own reassurance.

“Fair,” I said to my husband when the party was over, “we need to talk ...” That was too portentous an opening. I should have been more subtle. He tried everything to divert me.

“Marlee Martha, I have to say that was the best afternoon you have ever done. Everybody was full of praise, I got two deals done for IPO's; and nobody drank too much. How do you manage so much.”

He knows how to flatter me. “Well, I made the drinks sweet so nobody wanted a third one. But, on a different subject, Fair, I got some comments about Tommy and Will's looks.”

“Oh, shit. Here we go with another Luna-fantasy.” He sipped his not-sweet-at-all bourbon hoping the subject would go away. I had to be careful or his next action would be to yawn and go to bed.

“No, it wasn't just Luna. Well, it was, but I could see it, too. And they both were wearing blue button-downs … The resemblance was enough to make a bishop blush. You know I never ...”

“Of course not,” Fair said dismissing any question of infidelity.

“Well, it wouldn't hurt to have a little testing done would it? There's a new head of the lab over at Rockingham Community ... Supposed to be a real charmer by the way ... His name is Refo FitzJohn and he's looking for new lines of business … He could do some DNA testing ...”

“Oh my God, Marlee! Did Luna put you up to this?” Fair smiled genially but there was an edge to his voice that meant irritation.

I didn't push it. We went to bed and made love. Fairfax, after twenty years of marriage, remained a very attentive husband. After it was over, I looked at him in the dim light entering the room. I could see Emmalene's profile in him, the way their chins curved, the bit of a prominence to their brows. Where the fuck did Willis come from?

Without opening his eyes, Fair advised, “Quit thinking about it, Marlee. Get some sleep, we're invited into town tomorrow night.”

He was right. I took a deep breath and relaxed; sleep followed. The smell of semen always has that effect on me.

The next morning, of course, I gathered some samples representing Fair, Willis, and Emmalene and slipped them into small envelopes. A hike over to Tommy's empty house got me a fourth sample from his bathroom. I left him a bottle of wine with a note, “Thanks for being the best chef in Faquier County!” to explain any telltale evidence of my presence.

On the way back from Rockingham Community Luna squirmed, “Isn't he cute? I wonder where the name Refo came from. And the price wasn't bad at all. Just a hundred something ...”

“A hundred something each ...” I corrected.

“He's gay, of course. All the cute ones are ...”

“Who?”

“Refo, dummie. Are you paying attention? He looks nice in trousers, don't you think? They way they emphasize … in a subtle way, of course …” She heaved a sigh. “I bet he's got a nice one.”

“Lunatic, that's exactly what you are.”

“Well, how about his ass then?” Luna persisted. We both giggled.

A week later when the cute, gay chief of laboratory services gave me the DNA test results there were no giggles. I wasn't especially gracious when I invited Tommy for drinks. And I was deadly serious when the three of us sat down.

“Gentlemen, I have some DNA test results that say Fairfax Perry is Emmalene's father and Thomas Lynn is Willis's father. Just how do we explain that?” I drank down a healthy slug of a vodka martini and tried not to spoil the effect of my question by choking. I waved the test results in front of them. Utter silence. A very long silence and some fidgeting followed.

“Well ...” Fair began and then stopped.

Tommy reached for the results and began to read them.

“Marlee ...” Fair tried and failed again.

“Somebody needs to start talking,” I demanded pouring more of the elegantly clear white liquid into my glass and watched it bead with condensation in the summer humidity.

“Fair, we've got to tell her,” Tommy said as he looked up from the reports.

“Maybe the results are wrong,” Fair attempted.

“You know they're not,” Tommy answered. “Do you want to tell her or should I?”

“Let's all have another drink first. This isn't going to be easy.” Fairfax poured a healthy tumbler full of brown whiskey into his glass and drank about half.

“Fairfax and I have known each other forever, you know,” Tommy began.

“Second cousins. I get it. Keep going.” I tapped a fingernail on my glass.

“Tommy,” Fair choked out.

“Third cousins,” Tommy corrected me. “The night Fair made you pregnant with Emmalene, right before he went to bed with you … he had been to bed with me … And I believe … that is … I've noticed how much Will looks like me, too, you know … I believe my semen in Tommy somehow got into you … It's the only explanation.”

“Im-fucking-possible,” Fair exclaimed but offered no alternative.

“It's the only explanation,” Tommy said, staring into his drink.

“You two are queers?” I asked.

“Not really” and “Yes” came from the two of them. I'm not sure which one gave which answer.

It may have been the vodka talking, I don't know, but I said, “Tommy, we had an affair. That's going to be our story. Nobody would believe anything else. You will back me up. Is that clear?” I sounded fierce even to myself. I left no room for negotiation. “We're having left-over barbecue. Get your asses into the dining room. We're telling the twins.”

“About the queer part?” Fairfax bleated.

“That is up to you,” I decided and said so. When I watched the two of them embrace, I reached two conclusions. First, I concluded that Fairfax got fucked a lot in their relationship. Second, I knew my life had changed irrevocably; but I knew that the minute I read the DNA results. Women can have nice lives in a variety of circumstances these days. Especially rich women. Especially semi-hot rich women. Change didn't have to be bad. At the moment I felt only a coldness, but I knew it would pass.

 

[EasyRory]

This could either be Chapter One or it could be its own one-off little story.

 

[Craiger]

Very intriguing, Rory. Keep it going. We have to find out how the little swimmers got introduced.... Besides, how will Willis react to all this?

Craiger

 

[rocabar]

Love it! Thanks, Rory ;-)

 

[DonQuixote]

I'm liking it - but I didn't know you'd posted it - you didn't come tell me, lol.

I don't get out much.

 

[EasyRory]

Ok, we'll try chapter two ...

 

[DonQuixote]

Sounds good to me . . .

 

[Autolycus]

Good news indeed - there will be more - Rory says so!

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Two – Willis


“Six forty-five … Saturday, I can sleep in …” Willis thought. “Or … it feels so good just to lie here … and maybe … mmm, yeah … just the feel of the sheet … the way it's lying on my dick … I don't even need to touch anything … yeah, but playing with my balls would be ok … if I shove my boxers down … mmm … a big handful of nuts … amazing the way my ball sack contracts as my dick expands … I could touch it a little, I guess … mmm … God damn, dicks are such awesome things … if I shove the sheet away … yeah, there you are, baby … look at that thing grow … the way the foreskin pulls back it looks like it's smiling at me ...”

I chuckled to myself and gave in to temptation. After a few strokes I held my full erection so it pointed straight up from my body. I began slowly stroking. “It's a nice size … not too big and not too small … mmm … and super responsive … and if I play with my balls … ahhh, so good ...”

“Willis, get up; I want to … Oh, for God's sake! Are you playing with that little thing again?”

My sister! “Emma … you could knock ...” I grabbed for the sheet to cover up and watched her avert her eyes and walk to the window.

“I want to go to the mall and I want you to drive me. We could pick up Roy, too.”

I grabbed my boxers and made a dash for the bathroom.

“You do have a cute butt; I gotta give you that, brother.” She paused watching me disappear into the bathroom. “So, ok? We go soon? Like by eight at least? I want to be there when the doors open, ahead of the crowd.”

I let the sound of the shower drown her out and hoped she would be gone before I was done in the bathroom. She felt it was perfectly ok to hold a normal conversation while I was naked, which was weird because I had not been allowed into her room in years. My erection was slowly subsiding. A big house, my own room. You'd think I could masturbate in peace once in a while, but it was unbelievable how few opportunities I actually got. I glanced down and watched the last of my engorgement waste away. She called it little. It wasn't. Well, it wasn't real little, maybe smaller than average, but I wasn't sure. Roy's was the only other dick I had ever seen all harded up. He was bigger than me, but not much. And we barely got to compare them. I never forgot that day. It was funny. We just lay them alongside each, other pointing into each other's bellies, when he reached down to align them. He barely touched me when I exploded all over him. I laughed out loud at the memory and let my soapy hands stroke my cock slowly as I washed it.

A bang on the door. “Willis, what are you DOING in there? Come on! I want to go!”

“Shut up and go away!” I told her. I deliberately took my time, dressed, and went down to the kitchen.

“Willis, don't use the term 'shut up' - not even with your sister. It's … common.”

“Mother ...” I dragged the word out. She actually heard me. I decided long ago that she had super hearing. She always knew everything.

“Your father has gone to town. It would be nice if you drove your sister to Tyson's. She needs a dress for the Little Season.”

“Which father would that be?”

“Don't be smart. Both of them, actually.”

“Could you call me Will? Willis sounds so … redneck.” Another campaign of mine, to get people to call me Will instead of Willis; unsuccessful so far.

“Haaaah.” Long sign from Mom. “We are rednecks – farmers - more or less. We just have more money than most of them.” She put a plate of eggs and ham and greens in front of me.

“First you don't want me being 'common', then you tell me I'm a redneck ...”

In exasperation she exclaimed, “Shut up, Willis, and eat your breakfast.” We both laughed; she's not a bad person. “I know 'the news' must have been a shock to you,” she added as a lagniappe.

That was putting it mildly. I knew I looked like Uncle Tommy, but I never really put two and two together. Emma had, however. When they told us, she just said, with more drama that a soap star, “At last ... the truth comes out.” Dad, er, Fairfax, that is, said to her, “Who writes your lines?” It defused the situation nicely. I supposed I should have been shattered or something, but I wasn't. I just had a little different sense of Uncle Tommy and Mom now.

That was a week ago and the five of us were more or less back to being normal. My parents, Mom and Fairfax, that is, had never been especially supervisory. They laid out the usual parental expectations and kind of nudged Emma and me in the direction they wanted us to take. It had been a reasonably successful approach to parenting. Our relationship seemed more explicitly collegial now, which was possibly because more people were involved in it now. One more, but it seemed like a lot.

“You call Emmalene Emma easy enough. What's so hard about calling me Will?”

“Easily enough,” Mom corrected. “Adverbs are the hallmark of a gentleman.” There was nothing said about calling me Will.

“Roy's ready,” Emma announced. “Hurry up and finish your breakfast, Will. Mom, ok if we use the big car?”

“The big car? How much are you planning to buy?”

“I like the smoked windows.”

On the way to pick up Roy, my oldest friend, I said to Emma, “Will! You actually called me Will. I'm getting through to somebody.”

“I have to be nicer to you now that you're only my half-brother.” I looked at her sharply. “Joking,” she said and changed the topic. “Eh, this morning … do you masturbate a lot? You boys are always talking about it like it goes with washing your hands.”

“Not so much, really.”

“Do you think about girls when you do it? That's what Roy told me he does.”

“What are you doing talking to Roy about masturbation?”

It occurred to me that I didn't think about anything outside of me when I masturbated. I kind of just thought about my dick and what I was feeling. Thinking about masturbating almost overrode Emma's answer. “What did you say?”

Emma repeated distinctly, “Roy and I are more than friends.” A confirmation came when we picked up Roy. He and Emma shared a special smile that didn't go with the breezy hellos they gave each other. He and my sister were …? A dozen euphemisms for fucking came to mind.

They chatted amiably while we drove the hour to Tyson's Corner, a mega-mall outside Washington, while I mostly just drove and adjusted to the idea that Roy and my sister were … doing whatever they were doing. Wow. A steady arrangement? Roy and Emma had just finished their Freshmen year at William and Mary. Fucking is what college kids do after all. Neither one of them seemed like a 'saving myself for marriage' type. So maybe they were … going to get engaged? No. That wasn't a real possibility. They were fucking - ok, of course, I get it, but …

That naturally led me to a mental review of my own sex life. I had fucked exactly two girls, and I remember every detail. The first one was a short girl, a little chubby, and vastly more experienced than my virgin self was. It bothers me that I can't remember her name – Bunny, Muffy, something like that. She had to help me put it in. “That was nice,” I told her when we were done. “I expected more,” was her answer. I can still remember how cold her fingers were on my dick. Nevertheless, physically everything worked as it was supposed to, for me anyway. I don't know if she got off or not. Which I guess means she didn't or I would have noticed. Ugh …

The second girl was an improvement. A big step up, really. It was last winter during Christmas break at a party. The 'young folks' were allowed to sip some champagne to celebrate the arrival of Miss Somebody or Other in society. Virginia still has debutante parties and they are taken seriously mostly by people like Mom and her friends. The parties are nice; but these days the white dresses are purely decorative; the girls have all gotten a head start. Alana was her name, which seemed very romantic after a couple of glasses. We did it in the bedroom of the girl who was having the party. It was pretty nice. Alana said she enjoyed it too. She wasn't out of her mind in ecstasy; but she was way more pleased than what's-her-name, the chubby one, had been.

With neither girl had I shared any sense of the closeness that Emma and Roy seemed to have. I had barely said a word during the drive and I don't think either one of them even noticed. I pulled off the exit for Tyson's Corner. “Ok, where are we going?”

“The Galleria,” Emma answered. “I want to go to Neiman's.” Roy groaned at the idea. “You two don't have to go with me. Just wander around and jack off or something.”

I blushed and Roy laughed. He touched her arm in an intimate way as we parted. “Let's go to Under Armor,” he said. “I need some bike shorts.”

“What do you think? Too … you know … ?” Roy asked after trying on a pair.

The compression shorts were white and semi-transparent. Pretty much all of Roy was on display. I got a fresh look reminder of the dick that was fucking my sister.

“Outstanding young man, you are supposed to be wearin' other shorts over those,” a salesman all but shouted out. The entire store knew what 'outstanding' referred to. “You go out like that, people be throwing money at you.” He laughed raucously. “I'm Arcuri,” he drawled, extending his hand without taking his eyes off Roy's bulging shorts. I noticed a couple of people try surreptitiously to have a look at the inspiration for the outburst. I blushed in embarrassment for Roy; but Roy couldn't have cared less.

“What do you recommend, Mr. Arcuri?” he responded, standing there on display.

“Just Arcuri, please. Ah-hem, I recommend about an hour at my place,” Arcuri answered, broadly waggling his eyebrows and pointedly eyeing Roy's crotch. Roy just laughed again. “Mmm, but seriously, if you like the way the compression shorts fit, and they are supposed to snug things up a bit, try these over them.” He handed Roy a pair of looser black shorts.

“What was that about?” I asked as we walked out of the store; Roy had bought both pairs of shorts. “The way he just stared … And you just stood there and ...”

“I kind of like showing off a little – a cheap thrill,” Roy said smiling.

“Showing off? You were ...”

“Just showing off. Nothing happened. Let's go meet Emma. She's probably tried on every dress they have by now.” Roy was unconcerned by his encounter with Arcuri; he even seemed a little charged up by it.

Fucking my sister, messing with a queer, what was going on with Roy? Roy noticed my frown.

“Chill, Will, before you come all over me again,” Roy laughed.

 

[EasyRory]

Thanks, Autolycus, for the edit help.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
Loving the new story. I can picture how he must have looked. I had a few pairs of C9 white compression undershorts several years ago- and why I wore the navy ones more, lol. Only, I really don't have the body he does.

 

[Craiger]

Interesting how well Will and the family have taken the explosive news. I guess adding one more to the mix doesn't hurt one bit. Seems Will, Emma and Roy each have different things on their minds. Of course Emma and Roy have one over Will.... Will better start catching up with his sister and friend. And is doesn't sound as though Will has any romantic ideas about girls, but can still get awed over Roy's showing off. Fun chapter, Rory, thanks.

Craiger

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Three – Luna


“Renee, I tell you, honey, that Perry house is a looney bin!”

“You sure you don't mean a Luna-bin?”

“I'm not making up a thing! I swear! In fact, there are some things I only suspect … but it will come out eventually. It will ALL come out.”

“Uh-huhhhhh. Well, sweetie, gotta dash. My carpenters are here.”

“Renee? Were you serious about the young one? What was his name?”

“Mike. I'm telling you, Luna, find some work that needs doin' and hire them tooout de suite! Oh! He's coming to the door! Bye.”

Renee and her fractured French – so phoney. That woman is hysterical. Literally. A hundred years ago women of her age got shock treatments and ice baths for their troubles. Still, look at that barn. It's almost impossible to open the big doors anymore. Not that we ever do. The idea of Forrest Smith going into the barn for something is a joke in itself. He barely makes it to the martini shaker when he gets home, wolfs his dinner down, and falls asleep watching the news. Still, I guess fixing the door would protect the resale value. Forrest would go for that, if I get to him early in the day. I guess it wouldn't hurt to get an estimate.

“Yes, this is Mrs. Forrest Smith. I got your name from Renee La Gerbille. I wonder if you could give me an estimate on some repairs to our old barn. It's the last house on County Road 231. I'll be in for the next two hours if that's convenient for you. Call or drop by. Thank you.”

There. That wasn't so hard. No commitment. Just a message on an answering machine. Look at me. I'm almost shaking at the very idea of a little adventure. No need to call it infidelity. I mean that sounds like grounds for divorce and that would be a disaster. Maybe just something … or somebody around who's easy on the eyes. And maybe somebody to talk to about things other than the grocery order or the dry cleaning. I'm forty-five, college-educated … well, alright, it was Sweetbriar and I majored in equestrian art, but still … I can read a book. I'm not hopeless, am I? Hmm, maybe that mirror is a little distorted. I should get it replaced …

“Yes, yes, hello?”

“Mrs. Smith, please? This is Frank Pierce returning her call.”

“Speaking, Mr. Pierce. Would it be convenient to … Really? … That's so kind of you. You know how to get here? ... Yes, I'll be here.”

Oh my God, what will I wear? I look a fright. Around noon he said. That's an hour from now …

Well, that was an exhausting hour just to decide on some fairly tight jeans and a fairly loose blouse. Oh my God! Do I look like a Dolly Parton clone? Maybe I should change. Do my boobs look too confined? Yikes! The doorbell!

“Hello, Mr. Pierce. Do you want to come in or should we go right to the barn?”

“Let's see the barn, Mrs. Smith. Mike, come on,” Frank called to his assistant.

I really didn't see the charm of Mike right away. Not until he walked up to me. Then it hit me. Like a sci-fi tractor beam. Such compelling eyes. The boy radiated something powerful. It was hard to look away. We shook hands and I caught a slight whiff of … Renee's perfume! I'd know that scent anywhere. They must have been … I blushed and I'm forty-six, for God's sake.

“Uh, yes.” I stumbled over my words and a root sticking out of the ground. “Oh! Thank you!” It was a clumsy stumble and it had to be a complete accident that Mike's hand ended up on my boob. We locked eyes for an instant; but like a gentleman, he pretended the touch never happened and stepped back once I was steady on my feet. “Yes, well, um, here's the barn. The problem is the door. It's getting harder and harder to open.”

“This is a beautiful barn,” Frank said. “Gambrel-style Dutch, I guess. Very unusual in this part of the state. But handsome and well-proportioned.”

“The original owners, the Arentz, moved here after the War Between the States. From New York, I believe.”

“That might account for the style. Mike, help me open this door.”

I watched the two men strain to slide one half of the door open. Both the roller wheels and the track were rusty. It wasn't easy. They looked like gods doing it. So young, such taut muscles. My mouth went dry. I had to look away. And me, a forty-seven year old married woman.

“I guess you don't use this much,” Mike said, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“The door will be easy,” Frank said. “Do you mind if I look around? I'm a fan of old Virginia barns.” I said go ahead and he walking into the structure. Mike and I stood at the door.

“What do you do?” I asked him nervously. I could still feel his hand cupping my breast.

“Whatever it takes to please the customer,” Mike replied with no sense of guile. “But mostly carpentry and some forging, if there is old metal in the structure. We try to keep things authentic in a good barn. And I'd guess this is a good barn from Frank's excitement.”

“Really? He doesn't seem excited.”

“He is, though. He's up in the rafters already.” Mike unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. It was a hot day and he had strained opening the door. It was a perfectly natural thing to do and yet I went a little weak in the knees watching. One silly button and this forty-eight year old is already getting moist. It helped that I couldn't smell Renee's perfume any longer, as if her spell was wearing off. “Mind if I get a drink?” he asked.

“I don't know if that old pump still works.”

“I'll give it a try. I bet it works fine.” Those were his words and I nearly fainted. It sounded like he was talking about giving me a try. He bent for the handle giving me a rear view of one fine man. I swallowed hard and looked away. Renee had not been exaggerating one bit. I soon heard the sound of splashing water. “Works fine,” Mike said with a smile. He looked right in my eyes when he added, “Like a lot of old things.”

He says that stuff with such innocence. Is it real? Is it a game he plays? Does it work with everybody? It worked with Renee, but then she's the picture of desperation. Frank came out of the barn and Mike buttoned his shirt back up. Was he signaling that my private show was over?

“Mrs. Smith,” Frank said. “I think there a sag that is putting a strain on the roof, especially under a winter snow load. Some of the main trusses are bowed. Hire an engineer, though. I don't want you to think I'm inventing work for myself. The engineer can give you an independent assessment of the whole building. Meanwhile it wouldn't hurt to fix the door. That wouldn't be any money wasted. If you like, I'll work up an estimate for you.”

It was my main chance and I jumped. “If the cost wouldn't be some frightening number, why don't you just take the job on?” I hesitated and then asked, “Uh, would, would you and Mike be doing the work?”

I saw the tiniest tightening around Frank's mouth when he said yes, he and Mike would do the work. He didn't look at me directly, but it seemed like a question he had heard before. I watched them walk back to their truck. Frank was handsome, no doubt; but that Mike was fuck-on-a-stick. I embarrassed myself even thinking that. Where ever had I heard such words?

Sweetbriar. That's where. Lila King had used those exact words and it ended so badly for her. Am I making the biggest mistake of my life? I remembered other words, the words of that fool of a president from Georgia: I had already committed the sin of lust in my heart. I took a deep breath. Steadied myself. And screamed, “YES! FUCK-ON-A-STICK YES!”

 

[DonQuixote]

Mike's in store for some more action - as Frank told Refo awhile ago!

Things are looking Up!

 

[Craiger]

How great! Two middle-aged Southern ladies out for adventure and Mike can smell them out like a hound to the fox. I hope Frank gets a little action as well... Always good for business.

Craiger

 

[Autolycus]

Thanks, Autolycus, for the edit help.

Chapter two was reward enough and now for Chapter three - great stuff

 

[rocabar]

Great chapters, Rory. . . Nice to see you channelling yr inner "southern belle"



P/S Gents- Please rate this latest effort by Rory. Thanks!

 

[EasyRory]

Nice to see you channelling yr inner "southern belle"

Been around too many of them.

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Four – Mike


Stupid chickens. I should just eat them and be done with it. They clutter up the place. They're not good looking. They're noisy half the time. I think they're attracting foxes; next it will be coyotes. The filthy things have gotten to like me almost as much as they liked Butch. Frank says it's because I feed them, but it's more than that. They come right up to me even when I'm not feeding them. And it's not like I need the money now. Twenty or thirty a week from eggs isn't even a tip from my other customers.

Ok, let's not think about the ladies for a while. I'll just hurry and feed these fuckin' things and get my butt over to Frank's for dinner. It's nice he and Refo invite me over all the time since Butch … Ok, let's not think about him either. I need a shower; I still smell of Marlee. “Call me Marlee,” she says, but I'm calling her Mrs. Perry. It keeps a little distance. And that other one, Mrs. La Gerbille. “La Zhair-BEE,” as she says. Refo says that actually means gerbil in French. She does have little dark shiny eyes, like a rat. Why would you call yourself a gerbil? She does know some tricks, though … the way she can squeeze me ... make it hard to get in … I almost came the last time before we even … And she would have bitched over that … My sheets! Those are fifty thousand thread Egyptian cotton! … As if … What's wrong with American cotton? … Maybe I should ask her for a dollar a thread next time … Shit, I'm getting hard … And Marlee acting all virginal til we got that what-did-she-call-it? off … it's always about THEM … I was better off as just a carpenter's helper … Ah, fuck. Just get dressed, numb nuts.

“Mike, you're all sweaty!” Refo noted as he handed me a drink.

“I ran from my place. Gotta get the kinks out after work, you know?” He looked at me doubtful. “Thanks for the concern, Mom,” I told him.

“No criticism, Mike. Not from me. Want some celery?” He offered a piece of the stalk he was chopping. Celery is actually not too bad with vodka on the rocks. “Uh, by the way, Butch called ...”

“Like I give a shit! Got another slug of that stuff? What is it anyway? I can taste the watermelon.” I held out my glass and wondered why Butch would call Refo..

“Mostly watermelon from the blender and a little vodka and some rum. I could add gin, if you want, but I think the juniper clashes with the melon flavor.”

Refo is so cagey sometimes; he forced me to ask. “What did Butch have goin' on?”

“Oh, not much. Wants me to take some new photos of the chickens.” He paused. “On Sunday.” He watched me. “You, uh, want to come along?”

“Why not take some pictures of the fuckin' chickens he left at my place? Technically, they're still his birds.”

“Oh. You still keeping them?”

“Keeping them? They're multiplying.”

“That's funny. I'll tell Butch. He'll like that.”

“Don't tell him any more, right? No trying to patch us up or anything.” He didn't answer me. “Refo!”

“Alright. But he's my biggest customer. There's no money in weddings and babies. I tried that.”

“When were you married? Does Frank know?” You think you know somebody and still you get surprised. I never knew Refo had a wife.

“Not MY wedding. Taking pictures of weddings … and babies.” We laughed, Refo at the humor, I guess, and myself with embarrassment.

“What's the joke?” Frank asked, joining us in the kitchen.

“Mike thinks I'm showing signs of insanity.”

Frank responded by giving Refo a serious hug. That's the only part of these dinners that I don't like. They are such a couple now. Two halves of a whole. It makes me miss Butch. I drained the glass. “Got another?”

Frank poured and gave me one of those looks. Ok, here it comes. Parental advice from my cousin who is barely ten years older and never lets me forget it. He means well; but, you know, I'm twenty-four now. I know what I'm doing. Mostly.

He shocked me with what he said. “I got a call from Butch today.”

“You, too?”

“He wants us to do a job for him in Delaware. It's a simple commercial building, no challenge. We could do it easily.” He paused. “If you want to ...”

“Totally up to you, cuz,” I answered.

“Our plate is pretty full now. I was thinkin' we might could hire a helper and the two of us could do it, leaving you to do the stuff in Warrenton that takes more skill, 'cause you're really good at joinery. If you want to, that is ...” Frank paused to let that sink in. I barely hear him add, “He said to say hello.”

“Butch did?” I sought confirmation because I didn't know what else to say. Frank nodded.

“He said he misses us - by which he meant you, I'd say.”

Fuck! It had been almost a year since Butch moved out and nothing had taken his place. The hurt wasn't a fresh cut any more, but the ache was never far away. “Totally up to you, cuz,” I repeated. “You're the boss.”

“No I'm not. We're partners. I don't want to do anything your uncomfortable with.”

I shrugged, drained my glass, and asked Refo, “What's on for tonight?”

“Beef stew, if that's ok?” Refo sounded tentative.

God, the two of them are being so careful about Butch. What's done is done. Except for those fuckin' chickens. The chickens live on.

“Of course it's ok. Everything you make is great, Reef. I'll wash up.” I turned to go to the bathroom.

I was doing fine until I overheard Refo say to Frank, “He's still hurting.” I made it to the bathroom in time to stifle an audible sob. Fuckin' Butch! Why did he have to call? There are a thousand construction companies in Delaware. At once I ached for his body, his mouth, his voice, his love. I splashed water on my face and looked in the mirror. I looked like the looser of a fist fight.

We talked a lot about nothing during dinner. That's not fair. We didn't talk about me, at least. We talked about Refo's work at the hospital and the pressure on him to increase revenues by whatever means he could come up with. DNA testing was a big money maker apparently, but there was only so much of it appropriate to the hospital's workload. So he was looking to support the courts; but that stepped on the toes of the sheriff's office and the coroner, who wanted to waste money setting up an exact copy of the perfectly good lab at the hospital. He was in a box.

When I left I said to Frank, “Hire the helper.” He nodded in silent agreement.

The run home was tiring and less a mile later I slowed to a walk and thought about Butch. We never wanted to split up, but life together became impossible. We were two people who suddenly had nothing in common and were forced apart by economic and geographical circumstances.

When Butch's mother died and left him the business, he had to be in Delaware at least three times a week. Butch never did anything half-way, so three days a week became four and then five, and pretty soon weekends were no longer safe either from the demands of a billion dollar poultry business. Then Butch got used to a different kind of life. He had a ton of money, why wouldn't he? I was still a carpenter's helper worried about the mortgage on my little farm, while he was running a couple hundred acres, under ROOF, for God's sake, of chickens and turkeys. The couple dozen we had at my place for an egg business was a distraction. We tried for a while. He would come to the farm on weekends, but except while we were fuckin', he was distracted, wanting to be somewhere else. He asked me to move to Delaware, but what would that be like? He'd be the boss and I'd be a … I don't want to think of what I'd be. So it ended. He said he wished the world would go away and we could live together naked and fuckin' all the time on some tropical island; but I heard that line in an old movie and it was as impossible in the movie as it was in Virginia. Still, though, even if it wasn't deliberate, he broke my heart and it hurt more than I ever though anything could hurt.

Which was how I got into this business with the ladies: I had nothing else to do. The first one was pretty aggressive; and, once I figured out what she expected, it pissed me off that she thought I was just another part of the contractor's bid. She plain assumed she could get what she wanted. So I wasn't even gentle. Just spit on it and fucked her. My dick is nice sized. It took her a while to calm down but I just kept plowing and pretty soon she liked it. See, I'm thick and it's easy for me to get things all in motion for the ladies. Her husband found out and didn't even give a shit. He winked and told me, “Never pass anything up, boy. It's all over too soon.” So I didn't even think about not accepting the cash she gave me.

The Gerbil says I can really rock and roll that little man in the boat and she's not very tight at all. Which is a nice thing for her to say, since with Butch I mostly liked it best when he would fuck me. Not mostly, I always LOVED it when he fucked me. He could make me come when all he did was stick it in. One time, I came in about two seconds just 'cause he kissed me when he entered. He really loved me. He … Ok, enough of that shit. Back to the ladies.

At first the Gerbil felt that cash was beneath her. She gave me nice presents, like that Swiss watch whose name I can't even pronounce – it just doesn't come out in hill-billy, but I got tired of taking the hit when I hocked the stuff. I said cash or nothing and she tried to tell me how cold that was. I said it's gonna be a lot colder for you if you're alone in that bed and she came through with cash. It's gonna be a lot colder for her anyway once we get done moving her barn six feet because it blocks the view. Her husband says he's not paying for any more construction, so it was nice of her to recommend us to the Perrys.

I gotta say I like simplicity. One unhappy wife and one husband too old to give a shit. That's the ideal arrangement. Not so many moving parts. This Perry deal is way too complicated. There's kids, a husband, and a 'friend' of some kind and they're all messin' with each other somehow. Fuckin' Marlee was easy enough, she's actually kind of sweet for fifty or whatever she is and in pretty good shape; but something's not right there. Maybe I'll get a new truck out of it, though; she paid me way too much for the first time.

Shit. What a lonely looking place my farm is. Now that it's paid for maybe I should spend a few on fixing it up. A better bed would be nice. I could probably sleep for a week in Marlee's bed. But this bed will do for now. The nice thing about regular fuckin' is you sleep great.

 

[rocabar]

Nice POV chapter, Rory. . . Thanks!