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The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 01

By: Hypoxia



Author's note: This episode of an extended romantic memoir includes mature and group sex, and cheating, and incest, and tragedy. The tale is probably fairly fictional. All sexual acts involve conscious humans of age 18+. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's.

You do not NEED to read the previous two episodes (BEFORE RUTH and COMING FAST), but it will not hurt. Your feedback is appreciated.

*****

- 1984 - summer in Santa Monica

Katia raised herself nearly off my hard cock and then slammed down again.

We groaned together. I raised my hips to meet her thrusts. We moved in rhythm, Katia riding me like an expert equestrian, her beautiful naturally-tan boobs swaying joyously with her buckaroo bouncing, her caballera cunt clutching and corrading my red-hot cock. Just watching her jounce atop me was an evil delight.

"Nnnnph... ah ah ah... oh fuck oh oh..." Katia moaned incoherently.

The only other sounds came from her labored athletic breathing and the slap of her bubbly cheeks on my straining thighs. My firm hands on her hourglass hips steadied her as we slammed together.

Katia paused on an upstroke, her eyes scrunched shut in a tight grimace, then slowly slid down my cock - and wailed! And thrashed, almost epileptic in her violent twitchings.

My orgasm had been waiting in the wings for this moment. It's SHOWTIME, folks! My ejaculation took the spotlight in center stage and metaphorically chewed the scenery. My cock ranted and raved and ripped! I exploded inside Katia, quaked (magnitude 11) under her, unleashed a tantric tsunami into her tight cleft.

My bellow was not quite as loud as her scream. Not quite.

Katia rolled off me. We collapsed together, gasping, sweating, thoroughly sated. She pulled my face to hers and kissed me, giving me the last of her breath until she murmured, "Thanks, Randy. That was great. I really love being with you."

"You're pretty great too. Give me a few minutes and we can have at it again."

"Okay, for YOU, I'll wait a little bit. But don't you go to sleep or anything!"

I was twenty-four now. Getting old. Slowing down. Difficult to keep up with eighteen-year-old Katia. If her ex-classmate and best friend Ruth were here with us, would I be any more energetic? Well, maybe if I drank some espresso, and the girls drank wine...

Only a month had passed since that beach run where I reconnected with Ruth Shapiro and met Katia Fernandez. I promised Ruth a good get-together; all she had to do was call me. (See THE BOOK OF RUTH: COMING FAST for details.) But she never called. Katia called instead. We hooked up. We had lots of fun in those weeks.

Katia had opened up on our first 'date', a Mandarin take-out at my kitchen table followed by a few hours of sexual calisthenics is my oversize bed. As we shared mu shu pork and honey almond prawns and Almaden chablis, I memorized her classic Mixtec face, and she told me about Ruth.

"Y'know Ran, Ruth was really pissed at you, the way you teased her and left her. She was about ready to sneak up to your car and pour sugar in your gas tank, y'know, to, like, ruin your engine."

"Yeah? So what stopped her? By the way, to really fuck with someone's car, you don't use sugar. You drop a ping-pong ball into the gas tank. It doesn't do any damage. But the suction on the gas line pulls the ball over to block the outlet. Then the car engine dies, and the suction stops, the ball falls away, and the engine can start again, no problem. But a few minutes of run-time later, the ball blocks the outlet again, and the engine dies again. The owner probably takes it to a mechanic many times but they'll never find what's wrong. The only way to fix it is to pull the gas tank and cut it open. Fun fun fun, hey?" I chuckled.

"Oh fuck, that's nasty. I'd go crazy! But you wanna know what stopped Ruth? It was her father. She thought she'd have all summer around here, maybe go up into the Sierras for cool fun. What, you didn't know she likes hiking and swimming? Well, sure.

"Then her dad all-of-a-sudden decided that he wanted her away from here. Maybe he'd heard about her parties? Yeah, she was a little wild. Anyway, he sent her to stay with her great-aunt. In fucking Miami. In July! For the rest of the summer! Most miserable time of the fucking year!

"Ruth just about went ballistic when they gave her the plane ticket. But it's not like she had a choice. If she wants into Cal Arts, she has to play her dad's game. That means playing nice with them, and with the old bat. Ruth says Tante Sylvia is straight from 'Noo Joisy' with a voice like a cement mixer. Oh shit, Ruth was SO fucking pissed!

"Ruth told me a story about this great-aunt. Sylvia and her poor husband Lew, a small-time real estate broker, were on vacation in Hong Kong. More exciting than Hackensack, I guess. Anyway, they're on a street that's all jewelry stores, and Sylvia is, like, shopping heavily. And Lew is on his knees in the middle of the street shouting, 'Sylvia, Sylvia! You're killing me! You're KILLING me!' And Sylvia is in a doorway and she yells back, 'Well before you die, throw me your wallet!' Damn, what a cold bitch!" 

I laughed. "Hey, she sounds like a good customer to me!"

Katia stuck out her tongue. I nipped at it but she backed away too fast.

"So Ruth's in purgatory for the summer, and she's pissed at everyone, even me, probably because you kissed me better than her. So I get no call, no postcards, no nothing. Maybe she'll cool off when school starts. Maybe not.

"But enough of Ruth. Are you ready to fuck again? You can get on top this time." Katia stroked my cock to illustrate her interest. I responded quickly. Hey, I ain't THAT old yet! 

We really rocked the bed, here in the family home I shared with my sister and our mother. The home I would soon be forced to leave.

I made the most of my time while I was here. I certainly showed Katia a good time here. And Elena. And Tran. And Billi. And Katia's stepmother Juanita - well, that is another story. But Katia was special. I would miss her. Except when I was back in town. Then, more rocking!

- 1984 - Thanksgiving (USA) Weekend

The worst part of being a "successful businessman" was not having my gorgeous sister and mother for sleep, love, and sex, not nearly often enough. Was this part of growing up?

My boss / muse / lover / big sister Jill and I ran a specialized commodities firm. Sure, it was officially 35% mine, but it was still 100% hers. I was really only her tool.

Jill had a very clear goal.

"I want to have enough money to buy Scotland."

"What?" I was dumbfounded. "What the fuck would you do with Scotland?"

"Oh, I don't want to OWN it, dummy. Then I'd have to run it. No, I just want to be ABLE to buy Scotland. I'd probably rather buy Bermuda. It would be cheaper to own and operate. Nicer weather, too."

Okay, Jill. Whaever you say.

Our "home office" was really just that, built over the garage behind the house we had grown up in with our mother Nina. (Our dad had abandoned us long ago to run off with a Thai waitress. Fuck'em.) Anyway, we now had little branch offices scattered around.

Let me introduce us again. Jill and I are tall and slim, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She is almost six feet high; I have a few inches on her, and a few pounds, and better body strength. I am now twenty-four. Jill is two years older.

We are told we are good-looking: taut muscles, sharp features, high cheekbones, dimpled chins, good teeth, and full-body tans. Jill has superb firm tits and I do not, so we're easy to distinguish. Her hair is longer, too. She looks like our mom Nina minus eighteen years. In other words, just fucking gorgeous. We all stay very fit - got to, else we would crumble.

We kids had been raised naked. We did not wear clothes inside our home. We had slept together naked all our lives, Jill and I, and often with Mom. And now we shared physical love, ever since we 'kids' reached adulthood. We had a nice stable life - except when Jill introduced the usual excitement. Like tearing us apart and sending me away.

Jill assigned me to take over Eastern North America operations of our (her) company. I felt like I was being kicked out of the (love) nest. What, move out of our comfortable home? What, no more home-style hot-and-cold running sex? Fucking BUMMER, man...

Thanksgiving and Black Friday 1984 had just passed. Jill and I were on the homeward leg of our usual early-morning run down the beach from our Santa Monica home to the Venice West pier and back. This was a good time for chats, before the smog got too thick. And it was a good time for Jill to issue directives - I had less breath to argue with.

"So quit bitching, kid. This is a promotion! Here, enjoy your new status."

Jill pulled a slightly sweat-soggy business card from her nicely-filled sports bra.

"Here's your new identity, little brother. Cherish it, or else!"

I sniffed the card, leered at Jill, and read:



The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 01



- 1986 - Summer Solstice

The official first day of summer 1986 in already-hot Washington D.C. was rather milder than where I had just been.

I was back from sweltering Trinidad. One of our regular tin suppliers was a blatant thief but politically connected, of course. The necessary fix took a nasty bit of bribery and blackmail. Good thing Gabby knew whose buttons I should push there. Sometimes I think Gabby is Jill's REAL second-in-command at TBI and I'm just a figurehead. Oh well, at least I get paid.

I crawled out of the airport shuttle (cheaper than a taxi) from Dulles International, smoothed the fabric of my white 'tropical' suit (wicking synthetics, of course), grabbed my usual two bags, and headed for our discretely-marked office entrance.

A distantly familiar shout stopped me in my tracks. "HEY, DIPSHIT!"

There was no mistaking that dulcet bellow. Ruth Shapiro! Oy! I slowly turned around and dropped my bags as she hurtled toward me, grabbed me, almost knocked me over.

I gently disentangled myself from her sleek grasping twenty-year-old limbs. "Hi there, Ruthie, nice to see you again too."

I surveyed Ruth's luscious figure. Tall, almost six feet, a few inches shorter than me. Still slim-but-curvy; sharp aquiline features; long walnut hair flowing out the back of her Orioles ballcap; great legs emerging from her blue shorts; nice breasts inside her jog bra and pink ART FART tee. Hot girl!

She stood back and looked at me, a canvas bookbag dangling from one shoulder. Then she scowled and started punching my chest and arms. Hard. Ouch.

"YOU DIPSHIT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE! LEAVE ME ALONE!" And on and on.

I stood still, stunned. We were attracting attention. Passersby stopped and stared. A D.C. Metro Police patrol car pulled up to the curb and a young black officer walked quickly to us.

"Got a problem here, ma'am?" he asked, fingering his baton.

"THIS MOTHERFUCKER, THIS DIPSHIT, I CAN'T STAND HIM, HE'S SUCH AN ASSHOLE!" And on and on again.

The cop gave a slight shrug and looked at me. "May I see some I.D. please, sir?" he asked when Ruth stopped to draw a breath.

I sighed and slowly extracted my passport case from inside my jacket. I handed him my passport and my local business card showing the address we stood in front of.

Ruth stood quietly fuming. The cop turned to her. "And you, ma'am? Any identification?"

She stiffly reached into her book bag, pulled out a wallet, and passed him a California driver's license and what looked like a student ID card. He looked at our credentials, then back up at us.

"Okay, what seems to be the problem?"

"Uh well, Miss Shapiro is a long-time family friend I haven't seen for a couple years. I just got in from overseas, heading to my office here." I gestured at the building. "When I left the airport shuttle, Miss Shapiro greeted me in her rather, uh, unorthodox way."

The cop glanced at our IDs again. "Miss Shapiro, has, uh, Mr van Ronk hurt you?"

"That sonofabitch! He just left me standing there! And now he shows up here! You dipshit! Why does it have to be you? Why do you have to be so, so... so RANDY? What the fuck are you doing here? Why can't you just leave me be?"

"Miss Shapiro, are you saying than Mr van Ronk abandoned you? Or harrassed you?"

Ruth just fumed. I spoke.

"I last saw Ruth two summers ago in Los Angeles, just before her father sent her to Florida and I transferred here to D.C. We had an appointment that fell through - nobody's fault. Ruth has always felt rather, uh, tempestuous around me. But I'm pretty surprised at this."

The cop looked back at Ruth. She visibly controlled herself and took a few deep breaths - which naturally displayed her impressive chest to best advantage. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then looked at the waiting cop, and then at me.

"I think I got carried away. I've been thinking of Randy too much, and seeing him now, well, it just set me off. Randy, I'm sorry. I've never really been good at anger management, y'know that. But I'm sorry I hit you and yelled at you. I just... oh shit, I'm sorry."

I reached out and touched her elbow. "Apology accepted, Ruth. Um, are you in a hurry? Would you like to talk?" She nodded, stiff and short.

The cop handed our IDs back to us. "Try to keep it quieter, okay? And if you can't, then at least get a room and keep it private. I don't want to see either of you again."

As he walked back to his patrol car I thought I heard him mumble, "Crazy fucking honkies!"

Ruth quivered. Her facial expression changed about twice per second, a range of mostly unreadable emotions. I touched her elbow again.

"Ruth, I'm going in here. My office is inside and my condo is upstairs. I need to drop my bags and clean up. Would you like to come with me, have something to drink, talk a bit?"

She nodded. I picked up my bags and walked into the building lobby - the TBI office was in back - set the bags down, and punched the elevator for my residence floor. We rode up in silence. I opened the room door. Ruth followed me in.

Once inside, all our bags hit the floor, and Ruth grabbed me again. She held me tight and joined our mouths together and almost touched my epiglottis with her tongue. I will admit to putting my hands firmly on her tight butt and pulling her close. After a minute or ten, she backed away, then clenched me tightly again.

"Oh fuck Randy, you don't know how long I've wanted this!" She kissed me again, softer.

Still clenched, I rubbed her butt and back. She leaned her head on my shoulder. We stood quietly for awhile. I finally disengaged again.

"Look, truth is, I'm just back from a tropical hell. I feel like half the jungle is crawling on me, and I'm three-quarters dead. I need a drink and a shower and another drink. I might rejoin humanity after that, okay?"

"Sure. What are the drink options?" Ruth held my hands and would not let go.

"Beers, wines, sodas, juices in the fridge; tequilas, rums, whiskies, vodkas in the cabinet; filtered water at the tap. I'm going to start with a double shot of Tres Mujeres mezcal and a total scrub-down. Help yourself."

I pulled her close, kissed her quickly, then opened the cabinet and poured my amber dose. I filled my mouth with elegant cactus juice and headed for the bath, tossing clothes aside as I stumbled toward wet rejuvenation.

[Yes, yes, I know - mezcal and tequila are distilled from the maguey agave plant, not from a cactus. That "cactus juice" bit was a METAPHOR, a suggestion of its sharp flavor. Please do not send the author nasty notes of disapproval. Thank you.]

This is typically the point in a story where the narrator has his scalp lathered-up and eyes closed, hot water streaming happily over him, and he feels a breeze as the shower door opens and a naked woman steps in with him. Guess what? That is exactly what happened!

Ruth pressed her breasts against my back and melded herself to me by grasping my cock with both hands and squeezing her elbows against my sides while grinding her crotch into my ass. Tired and weary as it was, my cock responded. Wouldn't yours?

We hugged and scrubbed and hugged some more. We rinsed, and turned off the flow of water. Yes, I kissed her breasts and sucked her nipples. Yes, she dropped to her knees and licked my cock. Yes, her tongue felt familiar - not so different from her big sister and mother. Yes, I came in her mouth. Wouldn't you?

We rinsed again, and stepped out and dried off, then hugged and kissed some more.

"I'm sorry, Randy, I'm so sorry; please forgive me, please?" She stared into my face.

Yes, Ruth had always been rather... tempestuous... around me, starting eight years ago when she was just twelve. Ruth, still laden with baby fat then, was her big sister Rachel's 'helper' at her vendor's cart on Fairfax south of West Hollywood. Ruth called me 'stinky' and 'dipshit'. She verbally abused me for years.

Why? Because she was jealous. Jealous of her sister Rachel, and their hot mom Deborah. Jealous, because I was screwing Rachel and Deb, and Ruth was far too young then to be getting any.

Ruth's state of mind certainly was not improved after our last encounter, almost two years ago, when naked Ruth and her best friend Katia had offered themselves to me, and I teasingly skipped out. Ruth was shipped away by her family the next day, and I'd had Katia for several months. Yes, I knew why Ruth was so pissed.

Ruth had told Katia that I would eventually be her slave. We would see about that, hey?

I kissed Ruth again. "What's there to forgive? Just stop slugging me, okay?"

"I'll only slug you when you deserve it. Can I have a glass of wine?"

"Sure thing." I pushed her beautiful bare butt toward the wine rack. "How about a Grenache Rosé?"

She nodded. I uncorked and poured the light pink wine into champagne flutes. (They were cheap glasses from WalMart, of course.) I handed one to her.

"To calmer times," I toasted, clinking our glasses.

"Uh, yeah Randy, that sounds like a good idea."

"Now, sit your cute ass down somewhere and tell me what the fuck is going on."

"Come over here." She pushed me into the bedroom and positioned herself yoga-style at the head of the bed. "C'mon, right here." She patted the bed in front of her. I sat, mirroring her cross-legged posture, almost knee-to-knee. We had nice views of each other's genitals. 

I started with small talk, catching-up talk, light questions.

"So what are you doing in D.C.? Last I heard, you were at Cal Arts. You're a design major, something like that, right? This is a long way from Valencia and Hollywood."

"Yeah, well, Dad sent me there, and it's a great place if you want to work for Disney or Warners later, but I found that it wasn't my thing. I'm no artist, not really."

"Well, a bullshit artist, maybe," I teased. She scowled and continued.

"But it turns out, I can work with numbers, and I can work with artists. I'm hot on gallery management and curating, showcasing art, that sort of stuff. I talked Dad into switching me to the Corcoran here. It costs about the same as Cal Arts. I'll take a Master's in exhibition design eventually. That's my goal. Y'know Dad's law firm mainly represents the studios. He's a bit disappointed I won't be there, but he figures that with my connection, he can be a shyster for galleries too."

I was puzzled. "What, the Corcoran Gallery is a college?"

"No, stinky, I mean dummy, I mean Randy, the Corcoran RUNS a college, right out of the gallery, across from the White House. It's just a few blocks from here."

"Sounds interesting. So you live here now?"

"Yeah, I share a condo nearby with a couple other students. They're wild girls. I've calmed down a lot. Well, except when I see YOU, stinky, I mean Randy." She giggled.

Damn, that is the first time I've ever heard her giggle! I did not know she had it in her.

"So what else is happening? How's your family? I haven't heard from anyone lately."

Ruth sipped her wine, leaned down and kissed the end of my cock, the sat up again and took another sip.

"Rachel moved around a lot after you dumped her. She..."

I interrupted. "Hey, I did not dump her. She was pulling trains with every dick in town, and then she took off, for...? Where? Chicago, Omaha, some fucking midwestern place."

"Okay, so she went overboard a little."

I snorted. A little, huh? Hah, she sure had her fun! Not that I didn't too, oh yeah...

"Anyway, yeah, she was at U Chicago for a while, then went to U Nebraska in Lincoln, the best part of Nebraska, which ain't saying much. Then St Louis, and Memphis, and finally New Orleans. She married a banker there. Don't know how long they'll last - Ferdie is NOWHERE near ready for her. But that's their problem."

I shrugged. And I thought that maybe I would look up Rachel some time. Hey, N'O'leans is in my territory. I hope she had kept her figure. Did she still jog?

"Y'know that Mom dumped Dad. She's gone through about three dozen tennis instructors and personal trainers since then, all paid for with Dad's alimony. She works out like crazy. Almost looks better than me."

Oh yes, I remember Deb's lovely tight MILF body very well. Rather like Ruth's, in fact. And Rachel's too, at her age. Those gals sure came from a good gene pool. Keep themselves in shape and they will be fucking GORGEOUS for a long long time.

Ruth sipped her wine again, and leaned to kiss my cock again, and sat back up and emptied her glass.

"Finish your wine, guy. We can talk more later. Right now, you need to fuck me. Right now."

I drained my glass and took hers. I set both flutes on the floor. Ruth stretched her legs, with her toned thighs spread wide, and pulled me on top of her. Her kisses had hardened me already. I could smell her spicy arousal and see her labia glistening with lust.

"Forget the foreplay, guy. Just fuck me. C'mon, like you should have, years ago!"

She aimed my naked cock at her target. I slid right in.

"Oh fuck," she whispered. I agreed.

She raised and wrapped her long legs around mine, then slid her heels up to dig into my buns. She pulled me deep into her. Oh fuck, this was nice! I started slow, She pulled me tighter, deeper. Her strawberry mouth devoured mine. Oh fuck, she was hot and wet and hungry! I moved faster - but not too fast, not yet.

Ruth had sucked me to orgasm not too long before. At age twenty-six I did not have my youthful powers of instant rejuvenation, so I lasted quite a while, much to Ruth's joy. Various speeds and angles and orgasmic responses. Damn, she could howl!

I was deep inside her warm wet tunnel. She groaned louder, "Oh fuck yeah!"

I stayed fully embedded for a few seconds more - and then pulled out! I flipped her over and did her doggie-style. My penetration pushed even deeper. Ruth whimpered.

I wasted no time. This was neither slow tender joining nor meaningful lovemaking. This was fast raw sex, brutal and direct. I pounded her butt and twisted her nipples. She pounded back and squealed and sweated. I reached down to strum her anxious clit. We pounded harder.

Ruth came with long moans. "Oh fuck, oh fuck me, oh that's nice, ahhh..."

She came again, a little louder. "Oh. Oh. Ohhh..." Her breath was ragged.

Her cumming counterpointed a continuous litany. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck omigod..."

Her last climactic spasm finally triggered my long-overdue eruption. We howled together as I fired what seemed a never-ending stream of heat-seeking spermy missiles into her willing womb. Target destroyed!

We stilled, and lay together, panting.

Ruth clung to me like a lost soul reaching for salvation. She held me and cried. If I tried to move, she cinched-down even tighter, pinning me to her body. I was trapped in her tears.

Ruth's voice rattled between her sobs. "Oh fuck Ran, oh no, oh no, don't ever go..."

I guess she had been crushing on me for a while, hey?

We screwed and talked and screwed some more, for hours and hours. I slowly developed an inside picture of Ruth, and it was like she was from a 50's song, WAIT FOR ME, a young girl chasing an older guy: "Wait for me... I love you more than I can hardly stand... I'll grow up just as fast as I can..."

"Why me?" I asked, playing with her puffy nipples.

"Quit that," she twitched. "Why you? Why me? Why not? Because you'd had Rachel and Mom, and who knows who else. And they thought you were great, and you were there for them, but you always ignored me. I was just the kid. I was always too young for you. Am I too young now?" She squeezed my cock.

"But I just knew I had to have you. It's fucking fate, you asshole." She pinched me back. Revenge?

"So what do you expect, now that you've found me? A shack-up?"

"Oh, pu-LEAZE, I know you're always on the road. But when you're here, I want you, as much as I can get. I know just what you are. You're a dick on wheels, like Mom's fucking little miniature greyhound. But not forever. Here in D.C., you're MY dick. And I'm yours, all the way. You just see. I'm gonna make you love me. You're gonna be mine, all mine."

"Helluva goal you've got there. Wouldn't you rather bag a banker?"

Ruth slapped at me. "Cut the shit! I know you! I want you! I'm gonna have you! You don't have a choice! Don't be an asshole!"

Ah yes, a fierce little vixen! But I knew better than to argue.

"Okay, so take me, I'm yours... for about as long as you can keep me."

Ruth dove for my cock again. I pulled her around till her knees straddled my head, and I slurped her gardenia pussy. The rest of the night was fun.

- 

Gentle Readers, you may be entertaining serious thoughts now, thoughts about protection and the lack thereof. What, no precautions? How could we be so heedless of possible STDs and pregnancy?

I will offer no excuses, just a snapshot of the time. The year is 1986. STDs in the general (non-gay-male) USA population were generally treatable - not pleasant, but not invariably deadly, and not super-prevalent. The Pill was in widespread use and had informed and changed sexual activities for over a generation. Condoms were not seen as mandatory.

Okay, an excuse: Ruth pursued me and not vice-versa. Ruth initiated our sex play. Ruth said, "Fuck me," and I did. Ruth knew exactly what she wanted, had known that for a long time, and I was happy to oblige, finally. (Yeah, I was a big tease a couple years back.)

Guys, think about it: A hot girl you've known a third of her life opens wide and begs to be fucked. You are unattached. Do you refuse or quibble? Gals, if you invite sex, do you take responsibility for your protection?

- on toward 1989 -

You think we maybe settled down in some sort of domestic idyll, with Ruth faithfully tending house and studying while I did business stuff? Wrong!

I was typically in D.C. only a couple days every other week or so. I often returned to D.C. totally wiped from travel and trouble. Ruth left her student condo to overnight with me when I had the strength. If I was in for a weekend, we jogged and swam and did whatever was weather-appropriate. And fucked. And fucked some more. Otherwise, we lived separate lives.

I did not ask about her separate life, and she did not ask about mine. It was safer that way.

This state of affairs lasted for three years.

My life was the usual. Travel, work, exercise, fuck, mostly within my 'eastern' territory, sometimes around the world, and sometime back at the old home front. Yeah, I found myself in L.A. almost as often as I was in D.C. And JETLAG was my middle name.

Did I do anything except work and fuck? Sure. TBI was doing great business. Jill was a genius at making money and not spending much of it. Her tax team made sure our incomes were low-bracket but our perks were super. We did not bother with conspicuous consumption but we lived quite well. Maybe I will tell you about our art collections sometime. And our home improvements. And our tax-sheltered investments.

Being on the road full-time gets lonely. I looked forward to my home-port visits.

My strongest relationships were still with my sister Jill and our mom Nina. When we were home together, we were usually in bed together. Or screwing around the pool, sure. I really loved lying back with my mother impaled on my long cock and my mouth buried under my sister's pussy while they kissed and stroked and moaned. I could not get enough of this family togetherness. 

But Jill was often on the road herself. And Nina spent much of her time with her night-shift buddy Bobby. My L.A. love life now revolved around Katia Fernandez - and her young MILF step-mom, Juanita.

I do not know when Juanita first took Katia as her lover. Katia's economist father Alonzo married the much younger woman after Katia's mother died. Juanita was only two years older than me and a decade older than her step-daughter; their relationship was more sisterly than motherly.




The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 01



And then they became sexual. Juanita taught Katia a lot.

I was surprised when Juanita first joined me and Katia in bed. Surprised, but not unhappy. Katia was a beautiful girl. Juanita was a gorgeous woman, and experienced, and horny, and bisexual, and aggressive. And she liked triad daisychains as much as I did.

"So this is the friend you told me about," Juanita crooned.

She walked into Katia's bedroom wearing only the sheerest of bright silk coverings. Katia was happily and rather noisily riding me cowgirl-style at the moment. Katia's wonderful naturally-tan breasts swayed hypnotically as she bounced and yipped. Juanita leaned in to lick around one nipple and finger the other.

"Mind if I join in?"

Juanita did not wait for an answer. She stripped off her filmy chartreuse negligée and straddled my head, lowering her moist fluffy pussy onto my mouth. Never look a gift cunt in the mouth, I always say!

I put my tongue and lips to work on Juanita's tasty twat. Judging from motions and sounds above me (what sounds I could hear, anyway) Juanita was using her mouth and hands on Katia's breasts, to great effect. Katia bounced even faster, then stopped, and convulsed. Juanita swallowed the girl's orgasmic wail.

Katia slowly raised and lowered her pussy on my steel-hard rod a few more times, then slid off me. Juanita quickly fell forward and swallowed my cock.

We had a glorious 69. Juanita paid careful attention to the soft sensitive area under my dickhead. I paid careful attention to... well, to just about everything. Yes, I licked her slit from taint to clit, and laved her labia, and probed deep inside her, and circled her clitoris with my pointed tongue and insistant lips. My hands held her breasts and tweaked her stiff pebbled nipples. My cock filled her mouth as she howled.

I still had not cum, but I was sure having fun. And we ramped-up the entertainment level.

Juanita rolled off me. She looked at Katia and asked, "Hey kid, you want to get in on this?"

Katia needed little invitation. We repositioned, all on our sides. Juanita swallowed my cock again. Katia nuzzled her face into her young stepmother's vulva. And I feasted on Katia's sweet juicy pussy.

We fell into our familiar rhythm. We seemed to jitter in sequence - Katia twitched, then Juanita jerked, and then I shivered uncontrollably for a few seconds. And around and around again. I happily drowned in Katia's juices. Juanita's mouth seemed infinitely deep and hungry.

We did not say much the next hour or so. We were busy, in various positions. Yes, triad daisychains are great!

I spent most of my Los Angeles visits then with Katia and Juanita. I could be with them a couple days every other week or so. L.A. during those years was pretty satisfying.

-

Juanita surprised me. We fucked bareback, always. Remember, these were more innocent times, sexually. I knew Katia was on The Pill. I assumed Juanita was. I learned otherwise.

Juanita cuddled us after a marathon fuckfest. The bed was a mess. So were we. Yay!

"Guys, I have some important news for you. Good thing you're both lying down already! Katia, you're going to have a step-sister, or maybe a niece, depends on how you look at it."

Katia gasped. "What, you're pregnant? You're sure?"

"Sure as shit. Sure as shinola. Sure as sunrise and sunset. Kid's been cooking for over six weeks now."

"Hijole! Wow, that's great! How do you feel? Who's the father? Is is Daddy?"

I wondered about that last bit myself. I kept my mouth shut.

"I feel great! And who do you THINK the father is?"

Juanita looked at me. Katia looked at me. They both laughed. I smiled tightly.

"Oh look, he's numb with joy!" Katia smirked.

"I'm... I'm numb with surprise. And I'm happy. FUCK YEAH, I'm happy! I should..."

"You should do nothing, Ran. You should not worry yourself at all. You will be the father of our daughter. But you won't raise her. I'm married to Alonzo, and she will be raised in Alonzo's house. Alonzo knows you're here with Katia. He doesn't know about you and me and Katia. He is never to know. I will never shame him as a cuckold."

"But Juanita, I..."

"Look, I know what you want to say. That you can afford to be a father, that you want to be a responsible parent, stuff like that. But I have a life here. Alonzo cheats on me with I don't know who, although I can guess. I cheat on him with you. And sometimes we don't cheat. But we are discreet. I know this child is yours, but she'll be raised as Alonzo's daughter, and that is that!"

And that is how events unfolded.

-

Then life got even stranger.

When I visited the Fernandez house it was as Uncle Randy to little Lola. Fatherhood without responsibility! And without the closeness. I was not really ready yet for closeness. But I would be surprised again, very soon.

I ran into Rachel occasionally in New Orleans, usually without Ferdie around. Our run-ins were usually in bed. She never asked about her sister Ruth, who never asked about her. The Shapiros sure were a compartmentalized family.

I ran into Ruth and Rachel's mom Deborah in San Diego more often. Our run-ins were ALWAYS in bed. No bothersome "personal trainers" were nearby. In her mid-forties now, just eighteen years older than me, Deb was still drop-dead gorgeous, with a chorus-line dancer's body.. and a biological clock ticking away inside her.

The alarm bell on Deb's bio-clock rang and she woke up. [That's a METAPHOR, folks.] Can you guess what she did when she (metaphorically) awoke? Go on, GUESS.

-

[We will pause the story a moment while you scribble your answers. Ready? Okay, here goes.]

-

Deb and I had a good day, no, a great day, a great weekend, even. We spent time with nudists at Black's Beach, showing off our fit forms and examining others. We spent time lying in and around her swimming pool, erasing my tan lines. (She had none.) We spent LOTS of time fucking in various positions on various surfaces around her house.

And she spent a little time shocking the shit out of me.

"Damn Ran, this has been fun! As usual," Deb grinned. We had just finished another great dog-style fuck. Deb barked before shouting her climactic song. Damn, I loved the way she moved and felt and smelled!

"I'm not going to ask what you think of me. I know you think I'm a hot babe. I know you spend more time with me than you do with either of my girls."

"Deb, I..."

"Oh, I know you're still screwing Rachel, and Ferdie doesn't know or doesn't care. And Ruth is totally crazy about you. No surprise. I talk to them, you know. I mark calendars. And I have a pretty good idea of your travel schedule."

"What? How did you..."

"That's my secret. But I'm aware of how you spend your time, and where. Unless you're at home or on the road, you're most likely to be here with me. And I really like that."

Deb bent down and gave my cock a nice deep kiss to show her appreciation.

She looked up at me and her smile faded. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my mouth and pulled my head to her splendid full breasts.

"Ran, I'm giving you a heads-up. There'll be big changes in a few months, hell, they're starting now. Ran, I went off The Pill a couple months ago. I'm pregnant with twins. Your twins. Healthy fraternal twins, a boy and a girl."

I should have had practice with this, after Juanita's announcement. Yeah, sure. I was still shocked into silence. But I managed to smile honestly and exuberantly.

"And Ran, before you say anything, listen up. I'm going to get married again. I've found a really nice guy, older than me, richer than you, and we click on all levels."

"Umm, congratulations Deb, but why..."

"Why do I have you here? Besides all the fun we've had for so long? Because Avram doesn't know it, but he can't father children with me. Our genetics are wrong. And I want to raise children with him. He wants to raise children with me, before we're too old. He knows I'm pregnant. He assumes they're his. I won't tell him otherwise."

"You're heading for motherhood again? Are you going exclusive?"

"After we get married, yes. Well, probably. I'll be honest with you, I love young cock. I love your young cock." She gave me another good slurp as verification.

"But I also love Avram's tongue and fingers and mind. As long as he can keep me satisfied, I'll stick with him. He's out of the country now. We plan the wedding for about the time I'll start to show a belly bulge. Until then, I want YOU as much as I can get you!"

Deb went all serious on my cock then and our conversation sort of lagged, right?

-

Okay, I'm officially a cuckolder. I fuck married women (not just Deborah and Juanita and Rachel - there were others I have not mentioned), and they have my babies, and their unknowing husbands pay to raise them, and I don't get caught. Think of the cuckoo laying eggs in an unsuspecting nest. That is me. Ah, fatherhood without responsibility. What could be better?

Maybe having an actual family of my own would be better. I would have to try that.

- 1989 - almost Summer Solstice

I was in L.A. again, with Katia. It was an off-schedule visit. She earned her Master's in Architecture at USC and I had to be there for the ceremony!

We started the celebration a bit early. I knew that afterwards, she would be tied up with family, and then with recruiters. And I could not hang around long. I had commitments elsewhere - like back in D.C. two days later, for Ruth's graduation from the Cocoran with an MFA. Yes, more jetlag...

I splurged. I chartered a plane to an undisclosed location, a VERY discreet resort with the BEST luxury accoutrements. No, I cannot tell you where or what. Those are TOP secrets. But it was great. Everything was great.

Until we returned to L.A.

Our Lear landed at Santa Monica Muni just before sunset. We caught a limo to Beverly Hills, to an unobtrusive shop just off Rodeo Drive, a dealer in high-end ethnic arts and crafts. I took Katia there to look at some of the finest pieces by Native American jewelers - Hopi, Zuñi, and Navaho masterworks of the last century. She could have whichever she wanted as a graduation gift from me.

(Okay, I will admit it - the shop belonged to me and Jill, via our spun-off TBI retail network. Might as well keep the proceeds in the family, right?)

We were not alone. My mom Nina had volunteered to 'help' Katia with her selection. They had the greatest time, picking over the dazzling marvels and trying-on everything. I had no input here, other than to give authorization. "Go ahead, they're yours."

Katia chose a stunning Zuñi suite of necklace, earrings and bracelets in fairy-light silver with hummingbirds in turquoise, coral, jade, and abalone, a fifty-year-old masterpiece that once adorned the tribal chairman's wife.

Another trio was in the shop: a tall, elegant, well-dressed blonde diva with beautiful fuck-me Slavic features, accompanied by two suited large guys with dark glasses and bulges under their armpits. Muscle, obviously. I wondered who was the woman they were bodyguarding. Unfortunately, I found out.

Both groups finished our transactions at the same time. Nina, Katia and I headed for the front door. The diva and her apes got there first. We graciously allowed them to exit.

The dorway was not wide. We left single-file: first ape; diva; second ape; pause; Katia; Nina; me, last.

Just as I reached the door, I heard explosions, and everything went black.

-

I will skip the mundane details about awaking in in a hospital bed, aching like a sonovabitch, slipping in and out of consciousness, dully watching nurses and medics attend to me or discuss me as if I were absent (which I mostly was), and the various tubes and wires that infiltrated my sorry body. And the cops. I do not really recall much. But I do remember the weeping women.

I was intermittently aware that Ruth was beside my bed, crying, while my sister Jill was dry-eyed, wearing a cold, vicious expression. Katia's stepmon Juanita was there at times, crying, hanging on the arm of Katia's father Alonzo, who looked barely in control of himself. Ruth's sister Rachel and their mom Deb were there at times. Others of our friends and staff made appearances. I saw my mom Nina with her arm in a sling. And I kept seeing cops.

I snapped into full awareness after an unknown time. Ruth saw my eyes open.

"Ran, are you back? Are you here?" Her voice quavered; her lips trembled.

"Oh fuck, yeah, I think so. Shit, what happened? What day is this?"

"It's the twentieth. You've been out for nearly five days. How do you feel?" She squeezed my unrestrained left hand; my right arm was strapped to my side.

"I feel like shit. Did I get shot, or blown up, or what? What happened? Where are Nina and Katia?"

Ruth broke into tears. She squeezed my hand tightly, and wept, and wailed.

"Oh god, Ran! Katia died, and your mom's hurt!"

Katia dead? Oh shit. And Nina? Oh fuck. I do not know how long I cried.

A nurse came in and shooed Ruth away. A doctor came in and briefed me. I had a pair of nine-millimeter slugs in my right shoulder, and a very nasty gouge in the side of my skull where a lucky shot only grazed but did not quite penetrate. I was concussed but would recover before too long.

Every time the door to my private room opened, I saw at least two cops standing outside. The stepped aside to let a detective enter - black suit stinking of cigarettes, yellow-stained fingers and teeth, a bored expession on his Annanese face.

"I'm Lieutenant Nguyen, LAPD. You're Randall van Ronk, TBI. Tell me what you think happened, and I'll tell you some of what we know."

I described the evening, the people, and my sudden lack of awareness.

"Hmmm, okay, now tell me about your dealings with the Russian Mafiya."

"Huh? Mafiya? What the fuck are you talking about? And what happened there?"

[Author's note: The names given below are a bit of wordplay. Nyet is Russian for NO, and you should know what a tart is. And -sky and -ova are respectively male and female last-name endings.]

"Here's our reconstruction. You were in that shop at the same time as the girlfriend of a major Russian mob boss and her bodyguards. Somebody, we don't know who yet, wanted to punish Comerade Nyetsky. A shooter waited across the street from the shop. She waited till her target was clear and visible, then opened fire.

"The bodyguards took most of the rounds. They're both dead, and good riddance, but they kept Madame Tartova from being too badly perforated. She'll live. Your mother took one slug in her upper arm, flesh wound only, painful but nothing serious. Your girlfriend Katia Fernandez was shot twice in the upper chest. She died yesterday. I'm sorry.

"Now, about the Mafiya. We know your company does business with them. That's where lots of your 'minerals, metals and materials' come from. What's your personal involvement?" His fingers twitched. He obviously missed his smokes.

"I don't know anything about any Mafiya," I insisted.

Nguyen sighed. He reached inside his threadbare suit jacket and pulled out some photos.

"Do you recognize any of these people?"

Faces flashed past. Ugly guys, tough guys, sexy women. I whistled at one.

"Yeah, that was the gal in the shop. Never seen her before."

"So you don't remember ever meeting or seeing any of the others?"

"It's not a matter of memory. I've never seen any of those, except that one woman."

"Well, if your memory 'improves', give me a call, okay?" He handed me a business card. "Oh, and when you're released from here, don't think about leaving the county anytime soon, okay? We might need to talk a little more. Have a nice day, Mr van Ronk."

Nguyen shuffled out. Immediately, the door burst open. Jill and Ruth and Nina ran in. Nina! Mom's arm was in a sling. She looked unnaturally pale. She grabbed my free hand. (The rest of me was still unavailable for hugging.)

"Oh god Randy, you're alive! I was so... oh god, I thought I'd lose you!" Yeah, my mom cried. She was entitled.

Jill stood beside Nina and stroked her shoulders. "Goddamn, Randy, you sure know how to gin-up some excitement!"

The expression I gave my loving sister was not exactly lovey-dovey.

"Jill, we need to talk."

"Yes, but not now. You've got to get out of here. It'll be a couple more days. Hang tight."

Nina, Ruth and I had a teary conversation. Jill stayed looking dry and cold and firm. The inevitable nurse chased them out. And the next cops arrived.

And the next. All day for two days. Beverly Hills PD. LAPD and county sheriff. State cops. The fucking FBI. US State Dept. Probably Interpol, MI5, Mossad, and KGB too, for all I know. The cops just kept on coming. All with the same questions: Did I know Madama Tartova? Did I know she would be in the shop then? What were my links with her boyfriend, the Mafiya don?

Most of the questioners showed I.D. of some sort. Some did not. Some... did not quite feel like cops. I suspect Comerade Nyetsky had sent inquiry agents to me also.

I knew nothing useful. I was not very helpful. They were not very friendly.

My day of release arrived. 

My protests about being stuffed into a wheelchair were futile. A big orderly rolled me out, flanked by Jill, Ruth, Nina, two nurses, five cops, a couple lawyers, and a half-dozen private security thugs from Jill's staff. The short route from the hospital door to the van waiting at the curb was thronged with photographers, reporters, and other vermin of the press, as well as curious innocent bystanders, and yet more muscle. Fuck, why did my exit require crowd control? And lawyers?

[You will find out in the next episode.]

The women and two of Jill's apes loaded me and themselves into the limo van. The other bodyguards, and the lawyers and cops, filled four cars. It was almost a fucking presidential motorcade. Only helicopters were missing. Wait, wasn't that a KTLA-TV chopper up there? Fuck.

We rolled away. Everyone in the van started talking.

Ruth yelled, "SHUT THE FUCK UP! NOBODY TALK! NOBODY!"

She turned to me. "Ran, we have had arguments. I won."

Jill opened her mouth. "Look, Ruth, can't we..."

"I SAID TO SHUT UP, BITCH!" Ruth glared. Jill subsided. Wow, I had never seen Jill back down before. What was going on?

"Ran, things are settled right now. You're staying with me at Dad's house, you know the place. It's easily secured and it's neutral territory." She glared at Jill again.

"One other thing, Randall Orson van Ronk. You and I ae getting married. Today. A civil ceremony at Dad's house - we have a judge waiting. You are NOT getting away, never again! I've loved you all my fucking life, and I am going to KEEP you for the rest of my life, and yours. I'll finally make an honest man of you. Don't resist - won't do any good."

I was a bit looped on painkillers. I did not resist.

Ruth married me. We lived happily ever after. Until it all fell apart.

-

NEXT: The thrilling conclusion to THE BOOK OF RUTH. (Or is it?) Stay tuned!

*****

Author's note: Wow, more happened here than I expected! The characters write the tale; I just transcribe. I'm breaking off the rest of the episode into a separate chapter that is quite different than what you have read. Beware - deep shit ahead! And do not forget to vote. Five stars will do just fine. :)



The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 02



Author's note: This episode of a FICTIONAL memoir includes multiracial, mature, group, and less-than-consensual sex, cheating, incest, and tragedy. All sexual acts involve fairly conscious adult humans. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's.

You do not NEED to read the first two episodes (BEFORE RUTH and COMING FAST), but doing so will not hurt. You DO need to read the prior episode, DOING RUTH #1, or this will not make much sense. Your feedback is appreciated. If you like this, join the 1% and VOTE! Thank you.

***** THE BOOK OF RUTH: Doing Ruth #2 of 3 *****

-- 1989 -- summer in the Southland

"Randy, get your ass over here. The judge won't marry us till you do."

I groggily nodded to Ruth and stumbled across the wide lawn toward her. I was still looped on painkillers. Nina and Deborah, the soon-to-be mothers, kept me from falling over. Security goons kept their distance.

The judge was dressed for golf. She peered uncertainly at me. 

"This young man is the groom? Is he sober enough?" She shrugged. "Oh well; not my problem. Let's get this show going now."

The first days of summer 1989 sucked. I was shot, hospitalized, probed, and grassed. The next few days were not much better, except that Ruth married me. I hoped it would be an improvement.

My escape-the-hospital entourage reached Ruth's father Allen Shapiro's big house -- the same house where I started fucking Allen's then-wife Deborah and his older daughter Rachel a decade ago. The Shapiro women looked remarkably alike: tall, dark, aquiline, curvy, radiant, sharp. They tasted much alike. Their genepool was unmistakable.

My own kin were also a matched set. My sister Jill, our mother Nina, and I are all tall and slim, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes and good taut well-exercised bodies. Jill and Nina taste about the same, too. We had been lovers for over a decade.

We left the rented limo and I was led to my doom, er I mean, to marriage. Was I up to this? Like I had a choice...

I managed to notice the impressive turnout for our hasty wedding. Small but close -- only immediate family, friends, and lovers. And guards. I was glad to see most of the familiar folk. But I was medically stoned, and happy about all sorts of shit.

I overheard Rachel telling her little sister how to deal with me.

"Look kid, you think all he wants is sex, and that's mostly right. He's more about sex than money, sure. But he's got a twisted streak. Twist him right, and he'll do whatever you want."

Shit, was I really that easy to manipulate? I guess I would find out.

I looked around the big manicured yard of Ruth and Rachel's lawyer dad's modernist mini-mansion. My impending father strode up with a fleshy and flashy blonde in tow.

"Randy, I'm so glad you're making an honest woman of my youngest daughter. I just wish to hell these were better circumstances." He held out the woman's hand. "This is my fiancé Nancy. Say hello, Nancy."

"HELLO, NANCY!" chimed Nancy, Ruth, Rachel, and Deborah in unison, then giggled. Loudly.

My head throbbed. Why the fuck were they doing this to me?

Nancy turned to Ruth. "Tell me again why you insisted on this tiny wedding. You know your father and I can afford something grand."

Ruth shook her head. "I didn't want to wait. I want Randy NOW. No time to set up a lavish party, and I don't really care. I want my man, not a crowd. Besides, any more people, and security would be impossible. The cops are pretty weird about having even us here." She waved at the small gathering.

Besides the kin and carnal associates, there was my old buddy college Dave Morland, taking time off from his state senate re-election campaign to be my best man; a few closest friends; a few senior Thunderbird International (TBI) staff who looked impatient to get back to our office. A few of Allen's Hollywood clients were there -- no A-list celebs, whew. Large contingents of security guards. And our families.

Yes, our fractured families.

Ruth's people, of course. Allen and his current girlfriend Nancy. Ruth's mom Deborah and her new husband Avram, and their young twins -- MY twins, though Avram did not know that. Rachel, and her banker husband Ferdie, probably unaware of Rachel and my past and current affairs. They flew in from New Orleans. And I met somebody's cousins from somewhere.

My people: only Jill and Nina. My sister Jill looked nervous, as she should -- we would have a LONG unpleasant conversation when my head cleared. She flew in from New Zealand with a Maori stud, Wiremu te something-or-other. Our mom Nina's guy Bobby held onto her. Mom looked pale and wan, her left arm in a sling from the gunshot. I was still bandaged and braced too. Dad was probably in Bangkok or thereabouts. Whatever.

A deep voice called to me. "Randy! We've just arrived. How are you, son?"

I was startled to see Katia's economist father Alonzo Fernandez and her stepmother (and lover) Juanita, and their daughter Lola -- MY daughter, unbeknownst to Alonzo. Somber Juanita was in a black crepe dress. Alonzo wore his usual immaculate navy pinstripe suit, befitting his dignity. They wore black armbands, for their Katia, who caught two bullets too many.

Katia. She might have been my bride in an alternate timeline. But time and events moved inexorably in other directions. Today, our wedding. Tomorrow, her funeral. Then, our honeymoon. All with tight security.

"I'm still in shock, Dr Fernandez, same as you. Damn, it's been awful." 

All the Fernandezes hugged me tight. Little Lola tearfully clung to her "Uncle Ran's" leg. Ruth joined our maudlin embrace. Ruth and Katia had been best friends since kindergarten and my fuck-buddies for years. So many lives torn apart...

Alonzo's bodyguards stood nearby. Federal marshals, I think they were. They did not talk.

My best man Dave approached without his usual politician's smile. He pulled me aside, wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

"Shit, buddy, this is about the weirdest. Well, at least this feels like a safe place. It's pretty quiet here behind the walls. But wow! The situation outside is something else! Media crews, onlookers, and shitloads of cops. What, you got TWO choppers flying patrol?"

"Yeah, LAPD and National Guard. These guys aren't taking chances. It'll be lots worse at the funeral tomorrow too. I can't wait to get away with Ruth. I don't even know where we're honeymooning. Afraid I might spill the secret or something." I felt dizzy.

"You know what you're doing afterwards? Got plans, or are you winging it?"

"Oh, I have a plan, all right." I shot a dark look at my 'loving' sister Jill, snuggled against tall dark Wiremu. Were his teeth filed to points? "I'm downright positive it won't be popular. But it's got to be done. There's changes to be made, big changes."

"You're not going off into dumb-ass territory, I hope? Look, I can give you some political cover, and the Shapiros and Fernandezes will be with you, you know that -- but not if you do something stupid. Don't be stupid, now."

"No, no, nothing stupid. Only what's necessary. Fuck, I need to sit down."

I collapsed in a patio chair and awaited the inevitable.

Fragments of conversation swirled around me. "Oh, did you see the..." "Yeah, the Moscow liaison was lying..." "I can't believe they had the nerve to..." "She's so wasted..." "Look at those teeth..." and yada yada. It all blurred.

The event rolled along inexorably.

I was dragged into place. We gathered around the judge: me and groomsman Dave, and Ruth and bridesmaid Rachel. Our mothers and Mr Shapiro stood for us. Jill kept her distance with hulking Wiremu. Ruth and I held our own rings to exchange. Two unobtrusive photographers recorded the event -- a simple, quiet ceremony, except for helicopters.

The judge made some introductory remarks. I do not remember much. Speeches always put me to sleep. I struggled to pull my dopey eyelids open.

Then it came: The Big Moment.

"Do you, Randall Orson van Ronk, take..." yada yada yada.

"Uh, yeah, sure, you bet, yes," I mumbled, still dizzy.

"Do you, Ruth-Ann Tamara Shapiro, take..." yada yada.

"HELL YES, I DO!" Ruth shouted, and grabbed me, and clung to me like a limpet, and forced her mouth against mine, her tongue probing my uvula.

"Well, you've started a little early, but, whatever... Anyway, by the power vested in me by the great State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. I'd tell you to kiss, but... okay, that's enough. Can I get out of here now? I don't want to miss my foursome at Northridge. Allen, can I get a drink before I go? Sheesh, what a clusterfu..."

The judge wandered off for liquid refreshment and an escorted ride to the links. Ruth hung onto me like her life was at stake. Maybe it was.

Okay, now we were married. Hurrah.

The pavilion behind Allen's serpentine swimming pool housed the reception. I assumed the classical string quartet had been frisked and the catered food all tested for toxins. Everyone danced with everyone they dared. Nobody got too drunk. Nobody climbed the wall in either direction.

And afterwards? Most everyone left, so the security crew thinned out a bit.

Ruth dragged me to the mini-mansion's guest quarters serving as our bridal suite. I'm sure we had sex then, like we had so many times before... no, wait, I had fucked Rachel and Deb there, but not Ruth. They all looked so alike. This was a first!

Yeah, I'm sure we had sex that night. We must have officially consummated our marriage. We had to, right? I just do not remember much.

I was still loopy. Opiate painkillers do that to me. Even after a good 69.

I woke fairly early. I remained dazed. I unwrapped snoring Ruth's arms from around my neck and crawled out of bed. I managed to find the ensuite loo; managed to aim my urine stream into the toilet; managed not to fall over.

But I did not have the strength or coordination to return to bed. I fell onto the big comfortable couch that probably still had my semen embedded in the upholstery from years past.

Newspapers and magazines, dailies and recent newsweeklies, dotted the end tables. Headlines blared: 



The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 02



Ruth was crying. "Oh fuck. Poor Katia." Her wet Levantine eyes held mine. "You know I loved her almost as much as I love you, or Dad or Mom. Oh fuck. And you say, she might still be alive, if Jill had only..."

"If Jill had paid attention to people and not just profits. If *I* had paid attention to the slime Jill was dealing with. If, if, if..."

We held each other to keep from collapsing. We did not move for endless minutes.

Allen returned. He watched our sad embrace.

"The docs are almost ready. By close of business today, you'll have no legal connection with TBI." He looked at me closely. "Are you sure this is what want, son? Where do you go next?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you, sir. What's next? Other than keeping Ruth happy and healthy?" I squeezed my new wife. "We haven't talked yet."

"I know what *I* want, and it's YOU. You're first on my list. But next, I have an interview next week at LACMA. I want onto the curator staff, and they seem to want me, too."

LACMA, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, was only a few blocks from the Shapiro house, and right next to La Brea Tar Pits -- a prestige institution. And so close.

I idly thought of dumping Jill into the tar pits. She could hang out with sabre-tooth cats and dire wolves and other prehistoric predators -- her kind of beasts. Only a fantasy...

"Okay, if the interview pans out, we should look for a condo or something nearby. Might as well have an easy commute," I said.

"Why don't you kids stay here for now? Think about a home later. It's not like there isn't room." Allen gestured at the mini-mansion.

Ruth and I looked at each other, mentally conferred, and nodded. "Thank you, sir. We'll see what happens, play it by ear from here," I answered.

"Yes, thanks, Dad. It'll be good to be nearby." Ruth kissed his cheek.

We heard a BEEP. Allen walked out of the room. He returned, studying the sheaf of paper in his hand, muttering to himself.

"This all looks right. Yes, yes..." He looked up. "Okay son, here are your emancipation papers. Sign, and you're free. Totally free from TBI and Jill. Free to be Ruth's slave, anyway."

"Yessir." I signed.

Ruth tugged my hand and led me to the guest rooms, our "honeymoon suite".

"Dad's right, Ran. You DO look like leftover shit. You need a serious rest."

"Yeah. Lemmee shower and sleep and maybe I'll be human again."

Ruth poured me something strong and alcoholic while I stripped. I sloshed it down and straggled into the ensuite shower. Ruth followed me in, also naked. I did NOT feel sexy but I appreciated her scrubbing and shampooing me, deep-rubbing my scalp.

Ruth dried me, and led me to bed, and watched me fall into nightmares.

=====

Ruth's LACMA interview went well.

Allen's heart did not.

And I was still dizzy.

Ruth was giddy. She felt quite comfortable with the curators' committee. She knew she impressed them. They told her, informally, to expect a formal job offer in a few days, and they wanted her right away. Ruth was ecstatic.

"Oh Ran, I've wanted this for years! They'll start me with the neo-modern section, that was my special-studies focus, but I'll get to work in other areas too. There's just so much! It's like a giant playground!"

"And you'll know way ahead of time of any special exhibits and other good stuff that comes in, right?" I kissed her breast as we lay in bed.

"Only the best, lover! LACMA is about the most dynamic big gallery in the country now, and we'll get all the hot shows, and I'll be in on them, one way or another. And of course we'll get sneak previews. You'll love this too, Ran. It's great!"

"So you can walk me in and let me watch the setups?" I slurped her other nipple. She jiggled and giggled.

"Well, it'll help if you're a patron. One little donation can buy a lot of access. Then I'm not just sneaking in my cute husband, I'm impressing a donor. Management likes that sort of thing."

Ruth snuggled closer. "And I'd like to impress this specific donor some more. Maybe talk him into boosting his donations. How about a donation, mister? Y'know, the gift that keeps on giving?" She stroked my stiffening cock.

Oh damn, the sex was good! Ruth's career excitement translated into personal excitement and rampant horniness. She just about raped me that day, and that night, and the next day, and...

Ruth was on cloud nine for two days. Until the calls came from New Orleans.

Allen was in the Big Easy for usual show-business negotiations and litigation. He suffered a heart attack. Geez, the guy was only around fifty years old. That's too young for acute myocardial infarctions, right? Well, until too recently, Allen had been a food hound and smoker.

He was treated at Ochsner Medical Center, New Orleans' best. They called his condition stable.

Allen's heart infarcted again the next day. He was in much more serious shape this time. His doctors were very concerned.

So were we. Ruth freaked-out after the second heart attack. We booked an executive jet to speed us east. We arrived in time to learn of yet a third infarction. Ferdie met us at the general aviation terminal.

"Hi Ran, hi Ruth. Look girl, calm down. Your sister's with your dad, and the best docs in the state are working on him, and your fretting won't do him any good. C'mon, I'll take you two to the hospital, then we'll go home and figure things out."

We settled into his limo. The Haitian chauffeur was fast, efficient, silent. 

Rachel hugged me and her sister when we reached the ICU waiting room. Ferdie walked down the corridor, conducting business by phone. Bankers never rest, right?

"Damn, I'm glad you guys are here, but there's not much we can do. They won't allow visitors. Got nothing to see anyway, just Dad all plugged with tubes and wires and shit. You want to see him? Check that video monitor." Rachel pointed to a screen on the wall.

We saw a bed-ridden human form swathed in technology and attended by robed, masked figures. No, nothing exciting here, or even personal. Staying and fretting would not help.

Ferdie's limo whisked us from the medical enter to their Greek Revival mansion in the Garden District. Ferdie claimed exhaustion and went to bed. Ruth was also totally wiped, physically and emotionally. She gave me a tired but thorough kiss, told me to behave myself, and headed for our guest room.

Rachel sat with me. No, that's not quite right. Rachel settled next to me on the leather couch, adjusted her gauzy vanilla dress, leaned against me, took my hand, snuggled into me, and kissed me lightly.

"You guys were only married a few weeks ago. And you have all this fucking drama and tragedy to deal with. This can't be how you expected married life to begin?" She kissed my face again.

I returned her Lady Grey kisses. "It's been a strange trip. I hardly know what I'm doing yet, or where. I think I almost have the 'why' figured out, though. Only, I'm not sure of the 'what next' or whatever else." 

"Well, the first 'what next' is, we're gonna fuck, yeah. Or have you gone monogamous with my little sister?" She squeezed my cock in inquiry.

"Don't know yet, but I could be persuaded..."

Rachel took me to a private nook with a queen bed. Her oblivious husband was presumably thoroughly unconscious upstairs. My tempestuous new wife snored in a nearby room. Rachel and I had the night to ourselves.

We knew each other's bodies quite well by now. We knew how to rise to fever pitch. My mouth and fingers had Rachel dripping. Her mouth and fingers made my cock as hard as steel pipe. She spread her legs. I moved into place. 

She gripped my hard-on and pulled me into her core with no further delays. I slid balls-deep inside her not-too-tight tunnel in one smooth thrust. She moaned appreciatively and pushed her hips up against mine.

"Oh damn, Ran, fuck me," she breathed. 

Her legs looped around mine. I moved faster, more insistently, pounding her. My chest crushed her ever-glorious grapefruit globes. My voice moaned, "Oh yeah, so good..." My lips locked to hers -- lips tasting like flowers and herbs. Our tongues danced their mating ritual.

Rachel shifted, with her legs locked around my waist, limiting our motions. We tilted into a tighter, shorter, faster, rougher rhythm. I hammered into her. Our pubes slammed together. I felt my orgasm approach, and hers.

"Oh, Randy," she moaned. Her arms pinned my upper body. Her fingernails raked my back. "Oh fuck, oh yeah, oh oh oh..."

We spasmed together. I felt every cubic centimeter of her vagina massaging and mangling my blood-filled bayonet as she tried to milk each and every last drop of semen from me. She nearly succeeded. I roared, and flooded her, filling her womb with my living seed.

She squeezed; I shot; we convulsed.

Rachel did not quite wail. That was good; soundproofing was not great in this old house. But her muted moan sounded quite satisfactory.

"You had enough?" I asked.

I did not await a reply. I slipped down between her thighs and nuzzled her vulva. I am not shy about tasting my own cum mixed with a woman's juices.

I licked around her puffy labia and lapped into her carnal chasm, but concentrated on circumnavigating her clitoris. Around, and across, and she gasped! Then across, and around, and across again, and she groaned!

My arms were under her thighs and around her sides, reaching to her breasts. My lips and tongue attacked her clit while my fingers abused her nipples. She quivered and shook and moaned, "Oh, oh, oh..." I felt her reach for a pillow to smother her voice.

And she gurgled. Then gasped, and threw the pillow aside, and grabbed my hair, and pulled my head closer to her. Then pushed me away.

"Enough, enough, oh shit Ran, stop now, please stop, please... I mean it! Oh, oh... Oh crap, stop now!" Her voice was a raspy whisper.

When she pushed hard enough, I stopped.

I slid up next to her. She snuggled into me. We lay quietly, embracing lightly, murmuring softly. Our twenty-nine-year-old-bodies fit well.

"That was great, Ran."

"You're always great, babe."

"Of course I am! But it's late. We needed to be bright and functional tomorrow." She kissed me. "We won't be doing this a lot more, will we?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "Let's go get clean now."

We showered. We lathered each other carefully and fully. And that's all we did. No fucking in the shower. We had to save something for our spouses.

I eased into bed with Ruth, both naked. She snored. I likely did too.

I woke after dawn with my cock deep in Ruth's mouth -- slow and gentle, a really nice wake-me-up. I hummed happily as she stiffened me nicely.

I made I'm-awake sounds. "Shhh," Ruth whispered, "it's my turn."

Ruth pushed the light blanket aside. She straddled my hips and pushed down onto me. My cock slid nicely into her. We both moaned. She lowered herself further, totally impaled. I reached to hold her lovely breasts. She looked into my eyes.

"You and my sister fucked again, didn't you, Ran?"

I nodded. "You know we did." I leaned up to kiss a nipple.

She slid up and down my shaft, rolled and rocked, then up and down again.

"That's got to stop, Ran. It's just us now. Just us."

She moved faster. And faster. Her hips blurred. Her body tightened. She stopped, every muscle minutely tensed. She dropped onto me. And screamed.

Not a quiet, muffled scream. A full-tilt-boogie scream, suitable for waking dead alligators from their fetid swampy graveyards.

I heard laughter through the thin walls, then moans and groans, not at all stifled. It sounded like we were not the only ones connecting that morning. 

=====

The hospital allowed Allen visitors the next day. We four 'kids' gathered around his bed. We all talked about Allen's prognosis and prospects.

"Look, kids. The doctors here aren't going to let me go anywhere anytime soon. Once they kick me out of Intensive, I'll be in a cardiac clinic for who knows how long. We've got to set things up to handle this right.

"Rachel, it's best if you and Ferdie are my legal guardians, just in case. I'll stay here in New Orleans for the time being. I need a change of pace from L.A. anyway. I can still run my practice from here; I've got well-trained slaves at my office." He grinned weakly.

"And we'll be your slaves here, right, dad?" Rachel smiled. "Don't worry, we can handle your medical care and housing and hookers and whatever."

Allen grunted. "Might not be hookers for a while, y'know."

He looked away. I knew he was thinking of his former fiancé Nancy dropping him. He looked back at us.

"Ruth, you and Randy should have the Fairfax house. It's so close to LACMA, and it's paid for. I'll have your names added to the title as co-owners. It's still my house, as long as I'm alive. But you might as well have it. Just don't burn it down, okay?"

We promised to be careful. And Allen managed to slip a post-nup into the paperwork. More on that later.

Our good-byes were not too tearful. But our next greetings were wet-eyed: Allen lasted only six months before another heart attack killed him. We took his body home for burial. Nancy skipped the funeral.

-- 1989 -- Thanksgiving Weekend

I renewed the old holiday ritual, hanging with my cousin Doug at his same Venice West apartment block, beside the heated pool adorned by scantily-clad women. Doug and I once again reclined on loungers. We discussed yesterday's family turkey feast briefly, then moved on. The womenfolk were out shopping on this Black Friday as usual. Doug and I surveyed the scenery.

Doug was sipping some alco-pop concoction. I politely declined in favor of Anchor Steam beer. Doug strained the sickly-sweet mutant brew through his thick blond moustache. He grinned at my shudder of distaste.

"Hey kid, you've had a pretty weird year, lotsa crap since last holiday season. You got karma catching up with you, or something?"

"Yeah, it's been nuts, and negative, way too much. I tell you, a year ago, hell, six months ago, I never would have thought I'd be where I am now. I can't work this as a gain-versus-loss or cost-benefit analysis. Life isn't like that. I've lost so much. I've gained... some. I've moved over, into a different life, much more stable, but... well, maybe more static stability than dynamic stability." I sipped my dark brew.

"Huh? Static and dynamic stability? You lost me there, cuz."

"A rock is statically stable. It sits in one place unless it's shoved away. A gyroscope is dynamically stable. Give it a shove, it tries to return to where it was. With TBI, I was always on the move, but I always returned. Now, I'm much more into staying in one place. Takes a lot less energy."

"Hmmph. Okay. I'm guessing it's home life that ties you down here."

"Yeah, that's Ruth, my anchor now." I gave a lopsided grin. "She's really thrown herself into her new curating job. LACMA seems to make her glow. She's mostly active in the Modernism section. That doesn't much interest me. I prefer ethnic crafts and graphics. You've seen my stuff. But she already has expertise and professional respect. I know I'll be proud of her work."

"Okay, so she's got a job she loves. Does that cut into your home life?"

"Oh, you mean, like, bedroom time? No problem!" My grin was self-satisfied. "And I'm sticking with Ruth now. Damn, she's hot! I've pretty much swapped variety or quantity for quality."

"What, you've gone monogamous? And after doing her sister, and her mother, and what seems like about one-tenth the female population of these United States? You feel okay now, kid?"

I pondered a moment. "I feel like maybe I'm growing up. I'm on a new level of responsibility. Put away the toys -- well, I guess women were my toys -- but move on to work... no, that's not right, either. It's still all play, it's just not a game any more, it's serious... and not as funny as before."

"You're getting heavy there, cuz. So what are you doing with your life?

"Well, Ruth doesn't NEED to work. Neither do I. Selling-out from TBI left us with enough to live comfortably. But I grew up with obsessive work habits -- they're embedded within me. I can't NOT work. So I consult."

"Huh! I read that consultants get paid a whole bunch to tell clients what they already know. Is that your schtick now?" He drank more of his swill.

"I have nothing to do with Jill or the business and I don't compete. But I do have expertise in the materials biz, and enough non-competing enterprises need what I know. So I advise, and dicker, and analyze, and report, and pocket the fees. It's enough to support a personal assistant. And no, she's not a sexy young thing, just bleak and efficient."

"I wondered about that. Ruth lets you near other women?"

"Ah, 'Look but don't touch', that's her rule. I'd like to change that to 'Don't do behind my back what you wouldn't do in front of me,' but I don't know if we'll get there." I finished my Anchor Steam and popped another.

"Anyway, we have enough money. What do we do with it? We invest carefully -- I want to never NEED to work again. We buy some art and a little land. We get away when we can. We don't buy useless bling and toys. No Ferraris, only a couple Beemers. No yachts, no vast estates, no megabuck parties. No piles of jewelry -- got enough already, through TBI. We're both financially pretty conservative, pretty frugal. Those are old habits we won't break. Blowing money is dumb."

"How about kids? Got any coming? You'll get to blow LOTS of money on kids!"

"We're working on that. Practicing a lot, of course." We both laughed. "Ruth wants to time things to fit with her LACMA schedule. I can't fault her for that. She really wants this career. Makes her feel like she's contributing to the world."

"Well, kids would be a fun contribution. And hey, do her on your desk, and you can say, 'I gave at the office,' heh heh."

Our conversation skidded downhill from there. Use your imagination.

No, I did NOT tell Doug I already had kids. Kids I could not acknowledge. Kids by Katia's stepmother Juanita, and by Ruth and Rachel's mother Deborah. Kids their husbands thought to be their own. [See the previous episode, DOING RUTH #1, for details.] Some secrets should not be told.

My and Deb's twins would be known as mys, Lev and Leah. To little Lola, my and Juanita's daughter, I could only be "Uncle Ran". I was not yet 'Daddy' anywhere. Was I ready for a change? I thought so.

-- 1990 -- spring in the Southland

My consulting business did well. Ruth's career took off. But both our working lives demanded time and space, alas. I might have kept my ass in Los Angeles, but I did not; clients lured me around the hemisphere. Ruth's work called for her to travel to assess and negotiate collections and displays.

We were apart too much. Wait, have you heard this before? It gets worse.

Ruth was a fucking wonder when we were together.

Not that we did everything sexual. Neither of us were into anal, and she said 'no' to threesomes or moresomes. But neither of us minded strolling on clothing- or morality-optional beaches, through masses of exposed skin and fleshy bits, as long as we observed the "look but don't touch" rule.

We looked, and were watched. We masturbated in front of others, and fucked in front of others, and watched while they masturbated and slurped and fucked. But we did not touch them. And we did not bring them home.

Well, *some* outside touching continued. I hooked up with Rachel a few more times, the latest not too long ago. And I spent a lot of time with my mom Nina at the Santa Monica house. We wore only skin in the house and yard and pool, and hugged and kissed lovingly -- our long tradition. We were discreet when her Bobby or anyone else was around. Sex was private.

Nina and I sunned ourselves by the backyard pool one weekday afternoon. We'd had fun 69ing -- my mother's light tight body on mine; my tongue intriguing her pussy, the portal from whence I had entered this world; her sweet mouth polishing me to perfection.




The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 02



We snuggled and swayed together on a wide hammock. Our post-orgasmic chat started light but turned serious.

"So, where is Ruth this week?"

"Zacatecas, north of Guadalajara. She's negotiating with the Pedro Coronel museum about mounting a show of his. She'd really like to get the Felguérez abstracts too, but she'd have a hard time reproducing the prison environment in LACMA."

"Prison?" Nina tilted her head quizzically.

"The Felguérez museum is in a former penitentiary. Visitors walk the guards' catwalks to view large abstracts in the prisoners' spaces. Really freaky."

"Oh. I know how much you and Jill always loved Zacatecas..."

"Nina, quit it." I seethed.

"Look, I know you don't want to talk about your sister, but..."

"Forget it. I won't..."

"BE QUIET! I'm still your mother, and you WILL listen to me."

I nodded, and held my tongue.

"Jill has moved to Washington D.C. pretty much full-time. She and Gabrielle run TBI out of the office there. Gabby now has your job title. No surprise."

Ah, tall shapely black Gabby. Yes, she had indeed been the second-in-command all along, despite what my business cards said.

"Their business is okay, but Jill really isn't. She's been, oh I don't know, a bit brittle ever since you-know-when. Yes, brittle, and bitter, and..."

Nina trailed off. She did not specifically mention the shooting, or our wounds, or Katia's death. Good. I especially did not want to be reminded. And our mom thought JILL was brittle and bitter? That described my own moods far too well.

"I think, no, I *know* they're living together. I wouldn't mind, so long as she's happy. But she's NOT really happy -- and you're right, she shouldn't be happy, not after what she's done, her recklessness, her... obsession... with money, and the consequences."

I did not really care now if Jill was happy or not. But I kept quiet and listened. Nina snuggled closer, and kissed me, and looked in my face.

"I don't know whether to blame myself for any of this. I mean, it's natural, or maybe presumptuous, thinking my mothering turned you both into who you are. Or maybe there's just something wrong with Jill, like she's some sort of sociopath. I don't know how she understands right and wrong."

I broke in. "I don't think it's you. Jill has always gone over the line. Ever since she raised tarantulas at home." We both smiled a little.

"I know. I just don't know if there's something, anything, that I should have done or could have done. I worry about you both, dammit! I hate it when you're hurt or in trouble or anything else, anything bad..."

Nina cried. I held and kissed her. She sobbed a long minute, and then caught herself, hugged me tight, and sat up.

"Look, I'm going to rest a bit before my night shift. I'll be back in the morning, without Bobby. I only want you to remember -- you and Jill aren't angel. You've both made awful mistakes, and you'll make more. I want you to think about not being perfect, okay?"

Nina rolled out of the hammock. She walked to the house, her still-bubbly butt bouncing nicely as she shimmied to the patio door. I could have been watching Jill walk away -- they were so much alike, physically. Mentally... not quite.

I moved to a shaded chaise so I would not burn. I napped. I dreamed. Of Nina, and Jill, and Rachel, and Ruth, and Katia, and life, and death...

=====

I awoke right after sunset. Smog turned the dusk sky a muddy red.

I rolled to get off the chaise -- and found I could not. My hands and feet were tied down! What the fuck? I tried to yell but my mouth and throat were bone-dry. I could barely squawk. WHAT THE FUCK?!?

I heard the clip-clops of multiple flip-flops walking toward me. I managed to turn my head. I saw Jill and Gabrielle walking hand-in-hand toward me wearing only zorries and floppy wide-brim sun hats. Their smiles scared me.

Their burdens scared me too. Gabrielle slung a tripod over her shoulder. Jill carried a big BetaMax camcorder.

Gabrielle's bubbly butt bounced as she positioned the tripod. Jill's tits jiggled nicely when she handed Gabby the video recorder. I tried not to be enticed by the moving flesh and fluffy pubic hair. What was this? Fuck, why was I tied up? Why was my cock stiff?

"Hi there, little brother. Hope you're comfy." Jill grinned an evil smile.

"Hey, boss! Just relax. Everything's okay." Gabrielle stood from the camera.

Cottonmouth muffled me. "What's going on?" I rasped.

Jill almost leered. "Oooh, nice pecker. Same as always. Tell ya what, bro, here's the thing. I know you want kids, kids of your own. And I know that tramp Ruth doesn't, not now anyway. She loves sex with you. But she loves her little artsy-fartsy job, too. She thinks curating trumps motherhood."

Gabrielle laughed. "Hey, almost anything trumps motherhood for some gals. Taking care of little snots isn't near as much fun as big snots. Like you. At least big snots don't usually cry all night. Not unless they're treated right, anyway."

Jill patted my cheek. "But guess what, Randy? I *do* want kids. And guess what? I want *your* kids. I know they'll be great. I know about some of your little nippers already. I know all about Juanita, and Deborah, and Rachel."

I twitched. I struggled. I croaked, "Rachel? What about Rachel? She and Ferdie don't have kids." Damn, my throat hurt!

Jill smirked. "You don't know? She didn't tell you? She's two months gone with your son. You'll be a papa again. Except that Ferdie won't know, just like Avram and Alonzo don't know. You've been a busy little cuckoo, laying your eggs in other guys' nests, haven't you now?"

Gabrielle left the tripodded camera to stand with Jill beside me. They kissed, nipples rubbing together. Jill grinned.

"So now you'll lay eggs in closer nests. Our nests. Both of us."

My throat still hurt. "But... but, Gabby doesn't even like me! And you, you're my sister! You can't have our kids!"

Now it was Gabrielle's turn to smirk. "Just because I think you're a psycho dweeb brat, doesn't mean I don't appreciate a good prick when I see one." Her long dark index finger gave my stiff cock a thump. Why was I hard?

"And I *do* want your kid, same as Jill. We figure if we raise your nestlings together, they'll bond best, and so will we. You and Jill share most of your genes. This way, I'll always have a lot of Jill in me and my offspring." They kissed again.

Jill wanted a kid by me? She had gone over the edge!

My mouth and throat still felt bad. "Well..." I coughed. "Holy fuck, will someone give me a drink? I'm dying here. And untie me!"

Jill held a squeeze bottle to my lips. "Sure, have more Kool-Aid."

She squirted sweet cool liquid into my mouth. I sloshed it around before swallowing. She gave me another squirt, emptying the plastic bottle.

"There, you should feel better now." She tossed the bottle aside.

"Yeah, thanks. Now let me up!"

"Oh, that's not part of the plan."

"Plan? What plan? Untie me!"

"Oh no, the plan is, you fuck us both, get us nice and pregnant."

"What? No way! No way am I fucking you! What do you think I am?"

"I think you're my hunky little brother, with balls filled with hot viable sperm. I think we've fucked each other enough that we're pretty good at it. I think you'll be a wonderful sperm donor. And you WILL enjoy it!"

"No fucking way!" I yelled. But my traitorous cock thought otherwise.

Gabrielle still held Jill's hand. She reached down with dark fingers and pinched my cheek like an infant's.

"And we've got a little help. Jill knows this Ukrainian biochemist, doing work on stimulating reproductive and sensory systems. You're the lucky beneficiary. Well, actually, WE'LL benefit. You'll just have fun. Lots and lots of good clean fun."

Gabby giggled. Oh fuck. That always meant trouble for someone. Me, usually.

"Jill's wizard brewed up some interesting stuff. One compound is totally natural: Miraculon, from the Miracle Berry bush. It makes everything taste good, real, real good. Much better than MSG. You'll really get off on slurping us.

"Another is from a class of chemicals called PDE5 inhibitors. Basically, they keep a penis filled with blood rather than draining out after cumming. You'll stay stiff for many hours.

"And there's a souped-up luteinizing hormone. Makes your balls pump out sperm by the gallon. Nice, healthy, active sperm, lots and lots of them. Exactly what we want."

I was aghast. I opened my mouth. Jill shook her head.

"No, don't talk. Just enjoy. We also added some feel-good chemicals to the mix you drank. The Kool-Aid flavor masks their taste well, don't you agree?"

I tried to talk but I felt dizzy. And horny. Very, very horny.

"Best thing for you is, you don't have to do anything but lie there and cum. We'll do all the work. Won't we, Gabby?"

Gabrielle nodded and kissed Jill again.

"And don't worry much about the side effects. Sure, this is an experimental mix. You might age a bit faster, and lose some muscle tone and brain cells. Not that you really need a brain. All we want are your sperm. They'll stay healthy and active... for a few days, anyway."

I wanted to resist. This was rape! But my cock and the chemicals betrayed me. My mind said, RESIST. My cock and bloodstream said, FUCK.

So I did.

Gabrielle pulled another chaise up beside mine. Jill laid back in it with her taut legs stretched and spread. Gabby crawled on top of her -- mouth-to-mouth at first, then mouth to breasts, her dark lips suckling my sister's rosy nipples as I had so many times. Jill moaned with delight.

Gabrielle slid down even further. She kissed between Jill's bouncy breasts, then down to her naked navel, and then her inner thighs. Jill groaned loudly when Gabby's tongue contacted her pussy.

Jill pushed Gabrielle's head away.

"Okay, that's enough of that for now. I want the real thing!"

Jill stood, threw her legs on either side of my chaise, settled on her knees astride my hips, and slowly dropped onto me. Gabrielle held my oh-so-hard cock and guided me into Jill's very wet vagina. Jill gasped. I grunted.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah..." Jill chanted as she rode me, like so many times before. I usually accentuated her pleasure by caressing her breasts and tweaking her thick nipples. Not now. I was trapped.

Gabrielle leaned over my head. She attached her puffy lips to one of my nips, her sly fingers to the other, and aimed an abundant black breast into my mouth. I suckled involuntary, automatically. Damn, she tasted good! I sucked harder. She shifted, giving me her other boob. Oh, delicious!

I felt my balls stir and boil, my sperm rise in its tubes. "Not so soon!" I cried to myself. to no avail. My orgasm rumbled forth. I spewed.

Jill had not cum yet. She kept riding me. Gabrielle moved forward and straddled my head. Her dark spicy pussy was over my mouth, coming closer, settling onto my lips. Oh, what nectar!

I felt Gabrielle lean into Jill. I could not see, but I imagined Gabby kissing Jill's mouth and tweaking her tits. Jill's hips moved faster on mine, and faster yet.

Jill stopped. 

And she screamed, a scream quickly muffled when Gabby's lips covered hers. 

I felt Gabrielle move Jill off me and then dismount herself. Gabby pushed Jill onto the neighboring chaise.

"Now you just lay quiet there, girl, while I plug you up. Don't want any of that hot sperm to get away, now do we? Yeah, that's right: knees up, pussy up. And don't mind this here rubber stopper. It'll keep everything inside you, till next time."

"Ooh, nice shot there, kid," Jill said to me. "Nice and juicy. Now it's Gabby's turn. You ready for him, babe?"

"Sure as shit, beautiful," Gabrielle crooned. "But first, we need to get him back in action. How long did Borysko say recharging would take?"

"With the mix and dose we gave him, maybe ten minutes. Faster if we jump-start his libido. Little Ran here loves sucking and being sucked. You could fire him up pretty quick if you 69 him, get him up to speed, yeah."

"Whatever you say, babe. Okay kid, get ready for the best!"

I tried to protest. Well, not too hard, not with Gabrielle's delicious pussy in my face and her lips wrapped around my traitorous tumescent manhood. We slurped. I stiffened further. And then Gabby rolled off me, dammit!

"Wooh, looks like he's hot to trot, hey babe? What d'ya think?"

"I think it's time for his big white dick to slide into your hot black box and give you some van Ronk genes, is what I think," Jill laughed.

"Do tell? All right, it's time for my sacrifice. What I won't do for you, babe!"

Gabrielle spread her knees astride my hips, and settled onto my groin, and guided me into her raging depths, and groaned. I grunted again.

Jill stood. She sat on my legs behind Gabrielle, and bit her neck, and massaged her breasts, and stroked her thighs, while Gabby pulsated atop me and pinched my own nipples. Damn, my rocks were so hot, so bloated, so ready to overflow! My hips pounded up into hers.

Time! Gabby shuddered and came. I came immediately after, filling her with my juice of life. Oh fuck, what a rush!

Jill helped Gabrielle to the other chaise, and positioned her, and plugged her, and kissed her. They murmured together, too quiet for me to hear.

The moon changed location in the sky. I know the fuckfest continued long into the evening and night. I don't know how long. I don't know how many times I spurted. I stopped caring about counting. I only fucking came, and came, and CAME!

I think they untied me around midnight. They raised me from the chaise, and supported me, walking me to the pool-house bathroom, seating me on the toilet, holding me up till I drained, and then pushing me into the shower. I was too weak to stand. I sat on the shower floor while Jill and Gabrielle hosed me off.

They pulled me back upright. Gabrielle held me while Jill toweled me dry. Still supporting me, they walked me to my bedroom and tucked me in.

Jill kissed my lips.

"Sweet dreams, little brother. And be sure to stay in touch."

Gabrielle chuckled.

"Yeah, in touch. Don't call us, we'll call you. Have fun, boy!"

They walked away. I slept, exhausted. The sleep of the damned.

=====

I was awakened the next morning by Nina's bare body snuggling against me.

"You look pretty beat, Randy. Have a rough night?" Mom kissed me.

I rolled in bed. "Oh fuck, you wouldn't believe, it was so..."

I think I passed out then. I awoke later with Nina's worried face against mine.

"You back now, Ran? I haven't seen you like this! What happened?"

I reluctantly spilled what I remembered of the prior night. Mom was pissed.

"She did WHAT?! BOTH of them?! Those conniving little... that's... but there's no legal... no, no, that would... let me think about this, Ran. You get some more sleep. I need to sleep, too. We'll work on this after we wake up, I promise. Now close your eyes..."

Nina hummed an old lullaby. I felt so comforted, so loved, so... out...

I was conscious again by late afternoon. Nina still held me, her breath soft against my cheek.

I stretched. Nina stirred, opened her eyes, looked at me, looked more closely. She seemed reassured by what she saw.

"Feeling better?" 

I assessed myself. Refreshed, not too beat, rather hungry. And horny again.

Nina felt my cock harden against her leg. "Yes, I guess you are. You up for this?"

Surprisingly, I was. We rolled into a missionary posture. Mom opened her thighs for me. I entered her, a nice long slow leisurely fuck, nothing frantic. Damn, after last night, would I ever want frantic sex again?

We loved. We came. We lay together, talking quietly.

"I'm thinking the best reaction to Jill and Gabby is to ignore them," Nina murmured. "No revenge, no rewarding, no wasting efforts. I'm not going to scold Jill about this. Wouldn't do any good."

Nina sighed into my neck. "I don't even know what I can say to her. So for now, I'll say nothing. Will she call? Will I talk to her if she calls? I just don't know yet." She held me tighter. I felt her sob softly.

She faced me. "Maybe this isn't the best time, but I have news. Important news. I'm going to marry Bobby."

I sparked. "Wow Mom, that's great! He's moving here full-time, then?"

She shook her head. "No, I'll move in with him next week. His condo is nice. We might move back here later. But that's not what's important. Randy, I want to raise a family with Bobby. I want to have a kid with him. But..."

She tensed. I had a strange feeling. What was coming?

"But..." she continued, "he has genetic problems. He had kids in his first marriage -- you didn't know about that, did you? -- and they both were born with defects. We talked about this. Long and hard. He agreed I could use an anonymous sperm donor. And..."

I felt hairs rising on the back of my neck and my stomach roil. Did she really...?

"And... I went off The Pill a month ago. I'll have a baby. Your baby, Randy."

Holy fuck! Are all the women in my life totally batshit insane?

Nina stroked my cheek. "Can't stay in bed forever. I have things to do before my night shift. We'll talk later. But remember: You're my son, and my lover, and my best friend. Be strong. I need you."

Nina climbed from my bed. She stood and stretched her fabulous tight body. Forty-seven years old now, but she looked twenty years younger. Eat right, exercise right, love right. Living right pays off.

She turned, tits jiggling pleasantly, and pointed at me.

"And YOU, mister, had better get ready for your wife's homecoming. She'll be back from Zacatecas, when, next week? About the time I move out? Give her lots of love. And it's about time you kids started a family of your own!"

I watched her hips sway and her butt wiggle as she walked out the bedroom door. Holy fuck, Mom! Why me?

I crawled out of bed, performed the bathroom rituals, dragged into the kitchen, French-pressed a big cup of Chiapas coffee, slurped it down, stumbled outside, and dove into the pool to cool off and wake up. I noticed the tripod and camcorder were gone. What ELSE were those women up to?

=====

Ruth returned from Zacatecas happy as a clam at high tide. Maybe happier -- clams don't have much in the way of nervous systems or cognition.

"Wow, Ran, it all went so great! We're gonna have the BEST exhibit. But forget that. We're way overdressed." She stripped me and herself.

We went into fuck-o-rama mode. Ruth took me in every room, on nearly every piece of furniture, free-standing or built-in. At all hours, day and night. She fucked me till I was blind and stubby. And she blamed it all on me.

"Gotta stop now. I'm just about fucked-out. This has been a fun weekend!"

I paused my vulva-nuzzling and looked up from between her thighs.

"Yeah, you've got to come home more often. Then you wouldn't be out of practice."

Ruth's face soured, and then softened.

"Oh, come on, don't lay that on me again. You know I love my work, and it takes me places. You know I'm here just as much as I can. Your work takes you away too, not so much, but still... It's what I have to do. It makes me feel like I have a place in the world."

I licked around her clitoris again.

"Oooh, and your tongue's found a nice place, too. Oooh, yeah..."

Ruth was ready to cum again, but she still wasn't ready for kids. I soon learned why.

=====

NEXT: Yes, all the women in his life ARE totally batshit insane!

Author's note: Oh my. The story has almost run out of control. I was SURE this would end of the DOING RUTH mini-series, but the players had other plans. I am SURE that I can finish this in the next chapter. Stay tuned! 



The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 03



Author's note: This episode of an extended romantic memoir is probably fictional, even the violence. All sexual acts involve humans of age 18+. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's. For readers' convenience, most non-Anglish-language communications are presented in loose Anglish translation.

You do not NEED to read the first two episodes (BEFORE RUTH and COMING FAST), but doing so will not hurt. You DO need to read the prior chapters (DOING RUTH #1 and #2) or this will not make total sense. Coming soon, the tragic final episode: EATING OUT, currently underway. It should be up about a month after this chapter posts.

***** THE BOOK OF RUTH: Doing Ruth #3 of 3 *****

- 1990 - simmering summer sex

I slid into consciousness with the usual wake-up call: Ruth's experienced mouth slurping my growing, growling cock. No, this was not something I could sleep through, even had I wished.

My eyelids eased open. Ruth's dark eyes peered from her aquiline face as her long tongue worked its wet, stimulating magic.

"Morning, honey," she mumbled around my thickening shaft.

Not much magic was needed to quickly grow my morning wood from a willow wand to a mighty oak. Erect, I have been measured: eight inches long and a little less than two inches thick. Ruth had great fun with my roughly twenty cubic inches of manhood.

Yeah, great fun. More fun than *I* had. Morning wood means a full bladder, which means I don't cum.

Ruth had no such limitation. She achieved her goal; I was painfully erect, and as well-lubricated as her anxiously dripping pussy. It was time for my regular morning rape.

My sensuous wife crawled up my weary body and straddled my hips with her taut thighs. She leaned forward, licked my lips, and sat back.

"Ready?" she asked.

She did not await my reply. 

Ready, aim, insert, sigh. Roll and rock and bounce on me. Press her clit against my pubic bone. Slide and pound. Ruth controlled the pace, angle, and depth. I was only the willing fucktoy, handy for providing the juiced-up protrusion and for handling her breasts, pinching and nipping her fluffy nipples, till she wailed with a long, drawn-out, slowly-convulsive orgasm.

"Ohhhhhhhh fuckkkkkkk," she moaned.

And she settled in for more.

She bounced. Her large, firm, stand-up-on-their-own breasts swayed magically in front of my face. I leaned up to suckle like a starving infant.

My bloated bladder meant my petrified wood would remain rock-hard for quite a while. Oh, she used me! Slide and bounce and pound and groan, and again, and again, at least a half-dozen times before she finally fell off me.

I grabbed Ruth, stuck my tongue down her throat, tickled her tonsils for half a minute, and rolled out of bed. Piss call! I sluiced down the toilet like a fire hose and watched Ruth on mirrored bathroom walls. Her eyes never left me; her sly smile never faded. I cleaned off and dived back into bed.

Round Two: I pulled Ruth atop me for a tasty 69. I devoured her steaming pussy while she quickly stiffened me. My tongue traced the familiar outlines of her puffy labia and circled her swollen clit, slurping. She came once more, groaning and shuddering, before bailing off me into doggie position. She spread her knees and looked over her shoulder.

"Your turn, baby," she murmured.

I watched her heart-shaped butt, those smooth, tight cheeks, her twitching pussy glistening in the morning light, her leering face half-hidden by a cascade of chestnut hair. Fuck yeah, it's my turn! 

Round Three: No soft, tender lovemaking. Nothing slow or careful. Only a hearty, pounding fuck, my fingers digging into her hips as I slammed faster and harder, my twenty cubic inches of meat pistoning in and out, gleaming on the out-strokes, burning on the in-strokes, slap-slap-slap, till I exploded deep inside her, blasting streams of living sperm into her willing womb.

I groaned. Ruth yelled. I collapsed on her, still embedded. We panted.

Ruth pushed me off her, onto my back. She rolled between my legs and took me into her mouth again, carefully licking and cleaning our juices from my cock. Her almost-black Hunter Green eyes stayed fixed on mine.

She was twenty-four now and I was thirty so my revival took a few minutes. Did we have time for Round Four, a languid missionary fuck? The buzzing alarm said no. Goddam workdays... 

We slid together into the shower. Ruth dropped to her knees for a forthright blowjob and testicle massage as water streamed over us. I happily filled her mouth, and happily tasted myself when she stood to kiss me. We broke apart when the alarm buzzed again, louder. Last call! We dried and dressed.

Just another morning in our marriage.

=====

Life seemed to calm down. The calm before the storm? It all comes crashing?

I'm getting way ahead of myself, as usual. Ruth and I had been married just over a year now. A strange year. The weird wedding after Katia's awful funeral. The breakup with my big sister over her amoral business dealings, and she and her girlfriend using me, raping me. And Mom's games.

I told myself, "Randall Orson van Ronk, you face a... situation. In the last few years you've impregnated your mother Nina, your sister Jill and her girlfriend Gabrielle, your wife's mother Deborah and older sister Rachel, and your wife's friend Katia's stepmother (and lover) Juanita. But not your own wife. WhatTheFuck?"

"No babies right away, okay?" Ruth had said seriously after the wedding. "I've just started at LACMA and..."

"No sweat, babe," I had responded, licking her big soft brown areolae like beaded pads, nibbling her stiff pencil-eraser nipples. "I know you need to establish your career. When the time is right, sure." I nibbled her to moans. "But we can keep practicing, right?"

She had fucked me to death, as usual. No need to argue.

Ruth was quickly becoming a star at LACMA, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, located just a few blocks from the modernist mini-mansion we had inherited from Ruth's late father Allen. It was a nice easy commute when she was in town. But her rising star shone brightly by jetting about the western hemisphere, negotiating art loans and exchanges for spectacular exhibitions. She was lucky to be home three weeks out of four.

My own materials consulting business was doing well. Truth be told, we had enough money that neither of us needed to work, not for financial reasons. But neither of us was ready for a lifetime vacation. So yes, we needed to work, because our psyches drove us onward.

I could, and did, arrange some synchronization of our schedules. I worked on consults in central Mexico when she had negotiations in Zacatecas, or in the Caribbean during her meetings there. We turned these into mini-vacations.

Still, there were times my business took me somewhere in the Americas for a day or four, or kept me in Los Angeles when Ruth was elsewhere. We tried to take these brief separations in stride. Our reunited sex was even hotter than usual. Did I screw around when I was not with her? No, I actually kept my cock locked down. I was becoming monogamous, growing up, slowing down, and trading quantity for quality. That is what I told myself.

I told myself lots of stuff. I tried not to lie to myself. Deceiving others is one thing; self-deception is at best futile, at worst self-destructive. So I tried to tell myself the truth.

Basic question: Did I love Ruth? Did I love anybody? Was I capable of loving anybody now? I considered. I had loved my childhood pets. I used to love my sister, and I love my mom, although we had finally stopped sleeping together. (Yes, Jill and Nina seduced me when I was eighteen. See THE BOOK OF RUTH: BEFORE RUTH for details.)

I think I loved Katia when she was alive. I know I had not loved Deborah or her older daughter Rachel; we were just very, very good fuck-buddies.

And Deborah's younger daughter Ruth? Truth be told, she caught me on the rebound after her best friend Katia's death. Ruth and I were not really close before then. Sure, I had known her off-and-on for half her life, and she said she had loved me that whole time, but still...

How much truthiness could I take? Ruth and I sure had fun - very intense, monogamous fun. I did not bother suggesting threesomes although I fantasized such. Jill and our mom and I'd had many threesomes over a decade.

I was happy just being with Ruth. That is what I told myself. 

I did not tell myself that I loved her.

I did not explicitly tell Ruth, either. She constantly professed her love for me. I jokingly responded with, "You're pretty good, too!" or, "Of course you do!" or, "Good thing!" or, "That's only logical." I sometimes called her Lover. But I just could not bring myself to say, "I love you." That did not feel truthy. I may be amoral but I just could not utter that not-quite-truth.

Love is fulfillment. Loves fills us. I did not feel filled. I felt lacunae of emptiness within me, holes in my heart where Katia, and Jill, and even our runaway Dad used to be. I felt my love leak through those holes. I tried to glue those holes shut with diversions. Right.

Whatever I felt for Ruth, it was not really love, but it would do for now.

=====

I had a service keep track of Jill's movements so I could avoid being anywhere near my depraved older sister.

I needed no detectives to tell me of the whereabouts of mom and Deborah and Rachel and Juanita, the other women I had been close to and had knowingly (if not always willingly) knocked-up. We had communications and encounters.

The encounters were not always warm and fuzzy.

Ruth and I enjoyed a mid-week reunion at home. Her plane arrived at LAX from Guadalajara the same early October day I returned from Juneau. We desecrated our bedroom (and several other rooms) with make-up sex from our week apart. We went AWOL the next day to visit Black's Beach, San Diego's best clothing-optional plage. We eased down the Salk Canyon trail to the sands and walked skyclad below steep bluffs, exhibiting our firm, toned-up flesh and visually exploring those around us. 

Our rule: Look, but do not touch others. And be sure to lather-on the SPF-100 goop. Sunburn is not sexually stimulating. Ouch.

We unrolled our big blue beach blanket and stretched to catch the late-morning sun. Time passed. Feeling my ballcap pulled back from my eyes roused me from my drowsy relaxation - that, and a, "Hi there, kids."

I looked skyward - straight up my mother's tennis-toned legs to her fluffy muff and damp snatch. Her well-known tasty breasts swung invitingly near as she bent to push the ballcap back down on my face. Ruth and I both sputtered and sat up.

"Mom! What are...? Oh, hi, Avram. Where are the...?"

Ruth was interrupted as two fleshy little fireballs slammed into "Unca Ron" and "Anty Ruth". Hairy naked Avram, like a grizzled cast-iron teddy bear, beamed at the twin ankle-biters. I guess he still thought they were his. 

Ruth knew better. She brushed aside her little attackers, grimaced at me, and then gave her mother a frosty glare.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Ruth said. "And with the kids, yet."

Ruth did not like to be reminded of my long-term affairs with her mother and sister; her relations with them had been chilly since after our marriage. They reciprocated her coolness.

"Yes dear, even the kids. We can't just leave them home," Deborah scowled.

One of the twins ran full-tilt into Ruth; little hands grasped her appealing breasts. "Ohhh, you're nice, Anty Ruth!" My wife managed to laugh.

The naked twins ran squealing down the beach. Avram yelled, "Hey, wait!" and stumbled after them.

Deborah still stood over me; her familiar pubes hovered less than a foot from my face. She smiled warmly at me and rubbed my shoulder.

"You've been traveling again, right, Randy? You look like you're just out of jet lag. Anything interesting?" Her fingers lazily traced my jawline.

"Quit it, Mom! He's mine! You can't have him any more. Just what do you-"

"Oh, calm down, girl! I don't need him now. Of course, if you can't take care of him, I could always-"

"You could always what? Squeeze some more babies out of him?"

Deborah looked nervous. Ruth rose and stood beside her mother. I gazed at their naked bodies and could not help but compare them: both tall, dark, trim and taut and tanned, great tits, slim waists, fine legs, firm butts, enticing hips, curly pubes, with long walnut-brown hair tied in ponytails. Similar beautiful and sexy expressions of a common genetic code. Their fluffy brown muffs were both at my eye level as I sat on the blanket.

Ruth leaned into Deborah. My wife's fingers poked her mother's firm breasts.

"Yeah, Mom, you think I don't know where my little brother and sister came from?" She turned to glare down at me. "And you, mister... I know you were doing Mom before and after I married you. No more! You know that!" She jabbed Deborah again. "You still keeping the secret from Avram?"

"Stop poking me, young lady." Deborah brushed Ruth's fingers away and moved even closer to me. Ruth moved closer too. The women were facing-off right against me. No matter which way I turned my head, I had a pussy in my face.

Do you think I was tempted to use my tongue in both directions? Bingo! But no, not on a public beach, and not with Avram in the vicinity.

"No, Avram's never going to know, not from my lips, and not from yours either, girl. I can't bear children with Avram; our genes are wrong. But these are Avram's kids in every important way. Just like you're Allen's daughter-"

"What do you mean, just like...?" Ruth's voice cracked. "Oh, Mom, are you telling me...?"

"I'm telling you that you and Rachel are both Allen's daughters and don't you forget it!"

"Real daughters, Mom? Biological daughters? Or just Daddy daughters?"

I almost wished my eyeballs were not surrounded by dark fluffy muffs. I could not see the women's faces, could not see their expressions. My only hints of their moods were their vocal tones, their strained muscles, and their increasingly-fragrant vaginal secretions. Such spicy scents! Only with great difficulty and keen self-control did I restrain my tongue.

But I could inhale! Ahhh...

Have I mentioned that Deborah and Ruth and even Rachel seem like a matched set? They are almost six feet tall, a few inches shorter than me, and just as lean except for superb feminine curves. Deborah and Rachel gave me a good preview of Ruth's likely appearance in ten and twenty years. Nice!

I saw Avram in the distance herding the twins toward us. The women argued as if I was not sitting right between their pussies. I pushed at their thighs.

"Umm, ladies, I think you might want to cool off-"

"You stay out of this!" Ruth steamed.

I slapped my wife's ass. "Look, they're coming back. You want Avram to see and hear this little contretemps?"

Both stepped away and crossed their arms and glared at each other. The twins ran up and tackled their mother, knocking her onto the blanket beside me. I stood and wrapped an arm around Ruth's shoulder as teddy-bear Avram stumbled up. 

"Whew! Sorry about that, guys. These monsters are a real handful." He beamed at 'his' kids. He did not mind leering at his wife's and daughter's nude luscious bodies, either, even as the twins wrestled with their hot MILF mother. But his smile faded when he saw the women's strained postures and jaws-clenched faces. "Um, is something..."

Avram looked perplexed. I felt it prudent to put a similar expression on my face. I tried to project, "Huh? Don't ask me. I know nothing." I shrugged.

I chatted with Avram for a few minutes. Deborah played with the kids and seemed to ignore us. Ruth glared at her but managed to contribute a few words to our guy-talk. The twins ran off again; Avram lumbered after them. Deborah stood. I picked up and shook off the blanket and rolled it tightly.

"Umm, we should get going," I suggested.

Deborah swayed against me for a deep hug; her warm, impressive breasts pushed into my chest. Ruth bridled and clutched her mother's arm.

"Mom! Leave him alone! I'm not going to warn you again!"

"Yes, I love you too, girl," Deborah smirked. "You'd just better take good care of him. I'd-"

Ruth grabbed my arm and tugged me from her mother's embrace. I looked back as my wife dragged me away from my mother.

"Umm, see ya sometime, Deb. Say g'bye to Av for me, will ya?"

Ruth almost frog-marched me back to the Salk Canyon trail. We dressed and ascended in silence. She dragged me to our new silver SAAB and sat in the passenger seat. I sat behind the steering wheel but just stared at her.

She stared back. "Well? Are we going home or something?"

"Sure, eventually. But we talk first. Look, I haven't touched your mom or sister since... since a long time. I'm yours now. Exclusive. Married. One man, one woman, that stuff. I didn't come here expecting Deb to-"

"You brought us to San Diego on a nice day and didn't expect them here when they live just a couple miles away? Yeah, right." She looked away.

I gripped Ruth's jaw and turn her face to mine.

"Yeah, right. No arrangenments. Pure chance - but we are in their neighborhood, and you knew we'd be here, and you didn't bitch at me when we drove here. So don't give me this fucking attitude."

I pulled out heads together and kissed her, hard, almost brutal. I pushed her face away.

"Yes, I'm yours. Yes, you're mine. Fuck the biology and the history - the twins are Avram's, not mine, no matter who they look like. Deb is Avram's, not mine. You and me, we're in this together, just us, and you should know that." 

I pulled her in for another tough kiss.

Ruth's tense body relaxed. Her jaws opened. Her tongue pressed against mine, soft, wet. She pushed my face from hers.

"Yeah, that's right, and don't you forget it, buster." 

She leaned over the between-seats console to kiss me again. She bit my tongue, pulled back, and laughed.

"Now take me somewhere and fuck me. Fuck ME, not my mom, not my sister, ME! Too bad we didn't bring the van; we could be fucking right now!"

I did not want to wait till we returned to Los Angeles. I spun us up toward the foothills and into a lemon grove, around behind a few rows of trees that hid us from the road. I jumped out and trotted to the passenger side. Ruth unbuckled her harness and opened her door. I pushed her down in the seat just as she swung her bare legs out. I shoved her blue tee up off her tits.

"Hey! What-"

I pulled Ruth's tan sports shorts and blood-red thong down and off her feet. I rolled her over and pushed her onto her knees on the car seat. I pulled her naked ass out as far as possible and spread her thighs. My shorts and knickers were already at my feet. 

My cock was hard. Her pussy was wet. I firmly inserted tab A into slot B.

"Ouch! Oh fuck! What-"

I slapped her ass, hard. "That's one!" I shoved my cock into her again.

"Hey! Quit that! You-"

I slapped her ass again, harder. "That's two!" I went balls-deep into her.

"You sonova bitch! I'm gonna-"

I released her hips and slapped her tits from the sides. "That's three!" I captured her hips again and started pounding. "You had your chance to play nice. Now you're just going to take it!" I pounded harder and faster. Just an ordinary brutal no-love-involved fuck fueled by temper and determination and plain ornriness.

Ruth screamed a couple of orgasms.

"Oh, you like that, do you? How about some more?"

I continued pistoning in and out with slight changes of pace and angle. She screamed again. I pulled my cock from her with the clichéd audible 'pop'. I grabbed her shoulder and flipped her over on her back, then pulled her ankles around and pushed her until her head hung off the seat edge.




The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 03



"Randy! What are you-"

"You talk too much, babe," I growled, and stuffed my still-stiff twenty cubic inches into her mouth. I leaned closer, braced my hands on her tits, and fucked her face. Her hands pushed and pulled my butt. We set a steady rhythm. She gagged and groaned and drooled but took me all the way down. My balls slapped against her chin. Her nose brushed my pubes.

I did not warn her. I just spewed a hot stream down her throat. She gagged again but I did not relent, did not pull back, and did not allow her any leeway. I just came until I was done.

I pulled away from my wife's hammered mouth and stood straight. Ruth gulped, swallowed and stared intently at me. Her cum-smeared lips moved but no words emerged. Her eyes were bright, almost crystalline.

"Good. Stay just like that. Don't move."

I pulled the little Pentax SLR from the glove box and snapped several shots. Naked wife; bruised breasts and lips; scratched torso; unreadable expression - all captured on film.

We rearranged our clothes. I drove us back to Los Angeles. Ruth touched me as much as possible as we rolled home. We did not speak until we stood in our tiled kitchen.

I held Ruth's hand and spun her to face me. "Any questions?"

She stroked my jaw and pulled close. "When will we do that again?"

I slapped her cheek gently. "How about right now?"

She reached into my shorts and grabbed my cock. "Yeah, how about?"

More rough fucking all over the house filled the afternoon. 

- 1990 - end-of-year holidays

Yet another Black Friday followed yet another family Thanksgiving feast at cousin Doug's familiar Venice West apartment block. Yet another lounge-and-jabber session by the heated pool and its only-barely-covered femmes ensued. Doug and I enjoyed beer and eye candy while our family womenfolk haunted the prestige malls and high-end districts. I trusted Ruth not to break us financially.

"So anyway, it wasn't ordinary, not the rough sex anyway. We're usually enthusiastic but we're tender and caring too - yeah, we're like, driven y'know, to get each other off." I slurped the foam from my boutique microbrew ale. The flavor was almost chocolate.

"That day was otherwise. Our adrenaline boiled over like battery acid. We slapped, yelled, spit and chewed, pounded, bruised, scratched. I thought of that song, I LIKE 'EM BIG AND STUPID, y'know the line, 'The way he clawed and bit me, well, I hope he'd had his shots.' We were both pretty rabid." I laughed.

"But damn, I was pissed, and there was really nothing else I could do. Lie? Cheat? Steal? What? I just expressed what I really, truthfully felt. Yeah, truthiness. Ruth says she loves me but I don't think she'll ever trust me."

Doug had trimmed a blonde goatee around his ruddy mouth. Beer suds glistened in his pale hairs and flushed flesh.

"Can you blame her, boy? She knows you screwed Deb and Rachel for a long, long time, and that their kids are really yours. And Juanita's kid too, right? You have this long fucking history, pardon my pun. You're not a natural candidate for trust."

I sighed, and sipped again. I almost wish I had not let details of my paternities slip out. "Truth and trust, right. I really haven't screwed around since... well, since a little after the marriage. Only Rachel, just before their father Allen died. And Ruth knew about that, right then. I guess that's when I went exclusive." I did not mention fucking mom and Jill, and Jill and Gabby raping me. Doug had no Need To Know there.

"Sounds like Deb was sending signals to Ruth, right?" Doug's eyes tracked a particularly pneumatic peach-blonde passing by, then returned to me. "Maybe suggesting your thing isn't over yet. How's Ruth supposed to take that?"

"The way she's taking it is to hardly talk to her mom and sister. She's always been real competitive with them anyway. She sees herself as getting their leftovers, as in, ME. She has this psychic split, where on the one hand she takes what they had from them, and on the other, she only gets what they don't need anymore but they could have again if they want."

"So where do you go from here?" Doug was briefly distracted by another passing package of pulchritude. Well, so was I. Our eyes broke free. He looked back at me. "They're in San Diego and New Orleans, right? So, can you just stay away?"

"Going to Black's Beach probably wasn't the greatest idea, but we did want to go strolling, and we did know that Deb was in the area. Oh well. And we can't stop Rachel from flying out here if she wants. But we have a change coming, maybe. I don't really need to keep my base in Los Angeles; I can work from about anywhere - not that I really need to. And Ruth's been working more and more with Mexican modernist collections. There's a good chance she'll be offered a gig in Mexico City. We might relocate there for awhile."

"What? You think surrounding yourself with hot Mexican babes will make Ruth feel like trusting you more?" Doug chortled at the idea. "And I thought Ruth loved LACMA? She's gonna split now?"

"I can control myself with Latina mamacitas, no problem. And Ruth won't be quitting LACMA. The museum's in a downtown DF operation - DF, that's District Federál, like DC here. Anyway, there's a consortium called NAAMA, North American Art Museum Association. NAAMA has a pool office in DF and Ruth will probably get a post there. She'll also have a chance to moonlight, do guest curations at DF museums. More for her reputation, yeah."

"Are you okay with this Mexican thing? I know you and Jill used to do lots of business there. Hey, have you heard from your sister lately? I know she-"

I interrupted my older cousin. "Forget about Jill. We don't communicate. And yeah, I can handle Mexico and even DF. Imagine a mix of LA and DC, stir in tons of hot salsa and corruption and miles of poverty. It's right where the First and Third Worlds scissor together. Kind of like Naples on steroids, but cheaper. Yeah, I'll do well in DF. I'll interface with brokers there and in ports like Veracruz and Acapulco and Merida."

The next sashaying beauty really distracted me and Doug. Was that a bikini, or only wide dental floss? Did she have total electrolysis south of her eyeballs? Was that body sculpting natural? Our jaws hung open. We likely drooled. I pulled myself together after she vanished, and continued talking.

"Ummm, where was I? Oh yeah. Ruth's hot for modernismo but y'know I prefer traditional ethnic stuff. It just happens that the most outrageously superb anthropological musuem on Earth is in DF, and the world's second-best is a few hours away in Xalapa." (That's hah-LAH-pah, home of Jalapeño peppers.) "And the pre-Columbian artifact black market is hot. I'm building a pretty decent collection there and Ruth's growing her own modest modernist trove. You should stop by our place. It's schizo, half-twentieth-century, half-ancient, wrapped in a Bauhaus shell, but it works."

"You taking all that stuff with you when you go? And when d'ya think you'll make the move? You gonna be around here for Christmas and New Year's?"

"We'll take a few favorites but we'll have smaller digs in DF so no, we won't have room for much. Los Angeles is still home; we just won't stay here for some time. And the time frame? That depends on when Ruth's officially offered the gig; early next year sometime. Yeah, we'll do the holidays here. We'll throw a small New Year's party. You're invited. Bring Cheryl."

Doug looked away. "Well, me and Cheryl... I dunno who I'll bring but I won't be alone. Umm, will this be a family party, or...?" His eyes returned to me.

I laughed. "No, nobody's going to report on you to your folks. It won't be group sex but I expect lots of drinking, snorting, puffing, flirting, PDAs, inappropriate behaviors, all that fun stuff, all off the record. Get loose."

"All RIGHT then!" Doug waved clenched fists. "We'll be ready!"

"Ready for what, bro?" A raspy voice floated in on the wind.

Out of her nurse's uniform and filling togs tight enough to show goosebumps (if any), Doug's little sister Jocelyn was always a sight to behold, even if she had not yet donned an eye-searing bikini. She was blonde and fairly tall like her big brother, smart and horny like me, curvy like other gals in our hot genepool, intensely curious, and a total rebel. She might introduce herself as 'Torchy' and leave you wondering if that was her name or her condition.

She was a hot fuck too, but neither of us would tell Doug that.

Jocelyn repeated, "Ready for what?" and grabbed a beer for herself.

"Ready for a little holiday fest," I explained, "and you're invited too, as long as you don't tell anyone else in the family. It will not be suitable for elderly aunties and blobbys. I know you can keep secrets, Joss."

"Sure, your secrets are safe with me, cuz; always have been, right? Like I never told anyone about that time we were climbing in Grandpa's black walnut orchard, and you... oh, I'd better stop now." She waved her bottle of Saint Stan's Wicked Ale at me. "I don't want to give that away so easy."

I sighed. "Don't whisper it too loud, okay?"

Somebody's roommate stalked panther-like past us, wearing almost enough fabric to cover some truly awesome naughty bits. We all ogled her. Jocelyn's face flushed. Ah, I had always suspected her...

More beer and parading beauties flowed. It was a pleasant evening... till the rest of the women returned from shopping. Ruth dragged me away without doing too much damage. Cheryl seemed a bit miffed at Doug. Not my problem.

=====

My mom Nina was taking her new family off to DC for XMas with Jill and Gabby, whom I had no intention of ever seeing again; I would never forgive their using me, and more. Juanita's family was headed for DC then too. We set our local 'family' holiday fest for the Winter Solstice - yeah, a Swingin' Saturnalia minus the sexual swinging. The celebration did not quite fill our mini-mansion - but not for lack of trying.

Deborah and Avram and 'their' (my) kids were up from San Diego. Rachel and Ferdie (the banker) and 'their' (my) kid flew in from New Orleans. Mom and Bobby and 'their' kid (my son and brother) drove over from Santa Monica. Juanita and Alonzo (the Federal Reserve consultant) and 'their' (my) kid stopped in en-route from Honolulu to DC. Bunches of aunts and uncles and cousins (including Doug) and their mates and kids (all their own) rolled in from wherever. Okay, so I had screwed some of my sexier cousins in the past, but I had not impregnated any, whew. Still, the place was awash with my DNA.

We feasted and gifted and drank and flirted and connected. WHO did Uncle Lanz run off with? HOW did Aunt Laura end up with those tattoos? WHEN is Cousin Hannah due? WHERE did they finally find Aunt Elena? WHY did Cousin Hank take Gemma back? WHAT did Uncle Nolan screw up most recently?

Questions and answers. Family dynamics. Children and adults mingling at varied speeds and depths. No major fights, despite tensions. Secrets kept.

We survived Saturnalia, and the non-family (except cousin Doug, who escorted fair Fiona, and cousin Jocelyn, who brought hot Jan) 1991 New Year's blast, and the Orthodox Old XMas (a nod to some associates), and what passed for winter around Los Angeles. Ruth and I spent XMas Eve and Day at our favorite Palm Springs naturist resort. Swim and lounge naked in the morning; take the tram up two-mile-high Mt San Jacinto for afternoon snowboarding; back down to the pool for midnight splashing.

We floated side-by-side in warm water and fantasized about other guests.

"Look at that gal! I bet you'd love to have her tasty twat on your cock or lips right now, wouldn't you?" Ruth waved at a tall, tanned, curvy, flaxen-haired Nordic goddess's swiveling hips and swaying buns as she strutted past. Wide pink areolae and a thin gold landing strip marked her zones.

"And you'd probably like to lez-out and 69 her, wouldn't you?" I teased back. "She'd be on top, driving her long tongue deep into you while you lick her soft labia and suck her drizzling joy-juices. Your face will be soaked."

"Yeah, you'd like that. Then you'd double-fuck us, shoving your meat into her pussy, then my mouth, then her pussy, and over and over again, right?"

"Sure thing. Then I'd roll you both over and jump around to the other end and feed your drippings straight to her taste buds. She'd get a mouthful of my cum and your runoff."

"You'd probably want both of us at once, yeah? Maybe you'd preacher-fuck her while I sit on her face and squirm on her tongue. Then she could sit on your face while I ride your fat cock and slurp her big, bouncy tits."

"Is that all? No, I want us to circle the wagon train. I'll bite your clit while you're eating her sweet snatch and she's swallowing my cunt-splitter."

"Oooh, check out this guy!" A short muscular black man sauntered by. "Those pecs are just dreamy! He really worked for those six-pack abs! Nice tight buns, too. And that cock..."

"You want that big black cock up your ass, don't you, Ruth? And my big white cock in your mouth or maybe your pussy. Tell you what, we'll get the blonde back here with a strap-on for your snatch, and you can suck me off while that black dick pumps into your backdoor. We'll have you airtight. And you'll be helpless; you'll just have to take it all."

"Well, looks like his cock isn't any bigger than yours, but it'd be something different, yeah. Hey, he looks really bi. How about if we bend him over a chair, and you fuck his ass while I squat in front of him and blow him till he bleeds, how about that? And then you can trade places."

"Not quite. That would work but we'd start with the blonde shoving her strap-on into him while I'm doing her tight cunt from behind. And then, yeah, you and she can trade places and I'd fill you up the way you like."

We only talked of these fantasies; we acted them out between ourselves.

Good fantasy fucks always made Ruth scream.

- 1991 - Los Angeles to Mexico City

We survived normalcy until Orthodox New Year in mid-January. That is when LACMA officially offered Ruth the Mexico City job. She accepted immediately.

We had already bought a condo in the historic downtown, near but not in the Zona Rosa which used to be high-class but had degenerated lately into a center for lap dances and overnight fun. We sent the more deviant visitors and clients there.

Both our offices were near our condo. All were in low-rise buildings; DF is quake-prone and we did NOT want to be pancaked in the next temblor. Ruth's work and my consults sometimes led us around the region. But we were together at our DF home much of the time. And we fucked like rabid weasels.

We only fucked each other. At least, I only fucked Ruth, and I had no reason to suspect her of anything, despite our disconnections. She had wanted me for half her life and now she had me, all of me.

And I had Ruth. Like I said before, I'm not sure I loved her, or anybody. We fit well together. We had immense fun together. We complemented each other.

I guess I saw our relationship as tight friends with exclusive benefits.

Was I tempted by sultry young lovelies in tight, low-cut clothes? Well, duh. But I kept my trousers zipped. Especially with my secretary / manager Mariana, whom I suspect had been planted in my office by Ruth, the tricky wench.

Was I tempted by sultry young lovelies thrown at me by clients? Yeah, them too. As a brokerage consultant, advising organizations about supplies and demands, I often influenced large flows of money. Those interested in the direction of those cash flows sometimes tried to sway me with offerings. Offerings of cash and precious objects, of which I already overflowed. Offerings of drugs, which I knew better than to get anywhere near - I kept my distance from cartels. Offerings of girls, and boys, in great numbers.

"Señor van Ronk, my clients would like to express their gratitude for your services." (I had just brokered a large transaction.) "Please accept these small tokens of their appreciation." (An attaché case containing large bills, a small bag of white powder, and a hotel room key.) "My clients look forward to working with you again." (Well, maybe...)

"Muchas gracias, Señor Guzman. Your clients are much too generous." (And too dangerous.) "I regret that I cannot accept all these gifts." (I pushed the bag and key across his desk.) "I'm sure some worthy person, maybe even yourself, could put these to good use." (I gotta get outa here.)

I met one of Señor Guzman's clients once. Once was enough. 

Señor Delgado (known familiarly as El Naco, the hick) was a short fat man who sat in a stuffed chair smoking a cigar during our meeting. A naked Indian girl knelt between his thighs with his cock in her mouth, her head bobbing slowly. Another naked girl stood beside him and sporadically groomed him and pinched his nipples. She wore a shoulder-holstered pistol, nothing more. He offered her and her sisters to me. I politely declined. This seemed his usual mode of conducting business.

Like I said, once was enough.

Yes, I had Ruth all to myself, and I was sure she loved me, more than I loved her. But I was no fool. I had spooks watching her, for protection more than cheat surveillance. Invisible bodyguards were a prudent measure for any well-to-do Gringa in Mexico. They did not cost much here, either. And I had my own covert protection. Just to be safe, yes?

Our noisy social circle mostly reflected Ruth's museum-and-gallery world; my business contacts were not exactly the most refined folks, to say the least.

Mexican and international arts-and-artifacts traders and creators mixed with varied professionals and travelers. They were generally entertaining, fairly polite, mostly well-groomed, and wildly flirtatious. At parties and confabs, disparate couples and other groups might disappear for some time and return slightly disheveled and sweaty. I silently kept score of the game-playing.

Genevra Nyquist represented DC's Corcoran Gallery (Ruth's alma mater) at the NAAMA office; her tidy desk sat cat-corner from Ruth's. Ginny was maybe five years older than my thirty-one and a near-clone of the sensuous Nordic blonde we saw that New Year's by the pool in Palm Springs. She and her hard-bodied pal Luisa, of the local Museo Tamayo, often joined us jogging on days when the DF smog was sub-toxic. Both hinted at what they could do with us in bed. 

Were we tempted? Well, duh. But we gently excused ourselves. Ginny and Luisa seemed to zero-in on likely couples. They were fun to watch.

Javiér Leís Montoya ran a section of INBA, one of the web of federal culture bureaucracies. He fancied himself a slick operator and insider. A gymnast in his youth, he kept his body in perfect trim and his bed filled with visiting females; none remained long. Ruth laughingly brushed off his attentions.

My college buddy (and best man at the wedding) Dave Moreland's state senate district near San Diego included heavily chicano areas; he found excuses to visit DF regularly, especially with his lovely wife Guadalupe. Sometimes he brought political friends and operatives. Except for Dave, I pretty much hate to deal with politicos, but they come with the territory.

Mexican politicians were usually smoother but more expensive than their gringo counterparts. USA pols can be bribed pretty cheap. I have receipts to prove it.

Sansón Frías Ulibarri's latest demo drew the usual motley crowd to his chic Embassy Row gallery. Cultural attachés, probably foreign spies, mixed with arrogant artists, devious dealers, blustery bureaucrats, predatory party girls (and boys), cautious collectors, bored bodyguards, snide critics, journalists sponging-up free food and drink (especially strong drink), and a thin smattering of innocent bystanders. 




The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 03



Chatter overwhelmed the lone guitarist playing asymmetrical (unlistenable) twelve-tone improvisations. Personal space disappeared; all were up close and personal, touching, brushing, pressing hands to arms, torsos and legs; cordial intimacies promising much but delivering little. The usual games.

Attendees dressed mostly in black - sleek suits for the men, Little (or littler) Black Dresses for the women, Goth garb for the artistes. Flamboyant accessories were permissible. Studs and tattoos were discreet.

Dave was surrounded by hard-eyed folks seeking political favors. His lovely Lupe separated from the crowd enveloping his tall black form and sidled up to me sensuously. She wrapped a slim arm around my waist; her breathy lips brushed my ear.

"Take me away from here, oh wonderful man. Take me away before I scream."

"I don't know if we can get past this mob, Lu. They're pretty dense, and desperate, and the booze ain't all gone yet. And who could hear you scream? You'd barely penetrate the sonic meltdown." I gestured futility.

Lupe sighed and squeezed me harder.

"I know Dave has to listen to their greedy crap, but *I* don't need to. Buy me a drink and tell me where you and Ruth are going next. C'mon, querido, sweetness, show me a mercy, ¿por favor? Pretty please?"

Holding hands, we slid to the impromptu bar for refills of good Monte Alban mezcal. I toasted her beauty; she toasted my virility; we giggled softly. We had played innocent games for years. The Morelands and van Ronks had even shared time at nude resorts, but monogamously. No fucking around.

"So what's on your agenda? Dave and I go back to California tomorrow. Are you guys coming to visit anytime soon? You have other excursions planned?"

"We both have business in Costa Rica next week. Ruth gets to look at some ex-pat's modernist collection before it hits the art market; and by a happy coincidence, I'll be there to broker a minerals deal."

"Coincidence, huh? Or maybe you just can't stay away from her hot body."

"Yeah, well, there's that, too. Since I can't have yours, she'll have to do," I leered. Lupe pinched my neck.

"It's good to have a fallback plan, Ran. But back up too far and you'll fall alright, straight off the cliff, ka-pow." She pinched me again. "Where is Ruth, anyway? I haven't seen her for an hour."

"Y'know Lu, that's a good question. Last I saw of her, she was talking to those dorks from the Getty about the Orozco project. I wonder what she's up to now?" And I wondered if her invisible bodyguard had kept up with her.

I kissed Lupe's forehead and went off in search of Ruth. Lupe had not gone five steps before being swooped-up by sycophants hoping to influence the senator's wife. Good luck, hombres.

The crowd thinned slightly over the next hour - the journos mostly left when the snacks and drinks ran low - but I caught no sight of Ruth. I ran into Lupe again, and Ginny, Luisa, and even Sansón, but nobody admitted seeing her. I started to worry. Ruth rarely strayed from me for long.

I squeezed through the narrow hallway to the baños and released a long stream of used mezcal. Ahhh...

I was walking towards the gallery area past a storeroom when I heard a moan behind the closed door. Curious, I peered into the darkened room, but saw nothing. I fumbled at the wall and hit a light switch. Illumination came.

Storeroom walls lined with crates and canvasses overlooked a stained single mattress on the floor scattered with rags. No, not rags - torn clothes.

Ruth lay on the mattress. Naked. Bruised. Bleeding. Moaning.

I stopped and stared for just an instant before switches flipped in my head. I toggled from buzzed-and-worried to stone-sober-and-incandescent in about a half second. That was roughly how long it took me to reach her side.

"Ruth..." I whispered. I felt her pulse: thin but steady. I peeled back an eyelid: pupils reactive. No concussion, probably, but she was not conscious.

I reluctantly left Ruth and ran to the gallery area. I blew a police whistle I kept in my pocket and roared, '¡Lagarto!' (lizard), normally a cry to drive away bad luck, but also the code-word for our bodyguards. Where the FUCK was Ruth's protector?!

My shadow-shark Ramón appeared at my elbow almost instantly with a 9mm Beretta double-gripped before him. ""¡Señor!" he rasped, his eyes scanning the room.

"In the storeroom," I pointed. "Señora Ruth. Protect her. NOW!"

Ramón snaked away. I ran into Sansón's office and snatched the telephone receiver from the anonymous long-legged mini-skirted bleach-blonde beauty gossiping thereon. She scowled at me. Tough shit, bimbo. I punched the number of Servicio Protección Alvaréz.

"You asshole!" I yelled when Alvaréz took the line. "This is van Ronk. We're at the Frías gallery. Ruth was beaten and raped. RAPED! Where the fuck is that Muñoz shithead who's supposed to watch her? Why the fuck do I pay you for protection? Shut up, cabrón, fucking dickweed! Get guards and medics here, NOW!"

The bimbo stared as I slammed the phone down and ran back to the storeroom. Ramón had covered Ruth's naked form with a thin canvas for some modesty. He crouched before her, his pistol pointed at the half-open door.

I knelt beside still-dazed Ruth and chanted quiet reassurances while I put my thoughts in order. 

First: Care.Next: Inquiry.Then: Payback.

=====

Alvaréz and his crew appeared seven minutes later. Seven agonizing minutes of cold fears and violent fantasies. Yes indeed, there would be payback.

Alvaréz's goons formed a pistolero cordon around me and the medics tending Ruth. Nurses checked and robed her. Attendants carefully placed her on a stretcher and gently carried her outside to a waiting van, unmarked, but with an ambulance's interior. BMW sedans with darkened windows formed a box around the van for the short drive to the elite Aztlan clinic. I rode behind the armed guard in the van's shotgun seat.

Medics (and guards) rolled Ruth on a gurney through one door at the clinic. Alvaréz drew me through another door to a small, luxurious office. Our conversation was brief and bitter.

"Señor van Ronk, lo siento, I am very sorry-"

"Sorry, horseshit!" I yelled. "Your guys fucked up. Fucked up royally. I don't want to hear any excuses. I only want to hear that you know who did this. Then we'll talk about retribution, for the rapist, and for your fucking incompetent animal Muñoz. Understand?"

I controlled myself. Calm down, I thought. Be icy calm, coldly rational. I need revenge. Revenge should be served cold. Be poised now. Explode later.

I glared at ex-cop Alvaréz. "Answers. Tomorrow. Don't fuck up." I turned on my heel and left the office.

Dave and Lupe, and Ginny and Luisa, sat in the clinic's bright waiting room. Lupe jumped up and ran to me; the others quickly followed. All hugged me.

"Even for Mexico, this is way over the line," Dave growled. "Anyone know just what happened?"

"I don't know a fucking thing. Ruth wasn't conscious when we got here. I don't know if she's said anything to anyone since I found her."

A stiff young redhead wearing a sharply tailored navy skirt-suit and carrying a slim leather case strode into the waiting room. Her clothes and bearing screamed 'official'.

"Mister van Ronk? Senator Moreland? I'm Caitlyn Reilly. I'm with the Legal Attaché's office at the US Embassy." 

That means FBI under diplomatic cover. We exchanged further handshakes and introductions. Ms Reilly cut us off before anyone could talk.

"Yes, senator, we got your call. We have a forensic team in the gallery's storeroom right now, a group of our people with a DF cop as liaison. I'll express my personal and our official sympathy, Mr van Ronk, but I'm sure you don't want to hear niceties. With your permission, we'll put a team around Mrs van Ronk too. Our agents have dealt with similar cases before. We'll want to talk to your protection service people - Hernán Alvaréz, right? Don't worry; we'll find who did this. Crimes against US citizens anywhere in the world are under our jurisdiction. We'll get the perpetrator."

Confident words. Fuck that. My past encounters with embassy and consulate drones did not inspire my confidence. And I certainly had not enjoyed my interviews with FBI and numerous other agencies after Katia's death when they tried to link me to the Russian mafiya.

I did not reply to the agent; I merely nodded curtly at her, tight-lipped. I am sure she read my expression but she did not comment. 

Dave broke the cold silence.

"We expect your people to do outstanding work, Ms Reilly. Thank you for your assistance. When can we get word of Ruth's condition?"

The FBI woman waved at a small group walking past the waiting room.

"Screening team's here. Psychological, medical, and criminal investigators. They should have an initial evaluation before long."

"And when do I get to see my wife and talk with her?" I fumed. The answer came quickly.

A short woman in medical scrubs entered the waiting room and approached us.

"Señor van Ronk? I am Doctor Mendoza. I oversee our clinicians caring for Señora van Ronk. She is conscious now, and calling for you. Your embassy's people are examining and questioning her, and I know this is very important, but so is your touch and voice. She needs you - but do not talk for more than a minute. Reassure her of your love, hold her hand, look into her eyes; do not wear her out. She is exhausted and will likely sleep soon."

Dr Mendoza led me to a clinic room.

"I should have said that your embassy staff are trying to question your wife. She is not talking to them. She will only talk to you. Be gentle and brief, ¿sí? She is very delicate right now."

I saw Ruth in a hospital bed surrounded by scrubs-clad medics and suited investigators. Two seated suits spoke softly to her. One guy with 'cop' embossed in his grey persona stood and waved me to his institutional chair.

"Mr van Ronk? I'm Special Agent David Ross. Your wife has not been very cooperative. Maybe you can persuade her to tell us what happened, and with who. We need leads."

Ruth stretched her hand to me.

"Ran, Ran, you're here! Oh Ran..."

I pulled close to her and whispered.

"Oh baby... Whatever happened, it'll be alright. Oh Ruth... you've got to talk. Tell these guys what they need to know. But tell me first - what happened? Who did it?" Our heads nestled together.

"It's no good, Ran. Nobody can do anything. He can't be touched. Nothing is going to happen."

"Who was it, Ruth? Who did this? Can you give me a name?"

Ruth was almost inaudible. "Javiér. It was Javiér. It's no good." She turned her head away. Tears ran silently down her pale cheeks.

Javiér Leís Montoya. That shitweasel. That arrogant bureaucratic turd. I did not care what the Embassy or FBI or DF cops or anyone official was or was not going to do. I would get that fucker. I vowed he would not escape punishment.

Dr Mendoza touched my shoulder.

"You must leave now, Señor van Ronk. Your esposa needs care and rest. You also need to rest, to be strong for her. Por favor, please return in the morning. Go now."

I stood and walked with agent Ross to the clinic door.

"What did she say?"

I gave him the name.

"Oh shit. Excuse me, but that Leís character... he'll be a really tough nut to crack."

"What? Want to tell me about it?"

"Mr van Ronk, your wife is not the first. Leís has targeted American, Canadian, and European women before. He thinks he's untouchable, and maybe he is, because he's VERY connected, politically. His loving uncle is one of the dinosaurs, that's the old guard who run the ruling PRI party. I don't think the law can get close to him."

"Not the first? Who else has he raped?"

"I can't release any names. I can only say you'd recognize some of them. They and their families and friends may be prominent at home but... they have no power in Mexican politics. The PRI dinosaurs run Mexico and nobody gets in their way, not and survive. Have you heard of Iraq and Saddam Hussein's two sons, Uday and Qusay? They get away with kidnapping, rape, torture, murder, huge thefts. They do whatever they want and they're immune, invulnerable. Can't be touched. This Leís asshole isn't quite in their league but he's a contender and he's protected. That's the ugly truth."

Dave caught me and my grim expression when I returned to the waiting room. I think my face frightened him.

"I'm gone," I told him. "I'll be back in the morning, like the doctor said."

Lupe, Ginny, Luisa hugged me and expressed their hopes. I hugged back, and left. Yes, I should try to sleep, try to be strong tomorrow. But I knew the night and the upcoming day held no rest for me. I had plans to devise.

=====

One of the Alvaréz driver-bodyguards sat smoking on the hood of his BMW in front of the clinic entrance. His eyes tracked me as I approached.

"Take me to Alvaréz. Now."

He nodded and tossed his smoking butt; it sizzled in the gutter. I was in Alvaréz's office three minutes later.

"Who fucked up? Talk."

Alvaréz sighed. "Even though he is new to us, I assigned Muñoz to Señora van Ronk. That was a mistake. He does not have the proper attitude. Come, you will see."

He led me down a stairway into a moldy-smelling basement. With Mexico City's high water table - the place is build on lake mud - all basements here are moldy and usually overgrown with fungus. These concrete corridors were well-scrubbed but the odor remained.

The bare corridor was lined with closed steel doors. Alvaréz led me into a room holding only a raw table and chairs, a metal rack in the corner bearing a VCR and TV, and a large window into the adjacent room, similarly spartan but with no visible electronics. Muñoz sat smoking at that room's table.

Alvaréz gestured at the window. "One-way mirror." He switched on the TV and VCR. Muñoz appeared on the screen. An off-screen voice questioned him.

"And why did you allow Leís near Señora van Ronk?"

Husky, languid Muñoz flicked an ash from his cigarette and sneered.

"Hey, that Javiér, he's helped me a lot, y'know? And he's really good with those foreign putas. That's all the bitch is, a rich gringa puta, the kind of stuck-up foreign whore that puts out for anyone with a real man's dick. Yeah, she's just a whore. No hay pedo, no big thing, huh?" He dragged on his cigarette again.

"It is not your job to judge the clients, just to protect them. You did not protect this client."

Muñoz shrugged. "There's plenty other clients. Give me someone to protect who's not a whore. Or give me a whore and I'll fuck her myself."

Alvaréz switched off the VCR.

"Like I said, the wrong attitude. Further on the tape he talks about the details of how, when, and where he let Leís get to your esposa. A transcript is being typed up for you right now. But let's play out the final act here." Alvaréz picked up a slimline telephone beside the VCR.

"End it," he said. He looked at me. His expression was neutral. "I do not tolerate failure by my operatives." 

Alvaréz punched buttons on the TV. Its screen showed Muñoz in real-time; its loudspeaker emitted the sound of the room's door opening to admit a tough-looking man whose dark suit bulged over his muscles. 

Muñoz turned to face the newcomer.

"Hey there Peña, what's-"

Peña interrupted. "You've been bad, Muñoz. You being bad is bad for business. The boss doesn't like that. El Jefe has this for you."

Peña's hand held a gleaming icepick. Muñoz flinched. Peña grabbed his head and slammed the icepick flat-on into one ear. Muñoz spasmed and collapsed. Peña bent, shoved the icepick up the other man's nose, wriggled it, wiped it clean on the twitching corpse's clothes, straightened, and left the room without closing the door.

"As I said," Alvaréz repeated, "I do not tolerate failure."

My lingering rage mixed with nausea at the killing and... more emotions than I could label. Hot-and-cold flashes washed over me. I suppressed a dizzy surge and looked at the security man.

"What now? When can we get Leís? What happened to him," I waved at the now-motionless body, "happens to Leís. That is a necessity." 

Two men in starched coveralls slipped Muñoz into a canvas sack and toted his remains away. A woman in peasant whites, carrying a bucket and mop, cleaned the surprisingly small blood pool from the floor.

Alvaréz shook his head 'no'.

"That is a problem, Señor van Ronk. One of the FBI people told you about Leís, yes? He is what you call 'connected'. My service did not have contracts to protect his earlier victims but I know how those ended. Leís is free to do whatever he wants. I cannot touch or even harass him. Nobody can. As long as he does not piss-off any of the PRI's dinosaurs, he is immune."

I left Alvaréz. His driver took me home where Dave and Lupe awaited me.

Dave asked, "Did you-?"

I waved him to silence. Lupe glared at me. I glared back at her.

"I know who. I know what to do. I just don't know how. I need to sleep now. Guys, you're the greatest, but I... I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

Lupe stopped glaring and hugged me.

"You know we love you like crazy, Ran. Anything you need, anything we can do, just ask."

I squeezed her and released her. "I know. But I do need sleep."

They left. I drank. I think I eventually slept. I was not rested when the 9:00 AM alarm tortured me into something like wakefulness. A pot of Chiapas coffee tortured me further but at least I was ambulatory.

I returned to the Aztlan clinic. Two of Alvaréz's gunsels perched outside Ruth's private room. She sat in a padded chair; the Embassy psychologist sat beside her, talking. Ruth's face brightened when she saw me.

"Oh baby..." she whispered, "oh Ran..." Her voice faltered. I leaned to hug her. The shrink excused herself and left.

Our conversation was private. We exchanged love and fears and hopes and sorrow and love. That is all you need to know.

And I left with even more determination.

=====

Remember Señor Delgado a.k.a. El Naco? The guy whose office staff gave him blowjobs during meetings? I had not forgotten him.

El Naco was not reassuring.

"That dog? He's scum but he's powerful scum. I can do nothing. You can do nothing. Nobody can. None of the brothers," (cartel thugs) "will go against him 'cause he's just too close, y'know? We don't fuck with PRI heavyweights. That's bad for business and for survival. Lo siento, I'm sorry, my man. Let it go. Get over it. That's my advice. Ahhh..."

He spurted into his fluffer's mouth. I stood to leave.

"Of course, you could get him yourself. Ha! You up for suicide? Chorro, good luck, hombre. Ahhh..."

El Naco was just one of Señor Guzman's unsavory clients. I met a few others. They all said the same thing: "Es no possible."

So Mexican cops could not get the scumbag Javiér Leís Montoya. The Embassy and FBI could not get him. Cartel heavies could not get him. Did that only leave me to get him? What the fuck were my options?

But first, what were my drives?

As I said before, what I felt for Ruth was not exactly love, not like "being in love" or anything romantic - not soulmates. So what was she to me? A great friend, a great partner, a fine lover, totally not boring, and I know she loved me insanely, completely - she had proved that over the years.

So, if it was not love that drove me, what was it?

Maybe it was macho Neanderthal genes. Whatever else, Ruth owned me, and I owned her. She was mine - my private property, dammit, just as I was her personal property. And I held this ancient, primal caveman notion that nobody messes with my property and gets away with it.




The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 03



That ties into my pride. I was very proud that this beautiful, intelligent, accomplished, super-sexy young woman wanted ME so much, enough to alienate her from her sister and mother, who had also wanted me. Yes, I was proud to be Ruth's.

And then, determination. Any attack on her was an attack on me also. Back when I still worked for and with my depraved sister Jill, I was called a "corporate hitman", not because I was violent, but because I was determined to let nothing stand in the way of our company's success. That determination was like another animal urge: do what it takes and don't give up.

All these drives rolled together into something simple: hate. I hated the animal that raped and brutalized Ruth. I needed to act on that hate.

No, I was not a violent person. But I kept up my jogging and my martial arts practice. I was fit and fast and physically confident.

What were my options?

Not running. Not forgetting. Not "letting it ride".

I possessed a skill and some special tools. I had to do it myself.

=====

Late that afternoon after siesta I stepped into the bastard's office in the INBA building, an old Mexican Baroque mausoleum lost in the maze of federal edifices surrounding the Zócalo plaza. I walked in the front door, up a stairway, down a hallway, into his receptionist's space and, over her startled protest, on through his private door. The door closed behind me.

I came alone. My shadow-shark protector Ramón was off the job. No matter how this went, I would no longer be a client.

Javiér was not alone, and no, he was not screwing a secretary or curator bent over his desk. His companion was not nearly so pretty. A muscled goon in a tight black suit stood beside Javiér's desk. A revolver materialized in the goon's hand before I took a second step. Javiér smirked at me.

"Buenos dias, Señor van Ronk. I have been expecting you. Carlos?"

The asswipe rapist nodded at his goon. Carlos gestured with his pistol.

"Over there, putón, you faggot. Hands against the wall." The thug's gravelly voice was bland.

I assumed the position. Carlos frisked me thoroughly. He retrieved a small Pentax 35mm point-and-shoot camera from my jacket pocket and tossed it on the desk. He tapped my head with his revolver and returned to the deskside. He stood with arms akimbo, relaxed; the pistol dangled recklessly.

I stepped to a certain location in the office, away from but near the desk. Carlos stood fully in my view. My arms were at my sides. Javiér spoke again.

"Now, Señor van Ronk, let us discuss your sweet little-"

I half-raised my right hand and brushed the belt at my waist with my left hand. The eyes of both Carlos and Javiér followed my right-hand distraction. Carlos started to raise his pistol. He stopped when a dart hit his throat. His hand released the pistol after a second dart sprouted next to the first.

I mentioned earlier that I possessed a skill and tools.

My skill? I was damn good at ambidextrous underhand dart-throwing, something I practiced during boring stays in scuzzy third-world hotel rooms. I could even hit my targets while wearing thin latex gloves, like now.

My tools? Little non-metallic darts set in decorative grooves in my trouser belt. Slim, almost-undetectable darts fledged with tiny fins and tipped with non-cosmetic doses of botulism toxin, the world's most potent neurotoxin.

Carlos was dead before his revolver hit his shoe. I swooped; his pistol was in my right hand about one-point-two seconds later, pointed directly at the shithead Javiér's face. His arm froze, his own pistol not quite raised above the level of his desk.

You know the books and shows with this stock scenario. One guy has the drop on the other and takes the opportunity to blather. The bad guy gloats to his victim or the good guy pontificates to the evildoer, yada yada - a standard dramatic ploy. It is also a dumb move. Never give a sucker an even break.

"We have nothing to discuss," I said, and threw another dart. I was less rushed now; I had the relative leisure to direct it into Javiér's right eye. Yet another toxic dart grew from his left eye before he fell sideways.

I retrieved the darts and my camera, snapped a few photos to record the scene, and slipped both pistols into my jacket's inside pockets. I left the office. The door closed behind me again, locked from inside.

"Your jefe wishes not to be disturbed for some time, señorita," I said as I stepped to the hallway. "Gracias."

I nonchalantly walked downstairs and out the government building's entrance. No shouts rose behind me. I unchained my borrowed motorbike and hopped on. I heard voices raised as I sped away. I scooted through the usual insane traffic and reached the General Aviation Terminal at Aeropuerto Internacional Benito Juárez in twelve minutes. Nine minutes later, the chartered Cessna CitationJet lifted from the runway. Along with two pilots, two nurses, and two guards, Ruth and I were in the air, getting the fuck out of Dodge.

I finally allowed myself to react to my actions; I had never killed anyone before. I shook and sweated and cried but I felt no guilt, not then. A guard brought me a tumbler of tequila. That helped. Ruth held me. She helped more.

- 1992 - aftermath

That was the exhausting end of a long, terrible day.

I knew that morning exactly what I had to do. The rapist would die, period. Maybe I would too. But I planned on survival, long-term survival. I had no doubt that the scumbag's mentor would want revenge. I worked to make such revenge difficult.

My office-manager Mariana and I devoted most of that day to logistics. Hire crews of movers. Strip home and offices of all valuables - art collections, baubles, papers, computers and media - and favorite clothes and whatever. Ordinary furniture, entertainment electronics, and such were replaceable, so abandon them. Quickly but carefully pack everything into shipping containers loaded on anonymous piggyback trucks heading (supposedly) for Los Angeles.

Ah, Los Angeles. I did not intend us to return to our compound near LACMA anytime soon; it was too obvious a target for retaliation. We arranged tighter security there and had the more valuable items from our collections taken to secure storage.

The jet charter was trivial; we had hired that firm before. Further travel arrangements were a bit trickier. Flight plans were jiggered and falsified. Connecting flights at specific times and places were chartered via cutouts. False trails were laid on the assumption that Javiér's uncle-mentor would make a retaliatory effort. We set an escape route for Mariana's family, too.

Security was arranged, and nurses for Ruth. Personnel were swapped in and out. Messages smoked the wires; details were finalized. I had to make sure all preliminaries were in place before I confronted the shithead rapist.

And now, here we were, on the first step of a convoluted journey. I was not sure how or where it would end but I knew what was coming next.

You want an overview? The Cessna sped north to Chihuahua. Ruth and I left the plane and crossed the airfield in the charge of new guards. We changed to a Learjet with yet newer guards, pilots, and nurses; we flew east to San Antonio. (Why change personnel? To break the connection of who knew what.) The Learjet returned west; Ruth and I survived the customs check. My cousin Joslyn, an RN, fetched us in a rented class-A RV motor coach. And we drove.

My plans from there had three possibilities. 

First option: Jocelyn, Ruth and I could drive to any east coast port, catch sea or air transport to Europe, and experience many Euro adventures. Would we ever return to the Americas? Who knows?

Second option: We could drive to Seattle and cruise to Japan, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Singapore, et fucking cetera. Maybe hide out somewhere tropical as exiles. Again, for how long? 

Third option: We three could hole-up somewhere inconspicuous in North America as long as necessary. I had target hideouts in Oregon, Idaho, Colorado, Arkansas, Quebec, upstate New York, and elsewhere.

Yes, we three. Jocelyn was available for the long haul.

Jocelyn had earned her BS and RN and worked the ER ropes before gaining a doctorate in clinical psychology. She focused on domestic abuse and rape, a perfect fit for Ruth's needs. She worked a group practice in Omaha and could take indefinite leave; her associates and colleagues would cover for her.

My cousin loved us to death. She had skills we needed. I would pay all expenses, of course. She did not hesitate when I asked for her help. And she did not hesitate to take control when needed.

"Ladies, we need to talk about where we're going next."

"We're escaping; that's all that's important right now."

"This is only the start. There's tomorrow and forever, too."

"Forever comes later. Right now, cuz, we are out of here."

Jocelyn and Ruth discussed the destination plans; they sometimes listened to my suggestions. We, or rather they, decided on option number three, tweaked: We would move at random in a series of rented vehicles and accommodations.

I called LACMA and briefed Ruth's boss on events. She said for Ruth to take as much time off as she needed, no problem. I shut down my own consultancy and passed-on contacts and contracts to not-too-scummy associates. Like I said, we did not need those incomes. Our occupations were really only time-fillers.

We moved in a bubble of safety and recovery.

=====

Gentle Readers, you may have noted an absence in recent narratives - Ruth's absence. I have hesitated to write about our painful conversations.

I concentrated on protecting and reassuring Ruth in the immediate aftermath of her rape. Yes, I was as soothing as possible after we escaped Mexico City. But we did not go beyond the superficial until Jocelyn joined us.

We drove unhurriedly northeast from San Antonio; our initial destination was a small town between Rochester and Syracuse on the old Erie Canal. We took over a week to spin those wandering two thousand-odd miles: Houston to New Orleans. Natchez Trace Trail. Memphis and Nashville. Blue Ridge Mountain Parkway. Annapolis to Pittsburgh to Buffalo. Erie Canal Trail. Cities of music and energy linked by routes of splendor and history.

I mostly drove daytimes while Jocelyn counseled Ruth out of my earshot. Jocelyn spelled me at the wheel so I could rest and have time with Ruth. We all conferred and riffed and gabbed during stops and before sleeping. Those music cities? We did not visit any clubs. Ruth was not ready yet.

Ruth and I shared a bed those nights but no sex, not yet. She felt used, shamed, damaged. I reassured and did not push. I held her; she cried a lot.

What we said to each other was private. Let me paraphrase what she told Jocelyn and me.

"It was a gallery party like any other, just a usual once-or-twice-a-week happening. Who was there? Mostly the same gallery managers and art directors and curators and dealers; you've seen them all. A rotating crowd of real and wannabe artists, and wildcat buyers, smugglers, thieves, politicians and agents, and all their fuck-buddies. Folks wander in off the street, suckers drawn by the flash, reporters and other leeches there for snacks and drinks.

"Some of the artists were at, It's who you know, what you show, and who you blow, to get noticed. They're trying to figure out which creeps they or their bitch have to blow. And of course everyone tries to look sexy even if they have to be ugly about it. So these parties look like the draw is art and sex and glamor but really it's all about money and nothing else.

"I mostly talked to dealers and agents. I'm always looking for good stuff in obscure collections; I got LACMA a little Utrillo last week. What a coup! Took lots of horse-trading for that one. This-and-that changes hands, yeah. And of course the politicos and taxmen want their little pieces of the action.

"That's when Javiér moved in. Ilona Vargas and I were haggling over a set of Jean Cocteau prints. Javiér came to talk about export licensing. He pulled his 'helpful' act, fetching us munchies, refreshing our drinks, suggesting regulatory loopholes, crap like that.

"You know I don't drink much. I just sipped the champagne, good stuff from Querétaro, and poured most of it into a ficus planter. But Javiér must have slipped something into it. I remember feeling woozy - not drunk, not even tipsy or stoned, just strangely dizzy and disoriented, like my sensations didn't fit together right.

"Javiér was so concerned. He said I looked a little 'indisposed' and maybe I should go back to Sansón's office sit until mhy head cleared. He cut me away from Ilona; I remember his hand on my elbow, and going down the hallway. But somehow we ended up in the storeroom, not the office."

Ruth would not tell me what happened in the storeroom. She told Jocelyn, who told me it would be better for Ruth to deal with the memories without me, to scrub her mental images without laying them on me. I did not quite follow that logic. But Jocelyn was the pro here. I trusted her implicitly. She said to let her and Ruth work it out. Yes, ma'am.

Ruth was not completely silent with me.

We lay together one night, naked in bed, close but not overtly sexual, just cuddling and murmuring. I felt Ruth tense-up after some unrelated chatter.

"What?" I stroked her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks. I felt tears.

"I just don't feel, I don't know... worthy, that's it, I feel like I'm not worthy of you any more. I feel dirty and broken and used, and I know it's not my fault. I know that in my mind, I failed; I could have some something different, something to prevent it. I just feel-"

"Stop," I interrupted. "No, it's not your fault, none of it; you're not to blame for anything. And everyone who was at fault is dead. You don't want to know what Alvaréz did to your fucktard bodyguard Muñoz. Oh yeah, I had bodyguards watching both of us full-time."

"I knew that," Ruth whispered. "I tried to ignore them."

"Muñoz fucked-up big-time by disrespecting you, and he paid the price. Javiér fucked-up big-time by attacking you, and he paid the price. Anybody fucks up like that, pays. Nobody does this shit to you - nobody. I don't care if it was a fucking president or jefe de jefes or the pope or what. I would have done it for you anytime, anywhere."

Ruth's tears washed my lips. "You're worth everything to me," I whispered. "Never doubt that. Never forget it. Nothing else matters to me. Just you."

=====

I had my own issues to work out. Jocelyn helped immensely.

No, I had never killed anyone before. I felt no conscious regret or guilt for executing the scumbag and his muscle; they would have shot me without hesitation or penalty. All sides of the law told me Javiér was untouchable by any force within Mexico. Intellectually, I felt entirely justified.

That was my rational brain talking. And my reptilian brain gloried in the power of death, the primeval joy of destroying and devouring. Yes, I ate those fuckers' souls! And it was damn satisfying! 

But my early 'moral' programming told me killing was wrong and I was evil. 

A memory: I was ten years old, with a slingshot I carved from a gnarly oak branch, and I shot a gray squirrel out of a pine tree. Bright eyes dulled; the body twitched and then lay still... I felt its life drain away, and I was shamed. Life, wasted, thrown away for nothing, for a joke. I felt empty.

I was not sure what else I felt. I would find out.

Niagara Falls roared not far from our RV campsite. It was the last night of this drive; tomorrow, we would duck into a rented house for a couple weeks.

"This is different for me, cuz," Jocelyn said. Our captain's chairs swiveled in the front of the coach while Ruth napped in the back bedroom. We sipped Irish coffee and talked softly. "I haven't done much prison counseling, talking with perpetrators, and it's been mostly about rehabilitation and reintegration into society. I haven't dealt with justifiable homicide but I have an idea of what to expect. Randy, do you feel emotionally isolated?"

I considered. "I'm always detached. Almost always, anyway. No, I've kept a screen up around me for years, Joss. Maybe it's just the male thing? You know my mom Nina raised us to be emotionally open; but shit, I've always kept my feelings to myself. Have to, to be a negotiator. But do I feel any more detached than usual? No, I don't think so."

"Do you replay the day, the hour, those minutes, in your mind, try to second-guess yourself, argue with yourself that you could have done something different, something other than killing two people?"

"Not really. Sure, I think about it. It's not something I can forget."

"Lots of people do forget acts like this. They repress memories."

"I know, I know; I won't. I can compartmentalize my mind. I'll put this whole thing in its own bottle and see it for what it is. But I don't obsess on it, and I won't forget it. Now I know what I'm capable of and how far I'll go, what I'll do, if I think I have to." I paused. "That's scary.."

"Two cold-blooded murders in, what? Ten, fifteen seconds? And you didn't even know the first man? Would you do that again? Would you hesitate?"

"Again, in the same circumstances? Shit YEAH! Hesitate? Shit NO! Once I made up my mind to deal with Javiér, it was inevitable, at least up to the point when I stood in the fuckhead's office. I knew somebody was going to die then. It might have been me." 

I shrugged. "I was careful, and I was prepared, not just lucky. Preparation makes luck." I shrugged again. "And you know what? I really do love Ruth. That's my epiphany. But why did it take a disaster for me to realize it?"

My cousin looked at me closely.

"Ran, it's common is cases like yours for you to be conflicted, to feel elation at surviving the encounter, and guilt for killing another human. Left unresolved, this 'cognitive dissonance' can bring on anxiety and depression, clinical depression, which is bad shit."

I shrugged again. "Yeah, I'm happy to be alive. Elated? I don't exactly feel my blood singing, no. Guilt? Nope. None. Javiér was a waste of oxygen; I feel, no, I am, totally justified. Anxious? Rationally, sure. We're going to be on the run for who knows how long. Am I emotionally anxious about ending his worthless life? Yes, sure - killing people sucks, even when they deserve it. Yes, it hurts. Yes, I played God. And I was right."

Jocelyn leaned out of her chair and hugged me.

"We're going to be talking about this a lot, Ran. No pressure, but I don't want you to go spiraling-off into any dark places."

"You want to know how I feel right now? The opposite of that. Brightness, not darkness. It's like blinders have come off my eyes, and everything around me is clear and illuminated, like I can see my own life for the first time. I see what I hate very clearly. And I see love. I see that I really do love Ruth. That wasn't clear to me before. It is now."

"So maybe you're shedding your mask of detachment? Can you live like that?"

"I think I have to live like that. I don't know if I can, or should, go back to where I was. It's all part of finally growing up, right?"

"Good guess, cuz. Welcome to the land of adulthood! But this rite of passage sucks, doesn't it?" Jocelyn waved the question away. "Enough for now. Hit me with more Irish coffee, hey? And a double dose of that Jack Jameson. It's going to be an exciting night."

A tremendous electrical storm built up. Were all Niagara Falls' massive power generators short-circuiting into the air around us? The atmosphere almost glowed. Eerie static effects felt like poltergeist tricks.




The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 03



I crawled into bed with Ruth. She snuggled against me, still sleeping. I thought about the past and future. Did we have a future?

=====

We stayed mobile and under-the-radar in a series of rentals paid with anonymous cash cards. From the Finger Lakes out to Cape Breton on the far end of Nova Scotia, where we almost tired of eating lobster. A layover outside Quebec - not too much ogling of Québécois femmes - and another beyond Detroit where we ate MidEastern fare. A stop in the Ozarks before lounging around Aspen until smoke of not-too-distant forest fires blew in; and too-chic Jackson Hole; and scattered remote Great Basin campouts; and ever-humid Puget Sound. Then, south to the redwood region of coastal California; we meditated in immense, somber natural cathedrals, god-light breaking through the otherworldly canopy hundreds of feet above.

We stayed in touch with the outside world with bulky cellphones and dialup Internet. My Los Angeles security team reported sporadic surveillance of our home but no physical threats and nothing recent. Our Mexico City escape left no tracks for Mexi-mafiosi to trace - and yes, my manager Mariana's family vanished safely. My communications net seemed not to have been penetrated.

We stayed invisible - and then came the good news.

The late, unlamented Javiér's uncle and mentor died suddenly, alas. Fat old men should not snort so much pure cocaine while sodomizing cute underage prostitutes, ¿si? And it seemed that nobody else in his family or that wing of the PRI gave a good rat's ass about Javiér's untimely demise. 

The heat was off, probably. We could return home, maybe - wherever 'home' was now.

=====

"Okay, the big question, babe: What do you want?" I rubbed Ruth's bare ass.

"You mean, like, right now?" She squeezed my cock. "A little love, maybe."

"You're getting more than a little love, y'know?" Jocelyn pinched Ruth's left nipple. Ruth squawked.

We shifted positions; the big cedar-frame bed in the timbered coastal cottage creaked lazily. Waves crashed on the rocks below our cliff-top aerie. Seagulls cried in the Pacific wind under fast-scudding clouds.

Why was my clever cousin in bed with us naked? Well, that started about three weeks into this adventure, when we rented a cabin off Seneca Lake. Weather was good; we bicycled the spectacular lakefront and wore ourselves out in the glacier-carved hills. After one particularly sweaty ride we fell together into the disability-sized shower. We cleaned each other thoroughly. There was no discussion; Ruth took our hands and led us to bed.

"You sure you want this?" Jocelyn and I asked the obvious question together.

"I am abso-fucking-lutely sure about this," Ruth said. She arranged us kneeling face-front in a triad in the middle of the king bed. She held my face and kissed me deeply and did the same with Jocelyn. 

"I love you both so much! Ran, I've wanted only you since I was twelve, that's been fourteen years now." 

She stroked my hard cock. "Gotcha! And Joss, you've become my best friend ever, much more than a sister. I just feel so much for you! And your body, well..." 

She cupped my cousin's ample breast and ran a hand up her delectable thigh. "And I've seen the way you watch Ran. I know you won't mind having a piece of him, right? Even if he's your cousin. Maybe because he's your cousin? Your big, strong, handsome, rich cousin? Maybe you want him just a little, huh?"

Jocelyn blushed. "Well, it's not like he'd be fucking his mother or sister, now, is it?" She looked in Ruth's eyes, not mine. Good thing. I do not know if I could have kept that secret if she had seen my expression.

Ruth did not peer into my eyes either. She knew about me fucking HER mother and sister but not my own. Some layers of secrecy must remain, even now.

I guess Jocelyn's eyes did not tell Ruth we had fucked before. Whew.

My hand joined Ruth's on Jocelyn's inner thighs. The women's hands joined on my cock. We leaned together and kissed, three sets of lips, one breath, one soul, one heart. (And one cock in two pussies and mouths, heh heh. I had not had a threeway in much too long!)

We learned a great deal that evening. We learned even more in the months that followed. We had great fun.

Fast-forward to that wind-lashed cottage on the rocky Mendocino coast in the autumn of 1992. Ruth indeed got her "little bit of love," at both ends. We all did. Hmmm - was the best position Ruth and Joss tightly embracing while I alternated my hard tool between their ravenous pussies? That was pleasant!

We sprawled afterwards.

"What do you want, Ruth? Not just now, but long-term," I asked. "You know we don't need to work. It may not be safe for you to go back to LACMA or do anything else high-profile anytime soon; we'll have to stay low-key for a long time, just in case. This Internet thing is getting big; I could run my consultancy remotely from just about anywhere. But again, there's no need to work. I can just monitor and manage our cash. Hey, pay attention!"

Ruth had Jocelyn's breast in her mouth. "I'm listening, I'm listening." Her eyes closed for a deep slurp; she looked up at me. "Yeah, you can watch our money. Or you can watch this." She slurped again. "Which do you prefer?"

I moved in on Jocelyn's other breast. "Yum, tasty." A big smack! My cousin giggled. I looked back at Ruth.

"So, are you tired of the vagabond life yet? Want to keep moving around? Want to setup a new home base? Want to be a playgirl for the next eighty years or so? And you, Joss? You want to stay on as part of us?"

Jocelyn answered first. "It's been great, kids. This has been the best time if my life! But I think I need to get back to my practice and my community." She squeezed my wife's hand. 

"You've made a great recovery, Ruth. We can still talk anytime you need but I think you're on track now. And Ran, you don't seem like a mass-murdering sociopath and I don't see any post-traumatic stress. You can be one cold sonova bitch but I think you're basically healthy, or at least, you're not too deadly nutz. So, my work here is done."

Ruth giggled and tickled me. "Oh Joss, he's nutz all right!"

Jocelyn scooped up my testicles. "He's got big fucking nuts, too!"

Ruth stroked me back to firmness. "He's big all over." Her mouth descended on me for a brief kiss. "Real big." Her mouth engulfed me again.

I protested, "Hey, enough already, I'm drained, gimmee a break!"

Jocelyn fingered my scrotum. "Oh no boy, you don't want us to break it."

We bantered and played. And sucked and fucked again, sure. But I finally extracted an answer from Ruth.

I leaned back against the big quilt-covered cedar headboard. Ruth nuzzled into my right armpit; Jocelyn nestled in my left side. The covers only reached our waists; I had four lovely breasts to survey by glancing down. Both women had a hand my my cock but that soldier was tired now.

Ruth looked at my face. "I've thought about this a lot." Her gaze drifted to the picture window overlooking sea-girt rock stacks and then back to my eyes. "Most of the last few weeks, my head's filled with, 'What now? What next?' And yeah, some of the logic is inescapable." She stared out the window; a flight of pelicans passed.

"I really love my career but no, that's too public, too obvious, too out-there. I don't want to give any PRI dinosaur an opportunity for vengeance. If I got into curation or admin at any gallery, any museum, I'd have to change my name, lose my reputation - and yeah, I was doing all that for name recognition, to be known as a serious player in the art game. It was all for my personal glory. And now that could get me killed, and you, baby. No way." Her eyes captured mine again and returned to the window.

"And yeah, we need a new home base. Damn, I love my house! I grew up there! It's a part of me, it really is - but it's also a target, I know that. We can't go back there, can we, Ran?"

Our eyes locked. I shook my head NO. "Not now. Maybe later."

"And we can never go back to Mexico. Guatemala and Costa Rica might be safe for us, but the dinosaurs will never let us set foot in their domain again, will they?" My head shook NO once more. "So we've gotta go somewhere."

Ruth's long walnut-brown ponytail danced counterpoint to her head-shaking.

"So let's go somewhere. Let's travel. But we need a good home base somewhere and pied-à-terres wherever we feel comfortable. You know where I felt best on this trip? The Sellwood neighborhood in Portland on the Willamette River. Maybe we could get that Queen Anne we saw west of Reed College. It had quite enough space for our collections, enough light, enough land, all like that. Sure, it's not the greatest now, but that neighborhood's improving, yeah. It will be a cozy home."

Ruth's face grew wistful.

"Well, that's not quite true. I really liked Santa Fe best. And San Diego. And even San Antonio. But those are all too close to Mexico, aren't they? I can take a Portland winter. No way do I want to be in the Northeast, too fucking cold there after the leaves change color, and the South is just too swampy and retarded. Fuck Dollywood! New Orleans is a pit. Yeah, I hate DC too," Ruth answered my grin. "So the Sellwood is my choice."

The cottage rental expired. We drove a Rent-A-Wreck Buick to San Francisco for a tearful good-bye with Jocelyn before she flew home to Omaha. Ruth and I took a condo in North Beach for a week while we made our final relocation plans. I burned up the wires arranging purchase and prep of the Sellwood house, indirect delivery of our goodies there, all the domestic necessities.

We settled into the next phase of our life: Becoming Oregonians. Traveling the world. Fucking a lot. And catching blowback. But for now, we were happy.

NEXT: The final episode, THE BOOK OF RUTH: EATING OUT.

Author's note: This story by Hypoxia is copyright (c) 2015 and I'm glad it's finally done. Damn, the tale sure has grown! Your constructive feedback is appreciated. If you like this, join the 1% and VOTE! Thank you...