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The Case of Sheryl’s Pregnant Niece

By: ronde



I parked the minivan in the last row of an army of pickup trucks outside "Scooter's Saloon". I like the minivan for surveillance because it doesn't attract much attention, but here, in this sea of symbols of raging masculinity, I felt a little effeminate; one big four-by-four dually in the next row even had a large, plastic scrotum complete with testicles hanging from the bumper hitch. 

In the beatup mini-truck beside me, the occupants were blissfully unaware of my intrusion. The guy was stretched out on the seat with his head resting on the window, and all I could see of him was his balding head. I could see more than I wanted to see of his companion, a rather tall, full-figured, fortyish looking woman who was busily humping up and down on his lap. Her western blouse was open and her huge breasts spilled over her red lace bra and rubbed his face as she leaned into the upstroke. The bleached-blonde, shoulder length hair fell around her breasts and each time she rose, I caught a glimpse of her pink belly before it plunged down again. 

She seemed to be having a great time of it all, and as I watched, her head fell back, and her mouth contorted into what I assumed to be her face of impending orgasm. Her painted lips formed an appropriate "O" as her body jerked rapidly up and down, and then she collapsed on him. After about a minute, she raised, saw me looking, and her lips formed a kiss as she lifted her breasts into view, wobbled them at me, and then raised the left one to lick the nipple with her pink tongue. 

The guy probably thought this was just for him, and was trying to catch her large right nipple in his mouth, but, although I appreciated her direct approach, I'd had about as much of this as I could take. It's not that I'm a prude; it's just that , regardless of the popular myth about PI's taking pictures through bedroom windows for a living, and enjoying it, I'm not really a voyeur. I got out, locked the van, and walked to the door.

I stepped into line behind two shapely female patrons fishing their tight hip pockets for their ID's as they walked in the door. "Scooter's" was one of a hundred or so small country-western bars that populate the less traveled streets of Nashville, and from what I could see of the outside, it was definitely not rhinestone cowboy territory. The exterior had the unmistakable feel of small, neighborhood grocery store, circa 1950. The windows that once displayed sale ads and produce had been painted from the inside with scenes of horses, barns, cows, and other vignettes of the artist's conception of middle Tennessee country life, and the red neon cowboy boot on the roof changed to white, then blue as it kicked at the night sky. The white signboard shouted out, "JESSE RAWLINS AND THE TENNTUCKY TRIO", and in smaller letters below that, "ORIGINAL COUNTRY MUSIC".

The little pickup show turned out to be the highlight of an investigation that started at Barney's the night before. I'd stopped in for my nightly scotch and friendly conversation with the owner, my lesbian best friend Joyce. Joyce had bought the bar from some guy named Barney several years ago, and had never gotten around to changing the name. It was late Friday night, most of the after work crowd had departed for home or other evening delights, and Sheryl, Joyce's lover and roommate was bustling around, picking up glasses and wiping tables. Sheryl and I get along well, considering that she once thought I was out to take Joyce away from her, but we're not what you would call good friends. She speaks to me when I come in, and smiles, but that's about as friendly as she gets.

Joyce walked down the length of the bar, leaned over it showing me some very nice cleavage, and whispered, "Jase, come around the bar and back to the office." Before I could ask why, she had turned and walked through the office door. Sheryl quickly slipped under the lift counter and followed.

I slipped off my stool and walked to the end of the bar, lifted the counter to step through, and walked back down to the office door. About this time, my fantasy of Joyce realizing her desire for my body, temporarily renouncing her lesbian ways, and raping me in her office had kicked in, and my imagination was working a double shift thinking up delightfully wicked thoughts. My fantasy modified itself to include Sheryl, but as I approached the office, it hadn't yet decided if she just watched or was an active participant. As I entered the office, I was prepared to be pushed down on top of her desk and ravaged. I wasn't at all prepared for what really awaited me.

Joyce and Sheryl were sitting on the office couch, and between them was the most pregnant twenty year old girl I had ever seen. She was nearly a carbon copy of Sheryl; well, she would have been except for the swollen belly. Sheryl is about five six and is a hundred twenty pounds of pure blonde fiery passion with yummy small breasts and a yummy tight bottom and yummy...well, you get the idea. It makes me jealous of Joyce every time I see her touch Sheryl; I'm sure Joyce knows this, because she does it a lot when I'm watching...and then grins wickedly at me and winks. The girl had the same long blonde hair, a little larger breasts, and a little larger ass, but I generously attributed the size to her delicate condition. As I stared, first at her, then at Sheryl, the girl rolled herself up off the couch, and waddled over to me, her hand outstretched and the big smile on her face gleaming with white, slightly bucked teeth. Her belly was so large that it pulled her blue dress up at least three inches in the front, and the black flats she wore looked well cared for, but were showing their age. 

"Mr. Conford, I'm Dietra Spone, from over in Carter County. I came to Nashville on the bus because Auntie Sheryl wrote and said you'd help me find Harley."

Her voice dripped the molten, honey-sweet accent of an older Eastern Tennessee. I knew the area of which she spoke. It was beautiful country, the houses and barns clinging to the sides of the Smokies, and the people who lived on the farms and in the remote small towns unconsciously preserved the old speech and customs just by using them everyday. I looked at Dietra closely, and saw in her face the same clear, clean, beauty that made Sheryl so lovely, and the innocence born of life at the relaxed pace of the mountains. The face was smiling, and her handshake was firm, but the slender hand was cold and clammy. I put on my "nice private investigator who really wants to help you" suit, and tried to put her at ease. She released my hand, and crossed her arms on her built-in, tummy armrest.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Dietra. Please call me Jase; Mr. Conford was my father. I didn't know Sheryl had a niece, but I see your family tends toward very beautiful women."

I saw Sheryl roll her eyes, and then mouth something I used my lip-reading skill to interpret as "whit amunch abowl sweat", but that really didn't make much sense to me. Joyce, on the other hand, was sticking her finger in her mouth, making gagging motions, and silently giggling her ass off; I understood that. So much for my attempt at suave and debonair.

"Jase, she's serious. Now stop with the schmooze and listen to her." Sheryl was upset. "She's looking for her boyfriend, and she needs to find him before... well within the next couple weeks anyway. I told her you'd help her and I'll pay you for your time. Tell him your story, Dietra."

"Well, Jase, Harley and I went steady in school back in Roan Mountain, but after we graduated, Harley got a job playing guitar with a band in Nashville, and we kind of broke up. He's really good, and the band is supposed to make a recording one of these days. Well, anyway, he came home for a visit last summer, and came to see me. I still loved him, Mr...I mean, Jase, and we went swimming in the crick above our house. One thing led to another, and, well, you can see where it led. I have to find Harley to tell him about the baby. I don't know if he'll want me or not, but he still needs to know. Auntie Sheryl's going to help me with the baby and all, so I'll be OK; I just want to tell him, that's all."

"What's Harley's last name?"

Dietra's smile evaporated as her face became serious.

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"Why would I laugh?"

"Just promise, OK?"

"OK."

"Davidson. Harley's last name is Davidson. See, his daddy thought that name would be neat and all, like, when Harley grew up he could ride around on this big motorcycle and be Harley Davidson on a Harley Davidson, but Harley hates it. He had a rough time with it in school, 'cause Harley's kind of shy and, well...he's not exactly a football player, if you know what I mean. Don't get me wrong, Harley's not one o' them sissy boys; he likes girls." She laughed nervously, "Well, I guess you already guessed that, but he's real soft hearted. The guys used to call him "Soft Tail", 'cause of his name, and Harley said he was gonna to change it when he came here. Anyway, my letters started coming back to me about a month ago. When I called his hotel, they said he'd moved out and didn't say where he was going. Mr. Conford, I just got to find him. Can't you please help me?"

I looked at her enormous belly and her sweet young face, then looked at Joyce who's eyes were silently pleading with me, and then at Sheryl who looked like a little puppy begging for a biscuit. It was useless to tell Dietra that Harley probably had lots of fun with her at the spring, but then decided to lay low in case she tried to find him again. It was useless to point out that Harley could easily disappear in Nashville, and I'd have one hell of a time finding him if he really tried to stay hidden. It was useless to speculate on whether Harley was even still in Nashville. Dietra was convinced Harley was here, and all three were convinced that I could find him. 

I wish women didn't have this affect on me, I really do. When they put on that "please help me" face, my rugged, manly, private investigator's objective attitude turns to silly putty, and I'll do anything they want. By the time I realize it's happened again, it's too late to say "no", and I'm off to rescue the damsel in distress, especially if the damsel is as pretty as any one of these three. 

"OK, let me get what information you know, and I'll get started in the morning."

According to Dietra, Harley was the best guitar player in Roan Mountain; from what I knew of Roan Mountain, he was probably the only guitar player there, but Dietra was obviously proud of him. He'd come to Nashville to join the thousands of young kids who dream of fame and fortune in the recording industry. They work for minimum wage, spend everything they earn on demo tapes and CD's, starve a little and grow up a lot, and after a couple of years, most go back home to real jobs. A few are good enough to make a meager living playing in the bands that do three one-hour sets a night in the many clubs in Nashville and the surrounding area. Once in a while, one of them has something that clicks with a record company, and the dream comes true. I knew Harley wasn't one of the lucky ones, but he might still be playing with a band somewhere. Dietra gave me Harley's highschool picture. The boy who smiled back at me had her same innocent eyes and long, blonde hair. He looked uncomfortable in the suit and tie, and I imagined Harley would be a lot more at ease in jeans. I wanted to make her feel a little better, but I didn't want to encourage her too much.

"Well, Dietra, I'll see if I can find your Harley for you. Do you remember the name of the band he was playing with?"

"Well, when he left, Harley told me it was "Tobacco Country", but this summer he said something about changing their name to "Rabbit Flats", because they thought it sounded better. I don't know if they did or not, because Harley never said in his letters."

The next morning I called Carla Hampton. Carla is a gorgeous brunette with long legs and a fantastic set of breasts who became a friend after I taped her husband in the company of a very young, very naked young woman; the tape helped Carla keep her recording business intact after the divorce proceedings she started against him and she was very grateful. Damn, that woman did know how to be grateful. She came to my office to look at the tape, and ended up climbing naked onto my own desk and seducing me into making love to her. She seduced me later that night on my couch...twice. She seduced me the next morning in the shower. Carla can be very seductive. We have a rather unique friendship. Any time Carla gets horny, she comes to Barney's for a cheeseburger and double scotch; then we go to my place and she screws my eyes crossed. We wake up the next morning, and she goes back to her office. I'm already in my office, so all I have to do is limp to the shower, stand under the water until it turns too cold to tolerate, and then go back to bed for the rest of the day. By evening, I'm recovered and ready to get back to PI stuff. It's really a quite simple relationship, but it is fun.

I asked Carla if she knew of a band called Tobacco Country. She said, "Wait a sec", and I heard the clicking of a keyboard. 

"Jase, Tobacco Country sent us a tape last year. We rated them better than most, but they were just another country rock band, so we didn't sign them. Their agent's name is Bill Gadston, if you're interested; his office is over on Music Row." Her voice turned soft and sensuous. "Jase, you gonna to be at Barney's tonight?"

"Afraid not, darlin'. Working on a case. I need to find a guitar player that plays with that band, or used to anyway. His sweet little pregnant girlfriend wants to tell him he's going to be a father, and from the looks of her, I don't have much time. If I get lucky, your Mr. Gadston will be able to tell me where to find him, but if they changed agents, I may just have to bar hop until I find somebody who knows him."

The voice turned softer, more sensuous, and had little pleading overtones. "But, Jase, I'm feeling really... tense, if you know what I mean. I could really use a backrub...and a frontrub...and a siderub...and a rub in some other places...and I could make it worth your while."

Damn, I could picture Carla sitting at her desk, her long dancer's legs crossed so her skirt raised to show the tiny thong panties she loved. She was probably caressing herself, too. Carla had a particular fondness for her own touch, at least if I wasn't around. Damn, why did I have to work for a living? I was stubbornly professional, or was it stupidly professional? "Sorry, honey, not tonight."

"Well, shit, lover. I guess Mr. Bullet is going to have to stand in for Mr. Conford again tonight."

"Mr. Bullet?"

She giggled. "Mr. Silver Bullet. I found him in Chicago, last week. He's always hard, and never gets tired. He does tend to eat lots of batteries, though. I should have bought the handy AC adapter, I guess. Hurry and find your guy, Jase. Mr. Bullet is nice, but I really need you."

I called the Gadston agency, but the answering machine said Billy was in Atlanta until Monday. I should have just waited until Monday, but the girls would ask me what I found out, so I had to try something today. That's why I was at Scooter's. Most of the bands know each other, so if I was lucky, I might get a lead on Harley's location.

Inside, Scooter's was a typical redneck country bar with wall to wall neon beer signs, stools at the long bar, and a small dance floor all just barely visible through the dense, smoky haze. Three pool tables were lit by hanging fluorescent lights and rows of quarters shared the table lips with chalk cubes and the long burns of forgotten cigarettes. Two guys in jeans, flame splashed shirts, black cowboy hats and python boots maneuvered for position as a buxom woman in tight leather mini-skirt and tiny halter top leaned into her shot at the cue ball. Two dart boards hung on the rear wall, and a quiet group stood and watched as the shining missiles flew through the air to choose who bought the next round. Behind the dance floor, the band was setting up for the first set, and guitar and bass runs blended with drum rolls and rimshots to mix with the country ballad blaring through the speakers hanging from the ceiling. I walked up to the bar, and ordered a beer from the bartender. It was hard to concentrate on her red hair and smile, pretty as they were, because her bikini top and cut-offs tended to distract me. Through some miracle of engineering, the two small triangles of fabric managed to contain those magnificent breasts, although they looked too high set and firm to be original issue, and when she bent over the ice tub to retrieve my beer, soft, tanned cheeks cased in white lace peeked at me from under the hem of the shorts. All in all, the effect was intended to draw big tips from the horny guys at the bar, and judging from the dollar bills crammed into the wine carafe in front of her, it was working. The wedding rings on her left hand kind of spoiled my vision of her, me, and a bedroom, but I tipped her a buck anyway. Anybody who tries that hard deserves a reward.

The music had changed to a slow ballad, and the dance floor quickly filled with couples locked in passionate embraces as they slowly rocked in place. Here and there, I saw long, deep kisses exchanged and over in one corner, a slender woman in western blouse and skirt was slowly humping against her cowboy's thigh as he cupped her round ass with both hands. The song ended, and lights lit the band on the stage. They immediately launched into a fast, upbeat instrumental at a volume I was sure was not OSHA legal, and amid rebel yells and whistles, the couples cleared the dance floor. It's a good thing I Iike country music, because after an hour of this, my ears were ringing and I was reasonably sure I was developing an addiction to nicotine. I bought another beer from the red-headed breasts and sauntered in my best cowboy saunter back to the table where the band had gathered. I decided to play this one straight, at least to start. I walked up to the guitar player and stuck out my hand just as he was sitting down next to a chubby, dishwater blond.

"I'm Jase Conford, and I really enjoyed your music. You guys write all this yourselves?"

"Hey, Jase, Cliff Pardue. This is Connie, my wife. Yeah, man, we write all of it." He shook my hand, and I made nicey to Connie. She was kind of cute, and her smile would have raised the dead. It was easy to see what Cliff found in her.

"I'm looking for another guitar player. He plays with a band called Tobacco Country. Think you could help me out?" 

"Jase, man, don't know. Why you lookin' for this guitar player?"

I gave him my business card. "I'm a private investigator, and I'm trying to find him for his mother. She hasn't heard from him for a couple months, and want's to make sure he's OK." 

All right, so I lied; a guy might hide from his girlfriend, especially if she's expecting, but never from his mother.

"How do I know you're not gonna repo' his wheels, or serve him with a warrant or something?"

"Well, you don't, but I don't do that kind of work. I just find people for other people."

"What's the guy's name?"

"Harley, Harley Davidson."

"Mister, you gotta be shittin' me. Ain't nobody named Harley Davidson playin' ax in Nashville."

"Well, he might have changed it. I don't think he liked the name very much. How about Tobacco Country? Ever hear of them?"

"Yeah, but they call themselves Rabbit Flats, now. Ax man's named Dave Harlow, not Harley. They're playin' over at the Spur for the next few weeks."

"Dave's got short, black hair, right, and he's about six feet tall?"

"Nope, Dave's got blonde hair clean down to his asshole, and he's about average height."

"Shit, must not be my guy. Hey, thanks though; buy you and your lady a drink?"


The Case of Sheryl’s Pregnant Niece



I was on my way out of the bar when the night started to go sour. I was passing the bar, when the pudgy little woman fell off her stool. Being the honorable type guy that I am, I reached to catch her, and accidentally grabbed both her breasts, one in each hand, in the process. I did manage to keep her from falling, but she shrieked like a mashed cat. 

I really couldn't blame him, even though he did have me by about six inches in height and by about a hundred pounds. When he turned around, there was his girl standing in front of me, and I was squeezing both her ample breasts while holding her tight against me. Now, I can handle myself pretty well, and it looked to me like he was pretty well drunked up, so I didn't want to really hurt him. I just wanted to leave. I dropped my hands quickly and started to explain, but my explanation was cut short by his "Goddamnsumbitch" as he stood and pushed her out of the way. As he started his swing, I nimbly ducked out of the way; the nimble duck is one of my best moves. The big guy missed, and his momentum threw him off balance. He started to fall, then somehow regained his footing, and swung again, this time connecting with my left arm. It hurt like hell, but I was still trying to figure out how to get out of there, and tried not to think about the pain. I said, "Hey, man, it was an accident and I'm just going to leave, OK" when the third swing came at my nose. I blocked it with my left arm again, wincing as it landed, and put everything I had into a punch in his belly. The breath exploded out of him with a "Umph", and he sat down on the floor. I was congratulating myself, when everything went red and yellow stars, and then black.

The emergency room at Memorial is rather comfortable at one AM, really it is. Cliff's wife, Connie, was nice enough to drop me off there after the fight. The nice nurses and doctors stitched the cut and I was entertained by the view of some very soft nursey breasts as she wrapped my head in about a mile of bandage. They couldn't do much for my ribs, though. The doctor said they'd probably be sore for about a week, and gave me some little white pills to take when they hurt. On the way back to pick up my minivan, Connie told me the story. I had put the big guy down, when his girlfriend hit me from behind with a beer bottle. She told Connie she was getting off her stool, when I grabbed her from behind, and then started to beat up her guy. After she beaned me with the bottle, she kicked me a few times, just to make sure I wouldn't get up, and then went to help her big boy. Connie had seen it happen, and got there about the same time as security. She explained to the little woman, talked the security guys out of calling the police, and then took me to the hospital. 

I thanked Connie, and promised to buy her a drink the next time I could catch the band, but explained that I probably wouldn't be back to Scooter's. She laughed and told me where they would be playing in a couple weeks. I eased my aching body into the minivan, and drove home, parking in my usual space in the alley. I inched up the stairs, rediscovering my bruised left arm in the process, and when I finally locked the door behind me, I collapsed on the couch with my trusty bottle of scotch. I felt better after I had lowered the bottle by about an inch and fell asleep.

I woke the next day about twelve, and after trying to move, decided to change my career from PI to couch weight, at least for a while. I did finally manage to get to the can, and then took one of the little white pills. A look in the mirror told me the turban didn't do much for my rugged good looks, so I took it off. As the coffee brewed, I munched on yesterday's pizza lunch, and looked up the Spur in the phone book. By the time the coffee was done, the little pill had kicked in, and I felt like I had only my normal Sunday morning hangover. I checked my answering machine, and decided to ignore Carla's erotic invitation, at least for today.

Ten o'clock that night found me outside the Spur, and it was like Saturday night all over again. I swear, the same mini pickup was parked beside me, although the big blonde was not inside, and the bar looked the same from the outside. After I paid my cover, and walked inside, I knew that Scooter's had been transported to this address while I slept, because the decor and clientele were the same. The band was in full swing, and it was easy to pick out the guitar player as Harley. He looked the same as his picture, except there were a few new experience lines in his face. I bought a beer from the same bartender, this time disguised as a brunette but sporting the same breasts and butt, and looked for the band table. It was easy to find because the women sitting there nursing their drinks looked proud, but bored, and spent most of the time talking to each other instead of listening to the music. I did my best bar-style mosey, and worked my way to their table. Five guys in the band, and only four girls at the table; maybe Dietra would be lucky, and none of the women would be with Harley. The first set ended, and the band filed over to the table, but Harley just picked up a beer, and stood back while the others sat down beside their wives. Well, at least Harley hadn't picked up a companion since last summer. I walked up to the long-haired blond guitar player, and said, "Dave Harlow?"

"Yeah, I'm Dave Harlow." The eyes were the same, but not so innocent as in the picture, and I picked up a hint of apprehension in his voice. "Whatcha need, man?"

"Can we go somewhere a little quieter, and talk?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. Out back, this way."

He led me to a door behind the bandstand, and we walked into a storage room that served as a dressing room for the bands. I decided to really play this straight.

"Dave, I know your real name is Harley, Harley Davidson and -"

"How do you know that? You from that pawn shop? I paid off my ax, yesterday, and you're not gettin' any more out of me." He turned to walk away. I caught his arm, and he turned to face me again.

"Harley, I'm not here to collect a debt. I'm a private investigator, and Dietra sent me to find you."

"Dietra? Dietra Spone? From Roan Mountain!"

"Yes, Dietra Spone from Roan Mountain. She wants to see you, to tell you something."

"What? I haven't seen her in about nine months. I quit writing to her a while back, because the band wasn't gettin' very far, and I couldn't afford the stamps. She probably wants to yell at me for not writing. Just tell her to forget about me. Now, I got another set to play, and I want to finish this beer first. Take it easy, man." He started to walk away again.

"Harley, I got three women expecting me to find you. They're all pretty, and I'd hate to disappoint them, so when you finish the last set, come back to Barney's with me, and let her have her say. I'll drive you over, and take you back to where ever you're staying."

"Three? I thought you said Dietra was looking for me."

"Well she is, but her Aunt Sheryl is helping her, and Sheryl's friend, Joyce is expecting me to find you too."

"Her Aunty Sheryl Mason from over in Cabin Row? I didn't know she lived in Nashville. Miss Mason was the school librarian when I was in junior high. She was really nice, and really hot, at least to us boys, but she never had a boyfriend. Lots of guys tried, from what I hear, but she just stayed by herself until she quit. Never heard what happened to her, but there was some talk about her and the principal. See, the principal quit at the same time."

"Oh, I don't think there could be any connection there. Sheryl still doesn't like men very much."

"The principal was Miss Jameson, Miss Joyce Jameson."

"Oh..., well then, that fits."

It's funny how the most unexpected information comes to me from the most unexpected sources. 

It isn't funny how events can repeat themselves and add to my pain and suffering. The last set was finished, and Harley and I were walking out the door, when a very drunk brunette stumbled into me.

"Hey're, hanshome. I can' fin' Sharlie, an' I need a good hard fuck. You look like you gotta big hard dick. It'll serve 'im right, leavin' me here by m'self. Up to it? If y'ur not, I kin fix it." . I felt slim fingers take a choke hold on my cock and jerk it up and down through my jeans. She giggled, put her arms around my neck, and mashed her tank top into my chest. A second later, I tasted beer and cigarettes as she crushed her open mouth against mine, and tried to find my tonsils with her tongue. I was trying hard, really, to untangle her from me when I heard the same "Goddamnsumbitch" as the night before. "Shit, Darlene. Can't I go take a piss without some asshole tryin' to get in your panties?"

"Well, 'sbout fuckin' time, Sharlie, an' I'm not wearin' no panties, remember?"

It wasn't the same guy, but probably they were related; two guys that big had to be. He grabbed my shoulder and succeeded in separating me from Darlene. That relief was short-lived, and was followed by a fist about the size of a soccerball impacting on my face. I felt the crunch, rather than heard it, and was contemplating how I would look with a broken nose, when the second punch hit me just below the breastbone. For a big man, he was surprisingly quick, and when the third punch hit my jaw, I conceded defeat, and fell on the floor. I lay there, listening to Harley calming the guy down, and mentally composing the letter I was going to sent to my old boxing coach, when Harley's voice started getting softer and softer.

The same cute little nurse put the tape over my nose, and assured me my jaw wasn't broken and that my nose would heal straight. She also assured me that my stomach would feel better in a few days, and then gave me some more of the same little white pills. Harley put me back in my minivan, and I directed him to my office.

Barney's was deserted, as was usual for a Sunday night, and Joyce and Sheryl were sitting at the bar drinking coffee and talking. I didn't see Dietra.

"Jase, what happened to you?" asked a worried sounding Joyce.

I tried to live up to the image my ego liked to feel. "Nothing, just a little bump." I winced slightly as she touched my nose; all right, I yelled, but it hurt like hell. It hurt worse when she laughed. 

"Where's Dietra? I found Harley. Harley, meet Joyce and She...oh, wait a minute, you already know each other, don't you?"

"Yes, Jase, Sheryl and I know Harley" said Joyce. "I suppose he told you everything?"

"Well, enough to get my attention. You'll have to explain it to me sometime, but not now. Where's Dietra?"

"Well...Dietra couldn't wait for Harley. She's over at Memorial, right now, with her new daughter." Joyce's ample chest pumped up in pride. "Sheryl and I were with her the whole time. I guess we're godmothers, or something like that."

Harley was looking confused. "Dietra has a daughter? But how?"

Sheryl laughed. "Honey, you really are from way back in the hills, aren't you? Didn't your daddy ever have that talk with you? How long ago did you and Dietra go swimming?"

I could see Harley silently counting the months on his fingers. "You mean...when me and Dietra...last summer?"

"I can see we've got a real genius here, Joyce," said Sheryl. "Yes, Harley, if you go riding bareback, you sometimes get a little momento of the occasion, in this case six pounds eight ounces of momento."

Harley started to turn the most unique shade of gray I had ever seen, but then his face split in a huge smile.

"Why didn't she tell me? I'd have taken care of her, even if I had to quit the band and get a full time job.

"Why are men so fucking dumb?" asked Sheryl to no one in particular. "Harley, I'll try to go slow so you can understand, and I'll use little words. She loves you, you dumb shit; God knows why, but she loves you. She didn't want to hurt your chances to make a record and become famous, so she didn't say anything. She doesn't even want you to quit now; she just wanted you to know about the baby."

I gave the keys to the van to Harley, and they all went to Memorial. Hell, if I'd known she was in the same hospital, I'd have dropped Harley off with her while we were there. At least I wouldn't have gotten my nose pinched. I walked back to my office and climbed the stairs. I found that the pain in my arm balanced the pain in my gut so well that it hurt all the way up the steps instead of just every other step like this morning. Once inside, I pulled off my clothes and headed for the couch without even turning on the lights. I had just stretched out and closed my eyes, when something rubbed up my cock, and I jumped about a foot. A familiar, soft voice said, "Hi there, sailor. Feels like you're glad to see me."

I reached for the table lamp and turned the switch. Carla was standing beside the couch in her bra and panties; I think she was in a bra and panties, but they were so skimpy it was hard to tell for sure. The bra looked more like wide black satin ribbons, and the panties... well they just looked like black shoelaces stitched together to me.

"Carla, you scared the hell out of me! How'd you get in here, anyway?"

"Well, Joyce said you gave her a key, the last time you went out of town, so I borrowed it. I'm not a girl to take no for an answer, and Joyce said you'd enjoy the surprise. She did giggle a little, wonder why? So..., how do you like my new outfit? I bought it just for you." She twirled around, showing me the back. "By the way, you look like shit, lover. What happened?"

"Well, I feel like shit, too, but it's too long a story for now. Goodnight, Carla. I've got to get some sleep."

"Oh, no you don't. Mama is horny, and her little man is gonna make her feel better. Just lay back, and let Mama do all the work, Honey." Carla's soft fingers massaged my cock and balls for a while. "Hmmm, I guess you're not so little, now, are you?"

It's amazing to me that the instinct to reproduce is so strong. My nose was broken, I had stitches in my head, my arm was bruised, I was sure I had a couple loose teeth, and I felt like eighteen big guys in golf shoes had practiced clogging on my gut, and yet, the little guy had raised his head and was sniffing around. Of course, Carla was prime sniffing woman, but I hurt so bad. "Carla, please, no."

It took her only a moment to slip off the ribbons and shoestrings, and then to strip my shorts off over my feet.

"Hey, Lover, do your legs hurt?"

"No, not my legs."

She immediately straddled my thighs and sat down, her soft pussy straddling one knee. Damn, she was horny; I felt something warm and wet on my kneecap as her soft lips separated around it. Carla cupped her breasts, and rolled them gently in her palms. 

"Ummm, Jase. Doesn't this look yummy? Feels yummy. God, I love rubbing my tits almost as much as I love you rubbing my tits."

She picked up each swelling, dark nipple between her thumb and forefinger, and began rolling and tugging. She gasped, and then purred little moans. "Mm...mm...mmmmm. Is this doing to you what it is to me?" She looked down at my swelling cock. "My, my, Sugar, I believe it is, yes I do. Maybe I can help your little guy grow great big."

She reached down with her right hand, and picked up my hard cock. Her soft fingers began a rhythmic squeezing and I had to groan. Carla knew which buttons to push, and when. She started slowly slipping her hand up and down, and when I involuntarily lifted against her stroke, she laughed. 

"My, my, Jase. You can't feel all that bad, but let Mommy kiss it and make it feel better, anyway."

Carla slid her wonderful pussy down my leg until my foot ran into her soft ass. She leaned down, her breasts brushing against my knees, and raised my cock. I saw that impish look come into her eyes, and she opened her mouth wide, then clicked her white, even teeth shut.

"Lay still, Lover, or I might bite. Oh, hell, I might just bite, anyway, but lay still."

The soft pink tongue slipped out of Carla's mouth as her lips circled the head of my cock. The tongue licked up the underside, pausing to tickle just at the start of the head. No doubt about it, when Carla had told me she gave very good blow jobs, she knew what she was talking about. The sensation was exquisite, and I wasn't going to last long at the mercy of her lips and tongue. She was sucking now, and sliding her lips and tongue up and down my length. Occasionally, I felt the back of her throat, and almost lost control. Carla really did know what she was doing. When I started to pump against her, she squeezed the base of my cock hard, and just backed up with me. After three times through this fun house, I was ready to explode, and tried really hard to do just that. Carla just stopped, squeezed me again, and waited until I had calmed down.

"Not yet, Sweety. Mama gets her's tonight too, and that means she gets you inside her."

"Carla, I can't. I hurt too much."

"Oh, no, no excuses. Let me show you something. Think you'll like it, and I know I will."

Carla separated her sex with her left hand, and I saw lovely, pink, turgid inner lips slipping out. She started rubbing her clit with the other hand, and her eyes locked onto mine. I saw smoldering passion as she fingered herself, and when she started to buck her hips, her eyes caught fire. The fire spread to me, and she saw.

"Last night, Mr. Bullet jumped in to save me, but tonight..."

Carla slid back up my legs, positioned herself over my cock, and reached down to guide me into her. She rubbed her clit with the head while slowly raising and lowering her hips, and then, with a moan, slipped the head between her swollen inner lips.

"Oh God, Jase, it's been too long, Honey."

Carla slowly sank her body over me, and then sat there. The sight of my cock disappearing into her was erotic beyond my wildest dreams..., and I can have some pretty erotic dreams. I felt her milking me with her muscles.

"Like this, Honey? I've been practicing, just for us. You feel sooooo good in there, sooooo good."

I thought it felt really great, myself, and almost forgot about all my hurty body parts. I was getting one of the great lays of my life, and didn't even have to do anything. Well, I did have to get hard, but, with Carla, that wasn't work at all. I was enjoying the gentle sucking sensation on my cock, when she clamped down hard and lifted herself up, almost allowing me to slip out of her passage. I caught my breath, and was going to exhale, when she dropped over me again, and I felt my cock pushing against her womb. Carla gasped, and then moaned.

"Ohhhahhh, Baby. Yessss...yessss...too long."

She started pumping me in and out of her warm, wet passage, and slipped a finger between us to rub her swollen clit. She lifted my hands, first one and then the other, to her breasts, and said, "Rub them, Jase, it feels so good when you do that."

I did my best to comply, and realized I couldn't remember which arm hurt. I loved the feeling of her soft breasts and hard nipples, and let my hands and fingertips enjoy the feel of her. I tugged on her nipples, and Carla shuddered, the shudder coming from her belly and running all the way down her passage to the base of my cock.

"Yes...yes...that's it, lover...ummm...that's mmmm...that's it. Again...God, yessss....ummm...ahhhh."

The ripples were continuous, now, and Carla was beyond anything but pushing my cock in and out of her. She was stroking me in and out, her muscles were grasping at me with her lips, and little contractions squeezed me at the end of each stroke. I was, as usual with Carla, rapidly losing control. Carla was losing control, too; her eyes were shut, her stroking increased in speed, and her head rocked back and forth and from side to side. Her long, dark brown hair fell sensuously around her face and soft, tanned shoulders with each movement.




The Case of Sheryl’s Pregnant Niece



"Now, Jase, now...now...ahh, yesss...now..now..now, now, now, Oh God, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Her soft, sultry cry, and the sudden thrust of her hips caused me to erupt inside her, and I felt the tremendous rush of sperm spurting out of my cock to splash against her womb. I thrust against her, again, and felt another rush of seed. I kept thrusting in unison with her pumping hips, as she slowly ground against me and floated down off her cloud of pleasure. She stopped, and leaned over to kiss me, hard, on the lips.

"God, that was great, Jase. I really needed that. Did I hurt you?"

"Carla, honey, that was a long way from hurting me."

When I slipped out of her, she lifted herself off me, moved to my side, snuggled her face against my chest, and promptly went to sleep.

We woke up at ten, and Carla didn't seem bothered that she'd overslept. "They'll get by without me for a while. Let's go over to Barney's and see if they're back."

We walked to the bar, and knocked on the door. Joyce answered wearing a satin robe that did absolutely nothing to hide her mature curves. When she hugged me hard, I realized there was nothing under the robe, either. She kissed me on the cheek, and said "Thanks, Jase, for finding Harley. Dietra was really happy to see him, and he wants to take care of her. It was so sweet." I looked at Joyce, and was surprised to find tears in her eyes. She sniffed and turned away to walk to the bar. We went in to find Sheryl in men's boxer shorts and a snug T-shirt. This was hard to take, especially after last night. She walked up to me, hesitated, and then gave me a bigger hug, and her firm little breasts pressing into my chest confirmed what my eyes had lusted over for a long time. She kissed me on the cheek, also, and said, "Jase, we've never been all that close, so I really appreciate what you did. How much do I owe you for finding him?" 

"Ah, Sheryl, just forget it. Joyce is probably the best friend I have, and since she really likes you, let's just consider this as a favor between us. I was really glad to help."

Sheryl put her arms around my neck, hugged me again, and whispered in my ear, "Now I understand why Joyce likes you so much. Let's start over. I'd like to have a friend like you, and I was pretty nasty to you when we first met. I'd like to fix that, if you'll let me."

I tentatively hugged her back, and when she didn't resist, I held her close until she laughed and said, "Hey, Jase, part of you seems to be uh...coming between us. Tell the little guy we're just friends, OK?"

Well, damn, what did she expect, mashing her perky little tits in my chest like that. I'm only human.

Harley was sitting at the bar, drinking a cup of coffee and smiling. Carla walked up to him and asked, "I hear you play the guitar. Are you any good?"

"Well, Ma'am, yes, I'm pretty good. Wish I could convince them recording people I am."

"Well go get it, and play something for me."

Harley soon returned with his guitar, and started to play a modern country rock tune. Carla shook her head, and stopped him.

"No, Harley. Play something you learned at home, something your mother used to sing."

Harley's style changed to subtle finger picking, and the soft melody of "Wildwood Flower" flowed out of the guitar. He finished the song, and Carla clapped.

"Do you sing, too, Harley?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but not that song. Can't sing the high notes."

"Well, sing me something else, then."

"Harley's guitar began the intro, and he sang "Cabin in the Woods". When he finished, Carla walked up to him, and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Harley, you've been doing the wrong stuff, for you. Here's my card. Come see me tomorrow, and we'll see what we can do."

Harley's eyes were wide with surprise. "You work at a recording studio?"

Carla laughed. "No, Harley, I own the studio. We record bluegrass, jazz and blues artists. It's not the big money, but it'll pay the bills if people like your music. I think you just might have a nice little career ahead of you, if we push you right. I'd like to help you, if you let me."

She turned to me, and flashed me a devilish smile. "Now, Jase, honey, I'd like breakfast at a nice restaurant, and then, I'm going to treat all your aches and pains again. I've decided today is a vacation day, and I feel like vacating, if you know what I mean." She looked at Joyce and Sheryl and winked.

I just smiled. I was going to hurt like hell, tomorrow, but as Scarlett once said, "Tomorrow is another pain"... at least I think it went something like that.