16 comments/ 12928 views/ 5 favorites The Book of Ruth: Eating Out By: Hypoxia Author's note: This probably-final episode of an extended romantic memoir is probably fictional. 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 and the three chapters of the DOING RUTH) episode, but this will all make more sense if you do. ***** THE BOOK OF RUTH Finale: Eating Out ***** -- 1992 -- Sellwood autumn Did you ever want to be rich and idle? You think you want enough money to live anywhere, travel anywhere, do anything, buy almost anything, and never have to do a lick of work or account for your actions? Just imagine: you could live a life of play, of luxury, of idle whims and passing pleasures. Been there, done that. It gets old. Not that we were really rich, not on any big scale. Sure, Ruth inherited a fair amount from her Hollywood-lawyer father, and I made a good pile of cash as a broker and consultant, and from my perfidious sister Jill buying out my share of our hard-commodities firm. Ruth and I were nowhere near billion-bucks territory but we were comfortable, very comfortable. Ruth flipped her 'lucky' old silver quarter in the air. "Heads!" I yelled. Yes, I was excited. The coin landed and clinked and stopped with George's head showing. "Cheater," Ruth pouted, scooping her coin off the kitchen table. "How the fuck did I cheat? You're the only one who touched it!" "I dunno, you used magnetic brain waves or something. You had your eyes crossed. I just know you cheated." "Yeah, brain waves, right. If I have magic brain waves, how come you ain't screaming in ecstasy from me wiggling your clit? I'd do that in a flash, y'know. Give it up, luzer!" I gloated. The stakes were high. That coin-flip determined who got to put their favorite collections where in the big old freshly-refurbished house. I won! Ruth's modernist art stuff would have to go on the south side where the light was harsher. My great ethnic artifact trove won the softer light of the north side. I rubbed my hands in wicked glee. Yes! I have previously told why and how Ruth and I escaped Mexico City, abandoned our Los Angeles estate, and folded-up our prior lives. Prudence dictated that we relocate and live very low-profile. We found a century-old Queen Anne manor in the quaint, revived Sellwood neighborhood in south Portland, Oregon. This compact compound on the east bank of the Willamette River just west of Reed College would be our home base for the foreseeable future. Ruth flipped her 'lucky' old silver quarter in the air again. "Heads!" I said again, not so loud. I could stay calm. The coin landed. George's head was face-down in the butter dish. "Cheater," I groused, but my heart was not in it. Ruth retrieved her greasy quarter and wiped it clean on a sauce-splattered napkin. "Yeah, well, I've gotta win sometimes, brain waves or not, dude." She held the coin to her olive eyes for close inspection and wiped it again, more gently. The stakes were slightly lower now: Who won the wall opposite the west-side front door? I knew Ruth would hang her treasured Andy Warhol 1957 shoe-advert sketch there to give visitors a first impression. We compromised on the entry hall with some Frida Kahlo watercolors -- artisanal enough for me, modern enough for Ruth's sensibilities -- and a few transitional pieces. We sexually consecrated every surface of the house before decoration was complete. That is just how we were. Who are we? I am Randy van Ronk, six-foot-four tall, lean, my long nose and high cheekbones framed by dark brown hair, wire-rim glasses over my shifty hazel eyes, but average ears. Folks say I'm not bad-looking for a van Ronk guy. Ruth is a DNA model of the Shapiro women standing nose-high to me, dark, radiant, with sharp aquiline features and long walnut-brown hair in her usual ponytail; a slim-but-curvy hourglass figure, firm buns, fine legs. And great tits -- large firm stand-up-on-their-own melons needing no bra; big soft brown aureoles like beaded pads; stiff pencil-eraser nipples. Handfuls of happiness! Ruth wanted me most of her life. She finally got me but only after her sister and mother and late best friend used me. So now she had me; what would she do with me? Other than jogging and fucking, we spent our first weeks in the Sellwood arranging our living space and sampling the considerable cultural and gustatory delights of the Portland-Vancouver area. And entertaining a very few selected visitors. My hot blonde cousin Jocelyn, the RN turned clinical psychologist who helped immensely following Ruth's Mexico City rape, came to visit, and to cum. "Oh fuck yeah, Joss," Ruth murmured, my cousin's tongue actively stimulating my wife's clit while my mouth worshipped Ruth's tasty breasts. This involved a bit of contortion since my cock was currently embedded inside Jocelyn, her legs wrapped around me; we lay on our sides, nestled between Ruth's thighs. I pistoned faster in Jocelyn and sucked harder at Ruth. I felt a climax approach. Oh yes... AAHH! I delivered a nice load into my as-yet-unsatisfied cousin and moved my mouth to my wife's other breast. My softened slimy cock slipped from Jocelyn. I caught my breath and forcefully flipped the two tall women, shoving the blonde on her back and pushing Ruth to sit on her face. I dove in between Jocelyn's legs and worked my tongue into and around her wet pussy before concentrating on her clit. My hands reached up; my fingers tortured my cousin's nipples. "Oh yeah Joss, oh yeah, oh Joss, oh fuck, oh, oh, OOOHH!!" Ruth chanted. I felt my wife's orgasmic contortions shake my cousin's body. After a minute, Ruth fell off Jocelyn's face and lay beside us. I felt my cousin's passion rise. I lifted my face long enough to grunt, "Heads and tails." I returned to a climactic attack on her joy buzzer. Ruth's mouth joined my fingers on Jocelyn's near breast. Jocelyn's scream was impressive. I slowed my mouthwork and cooled her down. She dug her fingers into my hair and dragged my head to hers. "Cheater," Joss whispered, and kissed my mouth, wet with our juices. Jocelyn was the one exception (so far) to Ruth's insistence on our married exclusivity. Jocelyn had a pass because Ruth loved her so much. Ruth knew Jocelyn and I had a history -- but cousins are not really incest, right? Parents and kids, full and half siblings, aunts and uncles, are all closer kin than cousins. Hey, in some cultures, cousin marriage is required! Yes, she used The Pill. But please do not tell Jocelyn's brother Doug on us. He might bust my head -- or he might bust a gut laughing. Hard to say. Jocelyn and Ruth both knew of my long-term affairs with Ruth's mom Deborah and older sister Rachel. I never had a mother-and-daughter threesome -- not with those two, anyway. Ruth knew of my hookups with her late best-friend Katia, with Katia's young stepmom and lover Juanita, and our incendiary three-way fucks. Hopefully, nobody but my big sister Jill, our mom Nina, and Jill's lover Gabrielle, knew of my long-lasting sexual relationships with Nina and Jill -- and Jill and Gabby's noxious use of me, effectively rape. I had impregnated all these women except Katia and Ruth. I was surrounded by children I could not claim. That phrase "surrounded by children" was a metaphor. Those kids were scattered from Santa Barbara to New Orleans, not around here in Oregon. No, right here, I was only surrounded by naked loving flesh and a red glow. Red glow? That was because we were in the upstairs Red Room; bright red walls and hangings, curtains, carpets, lights, fixtures, furniture, sheets, book bindings, carvings, the whole enchilada -- and yes, a red enchilada etching. We all looked rather devilish. "I want that thing inside me now," Ruth said, stroking my soft stick. Jocelyn considered my limp Little Elvis. "Gonna need help, I think." "I'm sure we can handle that," Ruth breathed. "Heads up!" My cock could not stay limp under the assault of two determined mouths. "Cheaters," I whispered, but I did nothing to impede them. I was in my early thirties. Regaining stiffness took some time -- a very pleasant time, yes indeed. Once recovered, my balls took even longer to reload with joy juice. Which meant I stayed stiff and non-orgasmic for quite a while. Which made Ruth very, very happy; I perched between her spread thighs and pounded her pussy nearly forever while Jocelyn sat on her face and kissed me. My cousin tried to suck my tonsils down her throat. My wife's cunt tried to devour my poor overused cock. Yes, I was abused at both ends. Oh yeah, torture me more... "Do you really have to go back to Omaha tomorrow?" Ruth sounded downcast. Jocelyn stretched to kiss Ruth's breast and neck and then her mouth. "Yeah, 'fraid so, kid," she said. "I juggled this long weekend as it is. I have a serious case coming in, can't let it slide, even for you guys." She stretched again and kissed my mouth before sliding down to give my cock a slurp. "Not that I wouldn't love to stay longer." Her blues eyes peered at me before closing; she slurped me again. Damn, I would miss her! "I know we can't stay with you in Omaha," Ruth said. "That would really freak your girlfriend, right?" "Yeah, Lara is kind of, like, possessive. Good thing she didn't move in before I was with you two after." She meant, after Mexico, and Ruth's rape, and our rambling months of loving healing. I told that story in the previous episode. "She'd have scrammed then. She doesn't like to share me. Just like you don't share Ran, hey girl?" "I'll share the bastard with you, Joss, but only you." We would see about that. Situations evolve. "But I ain't gone yet," Jocelyn grinned. "Get back here." She pulled herself between Ruth's knees and licked her inner thighs. "We ain't finished yet." My cock involuntarily stiffened again. I sighed. Sometimes, it seems, a man's work is never done. I squinted in the red light, dragged my cousin's butt up, and started a puppy-fuck. Woof. . -- 1993 -- tourist season, baby-making season As I said, we mostly spent our early Sellwood weeks arranging our space and exploring the Portland area. That got old pretty quick. Our three-plus years together had been non-stop active: Me hopping around the Americas in my broker-consultant roles for Jill and my company TBI (ThunderBird International); Ruth as a rising-star curator at LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Art) both in L.A. and Mexico City, often traveling to negotiate art loans and acquisitions. We had no history as homebodies together beyond layovers. I also had no real "home life" past when I lived and slept and loved in the old Santa Monica home with Jill and Mom (I mean Nina) -- my sister Jill and I were constantly on the road. Could Ruth and I stand staying put in one place? No, we could not. Not right away. We winterized the house and hit the tourist trail. Just to be safe, I acquired new identities with finely-forged Canadian papers, not cheap. The world of pre-9-11 security checks knew us as Ransom and Ruelle Warfield. Mexi-mafia thugs would hopefully not notice those names. We only called each other 'Babe'. We toured. Hawai'i, Tahiti, Bali, those Pacific paradises. Macao's casinos. Phuket, Thailand. Agra (the Taj Mahal) and Kerala, India. Dubai, before the overbuilding. Zanzibar (do not bother). Namibia, and safaris. Timbuktu, too. Cyprus, Malta, Mallorca. Macchu Pichu and Cuzco, Peru (a bit risky). Points between and beyond. Some were clothing-optional. Yes, we loved sunshine. We did whatever we wanted, wherever, whenever; money was almost no object. No, we were not reckless nor wasteful -- we were not raised as slugs or drones. But we lived very, very nicely. Alas, we could only stand that for half a season. We tried another season of more in-depth stays: Three weeks on the Amalfi Coast east of Naples. Three weeks back in Kerala in southernmost India. Two weeks around Kerry, Ireland, and then to Nova Scotia. Other leisurely stays here-and-there, long enough to gain a real feel of each place. We especially loved our stay on Italy's Costiera Amalfitano, the old maritime republic of Amalfi. Millennia-old tiny towns built in notches in steep terraced hillsides laced with cobbled trails climbing to lemon-laden heights. Absolutely fresh food from nearby fields or the facing Tyrrhenian Sea. Cheap, tangy wine. Flashy, tangy beaches, often topless -- Ruth, too. Jet-set hangouts: Ravello, Positano, Capri. Glorious ruins from Pompeii to Paestum. And sunshine that almost felt like San Diego but with less smog. That whole coastal region is lined with ancient trails paved in stone blocks for humans and burros to climb. We pierced the Amalfi town gate, up the main street's narrow medieval canyon, and hiked the steep cobbled trail to a hilltop hamlet on a warm, stormy spring day. The lean sexy English girls in short-shorts walking ahead of us were damp; we whispered about doing them, but did not. We all reached lofty Pogerola amid wet thunderbolts; we ducked into a bar for shelter and sustenance. We were cold and tired. We ordered espresso. So sorry, the power is out and the espresso machine does not work. No coffee. So -- brandy had to suffice. We were quite warm when we staggered back down the trail. We spent a couple weeks on the western Hawai'ian island of Kaua'i with its almost-impenetrable wettest-spot-on-earth rain forest, the immense canyon, black-sand beaches, and relaxed people. Kaua'i was very tempting. A few Hawai'ians were tempting, too, but Ruth was not ready for more. Not yet. We returned stateside. We continued to travel and play. We hit many clothing-optional events: Burning Man. Rainbow Family. Nude World. TesticleFest. We revisited sky-clad resorts in lovely domestic locales. We liked many of these places worldwide but somehow our near-constant motion felt, what, empty? Not really fulfilling. Like we were marking time, wasting air, waiting, waiting... Our 1993 birthdays rolled past; I was thirty-three, Ruth was twenty-seven. We had no kids. I worried sometimes but I was not about to press my lovely wife on the topic. Not yet. I would not try to force Ruth into motherhood. Ruth brought up the subject. "Babe, we've got to talk." Our naked bodies wrapped together loosely on the big black-sheeted bed in the upstairs Fuck Room. The high walls were lined with erotic art, modern on the south side, traditional on the north. Mirrors lined the ceiling. For an intimate space it possessed a certain exuberant vibe, yes? I sucked on her ear and bit her neck. "So talk, already. I'm all ears." I gently bit her wet earlobe. "Hey, quit that! But really, Ran, it's time to get serious." I stretched beside my wife and watched our overhead reflections. Our bodies looked fine. We gymned and jogged daily, did enough yoga and t'ai chi and kenpo, ate right, fucked enthusiastically, and all that good fitness stuff. We were buff, shit yeah. No six-pack abs, nothing extreme, only hard, healthy hominids. My reflected hand probed her mirrored pussy. "What kind of serious, babe? Money serious? Existential angst serious? Life-and-death serious? Sex serious?" My mirrored finger tried to slide into her. "Mmmm, that's nice... but yeah, I think it's life-and-death serious." Her hand held mine and guided my motions. "Life and death? You're not sick or hurt, are you?" I almost pulled my hand off. Ruth did not allow withdrawal; she pushed me further into her depths. "Nothing like that. No, I'm thinking of new life. Of babies. Our babies." My first finger tickled her velvety vagina. "This isn't how to make babies." She slapped my face, not too hard, with her free hand. "Jerk. You know what I mean." She pressed my active fingers deeper in her wet abyss. "Don't stop, huh?" She writhed against my agitation. "Oh yeah, yeah..." I decided to up the ante. I left my fingers in place, crawled between her thighs, and tongued her clit. She reacted nicely. "Oh fuck oh fuck ohhh..." and more spasming and "OH FUCK ME AAAHHHH..." Her scream and exhausted panting subsided. She raised her head and glared at me. "You turd," my wife whispered. "I've been too nice to you. I shouldn't have said anything. I should've just gone off The Pill and let you deal with the inevitable. You can handle the inevitable, right?" She rolled to face my cock. "Don't answer now. You'll get yours." She swallowed me. I groaned. "Suck me dry, huh? Won't do you any good. Zygotes grow elsewhere." Her teeth brushed my glans. I twitched. "I know fucking biology, dummy. Shut up and squirt. Talk later." I shut up.She sucked.Chrome off a trailer hitch, yeah.I squirted.Yow. Our juices were now pretty well drained, so we talked. "Yeah, that's right, babies," Ruth said. "I think I'm ready now. I don't feel... dirty, like after..." She shivered. We did not talk about the Mexico City rape. "I know my professional career is shot for now. Maybe things'll cool off enough in a few years for me to go back, maybe not, but I'm not going to wait for that. And no, I don't believe that 'biology is destiny' horseshit but I am a woman and I do want the motherhood thing, I feel it. Am I wired for it? Probably, like you're wired for fatherhood. You've done enough fathering already -- or maybe not enough yet. But your next kids will be with me and only me, got it?" She slapped me again, harder. "Okay, babies it is, then," I said. I rolled between Ruth's spread legs and moved my face close to her well-used pussy. I touched her engorged labia, traced an oval with my fingertips, spread her rosy orchid petals, and slowly swirled my first finger just inside her nether lips. "This looks like the place." My tongue licked at her. "Yes, right here." I looked to her eyes, bright eyes watching me. "I guess we should start practicing." This entertainment provoked and stimulated me -- my cock hardened again. Again, already! I moved up and kissed my wife. Her hand guided me inside her. Her long legs locked around mine and pulled me into her. We fucked. And that was our let's-start-a-family talk. More fucking than talking. Fun fun fun, and then, some more fun. Yes! We had fun for days, weeks, months. Well, the fucking was fun. Lots and lots of fun-fucking during and around Ruth's fertile periods through late autumn, winter and early spring. We continued traveling, with multi-week layovers in quaint places for in-depth exploration and languid lovemaking. We fucked in mountains, seashores, forests and gardens, in hotels, tents and gazebos, in beds, back seats, hottubs and hammocks. I squirted gallons of live goo into my willing wife. Fucking was fun. Negative pregnancy test results were not. . -- Easter 1994 -- By early April we were frustrated enough for professional help. Two pros: we had seen a fertility specialist, and dirty-blonde and oh-so-smart (and sexy) cousin Jocelyn came to visit for most of a week. An obviously pregnant cousin Jocelyn. "Hey, congrats, Joss! You and Lara found a sperm donor, it looks like." I hugged my hot, pot-bellied clanswoman. A pale blonde blushes a brilliant pink. Jocelyn glowed neon-bright with embarrassment. Embarazada, yes, but chagrined, too. "Um, well cuz, it's like this..." Her voice trailed off. A little flashbulb metaphorically exploded in my head. "Oh, fuck." Ruth also caught the signal. "You quit The Pill before your last visit here, didn't you." This was not a question. She turned to me. "I won't say I'm not disappointed but I'm not surprised, either." She shook her head. "I invited it, didn't I? I'll be an aunty again soon." She joined my hug with Jocelyn. "Damn! Good thing I love you so much, Joss." Ruth kissed my cousin, hard. The Book of Ruth: Eating Out Much of Jocelyn's visit was spent three-abed. That was the fun part. The medical briefing was not so pleasant. ----- The aide showed us into the comfortable office of Dr Szonja Szûcs, our distinguished and diminutive fertility specialist, top in her field. We huddled together uneasily on the expansive loveseat. Doc Szonja, as she insisted on being called, nodded her silver head and smiled thinly. "I'm sorry it's been so long since we subjected you to all those tests and exams. I examined the results very closely and consulted with a dozen of my colleagues around the world. That took time. We agree on our evaluation." She eased a fat red binder from her oak desk and dropped it gently. "All the technical jargon and gobbledegook is in here. What it boils down to is a perfect storm. A storm of disaster. To be blunt, Ruth, you will likely never be a biological mother. I am sorry." Ruth stopped breathing. I squeezed her, hard. She gasped. Doc Szonja smiled softly, wistfully. "The gods have been very unkind to you, Ruth. Your womb's chemistry would resist implantation of a fertilized embryo. Even if it did not, you have certain hormone levels so high that the drugs used to stimulate the ovaries during IVF fertility treatment would not work. Even if the levels were low enough, your ovaries just seem incapable of producing viable ova." The specialist shook her head. "And as if that wwere not enough, childhood appendicitis has infected, scarred, and blocked your fallopian tubes. Even if you could produce ova, and if you had a healthy womb, those ova could still not reach your womb for fertilization. Like I said, a perfect storm of disaster." Ruth seemed frozen. Doc Szonja leaned forward. "You can always adopt." Ruth cried into my shoulder. She continued crying as I half-carried her to our car. She was cried-out by the time we returned home. Cried-out, and regaining determination. ----- Jocelyn took one look a Ruth after we came through the front door and started to drag her away. "No, no," Ruth pulled back, "Ran comes too." She kicked off her sneakers and stripped off her clothes. "You two, get naked. Come to bed. Now." We showered first. Long, slow, wet, warm, tenderly desperate. It's a good thing Portland, Oregon water is too cheap to meter. Our three-abed time was spent more in talking than fucking. Well yes, we did fuck first. Then we talked. "I'll leave it up to you, Ruth. Adopt or not?" I cuddled my wife. "Thanks, buster." Ruth scowled unhappily. "But it's your choice." Jocelyn was realistic. "You're no slave." "We own each other, but not that way," I said. "Yeah, I know," Ruth sighed. "I'm no slave. I'm a free woman. And freedom's just another word..." Just another word for nothing left to lose. My cousin cuddled my wife. "But what have you got to lose?" "I know, I said." Ruth pouted and then grimaced. "I want kids, Ran. I want your kids, our kids. Damn, everybody else has your kids -- why can't I?" Nobody answered. "And the pregnancy and motherhood thing? All these years, Ran -- all these years, I've wanted you, and I've wanted to have your kids, our kids, to raise those kids -- when we're ready. And now we're ready but I can't bear your kids. My plumbing's all rotten and broken. Shit. Shit. Shit." Ruth stared into space. "I guess if it was easy, if we just fucked and I just popped'em out, that would be, I dunno, pretty normal. Even with all the body changes." She squeezed Jocelyn. "Umm, Joss, I don't suppose there's any chance we could adopt Ron and your..." Jocelyn's lips formed the faintest of smiles. Ruth shook her head. "No, of course not. Maybe you could be the host-mother? Have our babies for us." Another faint smile. "Fuck, so I'm just going to have to do this the hard way, right? No easy outs, right?" Jocelyn nodded. I hugged Ruth as tight as I could. Jocelyn joined me. We all kissed, and groped, and slurped, and fucked again and again. No, Ruth would not get fertilized this way, but it seemed like good practice, fuck yes. . -- May Day 1994 -- Jocelyn returned to Omaha alone in mid-April. Ruth moped for the rest of the month. Then she disappeared. I had urgent, unavoidable business in the state capitol Salem an hour's drive away. Ruth begged-off accompanying me. The legal consult dragged on much too long. I do not know how I avoided speeding tickets as I raced back to the Sellwood. I had a bad feeling. I pulled into our carriage-house slash garage and parked my blue Lexus SC 400 next to Ruth's red SC 300. I jogged into the house. "Honey, I'm home," I yelled, dropping my briefcase on the entry table. No reply. I ran through her office, workshop, and gallery. Empty. I ran upstairs to our master bedroom. Empty, as were all the other rooms. I stumbled down to the kitchen and saw the white legal envelope taped to the refrigerator door. A note on the fridge -- does this sound like a fucking cliché? I was hyperventilating. I forced myself to calm, controlled my breathing, silently chanted mantras, and gathered myself together. I stepped forward. RAN was printed on the envelope in blue magic marker. It was not sealed. I pulled out a single sheet of office paper bearing a scrawled message in black felt-tip. Her printing was only barely legible. Tear stains marked the sheet. The Book of Ruth: Eating Out The Book of Ruth: Eating Out I woke up. I woke from a year-long daze of denial, of despair, of lethargy. I was a fucking business executive and I fucking well knew how to approach problems! I switched into thinking-machine mode. And I grabbed the cordless phone. The RN-PhD in clinical nursing arrived with her small team in twenty-five minutes. They monitored Ruth while the home crew who landed three minutes later schlepped stuff out of and into the downstairs guest room to prepare it as a mini-medical facility. The medical supply crew was ten minutes late but they brought all the gear the RN and I ordered. The home hospice team did not need to rush; their task was to keep Ruth comfortable. And Jocelyn would arrive this evening. We had the bases covered till then. The RN-PhD was happy to hand Ruth's case management over to Jocelyn that night. The rest of the nursing team was not needed. Jocelyn said the hospice people knew their stuff and would be quite enough. Good thing we had a big house; we needed all the rooms, some for the full-time help, and most for quickly-arriving family. Jocelyn left her lover and their (my!) kid in Omaha. Ruth's sister Rachel and their mom Deborah, and my mom Nina, all left their (my!) kids and their husbands home. Deb and Rachel were happy to share the black Fuck Room. Lupe came with her (my!) infant son Raul. She was tickled to get the Red Room; I hope the kid does not grow up to be a vampire. Juanita, almost a surrogate mother to teenage Ruth, also left her (my!) kid and her husband home to come and help. About the only of our close circle who did not arrive were my sister Jill and her lover (and their (my!) kids) -- my door was closed to those women. And to Dave, the shit. Am I hypocritical? I have never shown remorse for fucking married women who approached me. Should I hate Dave for being the same? Well, yes -- screwing MY wife is not the same as screwing someone else's wife, right? I try to convince myself of that. I may have a hard time looking at myself in the mirror. Oh well. ----- Do you think estrogen levels and tensions ran high around here? With all these women I had impregnated caring for the one I could not? It was easier than that. Nina ran the house. She knew the most about these tangled webs and she could keep things straight. Deb ran the kitchen; who knew she had a degree in restaurant management? Jocelyn ran medicine and hospice, of course, and remained Ruth's constant counselor. Juanita, Rachel, and Lupe handled whatever tasks were handed to them. I just stayed out of the way of busy women. Which meant I spent every waking and sleeping minute with Ruth. Ruth deteriorated rapidly, visibly. A morphine drip controlled her pain. Nothing restored her body mass. Watching Raul play his baby games with Lupe lifted her spirits. Nothing lifted mine. Ruth made peace with her mother and sister, competitors no more, family once again, forever and ever. Jocelyn and I were closest to her in life and love now; we were inseparable these last few terrible weeks and days, our cots just across from her powered bed. Only the three of us were in the room just before midnight. Ruth could barely speak now. Jocelyn held the Gatorade flex-straw to Ruth's lips to moisten her mouth and throat. Ruth waved her away. "Ran," she croaked, "I have to tell you now..." "No you don't. You don't have to do anything." "Shut up, Stinky. Yes I do. I have to tell you..." (cough) "I have to tell you why I left. It wasn't you. I've just..." (cough) "I've been broken all my life. I've always been nothing, nothing. And you were always something. You were..." (cough) "something I couldn't have. And then I had you! But..." (cough) "but only because Katia was killed. I couldn't get you on my own. And you had all those women..." (cough) "all those women with your kids, and so many of them are here right now, even your mom, everyone except your sister and..." (cough) "What!" I said too loud. "What makes you think-" "Shut up, Stinky. Of course I know. So does Joss..." (cough) Jocelyn nodded. "We've talked a lot, Ran. We figured it out." "I forgive you, Stinky. But I could never..." (cough) "never forgive myself for not giving you kids. And then I found I never could, and..." (cough) "and that was just too much, too fucking much. And I freaked." Ruth waved to Jocelyn for another sip, and another. "Yeah, I'd been screwing Dave for a while. He was just so strong..." (cough) "so strong and supportive in ways you weren't. And you screwed everything that moved so why can't I? That's..." (cough) "that's what I told myself. And maybe I thought he could knock me up if you couldn't. Pretty sick, huh?" Ruth closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged. The heart monitor beeped irregularly. Ruth whispered again after a minute with her eyes still shut. "Ever since we got married, Stinky, the only other guy I ever touched was Dave." (cough) "Dave, and that asshole who raped me. And maybe then I thought you weren't strong enough and Dave was. So I just trapped myself." She opened her eyes and stared at me. "And now it doesn't matter, does it? I've run..." (cough) "run out of time, whatever time I had, which was never much because I've been broken since..." (cough) "since forever. I forgive you, Stinky, and I forgive myself. I just hope you can forgive me..." Her eyes closed again. Her breathing ceased. The heart monitor screamed. Jocelyn jumped to grab a syringe, then stopped. She looked at me and switched off the monitor. The hall clock chimed midnight. "I forgive you, Ruth," I whispered. I took what was left of Ruth into my arms and I cried till I died. ----- Robert Heinlein wrote that there is only one way to console a widow. Seems like everybody in the house thought I needed consolation. Maybe I did. But I did not get fucked, only held nakedly. Jocelyn hit me with a sedative and hauled me to bed as soon as she could get me to let go of Ruth's husk. She snuggled me down. I woke with Joss in front and Lupe spooned behind me. Joss sedated me again (apparently I had been hysterical) and I woke sandwiched between the mother-and-daughter flesh of Deb and Rachel. I crawled off to piss and crawled back in to sleep. When I woke next I was in another naked mother-and-daughter sandwich -- Nina and Jill! I really did get hysterical then. More sedation; the next thing I knew, I had Joss in front and Juanita at my back. I calmed down a bit then -- or maybe it was all the meds -- but I was hyper-pissed that goddamn fucking JILL! was in MY house. I started to rant. "Who the fuck invited this-" "Shut up, Stinky," my mom (I mean Nina) said. That shut me up. I glared at the women, my mother, my sister, my lovers, my goddesses. "Get real, little brother," Jill said. "Face reality for a change." Only we three were in Ruth's office. The door was closed. This was a private family-only conference. "What do you-" Nina slapped my face. "I said shut UP!. Now, you WILL to listen, son. Go ahead." Jill took a breath. "Here's the reality. You're destroyed emotionally. You'll recover. You think you're destroyed personally. You'll recover. But only with our help. Just like you're only here because of us. Sure, Nina birthed you, and me. But who made you? Who taught you? You think you're a business guy -- who set you up? Who made you rich? Who introduced you to the Shapiro babes? You've got, what? Four, FOUR kids with Deb and Rachel." "Four?" I asked. "I only know of three-" "Shut up. Rachel had another. And you've got another four with Nina and Gabby and me -- oh yeah, Gabby had twins too -- and then one with cousin Jocelyn. You got Juanita's on your own but that was just luck 'cause of Katia, and you got Lupe's on your own but that's just blowback from Dave being an asshole poiitician, pardon my redundancy. Maybe you made some babies elsewhere around the world but they don't count here. "Anyway, you're set for money. Ruth changed her will to counter the pre-nup so you inherit everything of hers, all the art and the Fairfax estate, and that's besides what I gave you when you left our company. You're loaded. "But who has your back? Do you think Rachel, Deb, Juanita, Lupe, would bail you out of anything? Rachel and Juanita's rich and powerful husbands could and would do you a world of hurt if they suspected they're raising kids you fathered. Joss is all for you but she can't, and won't, do more than she's done here. She has her own life. "You'd better face it, kid. We, Nina and me, are all you have. We are your lifelong best friends and the only ones who really give a shit." I was still rubbing the cheek where Nina slapped me. Jill slapped my other cheek. Hard. "Wake up, shit-for-brains. If we didn't love you, and feed you, and teach you, and cover for you, you would have gone to shit long ago. You can still go to shit. Just turn your backs on us and see where you end up." I flinched when Jill moved for me again but she grabbed my ears, pulled my face to hers, and stuck her tongue down my throat, the fiercest kiss I ever got from her. The kiss lasted, what? Three minutes? Five? When she pushed me away I saw her face was wracked with tears. "That's all I have to say. I'll fly back to Washington now. Mom, see if you can beat some sense into this moron, or fuck some sense into him, whatever. I've done all I can. 'Bye, Stinky. Have a fat life." Jill ran out of the room. I sat in stunned silence. Nina looked at her wristwatch. "Deb should have dinner organized in ten minutes. Eat if you're hungry." My mother left the room. ----- Ruth's funeral was almost a mirror of our marriage just six years before but without all the helicopters and security thugs. Dr Fernandez had retired from the Federal Reserve; nobody was that important anymore and the headlines had faded. [See the previous episode for details.] Services at Beth Shalom, burial in Forest Lawn -- hey, it was in her will. I still prefer ethnic art to modernism; I donated Ruth's collection to LACMA with stipulations Jill negotiated giving a nice long-term tax break. I would have sold the estate but Jill persuaded me to keep it -- a good place to do business from, she insisted, so close to the La Brea Tar Pits. She wanted to sell the Santa Monica family home but I like the air there. I still do not know what to do next. I have not reconciled with Jill and Gabby but at least we can talk. I have not intruded on the other mothers of my children -- none of whom can be seen publicly as mine except Lupe's and Gabby's, and they do not want support and certainly not interference. I stay in Portland for now, a safe distance from the Southern California madhouse. I am thirty-five years old and very physically fit. I have a ton of money. I have no great ambitions. Don't you wish you had my problems? I note with irony that when Ruth was 'gone' in Mexico I was near-clinically depressed but now that she is truly gone I am more stable. Maybe I should spend some money on psychoanalysis. My head could use a good shrinking. But about my ambitions. The goals I grew up with were pretty simple, only love, decency, money, and knowledge. Decency involves being kind and working hard. Money... well, I have that now. Knowledge is its own reward. That leaves love. Will my love for Ruth's ghost stop me from finding more? No, I think not. I think more empty sex is just what I need. I may need to kiss a bunch of frogs before I find another princess. And if a lot of those frogs happen to be married, then so be it. Yes, I am on the hunt again. So long, Ruth, it's been good to know you. Rest in peace, finally. ***** 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! Some of this story cycle is straight reporting. Many of the people and events are actual. Many are fantasy, too. Don't believe everything you read. Your constructive feedback is appreciated. If you like this, join the 1% and VOTE! Thank you.