9 comments/ 32332 views/ 6 favorites By All Accounts By: Moondrift I hate accountancy. Why I ever chose to study it I don't know – yes I do; because my father is an accountant, and since he pays the piper – that's me – I have to play the tune he demands. Well, I didn't have to, but I opted for a quiet life. You know, I don't think that those destined to be accountants ever have dreams about sexy naked girls. I'm sure they dream of columns of figures and excel on the computer, and having meaningful relationships with profit and loss accounts. That's not me – not me at all. I dream about naked girls all the time, even when I'm awake; but as far as night dreams are concerned unless I do something about it I wake up in the morning with a mess in my bed. That's more work because I have to try and get the mess cleaned off before mother sees it. Thinking of mother, I sometimes wonder how father managed to impregnate her. Perhaps mother lured him on by getting him to count her pubic hairs and he was temporarily overcome sufficiently to copulate with her. So I'd got to the end of my first year of accountancy studies and was wondering gloomily how I could endure another year of it. I got so depressed about it that I managed to summon up the courage to tell father I didn't want to be an accountant. "No be...not be...not be an accountant?" he spluttered, his face blenching, "My dear boy you must be unwell. The most exalted of all professions and you don't want to be part of it. You must make an appointment to see the doctor." He did some quick calculations and discovering what the doctor's fee would be and the possible costs at the pharmacy, he did a mental about face. "Perhaps not the doctor, I'll have a talk with your mother and see what ideas she might have." His face lit up; "Perhaps a laxative." As if on cue mother walked in and father said, "Elizabeth, it seems that Lester is unwell, he says he doesn't want to be an accountant. I have considered the doctor, but I wonder if we might come up with something more economical." Mother, who is somewhat less loquacious than father said, "Greta." (Father was economical with money and mother with words). "Greta?" My father asked, looking mystified. "Fresh air, country living, a bit of hard work; I'll see to it." "Greta!" I exclaimed. "I don't want to go anywhere near that butch female." "Now, now my boy," father said patronisingly, "your mother knows best what's good for you." He hesitated and then turning to mother said, "I don't see how sending him to Greta will prove more economical than the doctor." "Garage, clean, serve petrol, oil change, work for his keep." "Aha," father said, looking positively cheerful. "We could save a considerable sum if he went to Greta on a working holiday. We wouldn't have to feed him." * * * * * * * * Now here it is in order to say something about Greta. She is my cousin and some five years older than me. When as children we played together her idea of children's games was to beat me up. Of course she had the advantage of years, but then and now I'd back her against most men, especially me. There is a family rumour the veracity of which I cannot be sure, that says that when she was sixteen a guy tried to rape her. He ended up in hospital for three weeks and in addition got charged with assault. The last time I saw her she stood nearly six feet tall, muscular, her hair cut in the short back and side male style and if it hadn't been for her overwhelming bust you could easily have taken her for a man. Regarding her bust, I have it on good authority that she wears size 42G bras, that is, when she bothers to wear them. Apart from that her normal mode of dress is jeans and tartan shirts. Come to think of it, didn't those Amazonian women burn off their right breast so they could use a bow more efficiently? Certainly Greta hadn't burned hers off, that was easy to see, but she didn't need to use a bow as long as she had hands and feet, as I'd discovered to my cost as a child. This description makes her sound rather unappetising, and certainly she had no allure as far as I was concerned. Yet she must've had something that appeals because she'd been engaged three times before she was twenty six but it had never got as far as the wedding service. At the ripe old age of twenty three she put herself in hock for service station in a country town, and it was to her and this that my parents were proposing I go. At first I was adamant in my refusal to go and spar with her. But then my father made an offer I could hardly reject. "Dear boy, if you go and are gainfully employed by your cousin, on you're return we might discuss – only discuss I say – the possibility – the possibility mark you – of you're changing courses, to law, shall we say." Law! Another deadly subject, but at least I'd have a chance of getting out of accountancy, I hoped. So it was off to Wild Goat Plain and Greta. * * * * * * * * For my eighteenth birthday father had bought me a second hand car. It was what he called "a special deal." I suspect that the special deal came about because father was the dealer's accountant and father had managed to hide some of the dealer's profits away from the eye of the tax man. He was good at that sort of thing. I must say it wasn't a bad sort of car – a dark green Subaru - if not the sporty job I would really have liked; you know, eight cylinders with all the trimmings. I kicked off for Wild Goat Plain on a Monday morning. Despite the possibility that I might be free of accountancy on my return, I went unenthusiastically. I was wondering if Greta would still have a propensity for beating me up. Father said, "Don't forget, money is time and time is money; the early bird catches the worm; don't let the grass grow under your feet." Mother said, "Be useful." With these affectionate words of farewell I began the three hundred kilometre drive to Wild Goat Plain. Out of the suburbs – I felt better already - along the snaky road that wound its way through the hills that backed the city; I felt even better, so why not stop right there. No, not practical. Then topping a hill I saw the sunlit plain that seemed to stretch to the ends of the earth; glorious. Down the hill and then the straight and endless road in front of me; not so glorious; bloody boring in fact; no wonder drivers fall asleep at the wheel. Three hours later I was approaching Wild Goat Plain. I'd negotiated some low hills and came down on to the flat again. It didn't look as bad as I'd thought it might be. There was a substantial creek running through the town that finally emptied itself into the big river some hundred kilometres distant. When I say emptied, what I mean is it would empty itself into the big river if it had something to empty, but being summer and drought time the creek was dry. As I got close to the town there was a sign which read, "Welcome to Wild Goat Plain, pop. 1305. Please drive carefully." I drove along the main thoroughfare, Bent Street, and it had a lot more shops than I'd anticipated and I wondered why so many. That's my ignorance showing; I later learned that the farmers, pastoralists and other land workers came into the town to shop from considerable distances. I wondered why the street was called "Bent Street" since it was perfectly straight. That was another thing I learned. It had been so named because around fifty years ago a town councillor named Arnold Bent had donated a housing block he owned, to become a children's playground. Whether it had ever been such I don't know, but currently it was in use as an unofficial dump for such things as old mattresses, superannuated prams, wrecked children's bicycles, and a general array of detritus. The only things that played there were rats. In time I saw other memorials in honour of Arnold Bent scattered around the town. Greta's business was situation off the main drag, I knew that much, and was named "A.B. Street." Her set-up was better than I expected with a wide forecourt with the fuel pumps standing on it. There was a shop which sold various additives for vehicles, oil, and stuff like that, and chocolate bars, peppermints, pies and pasties ("fresh today"), milk and bread. The fuel pumps were self service and that was a relief because I didn't fancy myself as a pump jockey. Instead the customers came into the shop to pay their money to a rather attractive if rather sour looking girl who I thought might make my stay more interesting while I gave her something to cheer her up. "Where's Greta?" I asked. "Round the side," she replied in a grating voice that immediately turned me off because I'm rather sensitive to the female voice. While I'm thinking of voices there's something I should have mentioned when describing Greta before. Her one none masculine feature as I recalled was her very pleasant voice. This was the product of the extremely snooty private school her parents had sent her to. What else she had gained from this classy education wasn't obvious, and I'm sure that the principal and teachers would be somewhat dismayed if they could have seen her as she was then. The girl offered no further direction, so I made my way out of the shop and saw beside it a rather spacious if untidy garage. Entering it I saw a pair of tight buttocks staring at me, their owner bent over the engine of a car. "Excuse me," I said, "can you tell me where I can find Greta?" The figure unbent rapidly and yelped, "Bugger," as the head collided with the raised bonnet. There stood Greta, greasy jeans, shirt and all. Rubbing her head she stared at me for a moment and then said, "Ster, my God you've changed, I hardly recognised you." If others chose to shorten my name is was always Les, but not with Greta, it had always been Ster. She extended a hand that although not overly large felt like the grip of a hungry crocodile when she grasped mine. "It's good to see you after all this time; how long has it been?" "About five or six years." "So you've come to give me a bit of a hand? My God I could do with one, I'm up to my neck – talking of neck, do you remember that time I got you in a headlock?" "Yes, I couldn't turn my head for several days after that." "Ah, they were good days." I wasn't so sure of that but didn't argue in case she tried another headlock. "Look Ster, go into the shop and tell the girl to give you a pie, I'll be with you shortly." Jerking her thumb towards the car she went on, "Timing's slipped, nearly done, shan't be belong." I went back into the shop and told the girl that Greta said I was to have a pie. She looked at me suspiciously and for a moment seemed to be about to go and ask Greta, but changed her mind because customers were piling up waving money and credit cards. "'Elp yerself," she muttered and turned sourly to take a customer's money. I "'elped" myself and sat on a rickety kitchen chair that was no doubt provided for those customers who felt faint when they saw how much money they had to pay. I was amazed at how many cars and trucks came to fill up. Petrol, diesel and gas were paid for and milk, bread, pies and pasties purchased. During a lull in the procession the girl grated, "Ooo are yer?" "Lester, I'm Greta's cousin," I replied. "Oh, yer'll be Ster then. She said yer was comin'; stayin' long?" "Perhaps five or six weeks – long vacation." She giggled and said, "That'll be nice fer Greta; she said yer stoppin' with 'er." "Yes, that's the arrangement." The girl giggled again but added nothing further, perhaps because Greta burst in upon the scene. "Ah you've met Daisy. I'd give you a hug but I don't want to spoil your nice clothes with my greasy gear." I was glad about not getting a hug because I didn't want to start my stay with broken ribs. "Daisy," Greta said, "would you hold the fort for half an hour, I've got to take Ster up to the house and get him settled?" Daisy shrugged rather pretty shoulders (shame about the voice) and said, "Suppose." "And if Punchy McLean comes in for his car tell him it's done but I haven't worked out the bill yet, so I'll put it on his account. And keep an eye open to see the kids don't pinch the chocolates. Come on Ster." She strode to a rather battered looking vehicle on one side of the hard stand and said, "You follow me Ster." We both got into our cars and started the engines. Greta took off like a rocket, and thinking there must be something under the bonnet of the scruffy looking vehicle I tried to follow her. Fortunately her place was only a couple of streets away otherwise I would have lost her. It was in a court duly named "Arnold Court," and her house was an unexceptional single story, red brick place with a corrugated iron roof. It was one of those places that had begun as a four room house and had been added to over the years, not very agreeably. The inside did nothing to enhance the outside. It was untidy, with trade journals, unidentifiable pieces of paper and discarded clothing littered around. When Greta opened a door and said, "Office," I knew my father would have had a stroke and gone to that great counting house in the sky. It was chaos. As if divining my thoughts Greta said, "Sorry about the mess, but I get so little time. We open at six and don't close until nine, and I can't altogether rely on Daisy, and she only comes on at eight and leaves at four-thirty." "I've got a guy I can call on occasionally but he often isn't available. He's coming on this evening so I can spend a bit of time with you, but...ah, here's your room, the bed's okay I think." She gave a queer sort of laugh and added, "If not you can share mine." I wasn't sure how to take that, so I didn't respond; after all, a wrong comment and I could collect a bunch of fives. "Can I leave you to it Ster? I've got to get back, I've got a blown gasket to replace. I'll try and get back about five when Arthur comes on. We can eat at the pub; I usually do unless I have a takeaway at the garage." * * * * * * * * She hurried out and I heard the scream of tyres as she took off. The room she had given me was the only tidy, if dusty, one in the house, no doubt because it was rarely used. I brought my things in and stowed them away, and took a wander round the house. On second viewing it seemed even more chaotic. Since I was supposed to earn my keep while I was there, and what my tasks were to be had not been defined, on seeing the kitchen with its sink piled high with unwashed plates and cutlery, I decided to make a start there. Since she'd said she ate at the pub I wondered how so much washing up could have accumulated, and that suggested it had been piling up for some time. I set too and it took me about half an hour to get through the mess and find where to put the things. The kitchen was generally very dusty and with greasy marks on the tiled floor. I set about putting this to rights as well. I must say that if it wasn't exactly gleaming when I'd finished, it had improved considerably. I screwed up my courage and took another look at the office. Something of the accountancy world must have rubbed off on me because I found the mess unbearable. My fingers itched to start putting the place to rights, but knowing that some people can only cope in that sort of environment, and often know where everything is, I decided not to try and sort things out. On a table that had a book under one leg to stop it rocking, sat a computer. Like much else it too was covered with a layer of dust. Booting the computer up and having a search around confirmed what I already thought, it had barely been used. I took a peep into Greta's bed room, and I could see what she meant about joining her there. The bed was huge, but its sheets and blankets very carelessly made up. Apart from a wardrobe there was virtually nothing else in the room except a bedside table piled with books that the dust on the top one suggested had never been read. It was all very depressing for a boy who had been brought up in an orderly household – too orderly I'd sometimes thought, but seeing this...well, it was the opposite end of the scale. I wandered out into the garden to be greeted by as finer collection of weeds as could be found anywhere on the planet. Someone had planted fruit trees at the bottom end of the garden and they obviously hadn't been pruned for years. There were signs that there might have been vegetable plots at one time, but they were now defunct. I began to think that more of my parents had rubbed off on me than I'd thought as I contemplated the situation, and I wondered how Greta managed to run a business if this is how she operated. At five minutes past five I heard the screech of brakes. Greta had arrived. She hurtled in saying, "Got to shower and change - the pub." She disappeared into the bathroom. She was in there a long time and then I heard her enter her bedroom. When she came out she gasped, "Ready." I stared at her. She was wearing a long fawn caftan style dress. I couldn't remember ever having seen her in a dress. On first meeting her I'd detected something different about her. Now I could see what it was. She had grown her hair longer but this morning it had been tied back so it wasn't so easily noticeable. Now she had it down and it reached to just above her shoulders and was trimmed straight round the bottom. It was a sort of reddish brown in colour and I realised I'd never noticed that before. "You've grown you hair longer," I said. "Yes, Peter said he'd like me to grow it longer so I...oh never mind him, do you like it?" "Yes, it makes you look different." "Oh, well, we'd better get going." "Why, what's the hurry?" She paused and looked confused for a moment and then said, "I don't know, I just rush everywhere these days, there's so much to do." "Yes, I could see that by your kitchen...oh by the way, I tidied it up a bit." "Did you?" She went and had a look. "Oh Ster, I feel so ashamed of the place at times, but I just can't get around to doing things. When I do get a few minutes to myself I'm so tired I'm ready to drop off to sleep. At that moment and wearing the caftan, she looked more feminine than I'd ever seen her look before. In the past I'd have given her one, or perhaps two out of ten for looks, but now I had to admit that in a Junoesque sort of way she was quite a handsome woman. Fancifully I saw her as a sort of earth mother, a mother goddess, especially with that impressive bosom. In the past I'd wondered how she'd managed to get engaged three times, but now I had an inkling of what might have attracted the men. "Look," I said, "If you'd rather not go out for a meal I could go and get a takeaway if you tell me where to go." "No...no, I've set this evening up so I could be with you, so let's go out. Besides, you wouldn't want to eat in this dump; I only eat breakfast here and occasionally lunch. I will have to go back to the garage to get the takings, but that gives us a couple of hours." So off we went to the Duke of Wellington – no doubt a belated honouring of the commander at the Battle of Waterloo, unless of course there had been a town councillor called Duke Wellington – or would it be Wellington Duke? The pub dining room was quite reasonable, and unusually these days, sported white linen table cloths and cutlery made in Sheffield instead of China. Every one seemed to know Greta, and she explained that over the past twenty years the big oil companies had closed their petrol stations, just as the banks had also shut down many rural branches. "Mine is the only service station left in the town, so they all come to me now." "You must be doing quite well then," I commented - "I'll have the rump steak," I told the waiter. By All Accounts "Lamb chops," Greta said, and she went on, "I think so, I suppose I must be doing alright." "You suppose! Don't you know?" "Well, it's a matter of time, I get bank statements sometimes and I pay my bills." "Haven't you got an accountant?" "No, do I need one?" "Greta!" I exclaimed, "You're running a business, of course you need an accountant." "I try to do my own accounts." I think I must have gone pale. "What about taxation?" "Ah, yes, I've been having trouble over that. I don't think they believe I'm cheating, but I just don't seem to be able to fill in all those forms properly." A light from heaven seemed to shine down upon me. "Greta, I'm supposed to be on a working holiday, specifically working for you. Your service station is self-serve, you've got that girl Daisy taking the money, so you don't need me for that. I know nothing about engine timing or replacing gaskets, but I do know something about accounting. To be honest I took a look in your office this afternoon, and...well, do I need to way more?... this steak is good, how are your chops? "Fine...yes I know what a mess it is." "I'm not qualified, but I know enough to straighten out books and I can use a computer, I could get things in order for you and then you'd be surprised at how much easier it will be." God, I was sounding like my father! "Could you...could you really? I'd be so grateful." It was almost embarrassing to hear Greta, whom I'd always seen as so tough and self-reliant, be so pathetically grateful for what I saw as such a relatively simple job. After all, it wasn't some great big conglomerate I would be dealing with. I wondered what the expensive private school had taught her, and concluded not much apart from a posh accent. This started to give me a different view of her. When on our feet we stood eye to eye, and although I thought she could still get me in a headlock, for once I felt as if I had something to give her she didn't have. Mind you, if my car went wrong she would be far ahead of me when it came to fixing it. What a strange girl...woman she was. We hived of to collect the takings and for me to meet the unprepossessing Arthur. * * * * * * * * A simple job! It took me days to get her mess sorted out. Bills, accounts, money outstanding, bad debts and tax man's queries, and everything all over the place; I found documents dropped behind the sofa, bills down the back of armchairs, and even some receipts on a ledge in the toilet. I toiled away, setting up things on the computer, and saw little of Greta as she rushed out in the dawn and came home at sundown, or later, in her greasy jeans and shirt. The washing was piled up in the washing machine and was littered on the laundry floor, so I set the machine going and I had to call in takeaway meals just to cope. I was accountant and house keeper combined. At last I had things in order, and to my amazement found that Greta was making a sizeable profit. In one of the interludes when she had ten minutes to spare I said, "You know Greta, with the sort of money you're making you could employ at least two other people; if you don't you'll kill yourself." She squared her not exactly slight shoulders and said, "I can manage." "Can you," I asked. "What about that girl Daisy, do you think she's value for money? She treats your customers as if they're a bloody nuisance. I don't know about Arthur, but I feel that he sees you as a bit of extra pocket money when it suits him." Greta seemed to be a bit flustered when I mentioned Arthur, and she mumbled something like, "He's in love with me." "Ah, another engagement in the wings," I thought, "he's probably not worthy of her; but who would be worthy of this formidable women, even though she couldn't keep her financial affairs and house in order?" "Is he a good mechanic?" I asked. Greta laughed, "A good mechanic! He wouldn't even know how to change a spare wheel. He just keeps an eye on things when Daisy goes off and I need an evening to myself." I could see that this was a job for Super Ster. "Greta, you've got to get things in order, you can't go on like this. You're the only service station in town and there's interstate business passing your doorstep every day. You've got to take on more and good staff. You need a mechanic to relieve you and someone at the desk who looks like she or he welcomes customers. I promise you you've got the money." "Have I, but where would I get good mechanic? And I couldn't sack Daisy and Arthur." "Why not?" "Well, there are not many jobs in this town and Daisy needs her job and Arthur..." "Is in love with you; yes you told me. Are you in love with him?" "Don't be silly Ster," she said, "Just look at him, he's nearly sixty and I need...never mind what I need, I couldn't just fire him." "All right, do you want me to shake them up?" "Shake them up, what do you mean?" "Tell them to shape up or ship out." "I don't know." "Look Greta, you've got a terrific opportunity staring you in the face. There are trucks roaring past this town every night that are thirsting for a drink of diesel and they're going on to Kicking Horse Valley to get it." "You mean, open all night?" "Why not?" "I couldn't, Ster. Can't you see how exhausted I am already?" "Yes, and that's what I'm talking about. Father's got a lot of good contacts, and there are plenty of people who want to move out of the city. If you agree, I'll find you a good mechanic to start with, and if the locals can't give you what you need, I'll get you good reliable staff as well." "I don't l know, Ster, can I afford it?" "I've told you, yes, you can afford it and more, I've got the books straightened out." "How about the tax man?" "You'll have to take on a real accountant for that. Do you want me to contact dad?" "Yes, I suppose so," she said doubtfully. "By the way, I haven't paid you yet; how much do you think?" "That's an embarrassing question," I replied. "Can't you tell me what I'm worth?" "The way you're going Ster I'd need a fortune to pay you what you're worth right now." "All right," I replied, "Let's say three hundred a week and my keep." "Done," she replied cheerfully, "got to go now, got a gearbox to fix." Having got her accounts in order and the computer earning its keep, I set about getting the domestic scene in order. I even started to do a bit of cooking – mother had trained me well – and I told Greta I'd have meals ready when she got home, so not to buy any takeaways. I was actually enjoying myself much to my amazement. * * * * * * * * I was about two thirds of the way through my stay when I took on another task. I hadn't been near the service station very much, but when I had I'd noticed the mess in the garage. Tools lay where they had been dropped and the place looked as if it had never been swept. I set up peg boards to hold the tools, cleaned up grease and oil, and in fact gave the place a good going over. My father had swung into action and telephoned to say that a mechanic called Bill Rintell was coming to Wild Goat Plain to see Greta about a job. "A top class mechanic," my father assured me, "so he'll be looking for a bit more than the basic rate for a mechanic." Bill, who looked to be in his early fifties, had those clear and penetrating blue eyes that a lot of skilled men seemed to have. He looked around the work area and commented, "Got a fairly good set up here." I didn't tell him what it had been like. I didn't intervene when it came to hiring him; after all, Greta was the boss. He mentioned that his wife would be looking for work as well. Greta asked him what sort of work she had done and he said she'd worked in a supermarket. Greta said nothing at the time. She had something in mind but wanted to see Mrs. Bill first. On the whole things seemed to be going very smoothly and Greta actually began to get a bit more free time, and we saw more of each other. It's strange how your opinion of someone can change over time. When we were children I used to dread the arrival of Greta on a visit, and being told to go outside and play with her. I had been opposed to the idea of spending this time with her, but was now glad I'd come. Greta could never be described as pretty; I think I used the word handsome to describe her. I began to see why those three guys had got engaged to her, but was puzzled why it had never come to marriage; surely she could have scored one out of the three especially as in her particular way she was rather sexy. Now that was something I'd never thought her to be, sexy. It was one particular occasion that jolted me into seeing her like that. It was a stinking hot and humid night and Greta had got one of her evenings off. There was no air conditioning in the house and we were lounging around trying to keep cool with an electric fan. Greta was more exposed than I'd ever seen her before. She was wearing a pair of shorts and a sort of loose halter top. Her legs were magnificent – so long they seemed to go on for ever – and clearly she was wearing no bras because I could see the seductive movement of her breasts. We had engaged in very little personal conversation thus far since we had both been so busy talking about getting things organised. It therefore took me a little by surprise when she said, "You must be missing your girlfriend." "What?" "Your girlfriend, you must have one, a good looking guy like you." "Not at the moment," I said. Since she had asked a personal question I felt free to ask one of her. "Greta, you've been engaged three times, haven't you?" "Yes." "But it never led to marriage." She looked a bit uncomfortable I thought, but she said, "And you want to know why." "I suppose it's nothing to do with me, but it is curious." "It's like this Ster, when I've got a man I expect him to behave like a man." "How's that?" Greta seemed to jump over a few hurdles and said, "If he can't keep you contented before you get married, what chance is there going to be afterwards?" "You mean..." "All right Ster, I might not look very sexy, but I'm a woman and I've got a woman's needs." "But you do look sexy Greta," I protested. "Maybe, but...all right, I'll tell you; a couple of times a week is no good to me, I need more like a couple of times a night. All three of them said I was wearing them out, so what was the use. If that makes me an oversexed slut, then so be it, but that's what I need. Can you understand that?" I certainly could understand her since I had a similar problem in reverse. I'd had quite a few girlfriends and they had all ended in much the same way; they complained that I made them sore and I was too demanding. In addition to what they thought was my over enthusiasm for sex, I've got...now I'm not boasting, and I'm only going on what the girls have said; they told me I was too big and it hurt them. Thus I was able to assure Greta that I certainly could understand her dilemma. I was beginning to wonder if there was something in the family gene pool that caused one to be oversexed. Greta's mother was my mother's sister and I couldn't imagine either my mother or my aunt being voracious man eaters, but I suppose you can never be sure about that. Having got onto the subject Greta continued saying, "If I can't have a man who can service me properly I'd rather do without, if you know what I mean." I knew what she meant and told her so, although I found the doing without more difficult that she apparently did. With the self-relief I'd been engaging in it was just as well I'd been doing the washing and changing the linen on my bed. "If you haven't got a current girlfriend," she said, "it's a wonder that you haven't picked someone up around here." "Greta," I laughed, "what time have I had to pick anyone up?" "That's true, you really have been hard at it, and I'm very grateful." * * * * * * * * She changed the subject and said, "By the way, I'm taking Bill on, he's got magnificent references and I'm paying him twenty percent over the top, do you think that's enough?" The accountant part of my brain sprang into action. "Well," I said cautiously, "perhaps you've offered too much. You might have made it ten percent and then raised it to twenty after you've seen how he performs." "I've told him twenty now, so I've got to stick by my word. His wife is coming in to see me tomorrow; I thought I could use her in the shop." "Instead of Daisy?" "No, she's picked up a bit since you had that chat with her, and so has Arthur. You never told me what you said to them." "Oh, I just mentioned to Daisy that jobs seem to be rather hard to get around here, so it always pays to keep the boss and the customers happy. And to Arthur I said that it seemed to me that there'd be a lot of guys around here who would be looking for a bit of part time work." "I also told them that since I'd got the accounting side of things straightened out, there would be accurate and regular stock taking in future." "You didn't accuse them of stealing?" "No, I just let them know that things were different now, just in case." She changed the subject again. Laughing she said, "You know Ster, you've really surprised me. When I heard you were coming I expected...expected you to look different." "Different?" "Well...I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you were a rather weedy little boy, and when I heard you were studying accountancy...well you know how people visualise accountants, even when it's not true." "Yes, I know, fat, bald and paunchy or thin and scrawny." "So how did you turn from a scrawny kid into...into...well...what you are now?" Not being sure what she thought I was now, I answered cautiously. "I suppose nature or genes or something is involved, but I go to the gym regularly." "And you're so different...I mean, do you remember how I used to push you around when we were children?" "Yes Greta, I remember vividly, I think I still have some of the scars." "But you're not a bit like that now. You've been pushing me around instead of..." "I have not been pushing you around," I protested. "All I've done is straighten things out for you. You wanted me to...didn't you? And I haven't tried to repair any cars, have I." "No, but you might have got around to it eventually, but you'll be gone in a couple of weeks, and what am I supposed to do then, I don't know about bookkeeping and computers." "Then I'll have to teach you before I leave, and anyway, you'll have to get an accountant. I'll get in touch with father, he knows just about everybody in the business and he'll know which one is the best here." There's only two in town," she said. * * * * * * * * There was another change in the direction of the conversation. In that respect she was entirely unpredictable which might have accounted for the chaos of her environment. "You didn't like me when we were children, did you?" "Frankly Greta, no, I didn't. I used to dread those visits because I knew I'd get beaten up; those headlocks and half-nelsons..." "I don't use them now," she chuckled. "You didn't really want to come here, did you?" "How do you know that?" "I suppose by the way your mother asked me if I'd have you. She seemed to imply that there was some blackmail involved to get you to agree. I very nearly said no, but then curiosity got the better of me; I wanted to see what you were like, how you'd grown up." She paused for a moment, looking shy insofar as she was capable of looking shy, and asked, "Do you like me now?" That one nearly bowled me out. Not that I couldn't answer her question, but the fact that she'd asked it. Recovering slightly I replied, "Yes Greta, I like you very much, you're messy, you don't look after yourself properly and you're always in a rush, but yes, I do like you and I'll go on liking you just so long as you don't practice your martial arts on me." "There's something I have to tell you Ster, and if I don't say it now I never will." I felt something like cold fingers run up my spine. What was she going to say, what wart in my personality, what physical flaw was she going to point to? "You better say it and get it over with," I said. It came out in a rush, "I love you Ster." "What!" Her face was pink with embarrassment and I could see her hands shaking, and Greta wasn't the trembling type. "Even when we were children and you were so scrawny I think I loved you, that's what all the rough stuff was about I suppose. I didn't know what else to do; it was a way of touching you..." I couldn't resist an interruption, "Thank God you didn't hate me, there's no knowing what you'd have done. Why the hell did you love a scrawny kid?" She seemed relieved that I hadn't fainted away at her declaration of love like some nineteenth century maiden. She laughed and said, "If I'd hated you I would have ignored you. I wouldn't have considered it worthwhile to beat you up." It occurred to me that the three fiancés might have been victims of her love and that was why the engagements had been broken off, but she'd given another reason for their termination, and a rather intriguing one as far as I was concerned. She suddenly brightened up and said, "If everything goes as I've planned we'll have more time together. Would you like that?" How oddly uncertain of herself she seemed. I said, "Yes, I'd like that very much, but I'm not here for much longer." "Perhaps you'll come here another time, just to see that I'm not getting into a mess again." She rose and stretching, said, "Time for bed." The stretching elevated her impressive bust. I felt a tingling sensation in my groin and my penis started to harden. It is strange that she hadn't aroused me before this; perhaps some sort of defence mechanism – knowing we were cousins and nothing could ever come of a sexual relationship with her I had not seen her as a sexual possibility, despite being seriously deprived in that respect. She came towards me saying, "You've been so kind Ster, and I've never thanked you properly." She put her arms round my neck (not in a headlock), pulled her body close to mine and kissed me. "I'd like to show you how grateful I am," she said in a soft seductive voice, and then kissed me again, deep and hungrily. If there ever had been a defence mechanism it now collapsed in ruins. "You've said you like me; I don't ask you to love me; just let me show you how much I love you." I felt her loosening the top of my shorts and then her hand was grasping my penis. I heard her gasp, "My God, what have you got there, you're...you're hu...so big!" "Perhaps you'd rather not..." "No...no...I mean yes...I want you...if I'd known before I would have...oh Ster I do love you." I had my hand up under her halter top cupping one of her breasts. I think that the size of her breasts was a sort of counterpart to my penis. She was pulling down her own shorts and then she impaled herself on my shaft. We were almost the same height and standing we fitted together excellently. As I penetrated her there was a powerful sucking sensation such as I had never experienced before. It was as if she would suck all of me inside her. "It's wonderful...wonderful...come in me...let me feel you come...I want it..." She started to jerk herself frantically over my length, crying out, "I want you...I need you...I want you...I need you...oh my darling...darling...I'm going to...oha...ah...oh my God it's...oh Ster...aaaah..." I had no hope of holding back my orgasm and my sperm slammed into her, dragging more cries and sobs from her. "Don't leave me...don't leave me...I love you..." When I had finished she continued to hold me in her by the sheer grasp of her vaginal muscle as she continued in the grip of her orgasm. As her after-shocks began to diminish she used that muscle to spasmodically grip and release my penis. By All Accounts "Do you like that?" she asked in a shaky voice. "It's beautiful," I groaned, "I've never felt anything like it before." "And I've never had a penis as big as your's," she said as her orgasm faded. Despite her being almost as tall as I was, she suddenly seemed very frail. She clung to me kissing my face and constantly assuring me that she loved me and I must go with her to bed. It was an invitation I no longer had the power or desire to refuse. I felt like someone must feel when they've just discovered a potential gold mine. She could take my whole length without complaint, she was the woman I'd been seeking, and the only question that remained was whether she could meet my need for frequent intercourse. She had of course partially answered that by inviting me to her bed. "Shower first," she said, "I want us to be nice and fresh when we give each other oral sex." Well at least she wasn't too shy to ask for what she wanted, and I certainly didn't have any problem with that. We showered together and at first I thought that this might have been a mistake. My old problem arose, the need for repeated penetrations once I'd got started. I thought that Greta would not be ready or willing to take me so soon, but I needn't have worried; it was more the case that she took me; what's more, she had another orgasm. This was riches indeed, but I was looking forward to taking her in a horizontal rather than a vertical position. In bed she asked, "How do you like it, doing it to each other together, or first you make me come and then I make you come?" "I don't mind the six nine position," I replied, "but it's a bit hard to concentrate on what you're getting or what you're giving." "Would you like to kneel between my legs or shall I sit over you?" "Sit over me; that way you can keep going until you've had enough." It all sounds very matter of fact, and I'd certainly never had a girl who so freely asked what I liked, or told me what she liked. The only signs the others had given was to complain when I did something they didn't like, or didn't do something they did like, and all this when it was usually too late to do or not do. I think Greta would have mounted herself over me straightaway, but I had other ideas. There were lips to be kissed and her breasts were worthy of careful exploration - I felt that a man could get lost in there and never find his way out again. They certainly had a beauty and firmness that was unexpected in such large breasts, and they had the most delicious nipples I had ever seen – firm with her arousal, they were a delicate pink and set in deeper pink aureoles and capping lovely ivory coloured breasts. Those nipples came in for a lot of attention, especially when Greta made known that she liked to have them sucked. It was rather satisfying to hear her soft moans and sighs as I tasted them. As I began to explore her I came to realise just how beautiful she is. I suppose many men prefer small delicate women, but this tall and strongly build woman was superb, and I knew that she was what I'd always wanted and needed without ever being really clear about it. At last I lay back and she sat over me, lowering her long, firmly indented and lipped furrow. As it touched my lips she started to jerk it gently over them. I used my thumbs to open her lips and began to lick the soft tissue of the sensitive inner lips, occasionally jabbing my tongue into the opening of her vagina. She tasted and smelt good and I would have continued in that vein but Greta suddenly cried out, "My clitoris...my clitoris." It was covered by what looked like the cowl of a monk's habit. I raised it and for a moment I was stunned. I had never seen such a big clitoris before, and the idea that this organ in some ways resembles the male penis was confirmed. I was looking at what appeared to be a small penis. I took it into my mouth and started to suck, and Greta called out, "Gently darling...gently...very sensitive...easily hurt..." "What a chance to get back at her for all those childhood poundings," I thought, but refrained from taking belated revenge. She was clutching my head to her as she started to judder with the first intimation of her orgasm. Her movements grew more frenetic and soon she was crying out - cries that rose to a scream followed by racking sobs as she came over the pinnacle of her orgasm and slowly descended to the other side. When it was over she sat on for a while, slowly rubbing herself over my already juice soaked face. Then she removed herself from me, and laid still beside me; her only movement was to touch and slowly stroke my penis. As she recovered she gradually kissed her way down my body. When she reached my penis she stopped still for a while, looking at it. "So big...so beautifully big," she murmured, and then licked off the pre-cum that was coating the head of my shaft. She took the head into her mouth and I felt her tongue licking as she sucked as far as she could without discomfort along my length. I felt the first warning tingles of my coming ejaculation. I called out to her, "I'm coming." She ignored my warning and started to suck avidly as my sperm shot into her mouth. I was lost in the ecstasy of my orgasm, but I could feel her swallowing my sperm. When I had finished she raised her head and I could see tendrils of sperm hanging from her lips and slowly seeping down her chin. We kissed, tasting and smelling each other, and then she suddenly rose and fled from the room, to return a little later having washed my sperm from her mouth and chin. She cuddled up to me and said, "You can't leave me now, I won't let you." I wasn't sure what she meant. Did she mean I wasn't to leave her bed that night, or was she pointing to something longer term? I decided that this was not the time to debate the subject, especially as I already had another erection coming on. That night I came to appreciate why her fiancés had left her. The challenge of her need had been too great for them. The other alternative, and one that Greta had implied earlier, was that she had dismissed them precisely because she realised they could never meet her need. What had once been a curse to me; the need once I started to go on repeatedly was the need that matched Greta's, and we could now be satisfied. What had driven girls from me, my penis size and desire to take them frequently, was precisely what Greta wanted. I took her three more times that night before we slept, and despite waking late, Greta said, "To hell with them they can wait for once." We came together again. * * * * * * * * With the employment of Bill, followed by his wife Gladys, Daisy and Arthur were obviously threatened. Their performance improved, and Daisy even managed a smile for the customers. Bill proved to be as good as we'd hoped, and Greta was able to take on a more supervisory role, although she also spent quite a lot of time with me, making love of course. That was how things stood two days before I was due to leave. It was then Greta made her wishes crystal clear –she wouldn't allow me to go, I had to stay with her; she needed me to keep things organised and more than that, she needed me in her bed. She didn't try any strongarm stuff – at least not physically. She did however resort to attempts to bribe and blackmail. She would make me a partner on an equal footing, and certainly I could see huge potential in the place if I had time to develop it. Her blackmail consisted of telling me she thought she was pregnant. I asked her if she was sure and she had to admit she wasn't sure. I had reached the point where I knew I was deeply in love with her but I also knew, and Greta knew, we could never get married. Greta said that she didn't mind if we couldn't get married just as long as I stayed with her. I knew it would tear me to pieces if I did leave her, and so I resolved to stay. When I telephoned my parents to say that I would not be living at home in future; that I wouldn't be pursuing my accountancy studies and instead I'd be working at Greta's serviced station, my father's response might have been heard a dozen kilometres away. I have to admit he did calm down a bit when I told him that I would be a partner, but his temperature rose again when I told him I'd be living with Greta. There seemed no point in hiding this, and I made it quite clear what living with Greta meant. He informed me that my mother would have a nervous breakdown, and followed this by telling me she would die of a heart attack. As it happened neither of these prophecies came true, and in due time they came around to accepting the situation – if a little grudgingly.. One prophecy that did come true was Greta's pregnancy. * * * * * * * * The whole enterprise has proved very profitable. With more staff employed we are now an open twenty four hours service station, much to the annoyance of the service station owner at Kicking Horse Valley. We are considering extending the place and having a restaurant. If we do perhaps we should call it The Arnold Bent Restaurant. Greta has been very productive, but she said she wanted to stop at four. I offered to wear a condom but she said, "I'm not going to feel that penis of yours through an overcoat, I like the raw flesh; I'll go on the pill." She's a marvellous mother just as I'd once thought she'd be – the real earth mother. She hasn't worn me out yet, but then, I haven't worn her out either. I have to say that she's still as untidy as ever so I have to keep an eye on things.