5 comments/ 8748 views/ 1 favorites The Heart Shaped Storm By: Nigel Debonnaire 6/11/06 This story has always bothered me: I liked the concepts and challenges at this stage of Charlie's life, but the execution and flow of the story didn't satisfy me Since I'm pushing on to a fourth chapter in this story, I felt compelled to improve this one. The relationships are still the same, and I think this chapter now flows better. * The stars beamed brightly down through the still green branches. A cantata of crickets and frogs filled the night as the last few wafts of summer floated on the September air. Our blanket rested gently on the soft grass, keeping its slight damp chill away from our bare bodies. It brought me back to many such magic nights with Charlene: lost between her thighs as I looked up over her stomach at the trees and stars above while listening to her wobbly love song in the reverberant night. "The baby loves it when you do that," Mal gasped, "and I'm rather found of it, too." Mallory's legs embraced my ears as I savored her nectar; my arms were looped under her hips and around her torso to place my hands on her nipples. It was a time to be extra gentle: her blossom and her breasts were very tender in the seventh month of her third pregnancy, but with practice over the years I found the right butterfly touch and occasional bee-sting tweak that brought her respite from her burden and carried her to the peak of exaltation. I couldn't see more than the outline of her sweetly swelling form that resembled her grandmother's in budding, but I could hear her breath in its jagged acceleration, taste the delicious nectar that flowed from her engorged petals and felt the occasional shake and quiver that told me my lady was happy. Not bad for a fifty five year old Santa impersonator with half-grey hair who had the good fortune to land a twenty six year old strawberry blond goddess that only Rubens would have found skinny. "Oh, my God, I'm so close, I'm so close. Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. . ." I redoubled my pace. She arched her back and shrieked for several long moments: her love song bouncing from tree to tree and over the lake of my private piece of paradise. The neighbors told me that occasionally they heard her and wondered what the sound was; I always returned a sly smile that discombobulated as their imaginations tried unsuccessfully to cope with the image of us together. That was nothing new either: my Charlene's love songs in the night bothered their imaginations similarly. It is odd being in the middle that way, going from seventy three year old lover Charlene to her nineteen year old granddaughter in a couple of months, but that's how my life transmuted seven years ago. I licked Mal's thighs as she subsided, giving the occasional playful nip that I knew she loved before switching around to an L shape. Leaning on my elbow beside her, I rested my head lightly on her diaphragm with my baby just behind. I looked up through her cleavage at her beatific face, my forehead on her right breast and my bushy chin on her left. She slowly came to her senses, cradling my head with one hand while cradling her stomach with the other. "That's the best anniversary present I've ever gotten," she said. "My pleasure, to be sure." I reached out and cupped her face, stroking her cheek with my thumb. She moved her hand from my face to my groin, giving it a playful tweak. "I think you have a most eloquent way of confirming that here." Stroking the fullness of my forked radish, my response stiffened and damped for her. "I think your last book of your poems communicated it, too. You're not getting older, you're getting better, Charlie Fredrickson." "Thanks, but I don't believe it," I said as I took the Heart Shaped Pendant that hung from a necklace now draped around her right breast. Seven years ago today that locket changed my life radically, and I was happy to be part of its legacy. She tousled my hair and stroked my beard. "You'll be all right with the kids and I being gone for three weeks?" she asked with her frown of concern. I nodded my head. "Sure, you're overdue to visit your aunts with the kids; Jessica's been bugging you to come up north for months. Your grandmother and I took long trips without each other over the twenty years we were together: we did beautifully on our own and picked up right where we left off when we got back together. No problem." She shook her head. "When I get back, my sex drive will be almost nil until after Sylvia is born. Your big beautiful oysters here may pop before I can take care of you again." I chortled. "Babe, I survived it the previous two times and I've had lots of long dry spells over the years. Please don't worry about me." We lay there stroking each other for several moments. "Speaking of the kids, don't we have to rescue your cousin Morgan from them shortly?" Mal shook her head and pulled my crotch closer. "Not before I repay a favor. Besides, we always have to pry Morgie away from them with a crowbar." I moved to make things easier for her, lying parallel and stroking the big beautiful belly that held my second daughter. It was bliss being lost in the starlight, the tree shadows, the chorus of frogs and crickets, the grass and my dearest Mallory as her electric tongue she worshiped my phallus and coaxed my world into a rainbow explosion . ***************** I came to awareness in my bed alone the next morning. Mal lived in her grandmother's grand old house and I kept my identical one story painted lady: Edgar Allan Fredrickson's room was next to mine, and Elizabeth Barrett Fredrickson's room was next to their mother's in her house. I asked Mal several times if we shouldn't sell both houses and get one big house together, but she felt the history of love these houses held was too priceless to relinquish and our little family could cope. The kids were happy and we bounced back and forth between the houses easily in all kinds of weather, rearranging the sleeping accommodations on whim: it would work for a while longer since Elizabeth and Sylvia could share a room. We managed to keep our artist's niches of solitude and taught the kids to respect them as best they could. Last night the kids slept with their babysitter/cousin Morgan in Edgar's room, so it was no surprise two little strawberry blond heads and four little blue eyes peeked over the edge of my bed that morning. He was almost five and she was two and half. I feigned sleep and emitted a few cartoon sized snores, which brought sputters of giggling from below the horizon. Suddenly, I lunged over the side of the bed and hauled the squirming little bodies up, tickling them to the verge of hysterics. They retaliated and it was several moments before we wound down. I asked my children: "Where is your Aunt Morgan?" Elizabeth piped up: "Aunt Morgie left very early. She had to go to Seattle." Edgar picked up the story: "She put the coffee on the timer for you and Momma. Momma said she would have breakfast ready by 8:00 so we would have plenty of time before we left for Minnesota." "Well, since it looks like it's about 8:00, I guess we'd better go get breakfast before it's too late." They were bundles of unbounded energy and a real pain at times, so I tickled them again before carrying them, one under each arm, into the kitchen to find their mother and breakfast. ***************** They left on a Monday and after seeing them off, I spent the next few days reviewing galleys of my latest adventure novel and Mal's second book of poetry. Puttering around the houses provided physical activity to break up the intellectual work: I've never enjoyed exercise for its own sake and my rotund body is witness to that. On Friday I went over to the University where I taught for ten years: I was speaking at a conference and judging a poetry contest the next week and needed to pick up a file of submissions to evaluate. When I got back, there was a message on my answering machine: "Hi Charlie, it's Morgan. I'm back in town this weekend and wondered if you'd be interested in dinner tonight. There something important I need your advice about, so please tell me you can make it." I was tired of meals for one in my little kitchen, so I called back and told her I'd be glad to join her, especially since she needed my sagacity. Morgan was Charlene's only niece; Mal's first cousin once removed. She worked for Mal's mother Dora and traveled a lot for Dora's company, moving up the corporate ladder on merit rather than nepotism. At age thirty five, she had gone through several boyfriends, but marriage never seemed be on her radar. A little apartment in town was her home base, but she was around our houses frequently, helping Mal and I with the kids. We met at a nice Middle Eastern restaurant and Morgan was an eye catcher: five foot six, beautiful long strawberry blond hair like Mal, almond eyes, a beautifully toned body that featured exquisite legs and wrapped in a light blue dress that coaxed a mouth watering cleavage. Mal and I never married and never talked about it, but if Morgan wasn't family it would have felt like cheating. We settled into hummus, felafel and ouzo, making small talk and catching each other up on the week we just had. Some people mature late and I thought Morgan was just coming into full bloom: her face was serene and her attitude much wiser than a couple of years before. Savoring a couple of pieces of baklava, I asked her what she wanted advice about. "Parenthood." "Parenthood?" "Yes. You were happy with my aunt Charlene for twenty years. It was the best of both worlds: you had solitude and you had a safe relationship since she was past menopause when you started dating. Then she passed away, we had our little competition and Mallory became your woman. You have two small children and another almost here. Would you do it again?" I scratched my beard and thought for a moment. "Well, I never expected to become a parent: Mal wanted children while she was young and I couldn't deny her. It's a lot different than my life with Charlene; kids change your whole perspective. Charlene and I used to daydream about having children together, impossible as it was, but we always concluded that we'd screw them up beyond belief. Mal and I have managed all right with them so far, with your kind help, keeping our space and solitude when really we need it while being there when they need us. I'm not the best of fathers; I wish I could be more active playing with them." "You do all right. I think you've lost weight in the past few years; they've been a good exercise program for you." "Oh yes, right. That's really why I became a parent: to lose weight." We laughed. I grew more reflective: "I'll be an old man, if I live that long, by the time they're teenagers. I may never see them as adults, or my grandchildren. They're hard work; harder than I thought they'd be. There are times I wish I had my carefree life with Charlene again, but I love my kids, I miss them and I can't imagine my life without them. If I could repeat the last seven years of my life, I'd do it all over again, and if Mal wants more children, so be it." Morgan drank this in, and looked more pensive than I'd ever seen her. She sipped some ouzo and peered into my eyes. "I'm thirty five and I hear my clock ticking. Every time I visit your place to sit the kids, I don't want to leave them. I want to become a mother." I grasped her hand as it lay on the table. "I'm happy for you, Morgan. You will be a spectacular mother and the man you marry will be as lucky as I am." Morgan gulped a little ice water, and looked away before looking back at me intensely. "This is where I'd like to take a road less traveled. You have a different relationship with Mal: you're not married, technically you're not even living under the same roof. I know you work at your relationship, though it's different than any married couple I know, and if you wanted, you could teach the married couples I know a few things. I want to do things a little differently, too." Something about her demeanor set off an alarm, but I didn't know what she was getting at. "Tell me more," I said. "I'd like to have a baby, but none of the men I ever dated are people I'd like to marry or have father my child. I'm happy without a man in my personal space; I'm not looking. Don't want artificial insemination with an anonymous donor; I'm too good a businesswoman to take a gamble like that with no track record. There's only one man in the universe that I want to make my baby: you." Fortunately I wasn't drinking anything right then, or I would have almost drowned for the second time in my life. I shot my remaining ouzo, ordered another, and looked at Morgan. She was more earnest than I'd ever seen her, and I'd known her for much of her life. "I'm flattered beyond belief, Morgan, but I'm not sure about this. I don't want to jeopardize my relationship with Mallory for anything in the world. We might be able to keep a secret like this from her, but it would be a millstone on my heart and I couldn't bear it." "Knew you'd say that." She handed me an envelope from her purse addressed to me that was clearly in Mal's handwriting. "Here's a letter." It said: "Dearest Charles, I know you love me more than life itself and I am the luckiest woman in the world to have you. You have proven your fidelity to me over and over, and I am as secure in your love as my grandmother Charlene was. Morgan told me what she wants and I agree: she could choose no one better to make her babies. Do it with a clear heart, my darling: enjoy making love to her and give her a baby. The only person we need to keep this secret from is my mother. Morgan will tell you why. Love, Your Mallory" Dropping the letter to my side, I slumped in my chair. When Mal called me Charles, I knew she was deadly serious. Morgan looked at me hopefully. "I love how your children turned out; you have a great portfolio. You can father my babies, too; we'll live close by and be one big happy family." "I never pictured myself a paterfamilias." It was several moments before I continued, "Let me borrow your cell phone; I need to confirm this." I called Mal: she quickly confirmed everything in the letter, but wouldn't tell me the story about her mother. Hanging up, I looked at Morgan's pleading eyes. I said at last, "This is more than the Pendant competition asked from me. You know, if I weren't already committed, you would be a regular in my fantasy love life." Morgan's eyes perked up. "Why thank you, Charlie, that means a lot to me even though you've never used your password on my website. Does this mean you'll do it?" "How about artificial insemination?" "Only 15-20% chance of conception, costs a bundle, and not as much fun." I shrugged my shoulders. "Would your Aunt Charlene have approved of this?" She nodded eagerly. "Auntie C. always said you should father a baseball team." Charlene frequently used baseball metaphors: a life long Cubs fan. "The Pendant competition took a lot out of me, but I survived it and I guess I'll survive this. Yes, I'll try to give you a baby." Morgan leapt into my lap and gave me a long, deep kiss. I gently pushed her away and tried not to look down her dress. "Let's keep some decorum here in public. We'll pay the check and head to the lake cabin, if you'd like. That will give us some privacy and the neighbors in town won't have to see anything that might start tongues wagging." She dug her corporate card out of her purse. "Let me put this on Dora's account." ******************** The evenings were starting to get chill by the lake, and I built a roaring fire in the hearth at the cabin to warm us. Morgan settled me in a sturdy chair beside the fire facing at a right angle so I could see her body as she was silhouetted in the red light. She began humming Bolero in a reedy voice as she began to sway her hips, swishing the blue dress eloquently as the fabric played back and forth in the crimson light. The dress descended gradually, gracefully, slowly to uncover proud breasts held tightly in a black bra. Black panties appeared as the descent continued and the reedy hum grew sporadic as she immersed herself in her dance. This was more seductive than the pole dance she did trying to get the Heart Shaped Pendant. Wandering over to my chair, she pulled off my shirt and t-shirt, rubbing her hands over my lap and my radish, before pulling off my pants and pulling off my briefs to lick me once slowly. She then stood up and unhooked her bra, teasing me strap by strap before flinging it into the corner as she resumed humming. Her panties came off the same way and she came to me to grind her pelvis into mine. She started talking: "You like that, don't you? Yes, yes, baby, your cock is getting so hard. Mal must love that cock, jacking it off, sucking it, fucking it. I'm going to suck you now, but save your sperm to make my baby." Stroking me rhythmically, she knelt before me on the wood floor to demonstrate the oral heritage that Charlene had tutored her. After a few moments bliss, she pulled off and stroked again, resuming her commentary: "You taste so good, Charlie. You're going to come in my mouth before the weekend's over, I promise you. I will drink you down, I will drink every drop of your sweet come this time. Let me put my legs through the arms of chair as I get ready to lower myself down. Oh,oh,oh, it feels so good, I can't go too fast, have to let you in slowly. Mmm, your cock feels so good in my cunt, like how I can squeeze your cock with my cunt? I thought so, Charlie, I can tell by the look on your face." It did feel good: her technique was dynamic and stimulating. We did our variable speed conjoined chair dance for many enjoyable minutes as she gave commentary. Clouds and Rain approached: "I'm going to milk you dry, oh it feels so good, uh,uh,uh,uh, oh yes, oh yes, let's come together, let's come together, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, aieee!" As I subsided, sitting on the chair underneath her, I was grateful that she took all the athleticism on herself. I never realized what a mystery it was to take on a new lover: in the beginning you think you know how it will work from previous experience and then you realize you have no idea what works. Wasn't sure that I wanted to live with running instructions every time we had made love, but if it told me what she liked and wanted, I could put up with it for while. *********************** We made love again that night and the next day in different ways; she continued to give me direction. Morgan was good company walking through the woods and other non-sexual activities; she appreciated nature as a city girl freshly discovering the wonders of the forest, and I was glad to be her guide. During a long Sunday afternoon stroll through the cathedrals of green, I asked, "What's the story with Dora? Why do we have to keep this secret from her?" Morgan stopped abruptly, looking down. "It's about my brother Justin." Justin was ten years younger, was never around the extended family much and I could never figure out his parentage. Charlene didn't say much about it; he was around her house regularly growing up, not as much as Mal, but often. "My father died when I was two years old, and Mom always wanted more children. She dated several men but couldn't find anyone she wanted. When Mallory was born, Mom thought her time might be running out, so she seduced Mallory's father Harry Morris while Dora was still in the hospital. They carried on for a couple of months until Mom got pregnant, then broke up. Dora found out about it right after Justin was born: Harry was too proud of himself and revealed it one night after a couple of drinks. She hit the roof and kicked him out of the house. Their marriage was in bad shape before and this destroyed it. You know Harry: he could care less about his children. Dora wouldn't speak to us for years and when she finally thawed she still couldn't look at Justin. The year we had the competition for the Heart Shaped Pendant was about the time Dora and Mom started making contact willingly." The Heart Shaped Storm "Well, that explains a lot," I said. "You and Mal are first cousins once removed and you share a half brother." Morgan looked up and laughed, "Yeah, we're either an Arkansas family or British royalty." I pondered for a moment, remembering some outings that I shared with Charlene and Justin: a nice kid who shared many of our interests. My son Edgar was starting to resemble him: tall, lanky, blond and blue eyed with a penetrating gaze that tried to unravel life's mysteries. "How come your brother spent so much time with Charlene? He was over more than you were growing up, and since he was the result of Dora's betrayal I don't understand why Charlene would take to him so." "Mom was the only one of Auntie C.'s sisters who had children: Jessica couldn't have them and Lucille never wanted them. I think Auntie C. always wanted more children, but she and her husband had their falling out when Dora was small and she didn't want to go it alone. She understood why her sister Andrea wanted another child and was too wise to blame Justin. Since Mallory is his half-sister, Auntie C. thought they should grow up together as much as they could, even though she couldn't tell them about their relationship until they were teenagers. She encouraged Justin to pursue classical music more than anyone else. Auntie C. had to hide him whenever Dora was around, but that didn't happen often, and Mallory was always a willing collaborator in her grandmother's secrets." "Tell me about it. They set me up once." "I remember. Anyway, I've always liked the little twerp my brother and I'm happy he's pursuing his dream in Paris to become an orchestra conductor. He'll be back job hunting around Mallory's due date, so you can introduce him to his nephew and nieces if you think that they'll keep the family secret." "It's way too soon to ask them to keep secrets, but I'll be happy to see him again and introduce him as a cousin: he's a promising young man whose youth and talent I envy a little. You don't have to worry about me with Dora, either: I'm not exactly on her A-list after bypassing her for the Pendant and the house. She's been all right with her grandchildren, but their father isn't on her radar, so I won't have to work to keep this from her." The relationships in this family were starting to get on my nerves: if I did get Morgan pregnant my kids would be second cousins as well as half siblings. I didn't dwell on that for long: this was starting to look like the British royals. "Great," she said, drinking in the limitless greenery starting to turn red and gold. "It's a gorgeous evening to dine alfresco,s and there's no one in sight. Have a seat; I want to fulfill a promise." I sat on a stump; she knelt, undid my pants and licked her lips. . . ************************ The next week was full: I had the conference at my old school from dawn to midnight Monday to Thursday and Morgan was gone Monday to Friday on business. I rested most of Friday and Morgan picked me up late that afternoon for another lake weekend. We fixed a simple supper there and enjoyed it on the porch overlooking the lake; it touched other memories of al fresco meals with Charlene and Mal. Morgan took the dishes inside and left me to a long contemplation of the fading light. When I came inside to find Morgan illuminated the cabin with a galaxy of votive candles. A boombox began Mozart's Clarinet Quintet: someone had been doing her homework. A pair of soft arms draped themselves over my shoulders and began moving around my chest; soft lips nuzzled my ear. I reached around behind me to caress her apple hips and her moaning body pressed eagerly against mine. The hands strayed lower, brushing my crotch teasingly, and I felt my knees grow weak. I spun and gathered her up: she was a feather in my arms, lighter than any woman I'd held. Trembling, I placed her on the bed and kissed her, stroking her bosom as it crept eagerly into my palm. Morgan was softly gasping for breath in my ear; a welcome song I knew so well for over twenty five years. Moving my lips down the ivory tower of her neck, I picked apart her blouse buttons and parted her front opening bra. Tracing my finger from her throat to her navel and back brought shudders: at last, it seemed I was on familiar territory. She responded to me by unbuckling my pants, nudging them over my hips and drawing my briefs down similarly. Her hands were fire on my backside, and my lips quested to find her left bud, drawing it into my mouth to swirl and nibble. A hand caressed my head; its partner quested for my radish to encourage its dampness. We paused to remove our remaining constraints: the unheated air of the cabin was crisp but its chill failed to penetrate my skin. Morgan's nectar was sweet, but held an undertaste that I fought off as I cultivated her passion. Her moaning accelerated toward Clouds and Rain, but before she reached that plateau she pushed me away, flipped onto her hands and knees away from me, ground her backside into my crotch and demanded, "Fuck me doggie style, Charlie. I want it doggie style tonight." I moved forward on my knees and did as she wished. Her litany of "yes, yes, yes, oh, oh, oh, you fuck me so well," began, and her muscles pulled me urgently. She reached Clouds and Rain twice before my outburst; everything was different enough that my mind clanked between bliss and discomfort and my outburst was delayed. So went that weekend, bouncing between familiar and strange, as we went about our work. ************** The next week was gloomy, with long, cold October showers, and my mood matched it. I lived far too much on coffee and tea and worked on a swashbuckling story about betrayal in outer space: the story wasn't coming together and I struggled with it. Morgan was gone on another trip. The phone visits were rare shafts of sunlight: Mal and the kids had a wonderful time in Minnesota with their Aunt Jessica and moved on to their Aunt Lucille's in California. Edgar bubbled with delight as he told me about Disneyland and Elizabeth was asking when she would see me again. Mal was feeling like a beached whale every time she sat or laid down, but her usually taciturn aunt was loosening up with the kids around and she felt that they were connecting on a deeper level than ever before. Three times that week, I went over to Charlene's house to putter around. It was hard to think of it as Mal's house: the living room held a huge framed picture of Charlene, laughing at the picnic table in summer wearing a blue halter top; an icon beside her degrees and awards. I reset the timers on the lights to maintain the illusion of habitation as I had the weeks before, and swam through old memories as I passed through the rooms. We'd made love on the bed, the kitchen floor, the living room couch, in the hallway. The shower was barely big enough to hold us: I'd soap my torso and we'd slide our big bodies against each other's to scrub, laughing. The writing area held familiar clutter, the bookcases held the old books, but the post-it notes were now in Mal's handwriting. During the last visit, I pulled a chair to sit before Charlene's picture and I surveyed the wall slowly: a smaller framed picture of Mal laughing in a blue halter top at the same summer table was directly below and Mal's degree and awards were next to Charlene's. It felt right: in many ways, Mal was Charlene having drunk from the fountain of youth. I looked at the floor; one of Elizabeth's dolls lay neglected there. I picked it up and fresher memories flooded: the playful nights Mal and I shared in these rooms, laughing and loving everywhere, our decision to have children, the joy of creating them, bringing them home, walking the floor with them, the personal sunrises of Mallory's eyes, my rediscovery of the universe through Edgar's and Elizabeth's. Charlene beamed down on all of this, laughing her benediction from the photo; she seemed so distant yet so near. I kissed the doll and returned it to the floor for my daughter to find. Morgan got back late Friday evening exhausted and it was Saturday morning before we got to the lake. The scudding clouds that had dominated the week still hung threateningly. My interest was slow to build: I left her alone in the cabin to take several long walks alone to clear my mind and it was late afternoon before I was clear enough I could muster any carnal interest. Impatience met me as I walked in through the door: she wasn't built for contemplation or patience, especially when she had a task at hand. Morgan was lying on the bed in a nightdress, a fire in the stove, reading a romance novel. "Well?" "Well, I'm back." She stared at me blankly for several moments: I knew that when Morgan barely said anything, she was extremely angry. "Do you think we can get something done now?" "Probably." "How romantic." Mal and I lived on sarcasm; from Morgan, it was like being savaged by a rabbit. I looked at the ceiling and counted to ten. "You wanted to do this for a reason, and you wanted me for a reason. I don't recall romance being part of it," I said as calmly as I could. "Romance makes things sweet. Romance makes things personal. Romance helps get the juices flowing." "Other things can as well. Your goal is getting pregnant, not finding romance." Her face turned toward the wall, her arms were crossed in front of her and her left index finger started tapping her right elbow. "Right. Right. Right. Well, are you ready to make me pregnant now?" My impregnation tool hung limply. The attitude had unplugged it, and it would take something to get it going again. "I'll need some encouragement." The retort snapped back: "You always need encouragement." "Sheesh, so do you," I said, waving my hands. "I mean, you didn't ask to be raped, and I wanted you to enjoy the experience as much as possible." "Thanks, Charlie," she spat. "That's sweet." "Damn it, woman, someone else's feelings just are not on your radar, are they? I've had a horrible week, my latest story isn't working, I miss my woman and my children, the weather's been shit, and now you expect my magic wand to do tricks at your command and give you a baby whenever you want to place the order." "Tough titty; I've had a shitty week, too. Now you're trying to whine your way out of your commitment." "No, no, no." "You useless, lazy, old, fat fuck. You're lucky you get laid at all: first you settle for an old woman because she's an easy mark, then you latch onto a child who just happens to worship the ground you walk on, why I'll never know, and since you've got a couple of small children and a new surge of artistic success, you think you've got it made. Charlie, you haven't earned all this, you haven't earned it at all." That was enough; I was tempted to go back to town and leave her at the cabin alone. "That's too far, Morgan. I don't deserve this kind of abuse. If you were one of my children, I'd turn you over my knee." "Gosh, daddy, I'm scared. Nice try at testosterone, Charlie, I'm supposed to be impressed by that line. We'll, I'm not your child, so what are you going to do about it, Macho Man?" A maniac took control of my body: I grabbed Morgan, and pulled her nightdress up over her head. We kept a portable ping-pong table and equipment at the cabin since Charlene and I were coming out: I reached into a drawer and brought out a ordinary paddle. Sitting down on the chair, I turned her over my knee and started to spank her luscious ass with it. She screamed and struggled, but I held her tight and turned her cheeks a very rosy red. Taking out my frustration on this snobbish posterior felt very good indeed. "You bastard, you bastard, you bastard," she yelled as I finished my work; to my surprise, my staff had returned to stiffness and a damp spot on my pant leg told me that Morgan had been stimulated by the beating. I threw her on the bed, laid her on her back and used her nightdress to tie her hands up over her head and the headboard. To do this, I had to sit with my legs on her arms, which put my balls in her eyes and my cock slapped her forehead several times as I bound her. She fumed. "Thanks for putting your greasy asshole next to my nose, motherfucker." "Do me a favor and lick it clean," I replied. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked in cold fury. "I'm going to do what you wanted me to do," I yelled. "You're getting fucked right now, because you asked me to, and if you complain I'm going to smack you." Getting on the bed between her legs, I smacked her ass again, roughly grabbed a double handful of beautiful breasts, then pushed my throbbing member into the slickness between her legs up to my scrotum in one thrust. She screamed at penetration, but settled down and bucked against me as my anger turned to passion. My thrusting pushed her back on the bed, and eventually her head hit the headboard a few times. That mattered not to Morgan: now lost in her passion, the jolts didn't affect her. "Twist my nipples, Charlie, let me have it," she whispered softly, her eyes closed in bliss. I smacked her left breast hard, making it wobble dramatically. "Don't tell me what to do, I'm fed up with taking your orders. You just lie there and get fucked, bitch, and I'll do anything damn thing I want to." The bed creaked and shook spectacularly as I savaged her. She had one orgasm, then quickly built to another as I ejaculated harder than any time I could remember. Wave after wave filled her, and I kept up my efforts until I had shrunk back to normal. Morgan panted heavily, her eyes glazed over, and she started working her wrists free. Seeing that she would get loose without my help, I redressed and went outside. The day was almost completely done, with a slight patch of light off to the West. It was raining, but I didn't care. My anger was still with me, and I had to work it out. I picked up a dead branch and began whacking the tree trunks until it shattered in my hands. Stalking farther and farther away, I picked up other branches, pummeling the trunks like an ancient samurai in the heat of battle until those weapons also shattered. The rain fell, lightning flashed and thunder echoed in my aching heart. I challenged the lightning, bellowed back at the thunder and shattered bigger and bigger dead branches against the ancient trunks. At last, the physical fire of my anger subsided and I sat on an huge deadfallen trunk to hold my temples as my thoughts swirled in the dark downpour. "What am I? What do you want from me? I'm not who I used to be, I'm not who I was. I'm corrupted, I'm lost. When did I lose control of my life? What kind of monster am I? Who am I? I don't know who I am. I'm not who I used to be," I sobbed as I sat and let the rain drench me. The rain passed and the thunder faded into the distance. There was a rustling in the undergrowth. Morgan, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans and carrying a flashlight, came up the trail and sat beside me wordlessly on the dead trunk. After several silent seconds, she said softly, "I'm sorry. It's been a long, frustrating week for me, too, and I couldn't keep control any longer. I'm not patient, you know that, and waiting for you all day, especially knowing that my fantastic body wasn't getting you steamed up, was too much for me. You're still the sweetest man I know, and I'm sorry that I was so rude to you." "I'm sorry I lost control like that. Please, please, please forgive me losing control like that. I could have hurt you badly." She laid her head on my shoulder. "You didn't, really. I loved it. Couldn't have planned the sex better if I wrote a script. The argument went way too far. You know I"m not good at waiting." I chuckled. "I remember you around Christmas time as a kid: you drove everyone nuts waiting for Santa, and wanted to open your presents one minute after they were under the tree." A damp chuckle greeted that observation. "In some ways I haven't grown up, I guess. Forgive me?" "Of course. These misunderstandings happen. I'm not mad at you; you didn't know. I've just been trying to do what you wanted me to, without dealing with my discomfort. There are too many people missing in my life right now, three will be back soon, but one is never coming back. I'm not at peace with what came out of me and it's not your fault. I've fallen. I'm lost. The dark side is something I have to deal myself." We sat that way for a while, then returned to the cabin to change into dry clothes and go back to town. ******************* The kids had to spend their first night back with me, so the whole family slept in my bed like a litter of puppies: I missed those little terrors. Mal was much bigger than when she left, and I made as few half hearted jibes about her size. Most of the days were spent playing with the kids and the nights snuggled with Mal listening to great music; she let me have my silence for the time being. Morgan was gone on a three week business trip and I was glad for her absence. It was a crisp Monday afternoon a week after their return: I was in my basement artist's niche working while the kids played in the falling leaves when Mal came to see me. She kissed me and rested on my shoulders as I wrote for a while, then kissed me again. "How's it going?" "All right, I guess." "Did Morgie wear you out the past three weekends?" I gave a dry chuckle. "Of course. She must have had a long dry spell." Mal kissed me on top of my head and I turned on my swivel chair to embrace her budding body. She stroked my head with both hands and said, "Morgan told me everything." I looked at her strangely. "You know her; when she feels safe she can't stop talking. I knew Morgie liked a little pain with her pleasure now and then. She made some huge mistakes with men over that; she could never find the right balance between Saint and Satan and wouldn't settle for less than perfection. As you know well, my cousin can be a real bitch at times." She stroked my hair and beard, with her head next to mine resting on my shoulder. "Don't worry; you're not turning into more of a freak than you already are." She kissed me fiercely and giggled. "I'm not going to let you." Seeing the look in my eye, her humor evaporated: "You've been haunted since we returned and a shadow of yourself. There's something here you can't handle, isn't there?" "Yes," I whispered. "When Morgan taunted me, it was like my school days. Never got over being the object of verbal abuse, and never got over being a failure at all things athletic. I never want to hurt people: every time I thought I hurt someone or had a misunderstanding with Charlene, I'd go into my shell for weeks at a time. The beast scares me: it scares me that I liked spanking Morgan: that it turned me on, that I used her so roughly. I wouldn't have done it if she hadn't egged me on, but her little habits were getting on my nerves and I was feeling so alone. Frustration drove me out of control and I can't stand being out of control. It's too late for a mid-life crisis, but I'm not sure who I am: I'm not who I used to be." She continued to cradle and stroke my head. "Say more, sweetheart." "In the past, being apart was never a problem; Charlene and I could come and go for long periods of time and there was never a problem, never a jolt. We didn't monopolize each other. At first, it was like you were Charlene reborn, but you're not her. I'm just now realizing how I've changed in the past seven years: you've needed me as she never did and I've become what you needed me to be. Seven years ago, Morgan reminded me of Charlene and that was enough, but now Morgan reminded me of you and that wasn't enough, I needed all of you. It's not the same rumbling around here alone anymore; I miss the clutter and bother and noise our kids make. Now you are my bright shining star and I don't want to be in the darkness again." The Heart Shaped Storm She held my head closer, kissed and stroked it again. "It's all right, it's all right. I feel the same way about you: it was all I could do to leave you alone that long. It wasn't easy letting Morgie ask you to be her stud service either, particularly with our family history, but I did it because I have faith in you and I love her like a sister. Morgie's more than just an ambitious corporate executive like Mother, and I couldn't deny my cousin the best father her children could have. "We all have our dark sides that frighten us, that's called being human, but we don't have to be lost in that darkness." Her face came down close to look deep into my eyes. "You will never be ruled by your dark side: fear not. We all slip up sometimes; you're not lost. My fault was overestimating what you could handle. I still trust you, I still love you, I'm still glad to be having your babies. I love who you are now: it's different that the hero worship I had for you seven years ago; we're more equal partners now. You are still my star, my passion's spring, my sex symbol, my idol. I will love you till the end of your days." I knew that last statement was a good as a vow. "I'd give you the Pendant again, my dear, every day of your life." I kissed her and relaxed a bit. "It's not like I'm a completely normal guy. I've had lovers at either legal end of the human existence, but not my own age. Morgan is kind of an extension of you and your grandmother, shaken, not stirred. If you don't include anybody else in this operation, I think I can handle being her stud service. It's just going to take me more time for me to adjust." She laughed and hugged me again, my beautifully strange woman. ************************* Edgar and I had some profoundly philosophical father/son chats walking to and from preschool. Since her return, Elizabeth made her play area next to my writing space and I was glad she was there despite the racket. I kept pouring my troubles into my writing and the storm was starting to pass: the swashbuckler story was finally making some sense. Dora flitted through to check on her daughter and her grandchildren; as I watched them, it seemed Dora's attitude was changing about something. Maybe she was mellowing at last, but being from Missouri. . . Mal usually delivered close to due dates and Sylvia was no exception in early November just before my birthday. I was at my lady's side for the entire journey, as I had twice before, and felt so maudlin holding Sylvia at two minutes old I resolved that my next book would be my most macho adventure story to date, just to prove to myself that I wasn't going soft. Sylvia was born around 1:00AM and I was so wound up I couldn't sleep. Around daybreak, I was there when my Mal awakened and the nurse brought Sylvia to us. Mal cleared her throat. "I'd like to change something about her name, if you don't mind." "Oh, what do you have in mind?" "We'll still call her Sylvia, our third little poet, but I'd like to reach out to Mother a little bit. Would you mind if her first name was Dora?" Mal's eyes were worried, but it didn't take me long to figure out what she was trying to do. Her instincts were as good as her grandmother's, and I knew I should trust them. "Of course, my love. I trust you completely. Her name is Dora Sylvia Fredrickson." I kissed Mal long and deeply. A couple of hours later, Morgan brought the kids over to see their new sister and their fascination with the newborn was magic. After their short visit, I went back home with them for an early lunch and returned them to Morgan's supervision while I caught up on my sleep. Morgan slipped a note into my hand during lunch: The rain was fruitful, my garden buds, producing another poet. I didn't know Morgan had a haiku in her. Last that afternoon, I was sitting in the waiting room, resting and waiting out rush hour before driving back to the houses. Dora sat down beside me with two cups of coffee. I looked at her quizzically, but accepted the gift. She settled beside me and we sat looking forward blankly at the wall, sipping our beverages. "Who's minding the children?" I asked at last. "Aunt Andrea. She adores small children, always has. She was always my favorite babysitter." "Good. I like Andrea." "I do, too" We sat in silence, drinking our coffee, staring forward. "Do you like me?" She asked suddenly. I looked to be certain that it was her. "You're the mother of my woman, the grandmother of my children. I know I'm not your favorite person, but I can live with that. In your own way, you care very much about your family and I respect you for that." There was a moment or two of silence. "You called her Dora." she said. "Yes, we did." "Why?" I took a deep breath. "It was Mallory's idea, but I agree with it whole heartedly. You deserve a namesake in the family." A glance from the corner of my eye told me a tear ran down her cheek. I sipped my coffee and looked straight ahead. Dora grew pensive. "I've been holding on to some pain for a long, long time, and that's unfair of me. Harry and I made a huge mistake getting married in the first place: he cheated on me constantly. Ever since then, I haven't been comfortable in a relationship with a man I couldn't control. Justin is a far better man than his father is; when he comes tomorrow I will be here to help welcome him into the bosom of the family and stay for the whole party." "That's good," I said as I sipped my coffee. "You're most welcome anytime, and you can stay as long as you want." Dora shrugged, "I've got good people working for me, like Morgan; they take good care of things. They don't need me tomorrow. It's time I made people my business a little more, especially my family. Call me Ebenezer Dora." I smiled to myself. "Well, that's a little bit long; can I stick with just plain Dora?". A dry chuckle and nodding of the head was my reply: "Sure." A long silence passed, and she broke it again: "I know what you've done for Morgan. I've promoted her to be my senior VP, and I'll let her work from home more, so she can care for the baby." I nodded. "Great. She works hard and well; she deserves it." Dora finished her coffee and put the cup down. She turned to me, and I turned to face her. "There's someone else who works hard and deserves respect: the father of my grandchildren." Her eyes probed mine, taking on the same studious look I saw in my kitchen seven years ago, before she made her bid for the Pendant. At last, she spoke: "It wouldn't be right for me to suck your cock again, so you'll have to settle for this." Her strawberry hair that was turning silver came close to my face and two of the softest lips I ever knew pressed my cheek warmly. They stayed for what seemed a lifetime before they moved back slightly. "You're all right, Charlie Fredrickson," came the faintest of whispers, "You're all right.". ***************** Sylvia had a marvelous homecoming and Mal almost had to fight her mother to get the baby out of Dora's arms. Justin took his place in the family, and the kids gleefully monopolized their new uncle to his amusement. Things returned to normal, or at least, as normal as possible with a newborn in the family. Christmas was more full of family than ever. During the first warm weekend of Spring, Mal and I went to the lake cabin alone. We lay naked under the stars, and Mal cleared her throat. "Are you happy, my love?" I kissed her left cheek. "Of course, my darling. Do you have to ask?" "Want to spank me?" I looked at her face: she was mock-serious for several moments before she laughed at my expression. I smacked her backside once, stinging hard. "Like that?" She went directly from a smile to a wince. "Ow, yes like that, but that's enough. I'm glad to see the storms of last autumn have passed enough you can laugh at them." It was true: it took a moment, but I realized I could laugh about it. I held her close, patting and stroking her lovely full backside. She waited a few more moments. "I've been thinking." "Always a wonderful thing to do. What about?" "I'd like to take a few years off from having babies. I'm only twenty-six, and though I loved being pregnant, I think I'd liket about five to ten years off." "Okay. If the machinery still works five to ten years from now, you're on." "That will give Morgie a few years to catch up." I did a double take. "Oh?" "She's got that huge house and she can afford all the kids she wants. Do you know the results of her last sonogram?" I shook my head. "It's another boy, Daddy, and she wants to name him Robert Browning Fredrickson." I pondered for a moment. "That sounds good to me. Edgar will enjoy having a little brother." "She loves being pregnant and she's already talking about doing it again." "And you're sure you don't mind?" "No, not really. She promised to bug you only when she wants to get pregnant, well, almost only when she wants to get pregnant. She's not going to get in our way." "I may have to spank her if she does," I chortled. "You're going to keep me busy." Mal turned and kissed me on the forehead. "That's all right. I want you to repopulate the world, my darling. It will be a better place." "Bullshit. One of these days I'm going to wake up and realize this isn't real." Two very real lips met mine, followed by soft loving tongue that eventually worked down over my hairy mountain to caress my corona as it had so often for the last seven years. If this wasn't reality, it would do, ti would definitely do.