19 comments/ 52099 views/ 28 favorites Wallflower By: jack_straw Author's note: This story is inspired by rachlou's wonderful story series, "Show Me Heaven." There is nothing much similar about these stories, except the basic premise of a shy girl who is lured from her shell by a caring girlfriend and a patient man. ^ ^ ^ ^ Jane Smith finished filing the last of that day's work, and neatly stacked the leftover documents in her In box for when she returned to work on Monday. She was particular about leaving work with a clean desk, a trait that extended to her private life as well. She lived by the motto, "a place for everything, and everything in its place." Her little house was neat as a pin, without a bit of clutter anywhere. Nothing was out of place, and you eat off the floor in her kitchen; that's how squeaky-clean she was. Of course, she had a lot of time for housecleaning, because her social life was pretty much non-existent. At the age of 28, Jane had never had a serious relationship, not even close. Oh, she had dated some in the past, but they had usually been arranged through a dating service of some sort, or had been set up by her mother, who worried that her only child was going to end up alone, never to give her grandchildren. Her dates always seemed to end in disaster. Either the guys were all over her wanting nothing but sex, or she embarrassed herself some way, or the guys were complete losers, nerds that were too geeky even for her to stand to be around. It wasn't that she was bad-looking, far from it. She was cute, with a pleasant smile and luscious shoulder-length dark hair that was naturally curly. But she believed her body was the stuff of nightmares for any prospective boyfriends. She was taller than average, around 5-10 and thin, just this side of skinny, and she was all but flat-chested. For that reason, and plenty more, Jane was painfully shy, and she preferred blending in the crowd. Heck, even her name was nondescript. Jane Smith. See Jane run. Run, Jane, run. As she waited for 5 o'clock to roll around that cold Friday afternoon, she stared out the office window contemplating her nothing social life. After her last dating disaster six months earlier, Jane had finally just said to hell with it, had crawled in her shell and contented herself with keeping her house and tending to her two cats. Suddenly, her reverie was interrupted by a cheery voice from behind her. "So, are you coming or not?" Dana Kilpatrick said. Their company's annual Christmas party was the next night, and Dana had been after her friend to come with her and go to the party. What social life Jane did have was pretty much limited to Dana and her boyfriend of the moment. They worked for one of the large insurance companies that were headquartered in Hartford, and the company always rented a reception hall at one of the city's nicest hotels to treat its employees for a holiday bash. "I don't know, Danie," Jane said. "You know I don't have a date, or anything, I don't have anything to wear, and I'm not really in a festive mood these days." "All the more reason for you to go," Dana said brightly. "You need to get out of that shell and live it up a little." Dana then turned serious. She worried that her friend and long-time colleague was retreating more and more into herself, and she was convinced that if the rest of the world could see the Jane she knew, they'd be beating a path to her door -- if only she'd let them. Jane wasn't sure she could take a repeat of the previous year's party, when she accidentally overheard a conversation about her, and the remarks of some of her colleagues were not flattering. "Janie," Dana said, taking her friend's chin in hand and lifting her face up so they could look eye-to-eye. "Just because some people are rude assholes doesn't mean you should believe what they say. You're better than that. If you let them dictate what kind of person you are, then they win. God, girl, you have so much to offer. You're smart, you're pretty and you've got plenty of wit. Please, say you'll come. You need it. Who knows, maybe you'll meet someone special." "I highly doubt that," Jane said with a derisive snort. "Look at me. I'm not very pretty, I'm built like a board and I stumble over small talk I appreciate what you're trying to do, but..." "Bullshit," Dana said forcefully. "I don't want to hear that. I know the real you, and I'm not going to let you keep putting yourself down. I care about you, and I want you to be happy. Come on, Jane, come to the party with us. You deserve to have a good time." Jane thought about what Dana said, and she realized her friend was right. Besides, it wasn't like it was a date. She'd be with her friend, and she liked the guy Dana had been dating for a couple of months. She sighed and made her decision. "OK, I guess I'll go," Jane said. "On one condition." "What's that?" Dana asked. "You go shopping with me in the morning to buy a dress," Jane said. "I was serious about not having anything to wear. I haven't bought a new dress in ages, and I'm tired of the ones I've got." "Deal," Dana said. "Tell you what. Why don't you go ahead and pack a little overnight bag, then you can just change over at my place." "I guess that'll be all right," Jane said, still sounding a little reluctant about the idea. "Janie, you won't regret it," Dana said. "I promise, you'll have a great time. I'll pick you up around -- what? -- 11-ish?" "Sounds good," Jane said, and so the die was cast. Having decided to attend the party, she made up her mind that she was going to try to have as good a time as she possibly could. Maybe she'd have a couple of glasses of wine, or maybe a beer or two. Jane hardly ever drank, so the idea of having a few drinks was a daring one for her. Jane was feeling restless as she tried to fall asleep that night. Dana's suggestion that she might, "meet someone special," had stirred her imagination. She was a "nice" girl, and shy to a fault, but she was a normal woman with the normal needs and desires of any other normal woman. For years, she had pictured her dream lover, and had long nurtured her fantasies about that person. She was seeing him that night as she struggled with sleep. He was darkly handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes that hinted at mysteries abounding. It was the eyes that held her in her dreams. They were kind, but with an undercurrent of passion lurking just below the surface. They seemed to bore into her soul, to see the romantic heart that beat beneath her plain-jane personality. Without consciously thinking about it, her right hand slid under the waistband of her sweatpants, into her cotton panties. She ran a finger through her labia and groaned softly at the liquid fire she encountered. Jane did not often masturbate, an attitude that went back to her mother's starchy religious beliefs. She had drummed into Jane's head that such a practice was sinful, but Jane had learned how to do it anyway, and when she was feeling down about herself, she would do it to gain some measure of self-sufficiency. This was one of those occasions. She squirmed in her bed as she alternated stroking her swollen clit and sliding two fingers into her hot little pussy. She imagined her dream lover taking her, fantasized about him making love to her. While working her right hand between her legs, she slid her left hand under her t-shirt and clutched at her chest, squeezing one of her sensitive nipples with her fingers. Rhythmically, she stroked herself as the sensual feelings mounted. God, she wished she could find a man who could do this for her, instead of having to do it herself. As quickly as the thought crossed her mind, it was drowned out by the lustful feelings swelling through her body as she worked her hands faster and harder on her writhing body. Hard, insistent, the imaginary thrusts of her dream lover climbed to a crescendo as Jane's climax came to a head. As she fantasized about his swollen manhood filling her with his hot cream, she arched her back and shivered as the orgasm rippled through her slender body. As she did, she remembered what had happened to her so many years ago, and how it had affected her life. Jane rolled onto her side, sobbing softly as a tidal wave of shame washed through her soul. Why was she always the wallflower? Why did she always have to be the one that people looked through? Why was she the one who always went to bed alone? It was with those questions rattling around in her mind that she drifted off to sleep. ^ ^ ^ ^ Ryan Hebert wasn't having a particularly good time as he wandered through the crowd of party-goers, beer in hand. He'd been with the insurance company about six months, and he really didn't know anyone very well. Yet, because of his background as a professional baseball player, he often found himself put on the spot by the guys in the office who were jock wannabees looking for some reflected glory, and women who acted like the Baseball Annies he often encountered during his career. He just wasn't that comfortable talking about himself like that. It sounded so much like bragging when he talked about his pro career. It wasn't like he'd been famous or anything. He'd only gotten as far as Double-A, finishing his career just down the road at Norwich, in the Giants' farm system. He'd stayed in Connecticut because he'd had a girlfriend at the time that he was planning to marry, but that relationship had been blown up a couple of months earlier when he caught her in bed with an old boyfriend. By this time, he was stuck in New England, with a good job at a good company, and, honestly, he'd grown to like it there. In a lot of ways it reminded him of his native Louisiana. The people were kind of quirky, a little clannish, just like the folks back home, and there was a definite pride of place that was strongly reminiscent of his home in the bayou country. Of course, there wasn't the biting, mind-numbing cold in the South that he'd had to come to grips with in Connecticut. But this was his second winter up north and he was a little more acclimated to it than he'd been the year before. He didn't look like an athlete, being fairly short of stature and slender. But he'd been a left-handed pitcher with good velocity, a wicked curveball and a studied knowledge of how to pitch. He'd been the star for his small-town high school team, but didn't get any Division I offers, so he ended up playing two years at LSU-Eunice, a junior college not far from his hometown with a very good program. He'd helped them make it to the JuCo World Series and that paid off in an offer to pitch for Louisiana-Lafayette, another solid program. His senior season, he'd gone 8-3 with a 3.16 ERA and helped the Ragin' Cajuns get an NCAA regional berth. That caught the Giants' attention and they'd picked him in the 13th round of that year's draft At Lafayette, he took his schoolwork seriously, graduating with a degree in business, and that had helped him land the job with the insurance company when arm trouble ended his playing career. Truthfully, he wasn't all that broken up about having his playing career cut short. Sure, he was disappointed that he didn't make it to The Show, but the life of a minor-league player meant a life of wandering from one end of the country to the other, of endless bus rides from one town to the next, of cutthroat competition to get ahead. He sighed as he surveyed the crowd and listened to the music at the party. A live band had been hired and they were well into their first set. The dance floor was packed, but Ryan wasn't terribly interested in getting out among the masses. Actually, that wasn't quite true. He was interested, but he just hadn't seen anybody yet that he was all that fired up about asking to dance. Then he happened to see her, and something tugged at his heart. She had a wine glass in her hand and she was swaying slightly to the music, but she had an almost sad look on her face like she was lonely. Here she was in this crowd of holiday revelers and she just looked utterly out of place. Ryan studied her intently for several long seconds. She was a little taller than average and quite slender, almost thin. She wasn't classically pretty, but she was cute, with dark curly hair that fell just to her shoulders. She was dressed quite stylishly in a fairly snug dress that stopped an inch or two above her knees. It was a burgundy color in a kind of shimmery material and she had a large scarf draped about her shoulders that added a splash of color to her ensemble. Jane and Dana had had a good time shopping, then having lunch at a nice chain restaurant. Eric, Dana's boyfriend, had arrived around 6 o'clock and they had driven to the hotel. On the ride over, Jane started feeling the blues coming on. Dana and Eric were trying their best to make her a part of their night, but they were still a couple sitting together in the front seat of his car and she was single sitting alone in the back seat. As long as they were grazing at the buffet table, and could mingle and chat with her co-workers, she didn't feel quite so out of place. But when the band started up and the couples started filling the dance floor, she felt like the fifth wheel. She would never know what caused her to look up, perhaps a feeling that she was being stared at. Whatever it was, she turned her head and nearly dropped her glass. Her stomach did sudden somersaults as she locked eyes with a man standing maybe 30 feet away. She just gaped in astonishment as she looked at the face from her dreams, the man in her fantasies. He wasn't real tall, but he had the same dusky complexion, the same dark hair, the same dark eyes that smoldered with a barely-restrained fire, the same mysterious smile. Almost in a daze, she realized that he was walking up to her -- to her! She felt herself flushing and there was a roaring in her ears as she tried to process everything that was assaulting her senses in that moment. "Hi," Ryan said with a smile. "You look like you could use some holiday spirit. Would you like to dance?" Jane was stunned. This good-looking guy was asking her to dance? Then she shook herself and set her jaw. She made up her mind in that moment that she wasn't going to blow this. The man of her dreams had just walked out of her fantasies and asked her to dance, and she'd be damned if she let the moment slip away because she was too tongue-tied to respond. "I'd love to," she said and smiled broadly. She swallowed down the last of her wine, set the glass on the table nearby and walked out onto the dance floor. Dana happened to look over in Jane's direction a few minutes later and grinned at her friend, giving her a little thumb's up to indicate her approval. In fact, she was a little shocked that the darkly handsome Ryan had singled out Jane for a dance. She said a little silent prayer that the guy wasn't going to toy with her friend's emotions. She'd seen the surprised look of excitement on Jane's face, and she so hoped it wasn't going to dissolve into cruel disappointment. If she'd known the thoughts that were going through Ryan's mind at that moment, Dana would have known she had little to fear. Ryan was captivated by the way Jane moved on the dance floor. It wasn't overtly sexy at all, but it stirred something in his soul. As a pro ballplayer, he'd had plenty of casual sexual relationships, plenty of women who'd flaunted their sexuality in his face. This woman -- whose name he still didn't know -- wasn't like that at all. She moved easily to the beat of the music with a certain sensuality, but she seemed to be extremely modest, and he sensed that she was quite shy. They danced several fast numbers, and the look of joy that was splashed across Jane's face excited Ryan to no end. He'd seen how lonely she'd looked before, and to see her now gave him an immense sense of satisfaction. Finally, there was a slow number, and Jane seemed to tense up at the prospect. She knew once this hunk got close to her shapeless body that it would be all over. Ryan did indeed take note that the woman's body wasn't real curvy, but he liked the way she felt in his arms, and he could feel himself getting hard at her nearness. Jane was shocked then to feel the hard ridge of flesh boring into her abdomen. This was so unexpected that she could feel herself flush and a hot flash of arousal surged through her loins. After the song ended, they both decided they needed a break and something to drink, so they walked off the dance floor, and as they walked, Jane was stunned when their hands fell into an easy clasp like they'd known each other forever. As they strolled casually to the bar, they finally introduced themselves. Jane was captivated by Ryan's exotic Louisiana accent, the soft way he rolled his R's, the way it seemed like English wasn't his first language. "So, Ryan A-bare, that's a pretty interesting accent," Jane said playfully. "It doesn't sound like you're from around here." Ryan told her a little of his background, but deliberately didn't tell her about his baseball career. He wanted Jane to accept him for who he was, not because he'd been a ball player at one point in his life. Jane told Ryan a little about herself, fearful that he'd find her mundane, but not caring. For some reason, she felt relaxed around this man, like she'd known him all her life, which, in a sense, she had. She didn't tell him that she'd had fantasies about a man that looked just like him. She didn't want to spook him. It wasn't until he asked how she came to be at this function without a date that the old Jane resurfaced. "Oh, I'm not very attractive," she said, dropping her head to stare at her lap. "I'm not very pretty and I'm not very sexy and I never know what to say." Ryan had been around enough to pick up on the undercurrents of loneliness that ruled Jane's life, and he knew that he faced a tough job if he was to pick her up from the depths. And it was a job that he was looking forward to, because he was definitely feeling something for this slender wallflower, something besides pity. He wasn't sure what it was about her, but something about Jane Smith excited him in any number of ways. "Jane, listen to me," he said softly. "Don't ever sell yourself short. I happen to think you're very pretty, and sexy is such a relative term. Never forget that the most important sex organ a person has is the one right between their ears." Just then, the band started back up and Ryan more or less insisted that they get out on the dance floor. Jane and Ryan danced through the entirety of the band's second set, and more than a few shocked eyebrows were raised when those who knew her saw Jane so thoroughly enjoying herself, and with such a great-looking guy. By the time the band took its next break, Jane was in a state of euphoria, and Ryan was definitely showing genuine interest. "Would you like to step outside for a breath of fresh air?" Ryan said. "I'd love to," Jane said, her stomach in knots. I was a little chilly out on the terrace where the smokers had congregated. Ryan pulled his jacket off and offered it to Jane, and she took it gratefully. They stood looking out at the city, with their arms around each other. "So how does a guy from Louisiana end up in Connecticut?" Jane asked. Ryan thought, "Here it is, the baseball question." But he wasn't going to lie, and he wasn't going to hide his background. So he told her in as straightforward a fashion as he could about playing ball and ending his career in Norwich. "Really," Jane said, matter-of-factly. "I guess we have something in common, then. I'm a big baseball fan. Go Sox!" They laughed at that, and Ryan felt another connection with this woman, who seemed to be blossoming before his eyes. They talked baseball for a bit, and Ryan found that she was indeed very knowledgeable about the game. Wallflower They are pretty, they are not, they are plain, mysterious, tall, short, slender and not so slender, but without exception, they know they are a Wallflower. There is no sex in this story. It is a little longer than my usual stories, but you will enjoy it. Every community has one, larger communities may have several, but if you look closely, you will find the Wallflower. They are friendly yet quiet, seemingly self-contained, seldom sitting in a group although not always alone, and never the center of attention. They are pretty, they are not, they are plain, mysterious, tall, short, slender and not so slender, but without exception, they know they are a Wallflower. As young children, the Wallflowers were often alone on the playground, or they desultorily joined the games played by other children when a teacher brought them into the group. Yet, if left unattended they would return to their wall. As teens they sat alone in a classroom, in the back corner, or frequently had a vacant desk beside them. Some were quite studious, while others struggled to understand the world around them. They did nothing to call attention to themselves, but on occasion they garnered the looks, comments, or dismissal, of others who were curious, who wished to tease or simply did not understand. Such was the case with Mary Margaret. Alternately called Mary or Margie by family, friends, or acquaintances. Nonetheless, she was Mary Margaret. Rarely she gave someone special permission to call her Mare. Benny Malone, although he was not a Wallflower, was often treated similarly to Wallflowers because he was a special child. He was the only person who bothered to call the Wallflower, Mary Margaret. As a young child, allowed to hold the five-day-old baby, the mother carefully told him the baby girl's name. Although he did not say her name any better at the age of thirty-two than he could the day he held her so carefully, he persisted in calling her Mare-Mar-Get, as if it were three separate words. The gentle soul, inside the body of a grown man, blushed when she would shake his hand on Sunday mornings and say, "Good morning, Mister Bennett Malone." His pride at having two names was as special as Mary Margaret's pride with her own two names. Usually somewhere near Benny was his older brother Gerald. Gerald, or Jerry as he was known by a select few, may have thought of Mary Margaret by both of her names and may have spoken to his brother using both names, yet if he spoke to the young woman, he addressed her as Miss McNabb. The two men resembled each other, yet they were not at all alike. Benny had soft features that easily turned into a smile of pleasure at a kind word or a simple thought and he had an infectious laugh. The harder features of Benny's older brother seldom expressed a smile. Both Gerald and Benny were stout and strong men, accustomed to the hard labor of a full day caring for the large farm where they lived alone without parents, siblings, or wives. Benny was capable of doing a full day's work, similar to other men, with adequate instruction and careful supervision. His body may have matured beyond the age of the raging hormones of a much younger man, yet his mind had not advanced with his physical age. The joy he found in life was that of a young child not yet a teenager. He was tempered with gentleness, and the occasional awkward movements of someone many years younger than he was. Few people knew anything about Gerald's preferences in women. He was a gentleman, somewhat courtly and occasionally chivalrous. Around town, at church or in a community gathering -- beyond the dutiful greetings and dances with the grandmothers, mothers, and unattached women -- he was usually in the company of other men. Gerald, like the other men with whom he conversed, spoke about crops, about animals and the weather. However, the few women who knew him beyond a polite nod thought of him as well-educated, sensitive, and quiet. He was a handsome man who puzzled some because he did not pursue women who smiled at him or watched with a flirtatious glance. Young women viewed Gerald as an older man because he seemed to be a peer of their fathers, with similar responsibilities, possessions, and interests. Older women thought of him as less eligible because of the impediment of his younger brother. Perhaps the women between those two age groups, who had children of their own, either did not know Benny or else felt having him in the same home with their own children was not to their preference. Therefore, they too did not show interest in the older, good looking man. Gerald may have had similar thoughts. At any rate, he had never found a woman who seriously interested him. Because Benny felt so comfortable with Mary Margaret, and because Gerald was indulgent of his younger brother, Gerald often found himself near the young woman, participating in conversations between her and Benny. The few occasions anyone could recall seeing Gerald smile or hearing him laugh were those limited times when he spoke to Miss McNabb. *** "Mother, are you sure you want to spend hours on end with four small children cooped up in a motor home for six whole weeks?" Mary Margaret looked at her mother as she asked the question and could not believe the excitement she saw on the older woman's face. "Well, your daddy's going to be there, too. He can help." "Oh, right." Mary Margaret did not bother to hide her sarcasm. "Then who is going to be the driver? The last time I remember being in a vehicle with him and four small children, I was one of those children and he was telling you to make us all sit still and be quiet." "Now, now," Hilda McNabb made a mild effort to counter her younger daughter's comment. "It won't be that difficult. Your sister is going to fly out for the last few days of the reunion. She'll be there part of the time. Besides, if I can corral a classroom full of eight year olds, I should be able to handle my own grandchildren." Hilda was not going to tell her younger daughter the other reason for taking all four children on the extended trip. It might break the young woman's heart. Although she was Aunt M's to the younger generation, Mary Margaret had been the only mother the youngest child had ever known. Less than six weeks after the baby was born, his mother abandoned him, his older sister, and their father. Two days after Bruce's wife left, at his parent's urging he moved himself and his two small children into the rambling two-story farmhouse. That was little more than a month after Mary Margaret graduated high school. It was more than two years before the telephone call came from a distant police department, informing Bruce McNabb that they had identified a Jane Doe, the victim of a drug overdose, whom they had buried in a pauper's grave almost a year earlier. Bruce did not even care enough to have a marker placed on his wife's grave. Years earlier, the older daughter, Charlene, was pregnant at sixteen. Now the mother of two, she worked as a bank teller, struggling to help her auto mechanic husband support their small family. Charlene had finally taken her family out of her parents' house into a home they could call their own only a few months before her brother Bruce and his children returned to the family home. The old farm house seemed to swell, shrink, and then swell again. The oldest son of the family, Thomas, had been engaged to marry his long-time sweetheart upon her graduation from college. The marriage never happened. The young woman decided to accept an out-of-state job rather than be the wife of a man whom she felt had no better aspirations than being the next generation to farm land which had been owned by a McNabb for over two hundred years. The revolving families and individuals moved in and out of the McNabb house during the summer Hilda had expected the house would finally begin to empty. After all the shuffling was finished, Hilda and Hiram still had three grown children and two grandchildren in their home. Jeremy, Mary Margaret's young nephew, the motherless child, was now four years old and his sister, Janet, was almost six. Their cousins, children of Hilda's older daughter, Charlene, were nine-year-old Theresa and seven-year-old Josh. When all four children were together, any room they chose to occupy become a racetrack, a jungle gym, or a scene that would rival any professional wrestling match. Toys became weapons or closely held possessions. Shoes and socks were lost, and parents and relatives raised their voices to be heard over the energetic screams of children hard at play in constantly changing contests of boys against girls, siblings against siblings, or one-on-one. Hilda had expected to see the rooms of the big farmhouse emptied of her children. With Thomas's pending marriage, Bruce's growing family, and Charlene establishing her own home, she'd had only her younger daughter's future to consider. Mary Margaret, if her mother could persuade her to do so, might actually go to college. None of Hilda's children had chosen that route, and Hilda thought Mary Margaret might want to be a teacher someday. Instead, Bruce returned with his two children, Thomas did not leave, and Mary Margaret decided that with a house full of people, she would fill the role of homemaker in her mother's stead. There were five adults, a tiny baby, and a young child to care for, meals to prepare, clothes to wash and mend, a large vegetable garden to tend, chickens to feed, eggs to gather, two cows to milk, butter to churn, and she didn't want to go to college anyway. She was a Wallflower, happy in her solitude with one of the best-used library cards in the county. Hilda sat grading spelling tests at the kitchen table, while Mary Margaret dished up the meal she had prepared to feed five healthy, hard-working adults and two growing children. Although it might appear to be a mountain of food, most of the dishes would return from the dining room empty. The stomping of boots, cleaning them of whatever had accumulated while doing various chores around the farm was heard along with a father calling his two small children to come to supper. Hiram drank half of his glass of iced tea and told his wife, "Hildy, I talked to Gerald Malone today." "Oh good, what did he say?" "Jerry said he and Benny can take care of the milking and help with the last of the garden. He has two farmhands at his place so coming over here won't leave him shorthanded. Gertrude Powell's brother said Trudy would like to help like last year. She would like an extra half-case of pickled beets this year." He looked at his youngest daughter, "Margie, what are you going to do all by yourself for a couple of weeks?" Mary Margaret looked up when she heard her name, but she did not understand the question. "I'm sorry. Why am I going to be by myself?" Hilda looked at her youngest child and leaned back in her chair, "Oh dear, here we've been making all these plans and didn't even tell you." So, began the litany. The oldest son, Thomas, who would never be anything but a farmer, was going to spend two weeks at an Agricultural Experimentation Station. And then Bruce would not be around to help with his two children because he had two weeks of National Guard service requirement to satisfy. It wouldn't matter anyway Hiram and Hilda were taking all four grandchildren on a month-long tour of several states, stopping to visit a few places where Hiram and Hilda might like to live as their retirement home. After the month of searching for the retirement home, they would spend the following two weeks at a long-planned family reunion, with many other McNabb families coming and going as their time allowed. It was an unusual coincidence that all of those events happened during almost the same time period. That would leave Mary Margaret virtually alone. Hiram had the good grace to sound slightly embarrassed, "I told Jerry you'd fix supper for him and Benny for those two weeks." Still slightly flustered at all the plans and details that had already been decided, which she had really heard nothing of, or given little attention to, Mary Margaret agreed, "Yes sir, I don't mind. I like Benny, he's sweet." "Good, Jerry said Benny's really good with the garden." Hiram finished his statement and looked down at his plate, industriously mashing butter into another helping of potatoes. "Ah-h-h, Jerry said he would spend the nights here, so he can do the night and morning milking before he goes home...if you...if you think...well, he would need to bring Benny, too. But you'll be here alone...and he wanted to know if it would...would you mind...you know...two men..." He finally stopped and looked at his wife for help. "Oh goodness," Hilda exclaimed. "That man is so old fashioned." "Well he's right to be cautious," added Mary Margaret's older brother, Thomas. "Remember that Thompson girl and the hired hand a few years ago." "Yeah, and he's gonna have Benny with him. He can't leave Benny at home, he doesn't have enough sense not to burn the house down," Bruce added dismissively. "Bruce..." cautioned his father. "Bruce!" echoed his mother. "Benny's sweet, I don't mind him," finished Mary Margaret. "Well, it isn't Benny that's the problem." Hiram took a deep breath and let it out. "Jerry's still single and considered quiet a catch, at least by some of the women in this county. He's got all that land and no children." Hiram looked at his grown children around the table and finally at his wife, none of whom were going to help him finish the subject he had introduced and he was bumbling around without saying what was really on his mind. "What I mean, is he's concerned about your reputation, Margie. He wanted me to say something to you, specifically about him and Benny staying at night so you wouldn't be out here by yourself. It's not like you can leave all the doors open and the keys in your cars anymore." "Good Lord," Bruce raised his voice, "The man's a dozen years older than me. He's practically old enough to be Mary's father." "What's age got to do with it?" Thomas was just as loud as his brother was. "You think a forty year old man doesn't want a woman as bad as a thirty year old does?" "Yeah," Bruce looked at his older brother. "I saw you sniffing after that little Griffin girl. Golly, Thomas, she's almost the same age as your baby sister." "Boys!" The father exclaimed, "There are ladies and children present. Watch your language." Mary Margaret watched the conversation and argument going on around her and looked at her mother, whose attention was fixed on her husband. Instead of saying anything, the young woman left her seat between the two children and went to the kitchen, missing the look that passed between husband and wife and the gentle pat the man gave his wife's hand. When Mary Margaret returned a moment later with a pitcher of tea to fill the nearly empty glasses of all three men, the discussion had changed to the upcoming trip. There was little time and energy, to spend on similar conversations in the next few weeks. Everyone concentrated on the most intense jobs of a farmer's year, putting something aside for another day. This meant gathering and preserving the fruits of an extensive vegetable garden. There were cases upon cases of empty pint and quart jars to scald, fill, and seal in a deep pot of boiling water. Other vegetables were gathered, blanched, and frozen, until two freezers had not an inch of spare room. Potatoes filled sacks. Cucumbers were sliced or left whole, soaked in brine, or added to sugar and spices and onions, to fill additional jars. Nearly one-quarter acre of tomato plants filled more jars. Box after box of jars were carried down to the cellar to fill every inch of narrow shelves on all four walls of two separate rooms. Some jars were stacked beneath the shelves as overflow. It took days to fill, mark, and date, the jars of jelly, jam, and preserves. Still growing in the garden were root vegetables to gather and preserve. Feeding a large family, sharing bounty with friends, and selling the best at two local produce markets were full time jobs. At harvest time, the whole family focused its attention on the important work at hand, yet the daily chores of tending to animals and managing a household did not cease. Additionally, while the on-going maintenance of farm machinery kept the men busy, to their list of chores Hilda added cleaning and servicing the motor home for the upcoming trip. In between the multiple trips up and down the stairs with baskets of laundry, the large vehicle was packed. Boxes of preserved vegetables and fruits to share with relatives filled one closet of the motor home. Six one-pint jars of Mary Margaret's peach preserves were marked for Hiram's aging mother. "Old Mom" said she could make the six jars last almost a whole year if no one found her stash. The day Hilda McNabb, a school teacher for more than twenty-five years and her husband Hiram, a farmer for all of his 58 years, left with their four grandchildren, the old farm house seemed to echo with the slightest sound. It was empty and quiet. Breakfast had always been a rushed meal People ate what they wanted in the time they had, then rushed off to begin their day. But now only Thomas would come in for lunch at mid-day and perhaps might take a short nap during the heat of the day. Bruce usually had his lunch in town along with other telephone company employees who lined their service trucks at the back of a restaurant parking lot. *** For almost a week Mary Margaret's world seemed to be on hold, waiting for something to happen. Even though the major garden work was finished, there was still enough to keep one or two people busy. Trudy Powell came out three days a week to help Mary Margaret can in exchange for her own supply of vegetables. Green beans and black eyes peas were her favorites. Some of the root vegetables had already been preserved, but beets and turnips were still growing. Two five-gallon crocks held shredded cabbage, slowly fermenting until they were ready to become jars of sauerkraut, an occasional family favorite. With the slower pace, Mary Margaret had the opportunity to catch up on a few chores she had allowed to build up. She had several loads of laundry to do every other day and a stack of men's shirts to mend and iron. She wondered how Thomas and Bruce managed to lose so many buttons, while her father seldom lost a one. Her brothers must not be very careful of the way they unbutton their shirts, or maybe they were in a big hurry. She dutifully washed, dried, and folded the tiny blue lace panties she found in the pocket of Thomas's good khaki slacks. There had been one instance of Mary Margaret washing an unknown woman's undergarment which she did comment on, but her older brother told her to mind her own business. Supper that night was quiet, unusually quiet, with little to look forward to except the nine o'clock telephone call from her parents. Thomas rushed through his meal and left the table, saying he was going to take a shower and go to town for a few hours. His bag was packed and he would leave near daylight the next morning to spend two weeks away from home. He was not in a particularly good mood. "Mary Margaret, I need to talk to you." Bruce pushed himself back from the small kitchen table. His voice was low and rumbling, as if he was embarrassed. "Okay." "You're probably not going to like it, but I made Mom and Dad promise not to say anything to you until I knew more about what I was going to do." Bruce looked at his younger sister. "But before I tell you about me, I wanted to tell you something else. Don't say anything to Thomas, but I think he's going to ask that little Griffin girl to marry him." "Oh, you mean Becky, Becky Griffin?" Wallflower "Yeah, I think he got her pregnant, or so she says." Bruce's upper lip curled as if the idea was distasteful to him. "Oh dear. Do you think he did it on purpose, or do you suppose she did it to trap him?" Bruce shook his head, "I honestly don't know. She's been chasing him pretty hot and heavy for a few months. But that's not what I wanted to tell you. "Day after tomorrow, I'm going to report for my two weeks of duty and I'm going to stay after that. I'm going to join the Army as active duty. I'm still young enough and with my specialty, they'll take me pretty quick. I might get a few more college credits out of it, too." "Is that good for you?" "Yes, it is. I'm going to give Jeremy and Janet to Charlene as foster children." The younger McNabb son heard the gasp from the younger McNabb daughter, but he did not stop speaking. "That's part of why all four kids went on this trip with Mom and Dad. It's to give them a chance to be together day and night, without parents to show favoritism." "Why, Bruce?" He heard the stress in her voice, but he did not slow down with his explanation. Almost as if he did not want to answer her question, Bruce looked away from his sister as he continued, "When school starts, Jeremy can go to a full day of pre-kindergarten and Janet will be in school all day, just like Theresa and Josh. Charlene and Preston can't afford full-time childcare, but the military allowance I'll get for a family will help their budget. You do great with them, but the kids need a mother and a father. I don't want to leave them here with Thomas and Becky." "But what about Mom and Dad? And I'm here, too." Although the family had spoken of it, Bruce repeated his mother's plans. "You know Mom's only going to teach one more year and Dad says this next crop is going to be his last one. He's going to let Thomas have the farm. "They've looked before, but they're determined to find a retirement community they like. It may take a year or two for them to actually make the move, but they're going to do it. I guess that will leave nothing for you and me on the farm, except as a place to live, and I am not going to live in the same house with that silly Becky Griffin. "I'm going to do something with my life before I get too old to do this." This last statement came out much stronger than Bruce's other explanations. It was firm and positive, as if he was finally awakening from a long, slow spell of disinterest and undetermined direction. The Wallflower sat in contemplation, barely able to control her tears, imagining what the house around her would look like in a year or two. It may take a little longer than that, but the plans had been made. They would happen this time because members of the McNabb family would take action. Without excusing herself or saying another word to her brother, she took her glass of tea and went to sit in the big swing on the back porch, watching the very last of the sunshine disappearing from the sky. *** "Hello Mare-Mar-Get." Benny held out his hand for the handshake he expected from his friend. "Hello Mister Bennett Malone. Oh my, why do you have a bandage on your hand?" Mary Margaret carefully shook hands with the younger Malone brother. "It's got a piece of stick in it. I caint get it out." Benny began his explanation, as he laboriously removed the gauze wrapped around the palm of his hand. He showed Mary Margaret the swollen pad at the base of his hand. "Goodness," Mary Margaret held the offered hand and looked at the injury. "We can soak that after supper and I'll see if I can get the splinter out." "Good deal," Benny agreed. "I ain't letting Gerald touch it. He'd hurt it." Looking around Mary Margaret asked, "Where is your brother?" "He's gonna milk both cows. He sent me for the milk cans. He says I cain't milk with my hand like this. 'Tain't clean, he says." Although Mary Margaret knew she would likely have to explain it to Benny a second and perhaps a third time, she spoke slowly showing him everything he needed to know. "Oh, alright. Come inside for a minute and I'll show you where things are. You see this table? I always put the cans here as soon as I clean them. When you finish milking, you bring them back to the house and put the cans on the floor so the bottom of the can doesn't get the table dirty." "Good deal," Benny offered his favorite expression of understanding and agreement, and took the cans to his brother. Mary Margaret returned to her kitchen to prepare the containers she would fill with fresh milk and began supper for the Malone brothers and herself. Bruce stayed in town to have a few beers with the coworkers he was leaving. He was not expected home until much later. During the next two hours, Mary Margaret had supper on the table while she strained the milk, poured it into containers, and placed the containers in one of the large refrigerators. During their meal, Gerald asked Mary Margaret if she would be comfortable calling him Gerald, and she agreed she would like that if he would call her Mary Margaret. Supper was over and the kitchen was clean with the dishwasher running. Mary Margaret went into the bathroom to take her shower. She opened the cabinet and saw a boxed roll of gauze, which reminded her of Benny's splinter. Long accustomed to wearing cotton pajamas in winter or for summer a mid-thigh length oversized t-shirt after her shower, Mary Margaret returned to the den to remind Benny that he needed to soak his hand. If Gerald wanted to keep him company at the kitchen table, she would fix both men a bowl of peach cobbler with some ice cream on top. "Mare-Mar-Get, your hair!" Benny's excited voice showed his surprise. "You gots lo-o-ong hair. I never seed it long before." Turning to his brother, Benny asked, "Ain't that pretty hair, Gerald?" "Yes Benny, very lovely hair," Gerald agreed when he looked up from the magazine he was reading. In preparation for following Mary Margaret and his younger brother to the kitchen, Gerald returned his magazine to the briefcase he'd placed beside the comfortable chair he occupied. He paused for a moment to look at the young woman, enjoying what he saw. Mary Margaret's hair, still wet from her shower, was hanging down her back and a few tendrils had fallen over her shoulder to dampen the front of her t-shit. In deference to company, she was wearing pajama bottoms, but had not put on a bra after her shower. One long, light brown, lazy curl had come to rest on her breast, curled enticingly around the tip and left the soft cotton damp, showing the darker skin of her nipple and areola. When she turned to go to the kitchen, both breasts swayed with a light bounce when she moved. Unconsciously Gerald licked his lips as he stood. He smoothed down the upper thighs of his comfortable jeans, hoping for a little relief from the tingle in his groin, and waited for Benny to stand, too. The two men followed Mary Margaret to the kitchen and as he had done when he returned from milking, Gerald asked what he could do to help. Mary Margaret turned from taking a tall plastic container from under the sink and told both men to be seated. She wanted to get the boric acid soak ready before she dished up the cobbler and ice cream. She helped Benny roll up the sleeve of his shirt and pushed his hand down in the hot water, telling him to keep taking it out then put it back into the water until he could tolerate the heat. When she placed the dessert bowl in front of Benny, he repeatedly tried to take his hand out of the water to eat, so Mary Margaret made a game of feeding Benny, as if he was a small child. She soon had both men laughing. "Gerald, we needs to take Mare-Mar-Get home with us," announced Benny. "I think she probably likes it here, Benny. She has a lot of work to do." Gerald looked at Mary Margaret and smiled. "Not for much longer, though," Mary Margaret added, her eyes filling with tears. Refusing to allow them to fall, she went to get a needle and her very sharp pointed tweezers, which she washed and cleaned with alcohol. Gerald watched her working, "You think when your folks finally retire you won't have as much to do?" "That's not all," she explained and mentioned that her older brother may marry and would eventually take over management of the farm. Bruce was leaving, and she also told Gerald that the two children would go to live with their other aunt and uncle. "That means..." Gerald stuttered, and then thought for a moment about all the people who lived in the house and finally looked up at Mary Margaret. Handing Benny a small towel, she told him, "Dry your hand, and turn around." She backed between his legs and took his arm, placing it between her body and her upper arm to hold it securely. She effectively blocked Benny from seeing what she was doing. She looked at Gerald a moment and said, "Distraction helps, here." Gerald began talking to Benny as Mary Margaret squeezed the fleshy pad of Benny hand to give it a little numbing effect while she probed for the splinter. She managed to get the point of the needle under the splinter while Benny was answering Gerald's distracting questions. As she applied pressure to pull the splinter out, Benny let out a yelp of pain. He jerked his hand back as Mary Margaret squeezed her arm to hold him still. All Benny managed to do was pull his hand back part way and in doing so, ended up with his hand around Mary Margaret's breast, squeezing it hard with his large hand. Mary Margaret let out a woof of pain, bent forward a little, but she did not let go of Benny's hand. She announced that she had the splinter partway out and finished removing it while Gerald kept Benny occupied. Benny soaked his hand a little longer and agreed that after his shower, he would accept a small bandage, rather than having his hand wrapped with gauze. Benny went upstairs for his shower and Mary Margaret rinsed the dessert bowls and cleaned the kitchen. As she was drying her hands, Gerald asked, "Did he hurt you?" "It's not bad." "Mary Margaret," Gerald's voice was so serious she turned to look at him. "Did he hurt you?" "I don't think so." Gerald's voice rumbled, "Are you bruised?" "I...I don't know." "Come here," Gerald commanded and looked at her, defying her to refuse. Looking him in the eyes, she walked toward Gerald and stopped in front of the kitchen chair where he sat. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her between his knees. "I'm going to look." Gerald looked up at her and slowly began to lift her t-shirt. Mary Margaret swallowed and tried to look away, but could not take her eyes from Gerald's face. He lifted her shirt above the breast and turned her so the overhead light would shine on her. He may have seen her dark pink areola pucker and the even darker pink nipple begin to harden, but what he was looking at were marks on her from Benny's fingers. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry." Gerald's rough voice sounded pained as he leaned forward without thought. As if she were a small child who had sustained an injury which needed parental sympathy, he kissed the inside of her breast where faint marks from Benny's fingers showed against her pale pink skin. Her swiftly indrawn breath startled Gerald. He dropped the front of her shirt and put his hands against her back, pulling her closer while he buried his face between her breasts. Yielding to the intimacy of the moment, she put her arms around his head and held him while his hot breath filtered through the fabric of her shirt. It may have been instinct or a natural reaction to the nearness of another human or the prospect of a soft woman ... when Gerald slowly stood, pushing his chair away with the backs of his legs, he put his arms around Mary Margaret and held her close to him. Almost as naturally, she had put her arms around him. When he looked down at her as she looked up at him, it was the next natural thing for him to lean a little lower to rest his lips against hers. It is seldom that a Wallflower is kissed. Just as seldom do men, who keep themselves apart from others, have the opportunity to kiss a woman. However, for the first time in her adult life, a man thoroughly kissed Mary Margaret. The kiss came with gentleness, slowly building in intensity and enjoyment. It was a kiss that grew in hunger and receded into pleasure for both of them. He held her face, tilted her head as she lifted her chin. His mouth moved to the softness of her cheek and she turned her head. He rested his lips against her neck and she did not pull away from him. Gerald dropped his hands to rest on her shoulders, cleared his throat, and asked, "Mary Margaret, will you please go to bed?" "I need to take care of Benny's..." "Please," Gerald interrupted. "I'll tend to Benny and lock up for the night. I need...just go to bed, please." His last word was in such a pleading tone, she listened and turned to do as he asked. ** ** ** While breakfast was not uncomfortable, it was rather quiet, with the exception of Benny who was his usually chatty self with Mare-Mar-Get. Bruce had gotten up early, carrying his bag downstairs, telling Gerald an extra thank you before leaving. He didn't know how long he'd be gone, but he promised to write letters to his children and Mary Margaret. Although she seemed distracted when she asked, Gerald, after considering for a moment, agreed to allow Benny to spend the day with Mary Margaret because she planned to pack jars with pickled beets and Benny could carry the cases of already filled jars to the cellar for her. Gerald left shortly after milking the cows and eating breakfast. He had his own animals to care for and farm work to do. "Good morning, Mary Margaret," Trudy said when she walked in the back door. "What are we working on today?". "Hi, Trudy. Sit down for a cup of coffee. Benny should be in shortly with the first batch of beets." The three worked steadily, stopping only for a few minutes to sit and relax, eat a simple lunch, and then finish the jobs they had begun earlier in the day. Benny displayed his bandaged hand and gave Trudy a very good description of how Mary Margaret removed the splinter. Benny ducked his head, and asked Trudy quietly, "Miz Powell, did you know Mare-Mar-Get has lo-o-ong hair?" Trudy smiled and glanced at Mary Margaret's neat hairdo, a smooth bun on top of her head, "She does? It doesn't look long to me." "'at's 'cause she gots it all on top," Benny acknowledged. "I 'member Pastor Widener preaching 'bout a woman's hair." "What did Pastor Widener say?" Benny thought for a moment then shook his head, "I don't 'member, but it was pretty, like Mare-Mar-Get's hair. This morning, I told Gerald we need to take her home with us." "Now, that is a good idea," agreed Trudy either because she wasn't listening to Benny, who talked all day long, or because she did not understand what he meant. "What did Gerald say?" Benny volunteered, "He said he'd ask her." Mary Margaret turned to look at Trudy and shook her head, not wanting the conversation to go any farther. Benny didn't always understand some of the things he heard or the answers to questions he asked. Instead, in an effort to change the subject, Mary Margaret asked, "Trudy, are you going to the county park on Saturday?" "Yes, Pete and I will be there. I'm taking fried chicken and a chocolate cake. What are you going to take?" "I probably won't go," Mary Margaret shook her head. "If I give you two jars of bread and butter pickles, will you take them for me?" "Why aren't you going, dear?" "Oh well, none of the family is here, so I'll just skip it this time." As Mary Margaret finished her statement, she looked up and greeted Gerald walking in the back door. "Good evening, Gerald. If Benny hasn't eaten all of them, I may have a cinnamon roll left. Would you like one with a cup of coffee?" "Sounds delicious, Mary Margaret," he agreed and walked across the room to shake hands and greet Trudy Powell, asking after the health of her brother, Pete. As soon as Gerald was seated with his cinnamon roll and coffee, ever the busybody, Trudy told Gerald, "With all of her family gone, you should take Mary Margaret to the county park on Saturday, Gerald." Mary Margaret looked at Gerald, a slight look of fear on her face, "Oh! No, no," she exclaimed. She turned to Trudy and explained, "He will want to stay for the dance, and I don't need to be out that late." "Well, that's good," Trudy countered. "You can just stay for the dance, too." "That won't do, Trudy," Mary Margaret shook her head as she filled another jar with slices of peeled red beets. "I don't dance." Gerald looked at Mary Margaret, "You don't enjoy dancing, or you don't know how?" Mary Margaret shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know. I've never really been to a dance." "Oh goodness, child," Trudy patted Gerald on the arm, "And we have the best dancer in the county right here. We can fix that, right now. You just turn around here and watch a minute." Trudy walked across the kitchen, turned on the radio, already tuned to the local station for the early morning weather report, but also known for playing five-in-a-row country and western songs. The older woman took Gerald's hand and pulled lightly until he was standing and stepped closer to the man. "Show her how it's done, Gerald," the older woman encouraged. A minute later, Trudy was stepping away from her dance with Gerald and pushing Mary Margaret across the room. After Trudy's tiny shove, Gerald caught the young woman in his arms. He laughed, "Easy, Trudy. Let me do this." Trudy turned and called on Benny to carry her box of jars to her car, waving at Gerald and Mary Margaret, "You two young folks have fun." Mary Margaret tried to step back, but Gerald kept his arm around her. "Stay here," he said quietly. "I'll make this as easy as I can." She nodded and he explained, "Put your arm along mine and rest your hand on my shoulder. I'm going to hold your other hand and I'll use it to steer you." She nodded, "You're sure about this?" "Yes," Gerald smiled, "You know how to count and you understand music. You sing in the choir. Now, don't think. Just look up here and move with me." After a few steps Gerald encouraged, "Come a little closer. It will be easier." He moved his hand farther down her back and pushed against her until she was just barely touching him. "That's better, huh?" "Yes." When the song stopped, and the next one started, Gerald spoke quietly in her ear. "Alright, this is a waltz, it's in the count of three and the steps are different, but you follow well. Don't watch our feet, just let me guide you." As Gerald steered her around the kitchen, Mary Margaret slowly began to relax. After the third song, Gerald stopped dancing and stepped back. "I'll go milk the cows and we can practice a little more after supper. You need to change your shoes if you have something with leather soles. It will be easier for you to move." * * * However, it was much later in the evening, after tending to the milk and supper, that Mary Margaret took her shower. She felt a little foolish walking into the kitchen in pajamas and her Sunday shoes but was soon busy with soaking Benny's hand while he and Gerald enjoyed the last of the peach cobbler. While Benny took his shower and Mary Margaret rinsed the dessert dishes, Gerald turned on the radio and turned off the overhead kitchen light. After drying her hands, Mary Margaret hung the dishtowel on the wooden rack where it would dry overnight. Gerald turned off the light above the kitchen sink. Before she could ask, Gerald said, "There isn't usually much light on a dance floor. I'm going to hold you close so you won't look at your feet." As the kitchen radio played through the late one-hour program of songs styled as "Music for Lovers," Gerald danced with Mary Margaret, holding her closer and closer, until they were easily moving around the room. A couple of times when she would have moved away from him, he tightened his arm around her -- and twice put his hand on the back of her head, encouraging her to rest her cheek against his shoulder. Wallflower If Gerald enjoyed the feel of the young woman in his arms, he did not tell her. He was trying to overcome the awkwardness of his impulsive kisses of the previous night. She had been rather stiff during the first dance, but was finally becoming comfortable in his arms. With her soft breasts pressed lightly against him, he could not resist the thoughts that she was a luscious woman, soft, shapely, and yielding. He heard the upstairs bedroom door close and knew that within a few minutes Benny would be asleep on his back, softly snoring. The man could go to sleep faster than anyone Gerald had ever seen. Sometime during their dance, Mary Margaret suggested Gerald might be more comfortable calling her Mare as Benny did. They talked a little, growing more comfortable with each other. Some of their conversation was about how long their families had known each other. For a short while, they stopped dancing and just stood in the middle of the kitchen talking about how different things might be for her in the next couple of years, and then resumed their dancing. That Mary Margaret did not really understand what was happening was probably an accurate description of the introverted nature of a Wallflower. Other than the occasional interaction at church, her contacts with men were those of her father and two brothers. Granted, four years ago, she had graduated after many years of school with boys and girls her own age, but the introspective nature of some people does not encourage them to join groups. They seem quite content within their own small world of self-imposed self-sufficiency. Her isolated existence on a farm left her without the everyday intrusion of neighbors or of the world outside her familiar home life. Such is the description of the Wallflower. "Mary Margaret?" Gerald spoke quietly as he led her across the room. He sat on one of the sturdy chairs in the large country kitchen and pulled the young woman down to sit on his lap. "Hum-m-m?" she responded, still wrapped in the euphoria of the softly playing music and the quiet room after a long day of activity. "Have you thought about what you're going to do when your parents leave and Thomas marries Becky Griffin?" Startled out of her tired and half-asleep state, Mary Margaret started to sit up, but Gerald held her, "Just stay there, I'm enjoying this." He paused for a moment, and then continued. "If Becky is anything like her mother, she's going to be the woman of the house." Mary Margaret chuckled, "Gerald you are being very diplomatic. Becky is a female dictator. I think William Shakespeare called a woman like her a shrew." Laughter rumbled up out of Gerald's chest, gently shaking Mary Margaret, whom he had pushed back to rest against him. "I think Thomas has enough Petruccio in him to tame her, but it won't be pretty for the first few years." Finally, answering Gerald's question, Mary Margaret said, "Mother thinks I should go to college and be a teacher." "Is that what you want to do?" "Heavens no, I love Jeremy and Janet, but I don't want to take on the failures of other parents. Sorry if that didn't come out as it should, but I helped Pastor Widener with the children's service a few times. I don't think I want to do it every day all day long." "Well, I was wondering," Gerald began to speak, his words hesitant and quiet. "I've thought about it...you know Benny and I...I mean it's just the two of us...there isn't anyone else...we do pretty well for ourselves...but it's not the same. Sorry if I'm not being very clear with what I'm trying to say. Would you consider coming to live with Benny and me?" "Live with you?" "Oh well, not right away...I mean if you don't want to right away, your mother might still need you here to help her. But when they get back from their trip, the children will be gone, at least that's what Bruce said. I mean, he did say he wanted you to pack all of their things so they could go live with Charlene and Preston instead of coming back to this house." Gerald paused for a moment, while Mary Margaret thought about how empty the house would be during the day. Gerald's voice was quiet and caring when he continued, "I thought maybe if you weren't here, it would make it easier for you." He took a deep breath and added, "And for the children, too." "Oh." Mary Margaret didn't have any other answer for Gerald. It did give her something to think about, even though a few tears escaped her eyes, ran down her cheeks, and soaked into the denim shirt Gerald wore. Instead of responding to her tears, Gerald tightened his arms. He may not have known how to comfort a woman who was crying, but he knew he wanted to hold Mary Margaret, so that's what he did. He ignored his growing discomfort with her sitting on his lap, or at least disregarded it. He sat quietly, feeling the occasional brush of her hair across the back of his hand and along his forearm as he moved his hand up and down her back, as his cheek came to rest against the top of her head. She cried for a short while, sniffed a few times, and then left Gerald sitting in the darkened kitchen, with his own thoughts, while she took her thoughts to bed with her. *** For the final few days of that week, Gerald did not mention his invitation or ask if Mary Margaret had given any thought to what he had asked. Each day he asked if she wanted Benny to stay with her so she wouldn't be alone. She appreciated his consideration, because Benny could carry the bags and boxes of children's toys and packed clothing downstairs where they were stacked by the front door. Charlene's husband would come by Sunday afternoon to get the children's things so Charlene could have everything unpacked when the children got home. As the pile by the front door grew and the two bedrooms were emptied of clothing and toys, Mary Margaret began to realize exactly what her future would look like. She would be alone, all day long, in a house where she had once been surrounded by two happy and active children... no men would be coming and going throughout the day who were dependent upon her for their clean clothing and hot meals, and there would be no mother's arrival at the end of a school day. Instead, there would be only her older brother Thomas, the most solemn man imaginable, and his new wife, a woman one year older than Mary Margaret was. Becky was a person the youngest McNabb daughter had never gotten along with, despite the one year difference in their ages. Even when she was much younger, Becky was bossy and demeaning to the younger students on the school bus they all rode twice a day. She seldom had a pleasant word to say to anyone, but her worst fault? She said Benny was stupid. Benny Malone might not be brilliant, but he was kind, helpful, polite, and funny. He joked with Gerald, teased Mary Margaret and made her laugh. That Mary Margaret had ever heard, Becky Griffin was the only person with an unkind word to say about Benny. He might need a little more supervision or instruction than most people would need, but he did a man's work every day, other men respected him, and spoke kindly of him, and best of all, he could poke a stick in dry dirt and make it grow. *** Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. While Gerald and Benny ate their breakfast, Mary Margaret tended to the fresh milk. When Mary Margaret refilled Benny and Gerald's coffee cups, Gerald pushed his empty plate away from the edge of the table. He leaned back in his seat, "Thank you for a delicious breakfast, Mary Margaret." She reached for his empty plate and Gerald caught her hand for a moment, "We need to go home to tend to a few things. I told one of my hands he could keep the milk if he would come do the milking this evening." "Oh, that's good. With the house empty, I have far too much milk. I'll have extra butter and a big batch of cottage cheese in a few days. I think I'll make some kolaches one day next week." Benny's attention was alerted at the mention of the fruit filled pastry. "Peach and cheese kolache?" Mary Margaret patted his shoulder and agreed, "Yes, peach and cheese and if you'll go down to the cellar and find me a jar of apricots, I'll use them too." She looked at Gerald, "It's a way to use the extra milk and they freeze well. I'll make a few small packages for you to take home." Gerald playfully clapped his hand on Benny's shoulder, "We could use some of that, couldn't we Benny?" After Benny's laughing agreement and his announcement that extra dessert around their home was a "good deal" Gerald turned to Mary Margaret, "Benny and I will be back about four to get you. What are you taking for the supper?" Pretending to think about it for a moment, she placed her hand on the younger man's shoulder and leaned toward him, "Mister Bennett Malone, would you like meatloaf for supper?" The man's enthusiasm was obvious from the smile he shared with his older brother. However, he stopped smiling and turned to ask, "Mare-Mar-Get can you have long hair for supper? I like long hair." "Oh," surprised by the request Mary Margaret placed her hand on top of her head spreading her fingers around the sides of the familiar, tightly secured bun she customarily wore. When she looked at Gerald he nodded, a soft look on his face, less than a smile, but more than his usual solemn look. "Yes, Benny," she agreed. "I will leave my hair down for supper." "Good deal," announced Benny as he turned back to eating his breakfast. "...and the dance," pronounced Gerald, softly. *** It took Mary Margaret much less time than she expected to shower and dress for the evening. She chose a cotton dress she occasionally wore on Sundays when the weather was hot. The top was form fitting which allowed her to go without her bra, but she included the short sleeve jacket because her shoulders were bare except for thin straps and left so much skin showing she feared she would sunburn with the late afternoon heat of the day. At the back of her closet she found a pair of sandals that she hadn't worn in several years. Rather than the high heel shoes she wore on Sundays, the sandals would be cool and present no difficulty walking through the grass of the park. She was ready before the meatloaf was. The large picnic hamper she had packed earlier and lined with newspaper to hold in the heat sat on the kitchen table. There were no children to wash and dress, nor were there men needing a shirt ironed at the last minute. The lack of other things to do reinforced the emptiness of the house. It was almost a relief when Benny and Gerald arrived to carry the basket out to Gerald's truck. As the pickup turned onto the main highway, headed toward the county park, Benny asked, "Mare-Mar-Get, if you come to live with Gerald and me, does that mean you will be the mother or the sister?" "Oh," she answered, not sure how to answer Benny's question and not even sure what Gerald had intended when he had asked. "Or perhaps a sister, Benny," Gerald answered quietly. Mary Margaret's head jerked to look at Gerald as Benny asked, "How does a law make Mare-Mar-Get a sister?" Mary Margaret began to shake, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. Gerald took his hand off the steering wheel and put his hand around hers, holding tightly as he answered his brother. "When a man marries a woman, she becomes a sister to the man's brother." "Good deal, Gerald," Benny nodded. "I want Mare-Mar-Get for the law sister." The cab of the truck was silent until Benny began to name the occupants of each of the cars or trucks they passed, frequently waving with excitement at anyone who would wave back to him. Gerald had timed their arrival at the county park perfectly. Cars were finding parking places, tables were beginning to groan with the efforts of the community's cooks. The occasional clang of a perfectly thrown horseshoe joined the laughter and screams of children of all ages. Men's voices exclaimed over a well-placed move on a checker board and women laughed as they watched children play and talked of recipes and the latest gossip. As Benny walked away from Mary Margaret and his brother, Gerald reminded the younger man, "Benny, remember, no running." "Good deal, Gerald, no running," Benny responded, tucking his chess board a little tighter under his arm. Mary Margaret jerked her attention to Gerald who placed his right hand on his chest and tapped his fingers lightly above his heart. The man did not bother to hide the pained expression on his face. Instead of an explanation, he lowered his arm, put it around Mary Margaret's waist, and announced, "He'll have a good time, let's go do the same." If eyebrows rose at the appearance of Mary Margaret without the other members of her family, those eyebrows lowered as she explained why the various family members were missing. If women noticed Mary Margaret helping Benny fill his plate or carry Gerald's glass for a refill of iced tea, a few may have nodded their heads. As the sun set and small lanterns appeared on a few picnic tables, the open-air dance floor was swept and dance wax was scattered. Two violins were tuned and an accordion played its first wheezing notes, while the drummer played a few fancy riffles to demonstrate his skill. As the sun dipped lower in the sky women removed their long sleeve shirts in an effort to cool off, no longer worried about sunburn. People removed their hats, leaving them on their tables in favor of a little breeze ruffling through sweat dampened hair. Parents, bringing lawn chairs, collected to watch a local children's square dance club. Additional spectators created a growing crowd for the adult square dancers, who demonstrated their fancy steps with the metal taps attached to their shoes. Immediately after that the dance floor filled for the first two-step. Trudy Powell stood on the bench seat beside the table where she and her brother were visiting with friends. Trudy quietly applauded, then stepped down and reported on the way Gerald Malone was holding Mary Margaret McNabb as he took her around the perimeter of the space cleared for dancing. Although there was no structure for the Wallflowers to collect against, a nearby tree served the same purpose. They collected under the spreading branches watched quietly, unobserved, disregarded, and passed over by anyone seeking a dance partner. Those who were selected had little need for a chair and a few women may have noticed that Gerald did not ask for a dance. If the farmers, with whom Gerald would usually spend his evening, noticed his absence, they did not comment. "My goodness Mare, have you been practicing?" Gerald teased as he turned her away from a quickly approaching couple, deftly avoiding a soft collision. Mary Margaret did not miss a step during his quick maneuver. Laughing lightly, the young woman nodded, "Yes, and I had a few lessons, too. Thank you Gerald, this is fun." Gerald nodded toward one corner of the area around the dance floor. "There are some single men over there who may want to dance with you. How do you feel about that?" Mary Margaret grasped his hand tighter and moved a little closer to Gerald, "If they ask, do I have to dance with them?" "We can probably stay out here until you get tired, then take a walk to cool off." "Yes, please," she responded, resting her cheek against him for a moment as she took a deep breath. "I'm not sure I can dance with anyone else." "You never know until you try." During the third dance, Mary Margaret complained, "This is a lot harder than dancing in the kitchen." "Yes, it's this concrete surface. Are you ready for a walk to cool off?" When she nodded, Gerald directed them toward the ring of lanterns around the band and walked off the edge of the concrete holding Mary Margaret's hand. A few steps away they found a narrow path and walked away from the noisy crowd up a rise into cooler air. Following the path, at Mary Margaret's urging Gerald talked about Benny's heart problem and shortened life expectancy. Looking behind her, Mary Margaret asked, "Where is Benny? I haven't seen him since supper." "Look for the brightest table. He's probably challenged someone to a chess game, or he's gone to the truck to take a nap. He knows to do that when he gets tired." Tugging Gerald's hand, Mary Margaret moved off the path to sit on a park bench. "Oh, that's much better." Gerald sat down beside her, put his arm around her, and pulled her close to his side. "Did I tell you how pretty you are tonight?" Mary Margaret did not know how to respond, other than a polite, "Thank you." "I'm afraid I didn't make myself very clear the other night. I asked a rather foolish question, when I should have been more direct." "A question?" "Yes, I asked if you would like to come live with Benny and me when I should have asked, Mary Margaret McNabb, will you marry me?" "Gerald?" Instead of responding to her, he explained, "I spoke to your father a few weeks ago. He asked me to wait until their trip, which would give you a little time to know me better." Perhaps not fully understanding what Gerald was saying, Mary Margaret repeated, "You spoke to my father." "Well, I wanted to say something to you for some time now, but you seemed a little afraid of me. I heard your mother mention that she wanted you to go to college. I guess that made me believe you might want to do that. Benny said something one day that caused me to think you weren't afraid of me, but that you were simply shy." Mary Margaret looked up at Gerald's face just as he put his hand under her chin to tilt her head for his gentle kiss. When she could do so, Mary Margaret smiled, "What did Mister Bennett Malone tell you?" Gerald chuckled, "I can already see I'm going to have a problem with my little brother. He said you smile at everyone, but you give me your pretty smiles." Mary Margaret McNabb put her arm around Gerald Malone's neck to pull him closer for a better kiss and spoke as his lips descended to capture hers, "I can see I'll have to convince your little brother not to give away any more of my secrets." After a very thorough kiss, Gerald Malone asked, "Does that mean you will agree to be Benny's law sister?" "Oh yes, that's much better than being a Wallflower." They sat on the bench, enjoying the coolness of the evening breeze, and sharing an occasional kiss until Gerald became a little dissatisfied with his inability to hold Mary Margaret as tightly as he could when they danced. She yelped in surprise when he slid his hands up under her arms, deftly turning her and seating her on his lap. "Much better," Gerald announced. "Now I can really kiss you." He put his hand under her chin to lift her face to him. While he kissed her, he lowered his hand to rest softly against her breast covered only by the thin material of her dress. "Have the bruises faded?" "Oh yes, they're almost gone." Unconcerned that they were out in the open, although it was fully dark there was a faint light from a half moon, Mary Margaret pulled the top of her dress away from her to show Gerald the soft skin between her breasts no longer showed the mark of Benny's fingers. As he had done once before, Gerald kissed the softness of her breast, yet this kiss bore no resemblance to that of a parent offering parental sympathy. His hand cupped beneath the breast to lift it as his tongue touched her skin to taste the saltiness left there from their afternoon in the sun and while they danced. Mesmerized with the freedom she offered him, Gerald pulled the top of her dress down a little further until her breast was free of its confinement. He moved him mouth to cover her nipple and the areola and heard her sharp intake of breath and a soft moan. Gerald lifted his head to look at the woman he held, "I need to stop this now, or in a moment I won't be able to stop." Wallflower "I don't want you to stop." At her whispered words, Gerald held her tighter than ever before. Gerald's voice was rough and deep, "Mare, you don't know what you're asking." "I'm a farm girl Gerald. I've lived around animals all my life. I'm not experienced, but I do know." Watching her face as he moved his hand from her back, down to her hip and along the outside of her leg, her expression never changed. When he reached her knee and slipped his hand under her skirt she blinked once when his hand slipped between her legs and moved farther toward her secret femininity. When his fingers brushed across the wetness between her legs, she closed her eyes, rested her cheek against his shoulder, and shuddered. "My God, Mare. Don't tempt me like this," Gerald pleaded. As if it was a move she had practiced before, Mary Margaret watched his face as she held his wrist when she slowly stood between his knees. Her feet parted and the hem of her skirt settled around his thighs. His fingers moved back and forth against the wetness at the crotch of her panties and then slipped inside the leg to separate her moist lips with his index finger pushing up into her. Her legs were shaking when she wrapped her arms around his head to hold his face against her. "I don't mean to tempt you Gerald. I just want you to know that I want you. I don't know yet exactly what that means, but maybe you can show me." Slowly, with great reluctance Gerald withdrew his hand. He could not resist the temptation to lift his finger to his mouth to taste her and he did so while she watched. He stood beside her, his hands resting for a moment around her waist. "I want you too." He moved his hands to her hips and pulled her against him, allowing her to feel his erection pressing against her. His voice growled with intensity, "But I'm not going to show you how much by taking you in the grass of a county park in the dark. I want some time and the privacy to make love to you." Mary Margaret turned her face up to his, rose to her toes, and kissed him. It was not a practiced kiss, she did not have the experience for that, but he understood. "Then we better find Benny and go home." The ease with which they returned to the tables surrounding the dimly lit dance belied the sexual tension between them. The time they took to pack the picnic basket, collect Mary Margaret's jacket and Gerald's hat, and offer a pleasant good night to friends seemed to take an eternity, but none of the friends commented on their early departure. When Gerald opened his pickup door to let Mary Margaret slide under the steering wheel to sit in the middle of the bench seat, Benny mumbled awake and blinked his eyes at the dome light. If the younger man noticed that Gerald occasionally looked intently at Mary Margaret or that she seemed nervous Benny did not comment. Instead of taking Mary Margaret back to her home, Gerald drove to his farm. She looked at him and smiled, understanding what it meant to him that their first night together would be where they would make their home. The haste with which Benny found his bedroom and the speed with which he undressed and began his soft snore was indicative of how tired he was from his evening. He probably didn't even hear the soft click and the firm twist of the lock when Gerald closed his bedroom door behind him. Nor did Benny hear Gerald calmly tell Mary Margaret to take her shower as he handed her the shirt to his pajamas. Benny certainly didn't hear Gerald take a shower. When Gerald walked out of the bathroom in his pajama bottoms, Mary Margaret was standing at the window looking outside. "Mare, I don't want you to be afraid of me." "I can't help it, Gerald," she answered as she turned around. "I'm not really afraid, I'm just nervous." He walked to the nightstand beside his bed and pushed down a button on his radio. Mary Margaret's smile indicated she recognized the music as a song they had danced to in her kitchen. "Does that help?" When she nodded, he held out his arms, "Then come dance with me, sweetheart." In their bare feet, each wearing one-half of his pajamas, he moved them around the room, slowly shortening his steps until they were barely moving. His last few steps were little more than a sway from side to side at the edge of his bed when he dropped her hand and put his arm around her to hold her still for his kiss. For the first time in her life, Mary Margaret was kissed with passion by a man who's lips said, "I love you," before they met hers. *** Thanks for reading this work. Please vote to indicate how much you enjoyed it. Leave your feedback, even if the comments are negative. I will respond if you will leave contact information. It is the only way I will know how much you enjoyed my effort, and furnish the best reason to improve my writing. Thanks again, 2Xwidderwoman Wallflower Blooming This story would fit under any number of categories... first time, romance, fetish and erotic couplings would all be accurate. I am submitting it under the first time label and wherever the good folks at literotica choose to place it is fine with me. However, the woman in question is what you would have to call a natural woman, one who chose to not remove her body hair. If stories written about such a woman offends you, you may not care for this too much. Since I consider this a touching story of innocence and sexual awakening involving very insecure people, I think that calling this an erotic coupling of a budding romance involving a virgin would be a far more accurate description that simply lumping it in as a 'fetish' story. .......... To almost everyone else, Sharon Richburg was an ugly duckling, but to Ray Mundy, she was anything but unattractive. In fact, to Ray she was a vision of beauty, and in the summer of 1969 he finally got up the nerve to let her know. ... Chapter One: I always watched her. I had moved to Colonie when my father's company got relocated four years ago, and I had to admit that it was the worst possible time for me to have to make such a drastic change. It wasn't like I was the most popular guy at my old school back in Columbus, Ohio, but at least I had some friends. Here in upstate New York, I was a fish out of water. Socially awkward at best anyway, I struggled mightily the first couple of years, and I always suspected that the stress had contributed to the horrible case of acne that I had developed just in time to impress my new classmates upon my arrival. Eventually, the acne went away and I was able to make a couple of friends, so my high school years ended up to be halfway decent in the end. I hadn't done very well in the romance department though, but maybe that was because I always had been infatuated by one particular girl. She was an "older woman" technically, because she was a sophomore when I arrived at the school as a geeky freshman, so I never really thought I had a chance at her. I did befriend her brother John, who was in my class, although to be honest I didn't really like him very much. My sole reason for hanging around him was to get the opportunity to see his sister from time to time, although it wasn't as if the guys were lining up to date her or anything. She was as unpopular as I was, I suppose, partly because of how smart she was and partly because of the way she looked. The very first moment that I laid eyes on her, I was in love. To me, she was so beautiful that on that day I followed her down the hall at school until she went into her class, and had to run at top speed to make it back to my own class in time. I spent the rest of the day trying to see her again, and when I did see her in the lunchroom I tried to be casual as I asked somebody if he knew her name. "Who? Froggy Bear?" the kid asked me. "What a freak she is!" "Froggy Bear?" "You ever hear her talk?" he said. "She sounds like that guy in Sha Na Na - you know? The guy that sings that low part in the song 'Blue Moon'? You gotta hear her to believe it. If she is a she, that is. Look how broad her shoulders are, and check out those arms of hers. She's as hairy as a bear." I hadn't heard her talk, but I certainly had seen her arms, and what he thought was ugly and disgusting was something I found incredibly attractive. Her arms were coated with the most erotic looking dark hair, from her wrists to her bicep where the sleeve of her blouse cut off the view. As I watched the girl sitting by herself eating her lunch, my heart was racing. Behind her large tortoise glasses she had the biggest brown eyes imaginable, and the sight of the down that circled the front of her ears gave me an instant erection. Her hair color was as dark as brown could get, and she wore it long with bangs that stopped just above the most luxuriously thick eyebrows that I had ever seen. The kid that I asked the question of was still babbling away, making fun of the girl, but I didn't care. I knew what I liked, and I liked this girl. Liked wasn't even the right word. I loved her. I went to the library and found a school yearbook, and although it took a while to look at all of the pictures of the previous freshman class, I finally found her. Her hair was a little shorter then, and she still had a very sad look about her, but it was her. S. Richburg. It being such a large school, they packed all the 150 pictures of the freshman in so tight a space that they only gave the initial of the first names of the kids. It was an indignity that I would feel myself later that year when that edition of the annual came out, but for now all I knew was that my goddess had a first name that started with an s. The next day, I found her in the same place as she was the day before, sitting alone as she ate, but she was almost done by the time I got there and sat myself down. The next day I tracked her down at lunch again, and when I tried to be my usual charming (or so I thought) self again I was greeted with a sullen silence at first. When I continued to try and impress her she got up from her seat and glared at me across the table. "You might think you're funny but you aren't," she snapped. "Just leave me alone." .. Chapter Two: Less than an auspicious start. Despite my being humiliated by her in the cafeteria, I didn't give up hope, eventually befriending her brother, and the more she saw me, the more she liked me. Well, liked might be a strong word. I don't think Sharon liked every many people, but let's just say that she tolerated me. I would hang around the Richburg household whenever I could, putting up with Sharon's brother for the opportunity to get glimpses of her and to try and get her to like me. The cards were stacked against me, and the major obstacle was the fact that Sharon was a year older than me. Since I was far from the most mature guy on the planet to begin with, this left me at a great disadvantage. Sharon also was a very defensive person, and when I started to pay attention to the things that people would say about her behind her back, or even loud enough for her to hear, the fact that she had put up a wall around herself was no surprise. How long did I try to get through to Sharon? A few weeks? A month or two? Hardly. Try over four years. There was a point that I knew that it wasn't normal for me to continue to pursue a girl that had no interest in me, but I felt powerless to stop. Did I date other girls? Of course I did. I would often double date with John, trying to make it clear to Sharon that I was a guy that other girls found interesting, but that approach failed miserably. If she knew anything about it, she didn't let on. It finally struck me that perhaps I could win her heart by trying to get involved in things that she was interested in. That was insanely easy, because there was only one thing that Sharon was interested in. Animals, and in particular, cats. The Richburg home was a refuge for any stray cat that Sharon ran into, and beyond that Sharon volunteered at a animal rescue center and a no-kill shelter. When I mentioned to her in passing one day how much I shared her concern over the overpopulation of animals that caused so many to be put to death, I finally struck a chord within her. Somewhat. Sharon got me to volunteer at the no-kill shelter. How much did I want to be around Sharon? Did you ever clean a litter box? How about a lot of litter boxes and whole lot of times? I got so used to the aroma of ammonia and cat pee that I hardly noticed it after a while. Three nights a week all during my senior year, while my classmates were out drinking, dating or working jobs that paid money, I was cleaning animal cages and feeding kitties. Lucky for me I liked cats. Not as much as I liked Sharon, but I still liked them quite a bit. Did I ever ask Sharon if she wanted to go out on a date? Sure I did. Countless times, but she never took me seriously. At least that was what I told myself when she would gently rebuff me. It wasn't like she had a bunch of suitors lined up, because according to her brother John, she had never gone on a date and only had a couple of friends, both of them being nerdy girls just like her. "Why are you interested in my sister?" John asked after fielding my not-so-subtle inquiry about Sharon during a guy to guy conversation in his bedroom one night. "Don't tell me you're hot for her? I'll barf!" "No, it's just that I feel bad for her. She's a nice girl," I said, lying more than a little. "I think she's a lezzie," John suggested. "The only people she hangs around with are those two homely broads in her debate class, and I wouldn't be surprised if they were all lez." "I think you're reaching now. Besides, maybe she would hang around guys more if they always weren't putting her down all the time. You know how they are and what they say about her." "Sharon's alright, I guess," John said with faint praise before feeling the need to dump on her like everyone else in a lame attempt at humor. "But she's such a dog. Must be from hanging around the kennels so much." "She's kind of cute in her own way," I said in defense, not willing to tell him how I really felt. "I guess Sharon was okay when she was younger," John admitted, before making a beer-fueled admission. "Promise not to tell anybody if I tell you something?" "Promise." "I drilled a hole in the wall over there, behind the bookcase," he said. "I would peek in on her when I get to feeling horny." "Oh, really?" I asked in as nonchalantly a manner as I could manage, resisting the urge to go over and push the bookcase aside and try to look in at her myself. "That's why you're lucky to have a sister. Why did you go through all that if you don't think she's cute?" "Oh man, I knew I shouldn't have started talking," John said, ruing having shared the six-pack of Rhinegold with me that loosened his tongue. "Why not? I tell you all sorts of embarrassing shit about myself," I reminded him. "Okay, but if you ever tell another soul about this, I'll kill you." "Deal." "I don't know of you ever noticed this, because she usually dresses so she's covered from neck to toe, but my sister is really hairy." "Gee, I mean I guess I might have noticed that she had a little hair on her arms once," I admitted. "A lot of hair, man," John said. "Not just there either. She has hair under her arms too." "Everybody does," I reminded him. "Not like Sharon," John assured me. "Most girls shave their pits too." "Lois Cannon doesn't anymore either," I told John, mentioning a girl at school that I had noticed had adopted a hippie look common to the era. "Neither does Joann Armao." "My sister has NEVER shaved," John informed me. "Not ever. I heard my mother riding her about it one time. That's why she never swims in the pool. Even her legs are hairy" "So? Yours are too." "Hilarious. It's not just her armpits," John said in a whisper, like Sharon could hear him through the wall. "You should see her pussy." I should, I wanted to say. "What about it?" "Well, I've never actually seen it, but I've looked in at her when she was walking around her room in her panties and it's unbelievable. She wears old lady style panties and still the hair sticks out everywhere. Out the sides and up over the top. She's even got a trail of hair going up from her bush right up to her belly button." "Sounds like this doesn't offend you very much," I opined. "Seeing as how you go to such lengths to check her out." "I know," John said, in one of the few honest moments I had ever gotten from him. "It kind of turns me on a little. The hair I mean. You know? Weird, huh?" "No, I admitted. "I think its sexy too. Wish I could see her myself." "You do? Really? I thought that there might be something wrong with me or something. You should have said something before. She put a picture up over the hole," John lamented. "Last month. I don't think she did it because she saw the hole, because I'm sure she would tell my folks or she would kick my ass if she found out. That's why you can't tell." "Don't worry," I assured John. "It's not like I think she's good looking or anything," John added in clarification. "She's as flat as a board. Nothing like Lois Cannon. Now here? She's got a rack on her." I agreed and dropped the subject, and while it was true that Lois Cannon had a pair to be proud of, outside of her armpit hair I didn't find her all that fascinating. Nothing like Sharon. That was what went through my mind as I excused myself and ran into the bathroom, where it took me about two pulls of my throbbing cock to get rid of a load so immense that my balls were aching. After I stood there over the toilet bowl and watched my semen spurt into the abyss for what seemed like an eternity, I cleaned up my mess and came to the following conclusions. One was that just because I found women with body hair attractive and erotic that didn't make me a pervert, and another was that I sensed that a lot of other guys shared my interest but much like myself and John, we didn't broadcast our feelings for fear of being ridiculed. The final conclusion was the most important. I told myself that I was going to find a way to go out with John's sister no matter what. ... Chapter Three: Disinfecting with Sharon. One Saturday afternoon in May of my senior year I found myself with a few hours to kill so I went over to the shelter to see if I could lend a hand. Actually, my intention was to see if Sharon was there, and to my delight I saw that her yellow VW bug was in the lot. Sharon was out in the back, scrubbing the litter pans out. It was messy work and one of my least favorite tasks, but since Sharon was back there I decided to join her. She had her back to me, and as I approached her I had to marvel at how good she looked in her jeans. The bell-bottoms were nice and snug around her butt and thighs, and revealed that she really had a nice body. Fuller on the bottom than on top, but she really filled out a pair of jeans nicely. I made a little noise as I got up closer, and Sharon seemed startled to see me, but managed to smile and say hello. One thing I noticed immediately was that she had her sweatshirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and while she was wearing gloves, her forearms were exposed, which was cause for an immediate erection on my part. "Can you use some help?" I offered. "Sure," Sharon said, and I settled in next to her and did my best to assist her in lifting the pans up to the sink and taking them over to the table to dry. The hair on her right forearm had gotten wet, pasting it to her skin, but her left forearm was still dry, which meant that the dark brown hair was still downy looking and moved with the breeze as she moved. The hair looked so soft and fluffy that I would have given anything to run my hands over her arms just once, and just the thought of doing that made me light-headed. "You know, my senior prom is coming up," I mentioned. "Would you like to go with me?" "Not much of a prom person," Sharon said calmly, glancing over at me with a placid expression. "I know, you said that last year, when I sort of asked you if you wanted me to take you to yours," I reminded her. "Did you?" Sharon asked. "I don't remember that. I probably thought you were kidding around." "I figured that you said no because you would be embarrassed going to your senior prom with a junior. This year would be different." "I thought you were going out with that Joann Armao," Sharon asked. I looked over at Sharon, who was intensely scrubbing a pan. That light down that went down the side of her cheek and swirled around in front of her ear - could it really be as soft as it looked? It wasn't thick like a side-burn, like some wise-asses used to say. It was delicate and downy. Sharon glanced over at me and saw me gawking at her, probably looking even more like a dork than ever, and I jerked my head away. "Oh. Uh - Joann? We went out a couple of times." "You should ask her," Sharon suggested. "You only get one senior prom." "I don't want to go to the prom with her," I said. "That was why I asked you." She wasn't wearing a bra. That revelation hit me like a tidal wave when I noticed the unmistakable nipple poking into her sweatshirt. Sharon always wore a bra. Playtex Cross My Heart 34A, as I had learned in investigating the clothes hamper at her house one day. It had been a padded bra as well, but there was the evidence right next to me that she certainly wasn't flat chested. She didn't have big breasts, but there was something there, and just seeing that little swell sent shivers down my spine. "So the answer is no?" I asked when Sharon didn't respond. "Sorry." "Is it because I'm younger than you?" I blurted out. "Is that why you always turn me down when I ask you to go out or do things?" "No. As a matter-of-fact, I doubt whether you are younger than me." "You have to be," I said. "You're a year ahead of me in school." "I skipped a grade," Sharon informed me. "Second grade, plus I got an early start in kindergarten." "Oh," I said, trying to do the math in my head. "I was 18 in January." "I turned 18 last month." "Oh. Happy birthday," I said. "I didn't know about it." "Just another day." "I always thought you were older. You've always acted so much more mature than the other kids. Even from the first day I spoke to you. You don't remember that, but..." "You came over to where I was eating in the cafeteria," Sharon said as she cut me off. "You had been staring at me the two days before. That didn't bother me, because I'm used to that, but when you came over to my table with those hyena friends of yours laughing and making faces, I got mad." "You remember that day?" I asked incredulously. "I remember every time I get hurt." "Well, you got that all wrong," I said. "First of all, I had just started at the school so I didn't have any friends. Those guys, if they were laughing at anybody they were probably laughing at me, either because I told one of them that you were cute or because I was such a dork." I felt the tears welling up in my eyes but I was unable to hold them or anything else back, the result of holding everything in for all this time. "Yes, I was staring at you," I admitted. "You were right about that. I stared at you then because I thought you were attractive and needed somebody as badly as I did. The same reasons that I stare at you now, and why I'm always hanging around your house." "Ray..." "You're so damn smart, but you can't figure out when somebody is crazy about you?" I almost shouted, before spinning away and blindly staggering in the general direction of the parking lot. I had blown it. That was obvious. If yelling at Sharon didn't do it, then bawling like a baby certainly had. Thinking that I had been making fun of her way back then? If she only knew how many times I had made a fool of myself in trying to protect her over the years. "Ray!" Sharon was behind me, having caught up to me and had her hand on my shoulder. I stopped, but I was too ashamed of myself to look up at her. "Ray, I'm sorry." "It's my fault," I managed to say. "Get in the car, Ray." .... Chapter Four: In the bug. I followed Sharon over to her car and climbed in, trying to wipe the tears from my face subtly, although a glance in the mirror at my reddened eyes left no doubt as to what a dork I was yet again. "I'm sorry," Sharon said. "I still don't understand but I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. I know what that's like." "I guess, since you seem to keep track of all the times it happens, or you THINK it happens," I said curtly. "Since you were way wrong about me, maybe it isn't as often as you think." Wallflower Blooming Crash and burn, Mundy, I said to myself after I spoke. "Maybe you're right," Sharon replied. "I'm not real good around people. That's probably why I spend so much time here. The cats - they don't judge me or make fun of me." "I didn't know how you felt about me," Sharon continued after an awkward moment of silence. "I don't know how you couldn't tell," I said. "I'm always trying to talk to you. How many times have I asked you out?" "I don't know. I figured that my parents probably put you up to it - or John. Like out of pity or something," Sharon said. "I think they're trying to convert me or something. Trying to keep me from being a lesbian." "Are you?" I asked. "Is that why..." "No, I don't think I am," Sharon said, her big brown eyes never bigger. "I'm... nothing." "Not to me you aren't. I've followed you around forever. I made a tape of your valedictorian speech at graduation last year that I play whenever I get depressed, and I used to go to all your debate team competitions. Didn't you notice me? It's not like there was a packed auditorium." "I guess I did see you there a couple of times," Sharon said. "I figured you must have missed the bus and had to stick around for the late ones. They're kind of boring, except for that one that there was a fight in the back." "That was me," I admitted. "Me and Marty Leach actually. He was being a wise-ass, so I pulled him outside." "Was he the one going 'rivet-rivet' when I talked?" Sharon asked, and I sheepishly nodded. "Rivet rivet!" Sharon repeated in her deep and husky voice, making me smile. "Kind of funny, and painfully accurate." "I love the sound of your voice," I confessed. "Honestly." "I believe you. That's kind of neat, knowing that. You were like my knight in shining armor, coming to my defense, and I never even knew about it until now." "A very ineffective knight," I said in correction. "I got a bloody nose and three days suspension out of it. Like everything else I try to do, it never comes out like it does in the movies." "Life is like that," Sharon added. We sat and looked at each other in the cramped car for a few minutes, and I decided that no matter what, I was glad that I had finally gotten everything out of my system. I felt better about it all, and it seemed like the weight of the world was off of my shoulders. "I don't make a very good first impression, or any other kind either," I finally said. "Nobody wants to go to a prom with a bawling fool." "You would have to cry non-stop for a year to match the tears I've shed over the years," Sharon admitted. "I don't think it makes a guy less manly if he cries. Shows he has a heart. But I'm really not a prom person, Ray. Can you imagine me in a prom dress?" "Yes. I not only could but I have, many times. I've fantasized about you in just about every way you can think about. In every manner of dress and undress." Sharon fidgeted a bit at that, and I noticed her nervously pull her sweatshirt sleeves back down to her wrists almost in a defensive movement. "You don't understand," Sharon said. "I'm not - I've got, you know, some body image issues. I'm not really..." "Look, I know you don't believe this, but I find you the most attractive woman in the world," I told her. "Everything that you hate about yourself? I'll bet anything that those are the things that I love." Sharon scrunched her nose up at that, forcing her to slide her glasses back up her nose as I continued. "Like just now, when you pulled your sleeves down? I remember the first day I saw you, and you were wearing a short-sleeved blouse. I saw your arms and I swear that I thought you had the most gorgeous arms. You never wear short sleeves anymore, and today when I saw you with your sleeves pulled up I got so excited and - well, I loved it." I think I must have stunned her, because Sharon seemed to be a bit taken aback by my confessions to her, but at least she didn't hit me or throw me out of the car. "Did what I said bother you?" I asked. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that, well - that's the way I feel." "Are you one of those guys?" Sharon said. "A friend at school told me about people that have these - fetishes." "I don't know," I said honestly. "Maybe. Maybe not. I love your eyes. You have the biggest and deepest brown eyes, and that was the first thing I noticed about you. Does that make me weird?" "Guess not." "I confess to loving the other stuff about you too. Your bangs, and your eyebrows, and this tiny little swirl here?" I couldn't believe that my hand was actually moving, reaching over across the stick shift and rising up to the side of Sharon's face. She didn't even recoil when my fingers lightly slid along the fur all the way down past her ear, and in fact Sharon even seemed to lean her face toward my hand as it moved. I started to say I was sorry, but stopped abruptly, instead saying, "No, I'm not sorry. I've wanted to do that for four years, and it was even better than my wildest dreams. Just hope you weren't offended." "Offended?" Sharon asked, her deep voice rising and quivering. "That was the sweetest thing anybody has..." Her voice broke as the tears started to trickle down her face, and I reached up and did the same thing to the other side of her face. "So beautiful," I managed to get out before Sharon leaned over and kissed me, taking my face in her hands and acting like she had waited a lifetime for the moment to kiss a guy that cared about her. That impression turned out to be a correct one, as she would later confess to me, but if she was inexperienced it didn't show. Her lips were lush and full and they meshed with mine in a way that made it seem like they were meant to be together. I had kissed girls before that - 11 to be precise - but after our kiss finally ended I had forgotten all of the rest. We grinned as we looked around the car, because even though there was nobody around it was still weird to be necking in the parking lot of the animal shelter that we were supposed to be volunteering at. "Guess we better get back to the cat poop," Sharon said, breaking us up, and I agreed, exiting the car and heading back to work. "That was a great kiss," I said. "Just wanted you to know that." "I know. I mean, it was really nice," Sharon said. "Uh... there's a Bergman film showing on campus tonight. Would you like to go? With me I mean?" "Yes!" I practically screamed. "Ingrid Bergman? I love Casablanca." "No. Ingmar Bergman," Sharon said. "Persona. Have you seen it?" "Oh, no I haven't," I admitted, wondering whether Ingrid had a brother or something, but not really caring because it was going to be a date. "I can pick you up around 7," Sharon added. "Easier that way. And, please don't tell John, okay? He would probably tease you - us forever. He makes fun of me enough as it is." I told Sharon that was fine, resisting the urge to tell her that her brother who always made fun of her looks had been peeking into her bedroom for a while, making his words meaningless. ..... Chapter Five: My date with Sharon. I was waiting outside when Sharon zoomed up to the front of my house in her bug, and we babbled all the way to her university campus theatre. It seemed like we had removed whatever barrier there was between us before. Sharon chatted non-stop about the director of the movie we were going to see, and I just tried to keep up and absorb what I could, since I had never heard of Ingmar, who was not related to Ingrid. The movie? Well, let's just say that I didn't have much of a clue as to what was going on, but forced myself to try and pick up at least a bit of what was going on so I didn't make a fool of myself. Saying that the thing I liked best about it that it was pretty short would NOT score points with Sharon. As it turned out Sharon held the conversation together by herself, and managed to not make a fool of myself when we went to a lounge nearby to continue our discussion. We had a coffee (Sharon) and an ice tea (me) and shared a big cookie while discussing the merits of the film, which Sharon thought was great. Me, I thought Sharon was great, but then again she already had won me over, even before she took off her sweater when we sat down. Sharon was wearing a pale pink short-sleeved blouse underneath that sweater, and when I glanced up and saw her taking off that sweater I just about fainted. There they were, in all of their glory, or at least up to her bicep where the sleeve came into play. "Thank you," I said. "If you wore that blouse for me, that is." "Yeah," Sharon admitted, running her hands up and down the opposite forearms, and the sight of those long, fine hairs fluttering as her fingers went through them sent a shiver right down the length of my spine. "I'm not as self-conscious around the students here. They're a little more accepting than back in high school." "Your arms. They're even more beautiful than I remember them," I said, smiling at the way she seemed to enjoy touching the hair herself. "Probably even hairier now," Sharon said with a shrug and a grimace. "I don't know about that. All I know is that you have gorgeous arms, and always covering them up under sleeves and sweaters is a crime. Besides, it looks as if you enjoy the way they feel to you." Sharon glanced down at her arms, probably not realizing what she had been doing, and stopped. "Didn't mean to ruin your fun," I said apologetically. "I was enjoying it as much as you were." "Habit, I guess," Sharon said. "May I?" I asked, moving my hand across the little round barrel of a table and putting my hand above her right wrist. When Sharon didn't object, I let my hand travel up her arm right up to her elbow, discovering that I was right. The hair wasn't course or rough like a man's, but instead was so fine and downy that it felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. After my hand went back down to Sharon's wrist, I saw that her skin was now covered in goose bumps and that the hairs on her arm were now standing straight up, almost like a porcupine. "Did I do that? I asked, and Sharon nodded while biting her lower lip. "That was the most erotic thing I've ever done." "I was so wrong about you," Sharon said. "You're so unlike any other guy I've ever met. You're so gentle and sweet in everything you do. Were you always like this, even back in ninth grade?" "Just more clumsy back then," I said as I moved my hands down to cover Sharon's which she had cupped in front of her coffee. "I feel like I wasted four years," Sharon said. "You make me feel so - I can't explain it. When we kissed in the car earlier today? That was the first time I kissed a guy. Outside of my family, I mean." "Really? I couldn't tell." "Even when I played spin-the-bottle once years ago, the boy said he didn't want to kiss the girl with the moustache." "You don't have a moustache," I told her, the very faint down not being any different that many other girls had. "Your eyes see things much differently then much of the world does." "Well, regardless. That kiss today? I liked it," Sharon said, looking around while turning her hands over to squeeze mine. "A lot." "Good. Me too," I said. "Maybe we could do it again sometime." "Check please," Sharon yelped, pulling me to my feet and grabbing my hand, making me run to keep up with her as she skipped out the door. ...... Chapter Six: Walking through the gardens. Sharon took me back to a garden area behind the rathskeller, and when I noticed that she hadn't let go of my hand I got a real grip on it. This seemed to delight Sharon, who began swinging our arms in rhythm with our walk. "It's nice back here," I said, stubbing my toe on a rock as we weaved through the statues and shrubbery. "If it wasn't so dark we could probably see better." "I don't want it brighter. Do you?" Sharon asked. "No," I told her, looking into those big brown eyes and feeling my heart flutter. Sharon was about three inches shorter than my nearly 6' height, making her the perfect height for me to wrap my arms around her, as well as for her to put her arms around my neck. We leaned back against a stone statue, kissing and hugging each other like there was no tomorrow. My hands slid down her back, feeling the straps of her bra, but I resisted the urge to work my way into it, content to just rub her back until we heard somebody coming down the same path as we had been on. "I've seen other couples go back here and I've wanted to sneak back here and do this all year myself," Sharon explained. "Never had anybody to come back here with though." Well, she did now, as far as I was concerned. For the next week or two, we kept meeting in our clandestine way, talking and necking in her car, and even going to another movie at the campus. This one, Easy Rider, I even understood. But no matter what we did, it was always about Sharon. We hadn't progressed beyond necking but not because I didn't want to. I was just afraid that I would scare her off, and really didn't want her to think that sex was all I cared about. That was funny, because I hadn't really felt like that with other girls. Sharon called me up Saturday morning, and after chatting for awhile she mentioned that my senior prom was that night. "I know," I said. "I'd rather be with you. "John's going," Sharon told me. "I know." "My parents are going to visit my grandmother down in Long Island. That means we have the house to ourselves, if you're interested that is." Was I interested? I was parked down the street around 7 that evening, waiting for John to hop in his car and head down the street. He didn't see me, but I saw him, and he looked really goofy in his light blue tuxedo. As soon as he went down the street, I barreled up the road and parked a few houses away before I ran up to the door. The door flew open and Sharon jumped into my arms, greeting me like I hadn't seen her in years instead of less than 24 hours ago. "What's in the bag?" Sharon asked, straightening out her glasses that we had gotten off kilter in our enthusiasm. "Champagne!" I said, proudly holding up the cheap bottle of Cold Duck that I had bought for the occasion. "Are we going to do something to celebrate?" Sharon asked, and I stammered and blushed in response. "What happened to my guy that has been so honest and up-front all this time?" Sharon asked, displaying a frisky side that I found adorable. "What's that for? To get me drunk so you can have your way with me?" "I would have bought two bottles for that, because I don't think there's enough to get us very tipsy." "Okay then, but maybe I need a drink before I show you something I bought," Sharon said, leading the way to the kitchen where I popped the cork, which bounced off a wall and the ceiling and had the cats going crazy chasing it when it landed. We both made faces after we tasted the bubbly, but the taste didn't stop us from finishing our glasses. Motioning to the bag on the table, I asked Sharon if that was what it was that she bought. "Yep!" Sharon said, grabbing the bag and reaching in before stopping. "it's clothes. Would you rather she it here or have me put it on?" "Put it on." "Not here," Sharon said. "Let's go upstairs." I went up the stairs behind Sharon, ogling her butt on the way, and when we got upstairs and she ducked into her room, I was on her heels. As soon as I got inside, Sharon closed the door behind us. "Just in case," she said, turning the bar on the knob to lock it. ....... Chapter Seven: Sharon's room. As I looked around the room, it seemed like it was just like a couple of the other teenage girls who had allowed me in their inner sanctums. Teddy bears and posters of flowers and cats all over the place, and I realized that no matter how adult and mature Sharon had always acted, she was still a young woman. I glanced behind me to a poster of a peace sign, and figured that was where her brother must have had that peep hole. Funny how something that had seemed like such an awesome thing to do a few eeks ago felt so cheap and sleazy and invasive to me now. "Where are you going?" I asked Sharon, who was in the process of going into what appeared to be a closet. "Putting on this thing," Sharon shouted from behind the door. "Sit down and wait and minute." I sat at a chair which was in front of a little dresser with a mirror on it, and I happened to glance up at the corner of the mirror. Written in lipstick, or magic marker or something else red, was my name. Ray. She also wrote it on a pad, several times, in both cursive and printed and even inside a heart she had written Ray & Sharon. If this had been any other girl, I might have - no, I would have kidded them about it. For an 18 year old girl - woman, to have written stuff this on her mirror, I would have considered it juvenile, but this was different. This was Sharon, and it struck me for the very first time that she had waited her entire life for this. For me. Teenage years spent visiting other girls her age who had their boyfriends names written on their mirrors and books, while she had nothing. Nothing but the memory of being called names and being ridiculed by her classmates. I turned away from the dresser and went back to looking at the closet door, just in time to see Sharon stick her arm out with the blouse she had been wearing in hand. "Hoo-hoo!" I shouted as she started humming that song they play when somebody does an exotic dance or something. "You can come out now." "No, I can't," Sharon said. "Not yet." Her hand went back behind the door only to emerge soon after with her bra in hand, and when she tossed that over where her blouse had landed I took a deep breath. "You can definitely come out now," I suggested, my voice warbling a little at the end. "In a minute," Sharon said, as I heard a rustling noise followed by a clattering sound. "Crap," Sharon muttered as her glasses skittered along the floor. "Okay. Are you ready?" Ready? I was more than ready and told Sharon just that. "Ray, I know you're too nice a guy to laugh or anything, but if you don't like this, or if I look as horrible as I think I do, please think of a nice way to tell me. Something like throwing it in the garbage after I take it off." "I'm waiting." "I got this for you," Sharon said, babbling away from behind the closet door. "I promise I'll never wear it in public." "I'm coming into that closet to get you in another ten seconds," I warned her. The closet door opened, and as slowly as was humanly possible, Sharon stepped out from behind the door. ... Chapter Eight: Sharon. I think that many of us go through a moment in their lives when they are so vulnerable and helpless, that a wrong word would absolutely devastate them. Not merely upset them or hurt their feelings, but totally destroy them. This was Sharon's moment. She stood there about five feet away from me, and it looked like her entire body was shimmering or shaking. Either that or my eyes were watering, but as she stood there, she must have felt like she was naked on Times Square at rush hour. Arms to the side and shifting her weight from foot to foot, Sharon stood with her teeth embedded in her lip as she waited for my reaction. What she had bought, for me and my enjoyment, was just a very simple tie-dyed tank top. Orange, yellow and green designs all over the blouse, which was just a standard tank top t-shirt with spaghetti straps that exposed very little but revealed everything that Sharon was ashamed of. "Say something," Sharon finally said, reaching down and picking up her glasses. "Please." "If I tell you what I really think, do you promise not to tell me I'm full of it?" I asked. Wallflower Blooming "Yes." "You look so sexy that I can't even come up with words to describe it." "I figured that if I wore this, maybe you wouldn't be so afraid to - you know - touch me," Sharon said. "You've seemed to be trying to avoid doing that." "It wasn't because I didn't want to," I said. "I swear. It's been almost torture for me. I was just convince you that I like you for you and not just for the other things. Like trying to be a, I don't know. A gentleman?" "Oh," Sharon said softly as I rose, and when her eyes went down and saw my boner trying to rip through my khakis, her eyes widened. Later I learned that she was staring at the big wet spot that covered the area, as result of my erection leaking for a couple of minutes. "The gentleman thing. That was nice, but how much longer will that go on?" Sharon asked. Sharon found out that it lasted less than a second, because that was how long it took for me to take a couple of quick step and pin her against the wall. My hands were clawing at her breasts through the thin cotton, and while they weren't any bigger than tennis balls, they felt so nice in my hands that I couldn't let go or be gentle with them. Instead I kneaded them like the animal I felt like, squeezing the little cones roughly as the fat nipples burned my palms. Now she could feel my erection against her crotch and she didn't try to avoid it but leaned into it while clawing her fingers through my scalp. We ended up on the bed, with me on my hip and Sharon on her back, with me looking down at a girl who was still so modest that she thought that wearing this top was daring, and compared to everything else she wore it was. "We can't go to the prom, but we can go to the prom breakfast," I told her. "You could wear this." Sharon shook her head and smiled at my suggestion, which I knew she would never do but was something I would have loved to take her to just to show her off, because she looked so sexy. "I know what I look like," Sharon said. "But thank you for making me try to feel good about myself. I never would have even put on this blouse in front of anyone else. Besides everything else it shows, it makes me look so broad shouldered." "Well, your shoulders are a little wide," I said as my hands slid over the blouse strap and down the pale skin of her shoulder, which could use a little sun. Her shoulders were broad but not muscular at all and her arms were nicely shaped as well. My hand slid down her round shoulder and glided slowly down her arm. The down on the limb didn't really start until around her bicep, which was just where her short sleeved blouses ended, so why she couldn't bring herself to wear sleeveless blouses was beyond me. The soft feel of her arm hair, that began as a faint growth at her bicep and then got thicker and denser on her forearms, was something that I had experienced many times since we had begun seeing each other, and I knew I would never tire of the sensation of running my fingers through through the downy fur. Sharon had become comfortable with my stroking as well, having done it to herself habitually over the years, and she seemed happy that I got so much pleasure from doing it. I leaned down and kissed Sharon again, telling her how proud I was of her, and then after running my hand over the swell of her breast I took her wrist in my hand. "Don't close your eyes," I said as Sharon screwed them shut in anticipation and held her arm down at her side. "You can't expect me not to be curious. Do you think I'm going to be anything less than absurdly excited?" There was not going to be any surprise after I did what I had longed to do, which was to take Sharon's wrist and bring it up over her head and hold it there against the bedding. I had taken numerous peeks up Sharon's sleeves, and my spying had not gone unnoticed. "No sense dusting under the furniture if you don't get any company," Sharon had replied to my question about whether she shaved her armpits. "It's not for any reason or cause, it's just that it grows back so fast and there's so much of it - if we ever get to a point where you'll end up seeing me like that, I'll take care of it." "For me?" I had asked then, clearly thinking that the poor girl was out of her mind. "I like you just the way you are." And now the time had come, and as I lifted her arm up and back to the headboard, there was no doubt that Sharon had not "taken care of it" because her natural beauty was there in all of its unshorn glory. The tuft of hair that filled the gentle hollow of Sharon's armpit was as dense as could be, and the dark brown hue was enhanced by the moistness that coated the soft fur. I knew it was soft because I touched it, letting my fingers first graze and then gently rake through the thicket, causing a faint fragrance scent that seemed to be a blend of powder and Sharon. "Not so bad, is it?" I asked after sensing Sharon relaxing under my tender exploration, letting my fingers follow the hairs right up to where they began to thin and then stop on the pale inside of her bicep. "Not tickling you, am I?" Sharon shook her head, letting out a little sigh as she looked up at the ceiling, and when her eyes left mine I felt brave enough to move my face down to her underarm. She let out a far more audible gasp when she felt me first kiss and then let my tongue burrow into the jungle of hair, getting a whole different perspective on just how soft, soft could be. I licked all the way up until the hair ended and the skin began before sliding down into the wild spray again. I had done this before to the unshaven armpits of another girl I had date, Joann, but she had giggled and pushed me away. Sharon was letting me have my way, either because she was so taken aback by my passion that she didn't know what else to do, or she was liking me lavishing attention on her formerly forbidden parts. "Can I take this off?" I asked, sliding my hand down Sharon's chest to the bottom of the blouse. "I love it but..." My hand was on Sharon's flat pale stomach, and it was then that I saw that my hand was touching a wisp of hair just under her belly button. Working my hand under the blouse, I managed to get it up and over Sharon's head without resistance, exposing her breasts to my eyes for the first time. On her back, the small globes had become even smaller, but her nipples were incredible, the dark crimson areolas covering most of the breasts. My hands caressed the bumpy areolas before taking on the fat pegs of her nipples. I rolled the thick stub between my thumb and index finger, watching Sharon's reaction as I did so. "I want to see all of you," I told Sharon, who winced a bit at that. "Okay, but it gets worse." "Better," I corrected her, moving my hand to the button at the top of her jeans. "Wait," Sharon said. "You. I want to see you first." "Sure," I said. "Why don't you help me?" My body was as ordinary as they come, and I had some confidence issues of my own, but compared to Sharon I was self-assured. Sharon was still a lot more nervous than I was as we rolled up to sitting positions on the edge of the bed. "I've got boobies again," Sharon said as she looked down at herself and her little round globes. "On my back I looked like a boy." "If I thought you looked like a boy we wouldn't be having this conversation," I assured her. "You're a woman in every sense of the word." Sharon nodded and took the bottom of my t-shirt in her heads and as I raised my arms she lifted it off of me. "Ta-da!" I said as she shirt came off, striking a muscle man pose that mocked my very unremarkable body. "I have more hair under my arms than you do," Sharon commented with a giggle, reaching over and letting her fingers play with the modest spray of hair I had. "Yeah, but your armpits are way sexier," I told her, shivering a little at her touch. "Not to me they aren't," Sharon explained and then, after a false start, shocked the hell out of me by leaning over and kissing my underarm, even giving it a little lick before retreating a blushing. "If somebody ever saw us they would think we were weird," Sharon told me. "Or they would think that we just liked each other a lot and were having fun," I replied, still feeling the tingle from Sharon's boldness, which I was surprised to find very erotic, and found myself imagining us in some senior citizen's home 50 years from now licking each other's armpits. I stood up and positioned myself in front of Sharon, and this time when I saw her staring at the bulge in my pants I looked down and saw what she was looking for. "That's not pee," I said as Sharon looked at me oddly. "If that's what you're worried about. You'll see." Sharon kept an eye on the stain as she undid my belt and let my khakis fall to the carpet. I was embarrassed to the way my dick had apparently been dripping like a faucet so badly, so it was no surprise when my crowded tighty whiteys were full of my pre-cum as well. I don't know what Sharon was more concerned about; the massive stain in my underwear or the bulge that made the cotton bow outward so wildly. "Here," I said. "Touch it." I brought Sharon's hand up to the bulge to let her feel the sticky substance, as well as the hardness beneath, both of which, I explained to her, were her fault. "It's semen," I explained. "A lot of guys, me worst of all, when we get excited for a long time, it kinda leaks out. It's not something I can control, and at a time like this, when I'm more excited than I've ever been before? Here." I brought Sharon's hand, which was trembling even more than mine was, and put it up to the elastic at the top of my briefs. Sharon was breathing so hard that she was on the verge of hyperventilating when she started to take them down, and when she managed to get them past my erection she ducked away as my trapped dick sprang out at her. "There," I said, stepping out of my underwear and rolling back onto the bed, pulling Sharon down with me. "What's the matter?" "You thing. Your penis," Sharon said, gazing at my swollen member like it was actually something monumental instead of the 6" inches that it was. "It's so big." "Hate to burst your bubble," I said, trying to imagine what she would have said if I had been built like Kevin Tracy from my gym class. "But it's not big." "Looks big to me. Can I touch it?" Sharon asked. "You can do anything you want to it." I went completely onto my back and watched as Sharon approached it like you would an anaconda. When her hand told hold of the shaft of my cock, which was curled back onto my stomach, and gave in a little squeeze, I had to fight the urge to cum. "Hot," Sharon said. "It's hot and so hard. I can feel it pulsating and throbbing." "It's trying to tell you how sexy you are." I explained. "Is this how you do it?" Sharon asked, moving her hand up and down the shaft. "OH!" I bellowed, doubling over as I grabbed her hand and stopped her before I erupted all over both of us. "Sorry! Did I hurt you?" Sharon said, her face a mask of horror. "NO no no!" I said, wrapping my arm around her and squeezing her tight. "It's just that, I was about to..." "Have an orgasm?" Sharon finished. "Oh yes," I laughed. "Didn't want that to happen yet. Not so soon." "Well, it isn't like I can't have more of them," I said, the thought of hanging on the brink of cumming much longer not that pleasant. "You want to keep going? Just very slowly." I put Sharon's hand back on my cock and had her grip me firmly just the way I liked it, and had her run her hand all the way down to the base and up to over the ridge of the crown. "That's nice," I said, putting my hand behind my head and relaxing while watching Sharon, her eyes still big and wide open. "Is this what guys call jerking off?" Sharon asked, still staring at her hand and my cock. "Yes." "Do you do that a lot?" Sharon asked. "Yes, I suppose." "Do you look at dirty magazines when you do it?" Sharon asked. "Sometimes," I said. "But most of the time I think about something way better than that." "What?" "You." Sharon stopped her hand and looked at me, as if the thought that I had spent half of my adolescence pleasuring myself to her image was absurd. Looking at your yearbook pictures, some photos I had taken over here at a picnic or just thinking about you," I confessed. "Sometimes dreaming about us doing exactly what we're doing now. Sharon had resumed jerking me off, but I noticed that there was a tear, and then two trickling down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to upset you," I said softly, but Sharon shook her head and smiled while continuing to stroke my cock. "I'm going to cum soon," I said. "Please don't stop." My eyes were on Sharon when I felt my orgasm come roaring through my loins. Not at the hair, or at her breasts, but at her face and her child-like innocence as she brought me to orgasm, her face bursting into a grin that you would see in somebody watching fireworks instead of seeing my cock spurt out wads of cum into the air and seeing it land all over my stomach and chest, along with leaving strings of my seed all over her hands and arms. My body convulsed a few times, my seed continuing to dribble out for what seemed like forever, until I went limp. Sharon kept pulling on my dick just like I had asked her to do, even though my raging erection had reverted back to being a flaccid tube. "You can stop anytime you want to," I told Sharon. "I like it wiggly like this too," Sharon said. "Less scary this way." "Well, I feel a little weird being naked all alone," I said. "Maybe we can get your jeans off now." "Okay," Sharon said, surprising me yet again by planting a kiss at the tip of my dick, which made me think that she might be progressing along at a faster pace that I had figured. "On one condition." "What's that?" I asked just as I was about to unbutton her jeans. "That we make love." ......... Chapter Ten: Making love. After being shocked that Sharon was going to allow me to take her jeans off without a fuss, I thought that I was beyond being stunned, but after hearing that? "Have you ever done it before?" Sharon asked when I knelt there frozen. "Had sex? Yes. A couple of times," I admitted, and saw the brief look of disappointment on her face, and almost wished I hadn't, before adding, "But I've never made love." Sharon beamed, almost masking the look of apprehension on her face as I undid the button and unzipped the fly before nudging the snug bell bottoms down off of her full hips. It was all there, just as her brother had described, and while I had gotten aroused when he had told me about it, I now wished that I didn't know, so that seeing all of this would be brand new to me. That really didn't diminish the thrill of actually seeing the thin trail of hair that trickled down from below her belly button in a sliver before fanning out near the timberline of her bush which sprouted out over the top elastic of Sharon's panties. It didn't affect my joy at seeing the impression of what had to be an amazingly big bush pressing against Sharon's white cotton panties, or seeing the hairs that poked out of the side elastic of her undies either. Sharon's thighs had a fine coating of hair on them, and the hair grew a little thicker on her calves, especially on the insides of them, and after I pulled her socks off I let my hands slide up her legs and feeling the more coarse nature of her leg hair. "I think I'm going to shave my legs," Sharon said. "Fine." "That way I could wear shorts if I - we do anything this summer," Sharon said hopefully. "Together?" I asked. "In public? Not hiding like we've sort of been doing?" Sharon nodded and I smiled. "Good. If you want, I'll shave your legs for you." "Really?" "Why not?" I asked. "I dunno. Sounds kind of kinky." "That's me," I said. "You would probably do it better than me," Sharon said. "Haven't done it very often." "Then we can go up to Lake George and hit the beach," I suggested. "Well, let's not get crazy here," Sharon warned. "Okay, we'll walk on the boardwalk, with you with your shapely smooth legs and your cool tank-top," I said. "In public?" Sharon squirmed. "Of course. You have no idea how sexy you looked in that thing, not that you had it on that long." "We'll see," Sharon said. "It's all up to you, honey," I told her, getting used to the feel of the hair on her legs, which was something totally new to me, because while I had dated a girl with unshaven armpits last year this was something totally new to me. I reached down and peeled the panties down, and as more and more of the wide triangle got exposed, I inhaled deeply to enjoy the pungent aroma of her sex. Her bush was every bit and dense and thick as I had envisioned, but it wasn't so hairy that I couldn't tell where her opening was, because the way the hair sparkled along that vertical trail left no doubt as to where the entrance was. My hand went down along the lips of her pussy, which were positively dripping with her juices, leaving no doubt as to how she felt about what was happening as well as what she wanted to happen. I felt my erection begin to return, so to hasten the process I spread Sharon's legs apart and knelt between her parted thighs. Her pubic hair was a bit coarse and springy against my cheeks as my tongue dipped inside of her. Sharon's thighs spread wider and lifted a bit into the air as my tongue traveled up and down her labia before dipping into her steamy orifice. I felt Sharon's hands clutching at my scalp, seeming to be guiding my tongue as well as pushing me inside of her, and I let her guide me willingly. I could hear Sharon whimpering as my mouth devoured her, and as I felt my cock become fully erect I suddenly realized something very important. I had no protection. Before that moment I was in intending to bring her to the brink of orgasm before leaping up and putting myself inside of her, but now I was in a state of shock. I had always carried a condom in my wallet for occasions like this, but I really hadn't expected this to be happening so fast. Sharon looked down at me in my confused state and seemed to be reading my mind. "I'm on the pill," she whispered in her husky voice as I climbed up to her. Sharon would later explain that she had been taking the pill for years because she had very bad cramps during those times of the month, but at that moment the reason didn't matter, because I felt like I had been given a reprieve from death row. "Ooh," Sharon moaned as she felt the head of my dick enter her, and she continued to moan as I sank deeper inside of her. Tears were pouring down her eyes, but whether they were from pain or happiness I could not tell. Perhaps they were fro ma combination of both, but as long as she had that smile on her face I didn't much care. Sharon was pretty tight, but as I began moving in and out of her I could feel her begin to get a little looser. Soon I could feel her wrap her legs around my butt as she grunted with each thrust of mine. I couldn't look at her, because if I did I would have cum right then and there. I didn't want that because I wanted her to have an orgasm, so I gritted my teeth and tried to hold on. There was a point when Sharon started to breathe even heavier and held me really close to her, which made me wonder if that was it. That thought disappeared when she started thrusting her hips right back at me, which made us crash together really hard each time we collided. Then, after she started making some really crazy noises Sharon suddenly squealed and sank her teeth into my collarbone while her pussy crushed my cock savagely. Sharon bucked and thrashed underneath me while I tried to keep riding her as I came inside of her, filling her womb with my seed while Sharon howled and wailed while enjoying an orgasm that seemed to never end. Wallflower Boogie I have never been attracted to the most gorgeous woman in the room. They always get enough attention anyway, and are often very aware that everyone fancies them. Maybe it is the philanthropist in me, but I am far more interested in the woman in the corner who is clean and presentable but clearly not expecting to be seduced. And it was in this frame of mind that I attended a drinks do for work. I'm an architect and my firm (not actually mine – the one I work for) was celebrating a new project. It was one of those occasions where you don't know anyone and have to try to make a friend so you can give each other moral support. This woman was standing near the buffet, reading the PR handout over and over again. She was about 50, I suppose – the same as me – and soberly dressed in a roll-neck sweater and skirt, both black. She had reddish hair, quite short and parted on the side. You would probably assess her as the family type, Auntie someone, who didn't go out much and last had sex 20 years ago. There was something about the whole thing that turned me on. I went over and introduced myself. 'I'm no good at these things,' she confessed, meaning parties. 'Nor am I,' I said. 'I'll look after you if you'll look after me.' She looked at me curiously. 'Keep each other company,' I explained. 'Yes,' she said. 'Good idea.' And so we spent an hour or so talking about this and that. Her name was Sheila, she was a PA to some chief executive, had been married unhappily for two years and divorced for 15 now. She lived 10 minutes' drive away in a semi-detached house on a small close. She had no children and she liked line dancing and crocheting. Although she said she didn't really drink, Sheila kept accepting the top-ups of champagne that were offered every now and then. Between us we ate all the chilli vol-au-vents and dry roasted peanuts. It was now about 8 o'clock and the party was beginning to thin out. 'I think we could make a break for it,' I said conspiratorially,' and we plotted our escape. Both still hungry, we would go to the Italian restaurant down the street. We split up and said goodbye to whoever needed it, then met up again at the outside door. It was a warm summer's evening and a very pleasant stroll down the road. In the restaurant we opted for glasses of wine rather than a bottle, but still ended up drinking three each. 'How about a coffee?' I said eventually. 'How about a coffee at my place?' she said playfully. Twenty minutes later we were entering her house after a cab ride in which we had sat nice and close together in the back seat, but without making it obvious to the driver or indeed each other. Sheila's house was neat and tidy, with some rather cheesy holiday souvenirs from Spain and Florida around the place. She made the coffee as I sat in the lounge as instructed. I chose the settee and hoped she might join me there. She didn't. When she came in with the cups she sat in her armchair, then got up to put some music on. I joined her at the CD player and stood closer to her than necessary while we negotiated what to put on. We opted for neutral territory: some old lounge jazz by Nancy Wilson, which enabled me to take her by the hands and do a bit of smooching. She danced close to me and snuggled against my chest. I kissed her gently on the neck and she mumbled something I didn't quite catch, then led me by the hand to the settee. 'You're a bad influence,' she said happily. 'Plying a girl with drinks and doing sensual dances with her.' I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She moved back, but only slightly, and said 'Well...', with half a smile. I kissed her again and she kissed back. I put my arms around her and she put a hand on my knee, then withdrew herself abruptly. 'Sorry,' she said, 'it's been a long time. I'm not very good at all this.' 'You kiss very nicely,' I said. 'Ohh,' she said with a dismissive hand gesture, then left the room, saying 'Back in a minute. Bathroom's through there if you need it.' She walked briskly upstairs and closed a door behind her. I used the toilet and gave my equipment a quick wash, just in case. Sheila didn't come back for a full 10 minutes, and when she did she had a Scrabble box in her hands. Perhaps she had been consulting her Old Maid's Guide to Dampening the Atmosphere, but if she had, it didn't work. First of all she had a brilliant seven-letter word: orifice, which her competitive instinct wouldn't let her ignore. I followed that with six letters: orgasm. 'Sorry...' I said as I laid it out, 'but this is all I can offer.' 'Isn't it a funny word,' she said, sitting back. 'With sm at the end. What else ends like that? 'Spasm,' I said. 'And isms. Eroticism. Jism' 'What's jism?' she asked brightly. I thought carefully before answering. 'American slang for... semen.' I explained. 'They abbreviate it to jizz.' She looked quite taken aback. 'Oh,' she said. 'I suppose I must be very out of touch. Don't they say spunk anymore?' This time it was I who was taken aback. 'Sorry,' she said. I wondered what she had done upstairs. Had a large vodka? Some sort of prescription drug? Phoned her best friend for advice? I decided to ignore it, to spare her any embarrassment. 'How about another kissm?' I asked, putting an arm around her neck. 'Yessm please,' she replied, and this time she entered into the arrangement enthusiastically, her tongue playing with mine, deep in my mouth. 'Let's go upstairs,' I ventured. 'What for?' she asked with fake innocence. 'I want to lie down,' I said simply. 'Oh, okay,' she replied and led the way to the upstairs landing. Her bedroom door was open, but she promptly opened a smaller room and said 'You can sleep in there. Spare toothbrush in the cabinet in there,' indicating the bathroom. 'Good night,' she said and entered her room, closing the door behind her. I brushed my teeth and had a bit of a nose through her bathroom paraphernalia. Mouthwash, eye drops, hair brush, but nothing of a sexual or even intimate nature. No condoms, no tampons, no pills. I concluded that she had had the menopause and never expected to have sex again. I went into my little room, undressed and got into bed. I lay there for maybe 15 minutes, considering having a wank, when I heard her door open and then a knock on mine. 'Hello,' I called. 'Does that mean come in?' she asked. 'Come in,' I said, almost irritably. She came in and the light from the hall showed that she was wearing a very plain knee-length dress, a cross between a proper dress and frumpy nightie. She sat on the bed and said 'I thought you deserved a goodnight kiss.' I gently pulled her down on top of me and we kissed long and slowly. My hands roamed her dress, looking for a way in, but there was none, just the top and the bottom. She was wearing pants. 'Why don't you get in?' I said. 'Okay,' she said, 'but we're just kissing.' 'Fine with me,' I said, but when she lay beside me I slid my knee between her legs. I tugged at her dress and said 'What's this?' 'It's a house dress,' she explained. 'For wearing around the house.' Her hand touched my lower back. 'You're not wearing anything,' she gasped. 'I'm in bed,' I said as my hands wandered beneath the cotton and caressed her body. She didn't even flinch when I came to her breasts and began to knead her left nipple. 'Take the dress off,' I implored. 'Okay, but that's it,' she said, sitting up in the dark and removing it, then sliding back down and resuming the kissing. This time my hand came to rest on her buttocks, stroking gently. My erect penis nudged her thighs and I could tell it had precum on the end. 'Do you want me to touch you?' she said in a matter-of-fact way. 'Yes,' I said softly, taking her left hand and placing it on my cock. She felt the slippery wetness on the end and rubbed it on my leg, then lay on her back, legs still together. I kissed her breasts and licked the crease just beneath them, then moved to her stomach. As I headed for her pubic hair, she grabbed me by the shoulders and said 'Come up here.' I moved back up and kissed her lips, my right hand tickling her groin. 'Let's take your knickers off,' I said eagerly. 'No,' she said firmly. 'You can do lots of things as it is.' I sucked her nipples, which she enjoyed immensely, then headed south again and kissed her between her legs, which were now slightly apart. 'Uh uh,' she scolded and wriggled away. 'They're staying on.' 'Okay,' I said. 'Just let me lie between your legs.' 'You don't go in,' she warned. 'Okay,' I replied in a resigned voice. I moved on top of her and lay between her warm thighs with the head of my penis pressed against her crotch. I reached down, took hold of my own end and rubbed it firmly against her clitoris. She made involuntary noises of pleasure, then uttered 'Oh, it's torture... sweet torture.' 'I want to get inside you,' I pleaded. 'No,' she said. 'Let me lick you, then,' I continued. 'Not there,' she said. I slid my hand round to her buttocks and said 'There?' I couldn't see, because it was dark, but I'm pretty certain she made a disapproving face at that suggestion. 'Okay, I said finally. But I want to give you some jism.' Her hand was wrapped around my erection, so I slid it back and off, then took myself in hand and masturbated. I could sense her excitement as a naked man respected her wish not to be penetrated, but continued with his lustful animal ways. I came into her open hand and she left it there, not moving a muscle. Eventually she said 'I need something to wipe it,' and thought for a moment. 'Take my knickers off,' she said finally. I moved down to comply and after I slid them off I kissed her vaginal lips briefly. She didn't complain or even move. As I gave her the cotton jizz-wipe she thanked me and said 'That was lovely. It has been a long time, you know.' 'I want to shag you,' I said, deliberately using the coarse word because I thought she might enjoy it at that point. 'Maybe,' she said. 'Not tonight,' and she slid out of bed and went into her own room. Wallflower Girl Literotica Edition © 2013 Guy Bailey Co-written with Simone Beaudelaire * Nick Harper wiped his brow on his arm as he looked at the trail of straw bales in front of him. They were the small, rectangular type, each weighing around sixty-five pounds. The trailer he was stacking them on held twenty-five lying flat on the base, and could take them eight high. He stacked them using a step method; building one layer, then stepping up to a second and third level so he could shoulder each bale up to the required height. He had swing-down steps to stack the last few bales at the back of the trailer. Nick worked alone. He was newly married and new to farming. He couldn't afford help, and the bales were too heavy for his pretty young wife Patricia to lift. She sometimes drove the old Massey Ferguson tractor that pulled the trailer along. The previous night she had done the late shift at the local truck-stop diner, so she was sleeping. It was six months since their wedding day. Nick looked up at the summer afternoon sun, figuring he had another couple of hours before he could go home, wash up and ravish his wife. He ravished her a lot. They had waited three years for a white wedding and it was the time to make up for all of that. How endlessly those years had stretched out, and he'd been thankful for the time consuming project of building a home for his bride and equipping it with her selections, which were at the very height of fashion. She'd impressed him with how savvy she was, choosing closeouts and remnants, sewing and matching colours. The extra physical labour had helped distract him from his mounting frustration and longing, until at last the day had come. He smiled at the memory. Nick lifted another bale and stepped up onto the trailer, leaping to the next and then the next level, heaving with the power of his back and shoulder to set the prickly block into place. He would soon be done there in the lower paddock, and he would be on his way back to the house for some more of the fruits that were no longer forbidden. ***Chapter 1*** Anne grabbed hold and lifted her right leg to the square cushion she always kept to the side of her easy-chair. She needed to lift the leg. As a child she had been in a car accident, and after countless operations, she had been left with a leg that just didn't work the way her other one did. She was fine with all of that; had been for years. It had been something to manage through school, with limitations on what activities she could get involved in. There had been the sideways glances and grimaces of horror to come to terms with. The operations had included skin grafts and scarring that were quite shocking for the other kids to look at. She still got the looks sometimes, but the worst of it now was that her stupid leg dragged a bit in a limp and needed to be lifted up onto its cushion. Anne expelled a breath of exhaustion. It was so hot out that day, and she had just finished cleaning her car and lugging all the junk she had accumulated up the four flights of concrete stairs to her apartment. That last trip had been torture and now her leg was telling her about it more than usual. And she'd done it all on her own. She shook her head, looking at her brother sitting there watching television. This was why Anne was pleased she didn't have a man in her life. No, not just pleased; it was a relief that she lived alone. "Graham!" she scolded, rolling her eyes at him and glaring at his foot with the dirty sock sitting in the middle of her coffee table. He had pushed the brass candle holder aside so that it was about to fall on the floor, and scrunched up the hand crocheted lace doily. The set was antique and very delicate. His sock was un-fresh from football training or something, and smelled. He looked back to the television and picked his nose. Anne's apartment was immaculate. Everything was spotlessly clean and precisely where she wanted it. The thought of driving to her old girlfriend's wedding and leaving Graham there for the weekend was frightening. I could just call Kelly and tell her sorry—can't make it, she thought for the hundredth time. The irksome picture in her mind of Graham sleeping in her bed with his football socks on was compelling. Up until then she had been coming up with lots of whiny little excuses: The car might break down. What if mum has another blood pressure scare and I'm out of town? What if Kelser frets? Kelser was Anne's fat tabby cat. He had just hopped on her lap for some petting. "You're my man aren't you, Kelser, good boy," she said, holding his black and tan striped ebony-eared face and soaking up the love and loyalty in his hazel eyes. She glanced as her brother tossed a chuckle and shook his head. "You need to get laid, sis." "You need a bath," she shot back dismissively. She had been laid a few times. It was no big deal. The only men who ever seemed to look at her without sympathy in their eyes needed more sympathy than she did. Dismissing the thought of men, she picked up her set of three short double sided knitting needles and began shaping the leg of a turquoise teddy bear she was making for her co-worker's baby shower. The cat turned on her lap three times and settled down. The heat of his furry body was better than a hot water bottle on the aching muscles of her damaged leg. He purred, kneading her with soft soot-coloured paws. Graham was not ready to let the conversation die. "What about your new neighbour? He was asking all about you earlier." "What about you mind your own business?" Anne shot back, though that comment was not so easy to dismiss. She felt the colour heat her neck and cheeks at the thought of a man asking about her. He had moved in across the hall that week. She'd passed him on the stairs a few times but had been too shy to meet his eyes or anything. She'd felt him looking at her. "Asking who about me? Not you?" she enquired of her little brother. "Nope. He was chatting with that old dude downstairs. Asking what your deal was—married or single or whatever. They didn't know I was right there in your garage." "Well, what did he say, exactly?" Anne strived for nonchalance. Apparently she'd succeeded. Graham searched his nose for another booger. "Don't know—exactly! The guy said, 'who's that mousy chick?' or something. 'She married or what?' Then old big ears said you were single, and told him your name." "What, so the new guy asked for my name?" "Yeah—something like that. Did you buy pizzas?" "Yes, I bought pizzas, and there's some decent food you can heat up too. There are two dinner plates all set in the fridge. You'll only have to microwave them a few minutes." She wondered if he would bother with the meatballs in gravy, baked chicken, or vegetable soup. She was sure he would eat the steaks and mashed potatoes. Her mind drifted. That handsome fellow had asked about her. Anne looked up from her knitting. She felt strangely warm inside, but there was one thing. "He called me mousy?" "Everyone calls you mousy, sis." The fact that it was true did not make the comment sit any better with Anne. She counted the stitches on the little turquoise leg and muttered an impolite word under her breath. Distracted by her brother's blathering, she'd failed to complete the complicated circular pattern, and the little cylinder was now three stitches too large. Cursing again, she delicately unstitched the row and started over, carefully making each knit and purl exactly where she wanted them. When she had finished that row, she marked her stitches in her little notebook. This teddy bear pattern would have some stretch to it, which should make it better for children, not like the rigid seed stitched one she'd gotten from a magazine the month before. Thinking back on that bear, she sighed. It was sitting on her dresser now, the one she'd bought at a garage sale, painstakingly stripped, painted white, and embellished with little flowers and bows. She grimaced. Her leg had ached for a solid week after that venture. The fact that she refused to let her disability ruin her life didn't mean living was always comfortable. The first teddy had come out rather well, of course. Its eyes, little asterisks of navy yarn, looked at her a little sadly, she thought. She had deliberately understuffed him, trying to make him squishy, but it hadn't worked. That's when she'd hit on the idea of rib stitch, which automatically created flexibility. It would be a much cuddlier toy when she was done. As would the baby yarn she was using. Yes, it was acrylic, and not a natural fibre, but the fuzzy texture and whimsical colour should appeal to the little girl and her mother. It suddenly occurred to Anne that if she never had a man in her life, she might not have to tolerate so many messes, but she would also never have a baby of her own. Never knit a blanket or bear or little yellow hat for her own child. That thought caused a pang. Children are messy, she reminded herself. But that didn't stop her from wanting a couple. ***Chapter 2*** Anne showered and checked her suitcase once more before closing it. She straightened her violet blouse, tugging at it and peering at herself in her mirrored wardrobe. A pair of khaki shorts and some brown leather sandals completed the casual summer look. She pulled the shorts low, thankful she was blessed with a slender waist. No love handles, and the fabric covered her scars if she remembered to give that extra little yank. She looked... decent. I'm not mousy! It was true. She had been called that before by several different people, and who knew how many referred to her that way behind her back? Her hair was kind of thin, plain brown and a bit scraggly no matter how she fluffed it. She kept it above her shoulders and often wore a hat or scarf. Today she settled on a pony tail. Her face was narrow and her cheeks freckled. Her eyes were the same colour as Kelser's; hazel, and if she used enough makeup she could make them look sparkly and interesting, but she rarely used any eye makeup at all. She would dab on a bit of foundation to cover the freckles and some lipstick and eye shadow on a special occasion, but she had gift-kits from years back with the eyeliner and mascara untouched. Wait, didn't mascara expire after a certain number of months? She looked at one tube and chucked it into the trash. It was not worth risking an eye infection. The one she'd received for her last birthday was still fresh, and she tossed it into the suitcase. Maybe mousy is more of an attitude than a look, she pondered. She had a decorative flower and lace barrette to wear to the wedding. There was a makeup kit an aunt had given her the previous Christmas that she found in the drawer of her dresser. She looked at it. Everyone said purple was a good colour for her, and this set had three shades of violet shadow. She packed that in her suitcase before lugging it into the front room. Her brother was sprawled on the couch again. There was no protecting her pretty apartment from her him, and most likely some of his mates. "You won't have anyone over will you, Graham?" she asked pleadingly. "Please?" "Probably just Arko and Chad for the game on your big-screen tomorrow night. But we'll clean up, sis. Don't worry." Yeah right—don't worry! Anne told herself hopelessly as she wheeled her bag down the stairs. It was too heavy for her to carry. There were voices of men coming up the stairs, and she encountered them edging a huge bureau around the narrow landing of the third floor. She flattened against the eighties style rose-printed wallpaper so they could get past. It was a big hairy guy on the front of the monstrosity and her new neighbour on the back. He had his head turned and pressed against the side of the bureau, unable to see Anne as he moved past. He had on a singlet. His visible back and shoulder muscles bulged from the exertion, shiny with sweat and rippling taut. His manly scent made Anne stupidly giddy; that and the thought of him asking about her. He had passed where she was backed against the wall without even seeing her there. She watched him lift the big cabinet up the flight of stairs, his back straining and his thighs and bottom looking powerful and firm in a pair of knee-length linen shorts. He had worked his way around the fourth floor landing before glancing back. For a moment their eyes met. A sizzle of excitement shot through Anne's whole body, making her blush and just about trip over her bag in her haste to get it rolling again. Outside, she packed it in the trunk of her little old faded blue Honda and was on her way. Worse than the thought of her brother trashing her apartment was the real reason she didn't want to go to this wedding. She didn't want to be the only one not yet married or living with a man. Her three best girlfriends from school would be the women of their respective houses and she would be left as the wallflower. Which is completely ridiculous, she reminded herself. There is nothing wrong with being an independent woman. There's no shame in that. Anne knew plenty of independent women. She would often wake up alone on a Sunday morning and lie staring at the ceiling, thinking of how great Ruth Parnell had it; how tremendous a woman she was, and how she was always tipping off around the office that single is best. Ruth Parnell was the head partner of the law firm Anne worked for as a filing clerk. She would sniffle back the tears of emptiness as she neatly sorted pleadings and depositions alphabetically by case, automatically separating originals from copies, and remind herself that the Prime Minister of the country was a woman who never married or had children. And those were only the big-time independent women. There were the several single mothers in her building, including Gina, whose upcoming delivery would be celebrated by an office shower to which Anne would be contributing the little bear and a tray of cookies. Other girls in her office and everywhere around were single, many of them older than Anne, who was only twenty-five. Anne had never even had an offer though. There had never been a man intent on looking into her eyes; looking into them with desire. She hated the pity. It was like a cloak she had to wear. She limped and had messed up skin on her leg. So what? Just look at me! At me! The person! A tear dripped from her cheek as she waited at a red light. She wished she at least had a date for the wedding. It felt totally pathetic going alone, but she could not imagine the man she could have realistically asked to accompany her. Even a male friend would have done, but she had no male friends who were not the man of their house; family men. Well, except for Graham, but arriving with her spoiled and ill-mannered brother would have been worse. Tears streamed for a while, but Anne was tough deep down. She wound through the Friday afternoon worker traffic and onto the expressway headed out of the city. It was about a three hour drive to Hammond, the small town her friend Kelly had moved to after meeting a guy from there and falling in love and all that stuff. Anne sniffled as another tear rolled down and drove on. There was an expressway exit that left about half an hour of travel on a minor country road with cows and horses grazing, and fields sown to sunflowers and corn. One field was interesting. It was strewn with bales of straw. They were absolutely everywhere. The scene struck Anne with a weird familiarity; almost a poignancy. She slowed and pulled over to watch a farmer loading the bales onto a huge trailer. They were the big round bales, and he had a tractor with two prongs that speared underneath and lifted. Anne got out of her car for a stretch while she watched the guy at work. He was an old man. He waved with a big smile and she waved back. An old woman arrived on a four-wheeler, to bring him something to eat and drink. She also waved over and smiled. Past a small grove of trees there was a cluster of broken down timber buildings that struck Anne with the same weird sense of pathos. There was a gate to an overgrown driveway. It looked like it may have once been a little farm, but there was no house. As Anne rolled on past the gate, she saw that it had a heavy chain wound around it with a big rusty padlock. There may well have been a house once. There was something she couldn't quite see that looked like foundations poking up through long grass. She was rolling slowly along the edge of the road, peering around at other buildings in the distance that also looked familiar. There was a tree line that she somehow knew was a creek with a deep, cool swimming hole. That picture flashed to mind as she stopped again and just relaxed, closing her eyes. ***Chapter 3*** Nick swung another bale onto his shoulder and leaped up onto the trailer. He bounded to the third tier and tossed the prickly brick into place. It was the last in that line, so he cranked over the old Massey Ferguson and pulled his trailer around into the next row. He had a canvas water bag that he tipped up and drank from while dousing his face. The water running down his chest made a wisp of warm breeze feel cool. Nick stretched his back muscles as he looked across the field to the small grove of pines and his newly constructed timber cottage. He had built Patricia a separate laundry so she would have more free area in the house. He could add on later, but there was enough room for their first child when it came. He was certainly working on that. Another two rows of bales would fill the trailer, then an hour to stack them into his hay shed, and then home to his lovely wife for some more baby making activities. He chuckled to himself at the thought, then plugged the wooden peg back into the spout of the water bottle and tossed it to lift another prickly mass of hay. *** Anne shook off a moment of slumber. She often got tired driving, or drowsy at least. Her eyes were a bit heavy and she needed to get to her hotel. It was'nt far according to the GPS. Back on the road, she entered the tree line and crossed a rickety timber bridge over a creek. Three skinny boys splashed and shouted in the water. She could hear their voices even though the windows of her car were closed. The water hole was as she had seen it in her mind a few abstract moments ago. All had become like some weird dream trying to broach reality. The road emerged from the trees and crossed more broad, open fields rolling with sunflowers standing upright. Their bright yellow heads seemed to be watching her little Honda and smiling their interest and warm welcome. Farm machinery businesses and workshops began cluttering both sides of the road. According to the GPS it was only another ten minutes to the Stop & Rest Motel. She passed a truck-stop with a couple of semitrailers parked. The cafe was an old timber building with a full glass front. On the roof was mounted a model semitrailer, aged and faded in the sun. Oh my God. What is this place? There was an intensely nostalgic sensation effervescing through Anne's veins and absolutely warming her soul. As she pulled into the parking lot and stopped her car in a corner, far from the semis, she suddenly felt for all the world as though she'd just come home. She pushed open the wooden screen door, sending a bell mounted on the doorframe into a frenzy. Even the sound of that particular bell had a familiar pitch as it resounded around the small, gravy and beef smelling room. Two drivers looked up from their meals. Both glanced at her scarred leg. Damn it, she'd forgotten to pull her shorts lower when she'd climbed out of the car. She was going to wear a dress to the wedding and hoped it wouldn't be too hot for stockings. The scarring wasn't as starkly noticeable beneath dark hose. There was sympathy in the smiles of the two truckers. Wallflower Girl Whatever! Oh to be simply ogled by a gruff, big bellied truck driver even! Such thoughts wouldn't normally crack Anne's crusty, well-seasoned defences, but this stupid wedding had her in need of male attention like nothing she could remember. "Help you with something, dear?" The question had come from a worn looking middle-aged woman with dark sacks under her eyes. Anne chose a bottle of mineral water from a glass display fridge and paid for it. The counter was cluttered with gum stands and magazines. The small portion that was available to transact business had a brown speckled laminate surface worn white in the middle. Brushing the surface with her fingers caused another shiver of familiarity to caress Anne's being. It was like some rolling sequence of déjà vu just going on and on. In spite of the predominance of warmth and wellbeing, she was beginning to feel a little freaked out. She hurried back to her car with as much haste as her cranky leg would allow, tossing her purse on the seat beside her and driving quickly on her way. When arriving at the motel a little later, she found her room to be newly appointed, crisp and without any semblance of other worldly charm or calling. Anne dumped her suitcase and pulled on some slacks and a cute lace top. She paused on her way back out the door and checked in a mirror on the wall. They were having a meal and drinks at a bar of some sort; she and her fixed-up girlfriends. Why not make an effort, mousy mouse? She flipped open her suitcase and pulled out the makeup kit her aunt had no doubt bought as a hint, then set to work. Thankfully a little page of instructions had been included. Primer over the entire lid. White highlight under the brow and in the tear duct area, light violet over the lid, and a thick smudge of indigo along the lash line. There was a purple pencil included and she drew a series of short dashes along her upper and lower lash line. It took several tries to remove the cellophane from the tube of mascara, and even longer to paint her eyelashes without clumps and without leaving little spidery lines all over her careful work. And then it was all for naught. The cell phone rang, vibrating as it made a sound like twittering birds. Anne jumped and smeared the mascara all the way to her eyebrow. She grabbed the purse and rummaged, finding the phone just in time. "Where are you, Anne?" It was Melissa calling. Melissa was to be Kelly's bridesmaid. Cynthia and Anne were Kelly's special guests, a smidge short of actual wedding party status, since the groom had insisted on having only the one groomsman. "I'm nearly there!" Anne said, fumbling with her phone while trying to wash the damaged makeup from her eye and start over. The black and purple smears would never come out of the hotel's white washcloth. Propping the phone on one shoulder, she redid her left eye, checked once more in the mirror, and hurried to the car, ready to follow the GPS in what must have been busy Friday night traffic in such a small town. She found her friends already revved up and giggly after a few drinks. They had been in town since mid-week, while Anne had to work up until that morning. It was a rustic steakhouse and bar with a lively crowd that kicked on beyond meal time to the music of a country western band. Several couples were taking a turn around the knotty pine dance floor in the centre of the room, while others leaned against the pillars that resembled barely hewn tree trunks, sipping more drinks and growing livelier by the moment. The girls stayed at the table, picking at their food and gossipping. By ten, Melissa and Kelly had to leave, as they had quite a day planned to start early in the morning. There were two cute guys who had worked their way from the bar to join Anne and Cynthia at their table. Cynthia was married and made that known, but she quite skilfully redirected any interest in Anne's direction. Anne was in the mood for attention too, and when the one particular guy she was feeling very attracted to saw his friend off and stayed on, she was virtually wriggling in her seat with excitement. His name was Mike. His friends had been calling him Micky. He was tall and a bit thin, but handsome with his intelligent eyes, dark blond hair that showed an inclination to fade to ginger, and a smile that lit up the conversation. He was looking at Anne a lot, directing his chat towards her and watching for her reaction to anything said. Anne was indeed wriggling with excitement, but also because she needed the ladies room. At last she excused herself with a faint blush. "Hurry back," Mickey urged. She hurried but had to wait in line. When she got back he was gone. "What? Just like that?" she implored of her friend. Cynthia was grinding her teeth with rage. "Forget him. He's just another dickhead!" "But he was... he was really nice!" Cynthia gave Anne her handbag and stood to leave. "Come on, sweetie." "What? What did he say?" Anne's lip was quivering. She knew. "He said nothing. Just that he had to run." "When he saw me walk?" Anne forced the words out through the tightness in her chest as she tried to take a breath. "Come on—let's go. He was just another asshole," her friend offered, squeezing Anne's hand and leading through the crowd. It had happened plenty of times before, but that had been about the most obvious cut-and-run Anne had experienced. It hurt and she cried. She had managed to hold tough until seeing Cynthia off in the car park, but once alone in her car she gave in to the tears. She stopped at a traffic light and turned to see the guy, Mike, driving the car stopped in the next lane. He glanced at her, then his head turned to face directly ahead. She stared at him until he drove off without acknowledging her. She then turned and drove, but had to slam her brake on because the light had changed to red again, and she sat there half across the line in a state of severe disappointment. There were no more tears, but any thought of finding a man at the wedding had been destroyed. Anne went through the motions. She wore her pretty dress and dark stockings, and she made up her face and pinned her floral and lace barrette in her hair. Her girlfriends were all over her at the reception. She was seated with Cynthia and her husband, and three other couples. Anne got a bit drunk. She had left her car and caught a cab, intending to party as best she could on her own. She couldn't dance; not the wiggle and move type stuff. Cynthia sent her husband Josh to take her for a slow dance, and Anne closed her eyes and imagined as she clung to his broad shoulders and rested her head against his chest. She swayed with him, and he held her close. Cynthia was watching and smiling over, so Anne closed her eyes again and continued to imagine. Later, Melissa sent her man to ask Anne for a slow dance, and she swayed and cuddled up against him too. He was older, almost grey. He smelled wonderful. That night Anne slipped her hand down the front of her underwear and rubbed herself to one of her usual orgasms, then cried herself to sleep. That night, she dreamed of glaring headlights and screeching brakes. Of being in the passenger seat of her father's pickup when an oncoming Mack truck had run the stop sign, slamming into her door, into her body. In a flash of agony, her thigh bone snapped in two, the break puncturing her flesh in a compound fracture that sprayed blood across the interior of the cab. The view through the windshield had been dizzying. Trees. Houses, street, houses, trees as they'd spun around and around. Her head slammed into the window before she was knocked into the centre console. The little trash bucket, shattered, cut into her cheek. The scene shifted, and she was in a hospital, out of her head in agony as her broken leg was placed in traction. Waking up from surgery, unable to speak or cry, only scream over and over, the morphine unable to subdue the pain where two metal pins had been screwed into her femur. Jagged stitches marred her skin where the compound fracture had been fixed. More incisions from the operation, straighter, but just as much a disfigurement. The doctor, grey haired and grim faced, informing her and her parents that she would need physical therapy, and might never heal. Two days later, infection had set in, sending red lines streaking towards her heart. The flesh around her wound turned puffy and oozed horrible smelling fluids. Then had followed antibiotics, more surgery, skin grafts to cover the raw places. The jagged scar had become a mass of uneven tissue, ugly and twisted. Her estimated recovery time had extended from six months to twelve, and she'd missed a whole year of school trying to heal. By the time she'd been well enough to attend classes, she'd been so far behind that there had been no choice but to retain her. Her classmates went on and she remained, joining a younger group who had never been her friends and made fun of her, and made the rest of her academic career miserable, so she didn't go on beyond the minimum, didn't live up to her potential... Anne sat up, gasping for air. She hated that dream. Just what she needed to make her lovely evening complete. ***Chapter 4*** Nick was on the last run of bales. He had the steps down at the back of the trailer and had to climb carefully to position the remaining dozen prickly blocks, filling the seventh and eighth tier of the stack. It was early yet, that summer afternoon. It would be light until after seven in the evening, and at five the sun was still hot against the exposed skin of his neck and face. He wore leather gloves and a thick cotton shirt to handle the straw, and jeans and boots were his standard attire all year round. Nick positioned the last of the bales, and drove his little tractor around the grove of pines to where he had built his hay shed. He had stacked two trailer loads the previous day, and this was his second load for that day. He had another drink from his water bag, and tossed it aside. There was smoke rising from the chimney of the cottage, which meant dinner was being prepared. He imagined what Patricia might be wearing right then; imagined her at the kitchen sink, and how he would take her from behind right there with her wash gloves on and her hands in the soap suds. *** Anne woke feeling all cried out and resiliently angry. She was back on the road headed for home and to find out what her brother had done to her perfect world; her safe place. The silly déjà vu thing started again as she passed the truck-stop. She slammed on the brakes and stopped, looking at the faded truck on the roof. She suddenly felt it had been her idea to put it there or something, although she had never been to Hammond before and the damn truck was probably older than she was. What a strange sensation. It was quite strong, that feeling. She had come up with that idea. But that was impossible. It must be the strange mood from the wedding, and the nights of disjointed dreams and restless sleep giving her funny ideas. She shook off the weirdness and drove on out of town and past all the grotty workshops and machinery places. The sunflowers were watching her again as she passed them, and she wondered if they actually turned their heads to face the sun, as they were all looking the same direction. She crossed the rickety wooden bridge with the planks rattling their bolts. The sensation made her shiver. That thing felt unsafe. It should be replaced with something sturdier. It would be less picturesque to be sure, but safer. Maybe they could put this little historic bridge elsewhere, where people could see it, but wouldn't have to wear out their shocks driving over it, and risk ending up in the creek. Emerging from the tree line, she slowed and peered around, noting that all the big round bales were gone. Actually, there were still some, but they were in a line way up the back of the field. Anne stopped at the padlocked gates where she had felt the most powerful nostalgic sensation the other day. She got out of the car and approached, touching the thick chain as a warm breeze caressed her face and the scent of pine and fresh hay assailed her and carried her mind up into the tops of the trees that surrounded the old farm buildings in front of her. She ducked through the gates and walked into the grove, looking in a small timber room that had a concrete wash tub and a rusted washing machine with the rollers on top. There was a larger building that housed a small red tractor. It had flat tires; the rubber cracked with age, and there was bird poo all over the rusted old vehicle. She touched the emblem on the front: MF. She then ran her fingers along the name plate on the side of the little old chug: Massey Ferguson. Its name was Chug. Anne inexplicably remembered that, as a tear welled and a surge of panic and absolute exhilaration overwhelmed her. She looked around at a heavy timber workbench with a cast iron vice bolted to it. There were pegs for tools and spools of wire and metal boxes. An engine sat under the workbench along with what looked like the gearbox from a car. Through a doorway in the back of the shed, she found another building, or rather the skeleton of what must once have been a simple shelter or hayshed. A few sheets of corrugated iron hung from the top of the tall timber frame, some lay on the ground, and still others, that looked to have blown off, leaned haphazardly amongst the trees. Anne approached the foundations of what must have been the farm house. There had been a fire. She could see the half burnt timber walls and charred floor where grass and weeds had grown up through and taken over. There were concrete steps that would have led to the back doorway of the house. She walked up them and, in a complete daze, she turned and sat down. She closed her eyes and her world disintegrated, crumbling all around her in a rush of utter ecstasy that swept her backward and thumped her into a soft, cushioned seat. Anne opened her eyes to a brightly decorated living room. She was sitting on a boxy, dark-green sofa with large decorative pillows that matched the colour and sported big white circles. Across the room a small, fat television sat on stocky wooden legs. It was the round-screen, box type with a dial for a channel selector and levers for volume, brightness and contrast. There was a copper coiled antenna on top. Above it, a silver and brown clock that resembled a many-pointed compass showed that it was quarter past five. A zephyr of chicken and onions wafted into the room; the aroma of a baked dinner. There was a sizzling sound coming from her left. It took a moment to rationalise it as the sound of water boiling over on a stove. She jumped up to see to it as if she had been waiting and listening for it. She felt as if she had just dosed off; as if the meal she was preparing was something very important to her, and she didn't want it to spoil. As she hurried from the living room into the kitchen she noticed that the wall above the sofa had been decorated with a long, horizontal canvas in an abstract jumble of green and black flowers. Anne shifted the pot of boiling beans to the side of the coiled stove element and wound the setting back to simmer. The stove was white, not green, as she suddenly remembered the kitchens of friends she'd never before recalled having. They joked about her plain white stove. But it complimented the bold orange and yellow flower print on the wallpaper. Hurrying across to the simple dark veneer cabinets, she opened one, instinctively knowing there would be plates inside, and took down two; white with yellow flowers around the rim. Wait, how had she moved so fast and freely? She glanced down at herself. She was wearing a floral house dress and a frilly white apron. Her feet were bare. She had no limp and the skin of her right leg was without blemish. She looked down at her legs, completely confused as she lifted the hem of her dress and marvelled at how perfect they were. She touched her hair. It was thicker and longer, and she sought her reflection in a mirrored cutlery cabinet to find another girl looking back at her. It was no dream; no illusion. Anne's thoughts were entirely lucid: It was Sunday. She was on her way home from her friend's wedding. Her name was Anne Elizabeth Thompson. It was the year two thousand and thirteen. But at the same time, it clearly wasn't. Another quick scan of the room revealed white laminate countertops, a double oven like her great aunt still swore by, and a pedestal light in a shade of yellow that hadn't been in style since her mother's day. There was a green rotary dial phone on the shelf of the cabinet. A big floral calendar on the kitchen wall displayed the year 1968. Anne patted her cheeks, feeling them for the bone structure that was not her own. She was slightly taller and had fuller breasts. Her hands were someone else's; her fingers longer and thinner. There was a diamond ring and wedding band on her left ring finger that sent a flutter of tingles alight in her belly. She picked up a silver framed wedding photograph of the woman whose body she was currently residing in and an absolutely gorgeous man with grey eyes, dark hair and a perfect smile. She sought the mirror again, shifting some plates to get closer. Who are you? She stared into the stranger's eyes, but no, they were not a stranger's eyes. They were her eyes; her plain old hazel eyes. She was looking at herself. It's me! I am you—me! The weirdness of the situation was flawed. There was something deeper; beyond Anne's confusion. She could feel a hazy sense of familiarity. The déjà vu, the warm nostalgic sensation she had experienced driving past the other day; this was not unreal at all. Anne checked on dinner. She knew she had been cooking dinner when she woke up in the chair. It was her first thought. It was as if she had dropped into this body and taken it over, but not completely. There was still a basic sense of what needed to be done. The chicken and baked potatoes in the oven were ready. She took out the baking dish and set them aside to make the gravy. Cooking was another bridge between the two experiences. Only, in 2013, she only had Graham to cook for, and he didn't care in the slightest; would have been just as happy with freezer pizza. Something, this part of her that belonged to the earlier existence, knew that for the man in the photo, a proper dinner would be appreciated, needed. He worked hard. He was a... what? There was the sound of a tractor starting up outside and she parted the kitchen curtain to see. She remembered Chug again, only it was newer. It was moving and came into view with a man in the seat. It was the man from the photo. "My husband," she uttered with her hand covering her mouth and that flutter of tingles in her belly rising up again, all the way to heat her face that time. "Oh my!" she squeaked, closing the yellow daisy curtain and thinking about running and hiding somewhere. "Oh my God—a husband!" There were two places set at the table, and she added the plates, completing the settings. She brushed at her apron and patted down her hair, peering into the mirrored cabinet again as she pawed the rings on her finger. Oh my God—a husband? She implored inwardly. "What the hell am I supposed to do with a husband other than feed him?" she prattled on under her breath as she parted the living room curtain, this one green with a brown paisley pattern, and watched him stop at a wooden bench with a bucket of water under a tap. It was a wash stand of some sort. He splashed in the bucket and lathered up a bar of soap to scrub his arms. He then stripped off his shirt and Anne squeaked again at the sight of his magnificently toned body. He wasn't a big man. He was about average height and build, but his chest and stomach were chiselled perfection. The late afternoon sun was casting shadows in the definition of his pecs and abs. His jaw was square, his face lightly whiskered. His lower arms were darkly tanned while his upper arms were white. His biceps were huge. The suds were trickling down his chest and stomach to the belt of his jeans. His hips were narrow and his backside looked tight, and Anne imagined how firm it would feel. Oh my God—stop it, she told herself. His thighs were defined in the blue denim fabric, tightening it and straining against the slender cut. Wallflower Girl Anne closed the curtain and backed away from it. She stood in the middle of the living room clutching the top of her dress closed. The man could be heard whistling as he approached the house. He was about to open the door and what the hell was she supposed to do? ***Chapter 5*** "Smells good, sweetheart!" Nick announced as he opened the door and poked his head around, grinning cheekily. There was no Patricia to be seen. He closed the door and craned his neck to peer around the corner into the kitchen. "So where is my pretty baby?" he asked of the house, a teasing I'm-going-to-get-you edge to his voice. She wasn't in the kitchen. He sniffed the aroma coming from the baked chicken dinner on the stove. "Mmm. Yummy," he said, checking in the laundry room off the kitchen. She wasn't in there either, and he figured she may have been hiding in the bathroom. He crept back through the living room, hands at the ready to clutch his lovely and intensely ticklish young wife. The bathroom was empty. He flung back the yellow shower curtain ready to grab her but no; not there. "Hmm. I wonder where my little sweetheart could be," he said in mock confusion as he stalked toward their bedroom. The baby room door was open and he glanced behind it but she wasn't in there. The yellow plush area rug on the floor and the cheerful yellow curtains did make the room look inviting. Thinking about making the baby who would live in that room increased Nick's urgency considerably. "I wonder where my pretty girl is hiding," he went on as he caught a glimpse of her through the crack in the open bedroom door. It looked like she was hiding behind it, pressed back against the mauve wall beside the wardrobe. Nick stopped in the doorway and tossed his shirt at the cane clothes basket in the far corner of the room. It missed, one arm dangling forlornly into the basket, the rest of the sweaty fabric heaped on the floor. "Hmm. I wonder where—" he started but suddenly lunged and grabbed his wife's arm, pulling her to him and planting a kiss on her lips as they parted in shock. He crushed her to his body, kissing her deeply and passionately. Her hands were pressed against his shoulders, pushing him away. She was squealing and struggling but he persisted until her squeals became moans and her fingernails eased from clawing his flesh. Nick relented and lifted from her mouth. It hung open. Her eyes were wide with what looked like genuine surprise, almost fear. But that was ridiculous. "Um—no—wait..." she started to say but he kissed her again, cradling her head and leaning her back. Her hands clutched his shoulders for support and her fingernails dug in again. Nick searched his wife's sweet mouth with his tongue and cupped her breast, massaging and feeling for the nipple through her dress and bra. One of her soft little hands gripped his arm when he did that, but her protests were only ever about it being an inconvenient time or whatever. He undid a button and then another, slipping his hand inside and under her bra, earning a kind of shriek and then another warm, mellow moan as he deepened the kiss once more. This was just one of their games. She would hide and pretend to resist. He would take her anyway. There was never any question when Nick wanted to make love to his wife. He was in charge in that department and she always obliged his desire for her. He knew her protest was feigned, could see the desire and satisfaction in her eyes when he overcame her protest. She loved the power she had as a woman to make her husband desire her beyond reason, and that was why she teased him, playing demure, when in reality she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. He lifted her in his arms and dropped to the bed, still holding her. Her arms flopped aside as he knelt over her. There was a look of utter submission on her face. Her eyes were still wide but the shock and fear had gone and there was a blank, dreamy light to them. Her lips were wet and reddened where he had smeared the light lipstick she usually put on before he came in for dinner. Her mouth was slightly open and very kissable. Nick stood and ripped his belt open. "Dinner's fine for a bit isn't it, sweetheart?" She didn't answer. Her eyes just lowered as he tugged his jeans and shorts down, his erection springing free to lever, engorged and rigid. Her eyes widened and lifted to meet his again. "Dress on or off?" he asked, grinning at her. She said nothing. She just peered down at herself then looked up again. Fire was glowing in those hazel depths, raising his desire to a fever pitch. But he played cool. "On, eh? Okay. We can do dress-on." He knelt and bent over the bed, moving her legs to either side of his elbows. He lifted the skirt of her dress, along with her frilly apron, up over her belly. She had on cute blue underpants. He glanced up at her wide eyes, grinning cheekily. Then he winked, and bent to bite her crotch through the thin fabric. He bit her softly, drawing the lovely scent of her sex into his nostrils. He then peeled the elastic leg of her underwear aside and licked her, eliciting a squeal and a clutch of her nails in his hair as her body writhed and her legs attempted to close. Nick stretched the fabric clear out of the way and kissed his woman's opening deeply and tenderly, extending his tongue to taste her sweet warmth, and pressing against her inner thigh as her legs parted quite deliberately. The fingers in his hair still gripped, but they also pulled him closer. Her body undulated and her belly shuddered as he reached up her dress and grabbed a breast. He worked his hand beneath her bra to feel the soft globe without the interference of the rather rigid fabric of the pointy cup. Her chest was shuddering too. She was half moaning, half whimpering. Nick sucked on her tender folds and massaged her engorged little button. She pulled his hair and ground her opening against his mouth. He kissed her belly, lifting from his knees and getting on top of her. He kept her underpants stretched aside as he guided his penis right to her opening. Then he took her head in his hands as he rolled his pelvis and surged up inside her. *** Anne bit the man's shoulder to stop her squeal from escaping. He was huge and his entire body was taut with muscle. It was suspended above her, his chest pressing lightly against her and his pelvis rolling, his penis spearing in and out of her. She clung to his shoulders. Her legs were spread wide and she was trying to spread them wider. She loved this man. She didn't know him, but she knew she loved him. She could feel it in the soul of the woman she had literally become. This was her man; her husband. She could feel his deep and passionate love for her and there was a counterpart to that in the heart pounding in her chest as he thrust powerfully towards his climax. Her mind was too intensely focused, far too active to allow her own orgasm to take hold. It was there, building, but she was thinking too hard, trying to rationalise the fact that she was suddenly a farmer's wife in nineteen sixty eight. The man on top of her tensed up, gripping her tight as his body convulsed. Anne held him, her hand seeking his hair and tenderly caressing his scalp as he expelled a breath of pure satisfaction. His muscles relaxed with that, and his weight was upon her, but it was nice to feel. She liked how heavy he was; this man who had just made love to her. It was nothing like before, those other times. The body she was living in recognized and appreciated this attention. The mind she had brought with her was stunned by the pleasure. If she could have relaxed into it... She stroked his hair while he recovered and came down from his high. He rolled aside a little, allowing her to close her legs and breathe. It took effort. "You must be hungry?" she asked. She didn't even know his name. "Starving, baby," he answered, kissing her and seeking her eyes. His were almost transparent. They were the clearest grey/green eyes Anne had ever seen. They were amazing; completely hypnotic to look into. It had been his eyes that had taken her, had ended her weak protestations. She had been his to take as he pleased, right from that first kiss. He slipped down and kissed her still exposed belly. "What do you think? Any chance?" he asked, winking cheekily again. It was obvious what he was referring to. Anne had no idea if there was any chance. "I don't know—maybe." What part of my menstrual cycle am I in? Can you even fall pregnant when you're having an out-of body, into other body, time travelling experience? The absurdity of the situation had been pushed aside, but it resurged within Anne. She watched the guy pull his jeans and a fresh shirt on, this one a green plaid that clung to his bulging muscles and brought a hint of darker green to his eyes. The thought floated across her mind that she'd picked out that shirt, and liked when he wore it. "You look great," she said, without reflection, and then coloured at the intimate comment, not to mention the passionate lovemaking they'd just shared. This was the husband of the girl in the photo, who was Anne, but not. He smirked at her and combed his hair in front of the mirror. She sat up on the mauve and white comforter that they, in their hurry, hadn't even bothered to pull back. Her clothing was askew, her body half exposed. She blushed deeper and pulled her bra back into place. The crotch of her underwear was soaked, but there was still dinner to get to before it spoiled completely. She had seen a big free-standing porcelain bathtub when she was looking for a place to hide, and the thought of soaking in that after dinner was nice. Her apartment only had a shower, as had the motel room; assuming either of those even existed in this alternate universe. Anne's husband chatted about the farm all through dinner. The food had been superb, just the way she would have made it under ordinary circumstances, with herbed butter up under the chicken's brown and crackling skin, rich buttery gravy to be ladled over potatoes, and garden fresh green beans, lightly boiled but still crunchy, with a sprinkle of salt. The commonality between cooking in 1968 and 2013 was reassuring, and the familiar flavours comforted her greatly. Her husband devoured his meal with the enthusiasm only a young husband who worked hard with his hands could muster, and she took a great deal of pleasure out of watching him relish the meal, taking big bites between snatches of chatter. She learned that she worked at the diner she had seen, and that information only added to her confusion. She had remembered the place when she had seen it on Friday. "Did Alf end up putting the truck up on the roof, sweetheart? I bet he will. It's a bloody good idea to set the place off and draw in more trucks... make it into a full-on truckers' stop." "Yes, I think he will," Anne answered, smiling through gritted teeth, desperate not to say anything that didn't make sense. As weird and crazy as the experience was, she did not want to spoil it. She had done a full pirouette in the kitchen to try out her legs; a full ballerina-style spin that came so naturally she wondered if 'Patricia' had taken ballet lessons. Then, dinner over, the man went into the living room to relax. "Are you coming, baby?" he asked her. "I'll be there soon. I'd like to take a bath first." He turned, his pale eyes glowing again. "Good idea. Get yourself all nice and soft and relaxed." He winked. Anne felt heat rising in her cheeks again, and with a quick nod, hurried away. In the bathroom, she turned the taps on the cast iron tub. It had separate faucets for hot and cold, and she adjusted the water flow as best she could, hoping to get the right combination. Then, as though drawn by a magnet, she walked over to the vanity, a wall mounted piece with a sink in the centre and two rows of drawers running down the side. It was supported above the floor by three thin metal legs. The legs and countertop were yellow to match the walls. The drawer fronts were white. Mounted on the wall above was a large round mirror orbited all the way around with smaller circles of reflective glass. Anne looked deeply into her eyes. She studied the pupil, the soft hazel iris, gold in the centre with green rimming the outer edge, the two shades blending in between; the expression of warm, caring intent behind it. She realized she and Patricia as one and the same person. The connection was real and distinct. How it could occur, and how on earth she could materialise in a past life or whatever it was? That was beyond Anne's ability to comprehend. But since she had no idea what had caused this, how to end or extend it, the only choice was to enjoy it. That would be no hardship. In this life, she was happy in a way that modern Anne could scarcely imagine. It was like a dream. The feel of the hot water as she sank into the tub was perfectly real though. The tension caused by her confusion melted away until she was like a puddle. Her head fell back against the cool porcelain that covered the iron, the curved lip on the tub cradling her neck the way her husband's hand had earlier, when he'd kissed her into eager submission. And he'd as much as told her they weren't finished. A little thrill sizzled through her belly at that thought. She would have to try harder to let go of the weird feeling and just enjoy. She found a bar of lavender scented soap, which she lathered on a pea green washcloth, inhaling the fragrance. She smoothed it over her skin, brushing against hair follicles in need of shaving. There was a women's razor there in a basket on the side of the bath. Damned fine detail if this is a dream, she muttered as she set about beautifying the perfect legs she had acquired. Then, rising from the bath, she dried quickly with a towel that matched the washcloth. Once the droplets of water were gone from her skin, she opened a jar of cream and smoothed it over her body, sighing a little, feeling completely relaxed. She walked into the bedroom and opened the dresser drawers until she found what she wanted. Tossing on a sleeveless white nightgown and a pair of pretty lace panties that made her feel delicately feminine and sexy, she made her way down the hall to the living room and sat on the sofa beside her husband. He tossed one arm casually around her narrow shoulders, pulling her close to him. She leaned her head on his chest, inhaling his fragrance, loving the way his strength made her feel small and protected, utterly safe. His fingertips toyed with the ends of her hair, tugging gently, stroking, making her scalp tingle. That tingle spread down through her body. It quickly became too much, and she rose from the sofa and went to a little tufted three-legged ottoman. Without reflection she opened the lid and had to restrain herself from squealing with delight. Inside the secret storage area, there was a collection of knitting needles in all sizes; single and double sided, circular, silver and ivory. It was a knitter's dream. And nestled beside the needles were balls of the softest white yarn she could imagine. A strand extended from one of the skeins to a little half-finished rectangle in a complicated lace pattern. It would be a baby blanket when it was done, and like Anne herself, this woman knitted from her imagination, as there was no sign of a pattern sheet. She scooped up the item and scurried back to the couch, eager to continue. A quick examination showed the combination of knit, purl, yarn over, and knitting two stitches together which would yield the little bunches and openings she sought. There was a new episode of Hogan's Heroes then I Dream of Jeannie on another channel, during which Anne knitted with quick, steady fingers, leaning against the arm of the sofa, her legs tucked up beside her. Occasionally Nick would trail a teasing finger over the arch of her foot, making her squirm and glare, which was met with an unrepentant chuckle. When the closing credits rolled, Anne's husband walked to the television and pressed the power button to turn it off. She set her knitting aside on a little end table. He took her hand, and when she stood he swept her into his arms. She placed her arms around his neck, melting in his magnificent eyes as she was carried to the bedroom. The white nightgown covered her from shoulders to knees, but he took little notice of that. He positioned her in front of his rippling taut body, spooned to her back. His hand slipped up inside her nightgown to feel her breasts while he kissed the back of her neck. "Only one way to be sure," he whispered to her. His erection was pressing against her bottom. He had a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tweaking as she ground back against his prominent bulge. He was not interested in her carefully selected panties either. He tugged them from her hips, and she kicked them down her legs as he shifted slightly lower and aligned his penis with the opening to her womb. It slipped through her soaking wet lips, so she tilted her pelvis forward, presenting him with a more suitable angle for penetration. She braced one hand against the wooden bedhead, then cupped the underside of his penis with her fingers, wet where they had trailed over her aroused flesh, and she guided his next thrust into her body. His front was pressed against her back, covering her with heavy male heat. "Yeah, like that," he groaned into her hair. "Yes, like that," she murmured in response, reaching her free hand behind her shoulder, gripping his head and holding it while his big, calloused hand moved down over her belly and his fingers parted her sex, and his thick, smooth shaft surged through. Anne moaned, arching her back and keeping herself open and presented so he could service her as deeply as possible. His rough fingers continued rubbing and feeling into her slick folds, intensifying the stimulation down there until her orgasm overwhelmed her thoughts and her body, and thumped through her belly with such force that she actually screamed. "Yeah, like that," he breathed into her neck and hair again, teasingly that time. He had relented with his fingers, but he was yet to climax and was still moving in and out of her. It was a slow, sensual motion. She was so completely soaked that he slipped out and through her lips a time or two, and had to use his thick fingers to reposition himself. Anne was still holding his head with her hand around the back of his neck. Her other hand was cramping, she had been gripping the comforter so hard since the peak of her orgasm. The slow, measured thrusts of her husband's penis soon brought on another wave of orgasmic convulsions for Anne. He then began to lose the control he had been teasing her with, and he held her in place to finish himself off, depositing another serve of baby-making fluid as deep inside her as he could. He then cuddled and stroked her, and whispered to her about how beautiful she was and how much he loved and needed her, and cradling her in his comforting warmth. Anne's final conscious thoughts that night, as his lips pressed against her cheek, were about waking up in this wonderful new world she had found. ***Chapter 6*** Her next conscious thought was about cooking her husband breakfast. She opened her eyes to a shaft of golden sunlight touching her face and the sound of birds scuffling on the roof. She could smell aftershave lotion. There was whistling coming from the bathroom across the hall. Her belly tingled with contentment, and she had this very firm idea in mind that she needed to cook steak; that her husband liked steak and gravy for breakfast. She got up and straightened the bed. There was a letter on the dresser that she noticed was addressed to Nick and Patricia Harper. She found the panties she had worn the night before, and pulled them on. She poked her head in the open bathroom door. "Morning, Nick." Wallflower Love I was home for the summer from college. I was just walking in through door of my parent's house from working my part-time job. My aunt Drew was there talking to my mom. "Sarah will end up an old maid," my aunt was telling my mother. This was a frequent topic of conversation with my aunt. Her daughter Sarah would never find a man. Sarah was nineteen, tall and thin with stringy, long brown hair. She wore old fashioned glasses as well. I hated to hear the women in my family always beating up on Sarah. I had started to head up the steps to my bedroom when my mother called out. "Eric, don't forget the family reunion this Saturday," my mother reminded me. "I think I have plans that day," I told her. "Cancel them," my mom warned me. Now here it was Saturday and I was standing around at the reunion. It was being held at a state park that contained a large lake. The women were off to one side gossiping and the men were in their group, trying to get as far away from the ladies as they could. I decided I needed to take a walk, so I headed for the water. Tall grass ran right up to the shore of the lake. As I got closer I saw my cousin Sarah standing there. "Don't jump!" I called out to my cousin. She turned around and waved to me as she laughed. "I was tempted," she said. "I get tired of my mother running me down all the time," Sarah told me. "Can I ask you something Eric?" "Sure," I said. "Do you think I am attractive?" Sarah asked. God, I hate when women ask me questions like that. What are you supposed to tell them? "Of course you are," I told my cousin. She walked over to me and put her arms arms around my waist and hugged me. I could feel Sarah's small, pointed tits pushing through her shirt and into my chest. I was a little red faced as I felt my cock stirring in my pants. "Would you teach me, Eric?" Sarah said. "Teach you?" I replied. "How to make love," Sarah told me. "That isn't a good idea, Sarah. We are cousins after all," I told her. "I don't care anymore Eric, I am tired of being a virgin," she explained to me. Sarah looked up at me with a pleading sort of look in her face. She moved up and kissed me on the lips. I lost what little control I had, and I found myself in a deep tongue kiss with my cousin. Sarah had placed her small hands up underneath my t-shirt and she was rubbing my nipples with the palms of her hands. I reached up and pulled her shirt off. Her tiny tits were erect and waiting. I placed my mouth over top of each one and sucked. Sarah began to moan and I continued down and unbuckled her pants. I pushed her pants and undies to the ground. Sarah didn't groom much. She had a thick bush around her pussy. "Show me your cock, Eric" Sarah said to me. I undid my pants and pulled everything down. Sarah got down on her knees and took my cock in her hand. "I have never seen one before," she told me. "Are they normally this big?" I am just average size, to be honest, but fairly thick, with a big mushroom head. "I am just average, Sarah" I told her. Sarah was stroking my cock up and down, examining me. She also was cupping my balls in her other hand. I don't think she had any idea what this was doing to me. If she didn't stop soon, I might just pop my load. I knelt down next to her, and pushed Sarah on her back. I spread her thighs apart and guided my cock to her slit. "Please Eric, do it" Sarah was pleading with me now. I pushed and pushed. Sarah was ultra tight. It took some minutes to even get half my cock inside her. "It hurts Eric," "It will get better as we go along, Sarah," I told her. I finally managed to get my entire length into Sarah. I slowly began to pump my shaft into her virgin pussy. I couldn't recall a woman this tight before. Sarah was squeezing me and holding me in a death grip. I sped up and my ball sacs were slapping against her asscheeks. "Oh my God, Oh my God," those were the only words Sarah managed to get out. Sarah had wrapped her legs around my waist by this point. It was hot out that day and sweat was pouring from both of us. We were going at it pretty hard. I told Sarah I was getting close, she better unwrap her legs from my waist. Sarah nodded that she had no intention of doing that. "Sarah please!" I said to her. It was too late. I creamed my cousin with my sticky man seed. Hot ropes came pouring out of me. I seem to recall Sarah screaming as my cum hit her pussy walls. We were lost in our fucking, for sure. I just kept pumping into Sarah. Her body was shaking by this time. My cock soon became limp and I slipped out of her. I lay on top of my cousin, biting and chewing her hard little nips. We were really lost in lust that afternoon. Sarah looked up into my face. "Can you go more, Eric?" she was close to begging me. I had my cousin get on all fours and I slipped my cock into her once more. I had no trouble getting hard this time. Sarah had taken my cock and sucked me between her lips. She licked off all of our sex cream and made me extremely hard once more. Once she was on all fours, I placed my hands on her hips and guided my cock back in. I think we did it even longer than the first time. Sarah's little tits hung down as I ploughed into her tight pussy. I last longer this time, but ended cumming in my cousin a second time. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't control myself any longer. We finished up and I had Sarah walk back to the party alone. I followed a few minutes later so it wouldn't look too suspicious. No one had even missed us. The next day was Sunday. I went out for a late day jog. When I got home there was Sarah talking to my mother. "Look who is here Eric," my mom said to me. Sarah smiled at me and I said hi. We made small talk and then Sarah said she was walking back to her house. My mom told me to walk back with her as it was getting late in the day. It was a mile walk or so back to Sarah's home. "I wanted to tell you something Eric," Sarah spoke to me. "You don't need to worry about making me pregnant, I am on the pill," Sarah blurted out. It had been on my mind that Saturday night. It shocked me to hear Sarah say she was on birth control. She had been a virgin the day before yesterday. Sarah told me her mom had been worried that Sarah might do something stupid like get pregnant, so she took Sarah to the doctor's office. "I also wanted to ask you, did I do alright yesterday?" Sarah was eager to find out. "Oh yeah, you did really good!" I told my cousin. "Could we do it again sometime, Eric?" Sarah asked me. We had just been walking past a small city park that was along the way. I took Sarah's hand and we walked towards a private area. I started to kiss my cousin again and she returned the favor. I undid her pants again and pushed them to the ground. I turned Sarah around so she was facing a large tree. I told her to place her hands against this oak tree and bend at the waist. I pulled my trunks down and my cock sprung loose. I stood behind Sarah and slipped my cock into her tight hole. We ended up having a quick fuck there in the park close to her home. It was more of the same, I slammed my cock into her as deep as it would go. Sarah gripped me as tight as was possible. We grunted and got loud as we fucked like two wild animals. I drove my cock in deep and then blew my slick cum into her belly. Again and again, I seemed to have a bottomless well of seed to give my cousin. She ended up milking ever drop from me. We walked back to her house with the biggest smiles you could imagine. Sarah and I were lovers that entire summer. She also managed to fix herself up a bit. She got her hair cut and got contact lenses. She also shaved her bush down to just a little strip above her slit. She actually looked quite cute. Summer came to and end and I was heading back to school. We made plans for Sarah to visit me at school on the weekends. A friend of mine had an apartment that was vacant Friday night through Sunday. We end up spending most of the weekends in bed fucking each other. We just need to come up with a plan so we can be with each other full time. I am working on that! Wallflower But he didn't get any sense of awe or hero worship coming from Jane. She just seemed to accept that he'd been a player at one time, but now he was not. In fact, Jane was in awe, but not because of his background. The mere fact that the man of her fantasies was paying attention to her, and seemed to be genuinely interested in her, had her struck nearly dumb. After a few minutes, the conversation petered out, and they both stood there lost in thought. Neither one was quite conscious of it, but suddenly they turned their faces toward each other and their lips met. Jane just stared into Ryan's eyes for just a moment, her eyes wide, then she melted into his arms and surrendered to the kiss. It was slow and sensual, and for Jane, who hadn't been kissed in so long she'd almost forgotten how to do it, it felt heavenly. When they broke apart, Ryan looked deeply in Jane's eyes. "I'm sorry; I hope I didn't startle you," he said. "What is there to apologize for," Jane said. "It was lovely. I ... I haven't kissed a guy like that in a long time." Her eyes took on a faraway look as she thought about her heretofore nothing love life. "I just don't want to seem pushy," Ryan said. "But I like you, Jane, I like you a lot." "Why?" she said. "I think you're cute, you're smart, you seem to have nice personality, and you're modest," he answered. "Those are all characteristics I value in a woman." Jane didn't answer, but simply pulled Ryan to her and they kissed again, long and deep. ^ ^ ^ ^ Jane's eyes had a dreamy cast to them and she had a smile on her face as she sat in the back seat of Eric's car. "He seems very nice, very polite," Dana said as she turned toward the back seat and saw the look in her friend's eyes. "Yeah, he seems nice," Jane said in a sort of abstract way. "I had a great time tonight." It wasn't until she was home, lying in her bed, that the old insecurities and self-doubts began to resurface. It was like the Cinderella story. She'd had her two or three hours as the belle of the ball, but now she was back in the real world, where she was just a face in the crowd. Sure, Ryan had asked for and gotten her phone number, and had promised to call in the next few days, but Jane had been through that routine before. A couple of dates in the past that she had thought were promising had never gone anywhere, and she had no reason to think this one would develop either. And, besides, Ryan Hebert could have any woman he wanted. He was good-looking, nicely-built and he had a great personality. Guys like that just didn't notice her. She was Plain Jane, and no match for the women he was undoubtedly used to. A funk seemed to descend on her as she drifted off to sleep. Jane cried out as she awoke suddenly. She was wrapped in the cocoon of her bed sheets, sweaty and disoriented. Slowly, the realization dawned on her that she was alone, that she was an adult, that she wasn't really in the nightmare. She sobbed softly as she realized that the nightmare had come on her again, as she relived her one and only sexual experience. It had been almost two years since she'd had it, but here it was again, with all of its darkness and evil. She had been a senior in high school, a decent student, but nothing special. Even then, she'd been a wallflower. But suddenly, out the clear blue sky, Mike Ellsworth had started paying attention to her, started chatting her up in class and in the commons during breaks. She should have been suspicious, but she was so surprised that a good-looking, popular guy like Mike Ellsworth was showing interest in her that she was blinded to his real intentions. Unbeknownst to her, Mike had been bragging among his friends that he could fuck any girl in the school, and somehow her name had come up. A wager was soon made that he could fuck Jane by the third date, and Mike thus began his campaign to get into Jane's pants. It took dosing her with a date-rape drug to accomplish, but he did succeed in taking Jane's cherry. Mike had been the perfect gentleman the first two dates, even charming her mother, who was a little skeptical, for good reason, as it turned out. The third time they went out, Mike had pulled into a convenience store where he knew he could buy beer and came out with a six-pack. Jane was alarmed, but she didn't want to seem uncool so she took the proffered beer as they drove around town. She really didn't want the second beer, but Mike insisted, and that was the one that was dosed. Jane knew something was wrong before she got halfway through the can, but it was already too late and she was powerless to do anything about it. Mike drove to a secluded spot, where he met one of his co-conspirators, who was there to document the event. Jane would only recall bits and pieces of the next hour or so, but what happened was that Mike and his friend maneuvered Jane into the back end of Mike's SUV -- or, rather, his parent's SUV. He got her shoes and her slacks off, pulled her panties aside, squeezed a dollop of KY Jelly on her pussy and spread it around real good, then smeared some on his cock and rammed his way in. The pain of her hymen breaking Jane would remember, but she couldn't recall Mike fucking her and filling her with his cum, then his friend following suit. The first coherent thing she remembered was sitting on a picnic table in the park not far from her house, where they had ditched her. She realized immediately what had happened and broke down in tears. Of course, she could never tell her mom what had happened. Her conservative mother would never understand. At the time, there wasn't as much of an awareness of date rape and date-rape drugs, and Jane knew her mom would accuse her of being a slut, a whore. School was a different story. In keeping with her shy personality, she shrank from a confrontation over it, but the word got out anyway. She could see the looks, hear the whispers and it just caused her to retreat within herself even more. The incident ruined her senior year of high school, and all she wanted to do was get away from her home, from her mother, from the old neighborhood and start a new life. She'd found a job at the insurance company as a clerk and had moved up to assistant in her branch. She made a nice living, enough to buy a decent car and put a down payment on her little house in a quiet area of Hartford. It had been Dana, her co-worker who had befriended her, who finally coaxed the story out of her, and got her to go into therapy. It helped, but she still felt inadequate, unworthy of a decent man. And now the nightmare had returned, as it always did when she felt like she was closing in on happiness. She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed again at how lonely her life had become. So Jane was pleasantly shocked the next morning when her phone rang and she heard a sexy voice on the other end. "Jane?" Ryan said. "I just wanted to call and thank you for a great time last night. I meant what I said. I like you and I want to see more of you. I just wondered if you wanted to get lunch this afternoon and take in a movie." "Uh, er, well," she began, trying to form words that wouldn't come. "I had planned to do some Christmas shopping, but I'd love to go out. Maybe you can help me shop. I have to find something for my uncle." And with that, a relationship was off and running. They went out several times during the time before and after Christmas and made plans to go with Eric and Dana to a big New Year's Eve party at the home of one of Dana's friends. She'd been bugging Jane to go for several years, and she was delighted when Jane finally said she'd go. Dana also wanted to watch Ryan in action and see how he was around her friend. What she saw was a man who was polite, a bit affectionate, but not pushy. In conversations among the four of them, she'd found she liked him, so she decided it was time to talk business. She took her opportunity when Jane excused herself to use the bathroom. She sidled up to Ryan and asked him to step into the kitchen for a minute. He looked puzzled, but agreed. "What's up, Dana?" he asked, a slight frown on his face. "Ryan, how do you really feel about Jane?" Dana said. "I like her, I like her a lot," Ryan said. "I don't know if I'm in love yet, but it could develop into that. I think she's a real diamond in the rough. Someone just needs to take time to coax her out of her shell." "I'm glad to hear it," Dana said. "Jane is such a sweet girl, and I just love her to death. She's very fragile emotionally, and it goes back to something that happened to her a long time ago. I want to make sure that you're not just playing with her, because I can tell you right now, she's crazy about you." Dana gave Ryan the short version of the date rape incident, and made him promise he wouldn't let on that he knew. "I so want her to be happy," Dana said. "And I've never seen her happier than these last couple of weeks with you. Treat her right, and she'll worship the ground you walk on. Treat her wrong, and I'll hound you to hell and back." "I don't think I'd want that," Ryan said with a chuckle as they walked back into the midst of the revelry. For Jane, the party had been a revelation. No one there prejudged her, no one there looked at her with scorn. She was Dana's friend, and if she was Dana's friend, she was their friend. At midnight, Ryan pulled Jane to him and they toasted the coming year then kissed deeply. "I think this is going to be a very good year," Ryan said softly. "I hope so," Jane said. "Ryan, do you believe in destiny?" "I guess," Ryan said. "Why? "I think fate has brought us together as just this moment in time," she said with a degree of apprehension. "You know, I've dreamed about meeting a man who looked just like you. You were my fantasy lover, then when you were there at the Christmas party. It blew me away." "Yeah, maybe it was fate," Ryan said, then wrapped his arms around Jane and kissed her again. "Ryan?" Jane said when they broke apart. "I love you." "I love you too ... Sweet Jane," Ryan said. Jane decided she liked that nickname a lot better than the one she'd always heard herself called: Plain Jane. As the cold weeks of winter progressed, Ryan and Jane saw a lot of each other. There were still times when he had convince her that she was pretty enough and that he loved her enough for him to enjoy being with her. She was indeed a diamond in the rough, and he was patient in polishing her up and smoothing out the rough spots. Ryan took the tack that when she put herself down it was as if somebody else was doing it. "I'm not going to listen to anyone putting my girl down," he would say forcefully. "I happen to think I've got the best-looking woman in town." It was on Valentine's Day, the day for lovers, that they took their relationship to a higher level. A week or so before, Ryan had finally gotten Jane to open up about the date rape she'd been subjected to. He just held her as she cried out her pain, pain that was still there more than 10 years later. That seemed to be a catharsis for Jane, because her man knew her darkest secret, and he still loved her. So instead of going out for Valentine's Day, she invited Ryan to dinner are her place. She made a big pot of spaghetti, with salad and French bread, and a top-notch red wine After dinner, she invited Ryan to bring their glasses into her den and they sat on the sofa. Almost from the beginning, she was the aggressor. She was all over Ryan, kissing him and running her hands all over his body. And when she lingered at his swelling crotch, Ryan finally put her at arm's length and looked deep into her eyes. "Jane, are you sure?" he said. "I'll do whatever you want, but I want you to be sure in your mind that you're ready. Are you ready?" "Oh God, Ryan, please, take me to bed and love me," she almost sobbed in her desire. "I need you. It's what I've dreamed about. I want you and I want you now. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of being Plain Jane, the wallflower. Ryan, I need you to love me like I've never needed anything in my life. I love you and I want you." Ryan's response was to smother Jane in kisses, deep, soul-tingling kisses that left them breathless. Finally, Jane stood up, pulled Ryan off the sofa and led him into her bedroom. The bed was already turned down in anticipation. Slowly, Jane unbuttoned the blouse she'd been wearing, revealing her tiny breasts. She hadn't bothered with a bra, something Ryan had made a mental note of a few minutes earlier. There they stood in the middle of Jane's bedroom, slowly undressing, slowly revealing their bodies to each other. Ryan was leaning back on his elbows on Jane's bed staring intently she stood there clad only in a skimpy pair of black panties. She'd gotten them earlier in the week, along with several other pairs of scanties, and she had relegated her white cottons to the back of her lingerie drawer. She wanted to look and feel sexy, and that was one way she felt she could do that. But she was still nervous standing there not quite knowing what to do, meeting Ryan's even gaze with one of her own. Ryan stood up and let his boxers fall to the floor. His body was the stuff of dreams, as far as Jane was concerned. He was tight without being muscular, and his hands, still calloused from his pitching days, seemed to have a mind of their own. He filled those hands with Jane's breasts and used his fingers to excite her sensitive nipples. He knew how self-conscious she was about her breasts and he wanted her to know that he appreciated them. He bent down and captured each nipple in his mouth, giving first one then the other a liberal sucking. Jane groaned heavily as the delightful feelings swelled through her slender body. Her breasts may have been small, but her nipples were quite sensitive and the soft way Ryan suckled her had her purring like a kitty. As he lavished licks, kisses and sucks on Jane's tits, Ryan was softly running his hands all over her body, knowing how that sort of treatment stoked a woman's fire. He pulled his mouth off Jane's chest and their lips met again in a hungry kiss full of passion and promise, his hands kneading her small buttocks as their tongues jousted in delicious battle. Smoothly, Ryan maneuvered Jane to the bed and gently pushed her down. Jane's chest was heaving in desire as she looked up at her lover-to-be. Now that she was here, she wanted this with every fiber of her being. Her apprehension about sex was melting away with every smoky look from Ryan, with every touch of his rough fingers, with every kiss from his soft lips. Ryan lay down on the bed next to Jane and slid his body up against hers. His cock was already semi-hard, and he hadn't even touched it yet. But that was about to change, and in an unexpected manner. Jane ran her hands all over Ryan's tight body, and she didn't hesitate when they arrived at his cock. She had no frame of reference to judge whether Ryan was bigger or smaller than average, and it really didn't matter. All she knew was that he had a pretty piece of meat, nicely sculpted and solid. She tentatively squeezed it, and Ryan nodded appreciatively. "That's good, baby, just take it easy and be gentle with it," he said softly. "Just do what comes naturally." "I ... I've never been this close to a man's p-p-penis," Jane said self-consciously. "It's a penis when it's just sitting there," Ryan said with a chuckle. "When it's in use, it's a cock." "OK, it's a cock," Jane said as she smiled and relaxed. Instinctively, she moved her hand up and down, and shivered as it stiffened noticeably in her hand. As Jane began to get into the rhythm of foreplay, Ryan slid a hand between Jane's legs and felt the warm heat of her wet pussy, hidden as it was under her black panties. Jane gasped then groaned as Ryan's fingers slipped into the gusset of her panties and came into contact with her dripping sex. He circled her clit a couple of times then plunged two fingers into her body. Jane closed her eyes and reveled in the feelings of finally having a man working her sex. She still had some trouble believing this was happened to her, the wallflower. Well, this wallflower was suddenly blossoming into a rose from the feelings of lust that were soaring in her soul. Ryan knew what to do now. He pulled his hand away from Jane's crotch, gently -- reluctantly -- pried her hand off his rigid cock and slid down the bed. "What?" Jane started, but Ryan shushed her as he took up position between her legs. He spread them open, pulled her panties away from her crotch, working them off and tossed them aside. He gazed down at Jane's pretty pussy and smiled in satisfaction. He got a sense that this was going to be something special, and he couldn't wait. Jane had spent some time earlier that day trimming her unruly shock of dark thick pubic hair, trying to shape it into something enticing, on advice from Dana. She wasn't sure if she'd succeeded, but gazing down at the way Ryan was looking at her she was relieved. Suddenly, Ryan bent his face to her hot pussy and swiped his tongue up her furrow, and followed it up with his lips. Jane squealed as her climax began to mount from the oral assault. She writhed and thrashed on the bed as Ryan pressed his attack, rolling her clit with his lips, spearing her hole with his tongue, sucking her labia into his mouth. He was giving his new love all the benefits of his experience, wanting to make this woman's first real sexual encounter one she would always remember. Jane felt like she was about to explode from the swelling feelings of climax, and when Ryan circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, that lit the fuse on her passion. She arched her back and felt something like liquid fire rip through her loins. She gave a gasping groan as she shuddered through the most intense feeling of pleasure she'd ever experienced in her life. She wasn't even through with her twitching and she was already begging for more. "God, please, Ryan, please, fuck me!" Jane cried, surprising herself with her vulgarity. But she no longer cared about propriety or anything else other than consummating her love. Ryan was ready. He'd been humping a hole in Jane's mattress as he went ever wilder with his mouth on Jane's super-hot pussy. He wanted this woman like he'd never wanted anyone before, and there had been a few. He'd had women that were probably prettier, sexier, better built, but he had an innate sense that none of them would ever be more giving as a lover than this shy, slender woman who had been so badly served by men in the past. Oh yes, he was ready. And he got up on his knees between Jane's legs, and stared deeply into her misty eyes as he lined up his cock at the gates of Jane's steaming hole. He pressed the head to her warmth and slid effortlessly into her depths. Almost in unison, they groaned in supreme satisfaction, and Ryan bent down, captured Jane in the circle of his arms and they kissed deeply, wantonly as he churned his cock in a steady rhythm. Their bodies were completely in tune right from the first moment of coupling, and Jane at last understood what it meant to be loved, to make love, to have love. She may have been inexperienced, but she knew what to do, and she quickly found herself working in tandem with Ryan's incoming thrusts. She wrapped her legs around his waist and undulated with him, letting her passion flow through her body as they worked as one. "Ahhhh, God, it feels so ... good!" Jane gasped, her breath coming in short bursts as Ryan fucked her in a way that let her know he appreciated her. And he did. As he alternated the speed and angle of his thrusts, he thought back to other women he'd had. He'd fucked a few women in his baseball days, but he'd rarely made love with any of them. Wallflower He recalled the one or two he thought he'd been in love with, but he understood in that very moment, that he hadn't been, because none of them had made him feel like he felt with Jane. He knew, if he hadn't known already, that he'd found his soul mate, found the one he wanted to spend forever with. Just then, Jane's keening moans brought him back to reality. She was feeling another, stronger orgasm swell in her hard core, and he was ready to get there with her, get there together. So he picked up the pace, looking down hotly as Jane's eyes were closed and her face registered the passion that was exploding through her mind, body and soul. He could feel the sweat that covered her body from the strain of their lovemaking, could feel the trembling of her body as he orgasm spilled out in a long, sibilant string. He couldn't hold back any longer, he fucked Jane deep three rapid-fire thrusts then let go with one of the supreme orgasms of his life, he fell on Jane's body kissing her frantically as he spewed a rocket-load of red-hot cum deep in Jane's clenching cunt. They were laughing insanely, and Jane was even weeping joyfully, as the passion flowed out their bodies together in one long river of lust. Afterward, they lay together, arms and legs entwined, each lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Jane looked over at Ryan with a very serious look on her face. "Ryan?" she said. "Do you love me?" "Silly question," he answered. "Of course I do." "I hope so, because I want your babies," she said. "I'm trusting you with my body, and that includes my heart. Please, for God's sake, don't break it." And then she buried her face in his chest and wept softly, and Ryan did what any real man would do. He pulled her into the circle of his arms and held her, conveying with his body language that she had nothing to fear. "Sweet Jane?" he said, pulling her face up so she could look him in the eye. "I want you to have my babies. Maybe not right away, but soon. Sweet Jane, all I want right now is to love you forever. But it's still early in our relationship. We need to take some time to get to really know each other. Let's take this next year and see where we go, and if we both still feel the same way this time next year, then we'll make it permanent. How does that sound?" "Sounds heavenly," Jane said as she burrowed herself into the safety of Ryan's arms. ^ ^ ^ ^ It was a bright spring afternoon 15 months after that fateful night, when Jane Smith walked down the aisle at her little church where she took Ryan Hebert as he husband, and he took her as his wife. The previous year had seen Plain Jane become Sweet Jane in a big way. She added a little meat to her slender frame, she blossomed socially, got a critical promotion and grew in love and lust. When that first summer arrived, Ryan and Jane took regular trips to Boston to see the Red Sox play, and they also frequented the smaller park at Norwich, where Ryan introduced her to some of the people he'd known there who were still involved with the club. In the fall, they took a number of weekend excursions through New England to see the changing of the colors in the dense forests. Ryan was captivated by the wild splash of colors that were everywhere. This was something that New England had over Louisiana, where the pines he'd known growing up stayed green year-round. As their relationship deepened, Ryan knew his original assessment of Jane was dead-on. The shy wallflower had turned out to be a diamond in the rough, just waiting for the right set of circumstances and the right man to make her shine. Jane still had her moments when she felt inadequate, but with Dana behind her every step of the way, she gradually came to accept the love that Ryan offered as something she did indeed deserve, that she was indeed worthy of being loved by a man like him. It took a true friend and a patient man to accomplish, but in the end, the wallflower bloomed into a woman, in every sense of the word.