9 comments/ 20081 views/ 8 favorites The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 02 By: beagle9690 *Marie:* Patrick offered me his hand and helped me get to my feet. He was looking at me thoughtfully with his kind, honest eyes and smiling with his dimples on display. Patrick's smiles make my heart melt. He touched my face gently and said, "Thank you, Marie," just like that, and he meant it. I was thinking, "What a sweet thing to say. Little intimate things mean so much to him," I remembered how he stood up to thank me when I brought him his cup of coffee. He didn't sit back down in the swing until I sat first. It was such a little thing, that cup of coffee, and the smile on his face told me how much he appreciated it, like now. What nice manners he has. I just adore his polite and gentle ways with women, unless he is making love to them of course, and then, oh and then. I put my arms around his neck. They belong there now. Patrick is mine, "When are we going to our bedroom to do the broodmare stallion thing." "That was just dirty talk, Marie." "You promised," I teasingly said, mussing his hair for a change. "I still promise. It will be after the Fireman's Carnival later this evening, and only after I eat you out first, my hot and spicy girl. As you well know, I'm committed to selling tickets. I planned on asking you out on our first date and taking you there. Would you do me the honor? I won't be selling tickets the whole day." "I wouldn't miss it for the world," I replied, thinking, "Nope, not for all the money in the world. One way or another I will let that redhead know that she had her chance years ago and blew it, or maybe she didn't blow it and that is why they broke up. Nevertheless, you are mine now," and then I offered, "I'll help you and Susan sell raffle tickets." "That's great! I'm so glad you're being such a good sport about it. Do you like French fries with salt and malt vinegar? They also have Tabasco sauce there. If I'd known that you liked hot and spicy I would have added hot peppers to the fried potatoes....." * * *Patrick:* While I was in the tub washing, getting ready to go, Marie came into the bathroom wearing only a bra and panties, and I thought, "It is a shame we don't have the time for Marie to join me." "Which of these shirts do you want me to iron," she asked. "Did you hear what I said, Patrick? Do you want to wear the red one?" Marie asked holding them up by their hangers, "or this white one with the pearl buttons?" "The red one will be fine, and you don't have to iron it, Marie." "Of course I do. My outfit is already ironed and the iron is still hot. It will only take a minute," She then opened the vanity cupboard, leaving the door ajar. She hung the shirts on the cupboard door and took out my baby shampoo and conditioner. "Sit back and relax while I give you a nice shampoo," I thought, "Who was I to argue with that?" "If you expect me to grow my hair long, then it will be your job to help me care for it." "Yes, and it will be my pleasure....that feels wonderful." "Do like the color of my hair, Patrick?" "I love the color of your hair. A little bit more to the left." "Would you like me better as a blonde?" "No, I can't see you as a blonde. That's it, use your fingers." "What about if I dyed it red, and then cut my hair really short in a pixie?" "It is your hair and your choice, but no to a red dyed red hair, and definitely not in a pixie....use your fingers on the crown." "Why did you go out with Susan in High School? What was the attraction?" "I know that I'm not much to look at Marie, and I see where this is going. A little bit more to the right...yes, right there. I accept how God made me. Does that seem simplistic to you? What you see is what you get. You are a beautiful woman and that's a fact. You are as God made you... beautiful. Yes, I like long hair on women, and yes, I like your God given hair color very much. I will like it when it turns silver gray or white as will mine, " Marie was thinking, "Silver gray or white, perhaps marriage is in my future," "Yes, I was attracted to Susan at one time because of her long red hair. Susan would let me brush her hair and do anything I wanted to with it like...ouch, not so hard and stop pulling." "That was an accident. Close your eyes so that I can rinse." "No, it wasn't and now it is my turn to ask some questions. Don't even think about rinsing with just cold water. Did you ever dye your hair red or cut it really short?" "No, but I was a blonde for most of my marriage." "You became a blonde because your ex-husband preferred it that way, right?" "Yes, it was blonde for him and long for me." "Your father didn't approve of the change in color, did he, Marie? As a matter of fact, I bet your Dad didn't think much of your ex right from the beginning but kept his mouth shut for you and your mother's sake. My intuition tells me that the Jerk was a self-centered wimp who basically ignored you and was most likely intimidated by your temper and no doubt was scared silly of your father." Marie was thinking to herself, "Bingo, I assumed right, Patrick wouldn't approve of any dye job, either. He would let me, but he wouldn't approve and that was all the difference in the world. With the Jerk, blonde was almost a mandate," I didn't answer right away, lost in thought, "I am amazed how close Patrick hit to home, but I am somewhat relieved by it as well and I do want his approval." "After your divorce you cut your hair shorter as a statement of sorts, a new beginning so to speak. You also went back to your natural color to assert your new found independence?" "Right again, Patrick. I'm ready to rinse out the conditioner now." "I can pretty much guess the rest. That being said, this can be a new beginning for the both of us, Marie. We can share a life journal, start a clean white page. I want this house to eventually be your home, our home, as well as the house on Long Island. There is no reason when the time comes not to keep both. I suggest that you call your mother and father and tell them where you are. You are lucky to have them, you know. I miss mine. I'm sure that they are worried by now. I would like to meet them..." * * *Marie:* It is almost as if Patrick can read my mind. I was going to be a little playful and rinse with cold water, but he was one step ahead of me about that and the living arrangements. Now I really can't wait for Patrick to meet my parents. It seems that we are on the same page about everything so far. Later today we will be putting an entry in our life journal. Our first date at the Fireman's Carnival................... I haven't been this excited about a date since high school. I dressed carefully for the occasion wishing that I could wear my makeup for him. For the most part we were wearing the same clothing. Patrick was wearing his signature blue jeans, jean jacket, plus the red western cut shirt. The borrowed jeans that I was wearing fit me like a second skin. I was wearing a similar ladies red western shirt. The back of my jean jacket had two beautifully executed, and exact to scale, hand embroidered red cardinals, male and female on a white birch tree branch. Even our moccasins boots were the same; double vamped construction and made from buffalo and elk hides by the Russell Moccasin Company of Berlin, Wisconsin. I have to say they are the most comfortable footwear I have ever worn. There is a wicker basket in the reading room (bathroom) mostly full of catalogs. I'm going to have Patrick measure my feet per the instructions on the template in the Russell Catalog for them to make a wood last for my feet so I can order another pair. Patrick was in the east pasture talking to White Cloud and feeding her apples when I came out to model my outfit for him. Those moccasins were quiet, and I was almost able to sneak up on him, but White Cloud saw me. She backed up and trotted over where I was walking quietly along the fence drawing Patrick's attention over to us. I now understood why his wife named the horse White Cloud. This gentle old mare was all brown except for a large white patch extending the entire length of her back. Patrick walked over to me carrying a small, well used dented bucket and flashed a smile like sunshine to greet me. Putting the bucket down, he picked me up and swung me around if I weighed nothing. "You look lovely my lady, my Marie. We could almost be twins by the way we are dressed. Coincidence? I think not." Patrick was absolutely beaming, and my mind was racing as he kissed me as I thought, "He said, my Marie...my Marie, this was so wonderful! Things do not happen like this in real life, therefore I was going to make the best of it and never wake up from this wonderful dream. This was my chance to climb every mountain and follow my dream of painting and drawing in my own little studio and accountable to no one other than myself. Patrick offered to lend me the studio if I wanted it." He continued, "You have no idea how beautiful you look dressed like that Marie." "I believe White Cloud thought that you were her Mistress. She came right over to you and horses can sense things. Many Native Americans believe that horses can read our auras and will choose us, and then their love and loyalty is absolute. Would you like to be White Cloud's Mistress?" he put me down and took a piece of carrot from the bucket, "Put your hand out like this," he put a piece of carrot in my hand, "she won't bite your fingers, but don't pull away...that's it, can you feel her lips? White Cloud, this is Marie Antoinette, not Anne Marie, but you probably know that now," White Cloud shook her head up and down and then nuzzled my hand, 'Here is another piece. You may pet her, like this, and talk to her....that's it, tell White Cloud she's a grand old lady....." * * *Patrick: * When Marie came out dressed like that she looked so beautiful it was enough to almost make my heart stop. As I was swinging her about and kissing her, I was thinking, "Marie is so patient with me. She lets me pick her up and kiss her. My Marie puts up with my silly antics...I just couldn't help myself. It is only the two of us. I would never embarrass Marie by acting like this in public. Well, maybe I might, just a little." White Cloud is used to that kind of behavior from me when I am happy. That had to be it. Horses can sense such things. White Cloud would only let Anne or me hand feed her and will only eat her treats out of this bucket for Sam. White Cloud allowed Marie to eat out of her hand and then to hug her neck. That was the clincher. I'm not the most handsome cuss in the world, but Marie chose me, while White Cloud chose her. I can't wait to walk around the Carnival and show Marie off and to introduce my love to everyone. I haven't attended the Carnival in three years and Susan has been after me to take her there for two. I have to get Susan alone and explain things to her. I owe her that. I just hope that I am not making a mistake by taking Marie with me. But God bless her, Marie is not too proud to wear borrowed clothes for now. What we need is an Adventure to go and get hers...." * * *Marie:* It was a half hour ride to the Fireman's Carnival. We were like teenagers sitting close and I held his hand while we drove there. Patrick confided in me that he is amazed that White Cloud took to me the way she did. I can't wait to ride her and Patrick is going to teach me. Until then I have to learn to groom and care for her. He explained that I was chosen by White Cloud. I think that's so cool. We also talked a little about the living together. Patrick said that we can go on our first Adventure in three weeks when the owner of the pregnant mare came and got her. He was very secretive about the details and said that it would be a surprise. Before we went to the ticket booth, Patrick and I took a quick walk around the Carnival to look around. I was hoping that he would put his arm around my waist as we walked, but I was content when he firmly took my arm, as a gentleman would a lady. I feel so safe being on his arm. He walks with a confidence that few men posses. I have observed that many men of wealth and privilege walk as he does, but without Patrick's open and friendly manner. I wonder, take away their wealth and power; would they walk the same confidence? Especially those men with their arrogant swagger. What do they have in reserve to back it up. We casually strolled along as if we owned the ground we walked on but were willing to share it... or make way if politely asked. During introductions, I would stand as close as I could to him, silently claiming Patrick as mine. He introduced me to quite a few people on the way to our first destination, Darby's French Fry Stand. Those delicious fries were just as Patrick described them. I watched as Darby or his wife tore a portion of butcher paper from a huge roll to form that section of paper into a large cone and then tape it closed. Every order was made fresh and served in those paper cones. We took our fries to a picnic table where Patrick unrolled the cone for a makeshift plate. A little salt, a little malt vinegar and a dash of Tabasco Sauce. They were delicious. We sat together on the bench and shared them. We also shared a bottle of ice cold Yuengling Lager, passing the bottle back and forth. After we finished, Patrick put his arm around my waist and gave me a hug. He then kissed my cheek. "Is that all I get?" I asked, mussing his thick unruly blonde hair. "I suppose we must face the inevitable and help sell raffle tickets," he sighed, leaning forward and kissing my lips, "We had better get going." "Wait, Patrick, I have something to tell you," I put my arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, "I want you to talk dirty to me." "Not here, Marie. Not with all these people around," he said, starting to stand. "Are you embarrassed to whisper naughty words in my ear, a big strong man like you?" I asked teasingly, knowing that he wouldn't. I tried to make him sit down, which was impossible, so I got up with him. "I'm not embarrassed, but this is not the time and the place for it." "Can we compromise then?" I asked, still holding on to his neck, "I'll whisper dirty words in your ear. A pig fell in the mud." *Patrick:* What a pleasure it is to have a beautiful woman on my arm. Marie was very charming when I introduced her around. She has a nice way with people. She seems to fit in, or is trying very hard to fit in. I haven't been on a date in years. I was worried that things might be a bit awkward. That was not the case at all. I can be myself with Marie and everything just seems to blend together without keeping score. Not that Susan kept score, but Susan is a negotiator and an organizer. She always give me what I wanted, but always wanted something small in return and she would get sulky if I forgot. She was also much more mature than I was at 17. I had a one track mind then, getting laid. Susan had a one track mind as well. I was being groomed to be a husband. Every date was almost an orchestrated event with a script to follow. Not that she wouldn't compromise, or was controlling, she just wanted everything in its place. When it was, Susan is a pleasure to be around. In other words, Susan is not spontaneous and will not just drop things and go like Anne and I did. That would put Susan out of her comfort zone. Would Susan make a good wife? She absolutely did make a good wife, making a good home for her husband. Susan never left her husband's side when Frank took sick, which was why Sam kept trying to fix me up with her. When I arrived at the ticket booth, Susan was not at all pleased to see Marie on my arm. She was wearing a nice green dress knowing how much I like to see women in dresses. In her case, it emphasized her voluptuous, buxom figure. She was also wearing her long red hair in a ponytail, just as she wore it high school. Like the great organizer that she is, Susan was prepared for anything. Although she packed a lunch for two, fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw and apple pie with sharp cheddar cheese for dessert; there was enough for six. It was neatly packed in two traditional wicker picnic baskets; complete with china plates and cups, crystal glassware, her sterling silverware, and a linen tablecloth... everything. Susan had decorated the booth with blue and yellow crate paper and red and white balloons, the same theme as we did for the homecoming dance in high school. She also brought a large plastic storage box full of string and twine, various kinds of tape, glue, a staple gun, extra pens and pencils. She brought magic markers, chalk, and paperclips, sticky labels, a label maker, scissors, name tags, etc. I'm sure that you get the picture. It was an interesting afternoon, to say the least. We did sell, or I should say the ladies sold a plethora of tickets, each trying to outsell one another. They were polite to one another, much like two cats circling a mouse (me) with their claws retracted. Marie complimented Susan on the wonderful lunch. It was a genuine compliment because everything Susan served us was delicious and exceptional. Susan accepted it as such. There was a momentary truce, a time out that lasted for a few minutes, and then game on. I was back on the menu again. An hour before the draft horse competition, which was delayed, Sam came over to ask me to help him with a temperamental and difficult horse that had thrown a shoe. Perfect! If I milked it, I might be able to catch a good part of the competition and the girls seemed to be getting along fine. Perhaps the Susan problem had solved itself and she finally got the message. Just before I left, I took Marie to one side and made her promise not to start anything. Sam and I were standing alongside the judges, a privilege afforded to the attending blacksmiths when we both noticed people leaving their seats and rushing in the direction of the ticket booth. I stopped a couple of teenage boys and asked, "What's going on?" The larger of the two replied, "There are two women fighting," and then they were off like a scalded cats. Sam and I looked at one another and no doubt we were both thinking, "Oh shit!" We both took off it that direction and when we arrived there was a crowd of people watching them rolling around on the grass, fighting. "This is partly your fault, Dad," I said, "You get Susan, and I'll get Marie," and we waded in much to the disapproval to some in the gathered crowd. One big mouth idiot grabbed the back of Sam's jacket and tried to stop him. The idiot learned the hard way; don't mess with a man who pounds on anvils for a living. Before the idiot could shout, "Hey Rube", and before I could get there to help him, Sam had twisted around and hammered him in twice with his fists, rearranging the idiots face. Sam and I were then back to back facing the crowd of people before the idiot slumped to the ground, unconscious. We were silently daring anyone else to step up, which they didn't, and surprisingly the girls were still at it. While we were separating the girls, the volunteer firemen were breaking up the crowd and passing out complimentary tickets for rides on the modest midway. Sam and I met with the Fire Chief and a few of the Carneys. It turned out the idiot was a Carney, an employee of the traveling amusement show that the Volunteer Fire Department brought in to run the Midway Rides. It was agreed that their man was out of line and that was the end of it. Sam and I knew better. We threw one hundred dollars each into a hat to buy beer tickets for the 20 or so Carneys working the Midway. It was a goodwill gesture on our part and they could redeem the tickets at the Fireman's beer tent after hours. But getting back to the girls...they were a mess. Torn clothing and covered in dirt and grass stains. They both got their punches in though. The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 02 Once we separated them we brought them to the firehouse and had them sit in different rooms with a cold pack. Susan had a fat lip and was crying. She wouldn't even talk to me. I suppose I had it coming for my poor judgment in bringing Marie to sell tickets. *Sam:* I sure messed things up for my son. I love Patrick like a son. He tried to explain things to Susan and got slapped hard in the face for his apology. I imagine Patrick thought he had it coming because he didn't try and stop her. I should have told Susan right out that it was my idea about selling tickets and that Patrick didn't know anything about it. Patrick didn't want me to look bad and went along with my stupidity, hoping for the best. But hot damn, that Marie is a little scrapper. Susan is a good four inches taller and outweighs her by a good twenty five pounds. Apparently ultimatums don't sit well with Marie. I still think if Patrick hadn't found Marie, Susan would have been a good match for him. That's not going to happen. What a lucky bastard he is having two women fighting over him, and I still can't get over my daughter's mare taking to Marie like that. Patrick shows up with her out of the blue and won't tell me a thing about her except that he met Marie in New York City. Something special must have happened between them because Patrick looks at her like he always looked at my Anne Marie. That Marie woman better not break Patrick's heart, though or she will answer to me, and in the afterlife, Anne Marie. Anne Marie's mama was a medicine woman and if Marie does break his heart, Anne might find a way before then. It's in their blood. Well, it is time for me to face the music and spill the beans..." * * *Marie: * I can't believe the nerve of that woman! Her entire demeanor changed after Patrick left. Susan deliberately kept bumping into me. I tried to keep my temper for Patrick's sake and I stepped out of the booth to give her room. When Susan followed me out of the booth and then gave me an ultimatum to step aside and get out of her way, I laughed in the bitch's face. Then there was a shouting match. At least I didn't curse or swear. Patrick will have to give me that. Susan tried shoving me to the ground so I grabbed her ponytail and it was game on. We were rolling on the ground, punching one another and the next thing I knew, Sam and Patrick were breaking us up. Susan is one tough bitch. If it wasn't for Patrick, I could almost like her. I hope Patrick isn't too angry. He explained to me on the way over that he would tell Susan in his own way. I already told her in mine, but she asked for it. I tried to avoid trouble. In any event, Patrick is mine. I have him and Susan doesn't. He has to be angry, though. When he was satisfied that I was all right, Patrick didn't kiss me or anything. He went to check on Susan and didn't look happy at all when he came back. I think Sam punched somebody because there was a meeting with the Firemen and the Carnival people. I only picked up bits and pieces because Patrick told me to stay put and keep the ice pack on. After their meeting, I didn't have the particulars. Patrick and Sam did something to smooth things over. We then quietly walked to the truck and Patrick helped me in. He gave me a funny look, asking, "Are you sure you are alright?" "I'm fine, Blue Knight but we need to talk about..." but he interrupted me, "Not now, Ms. Bernardino," I was thinking, "He is angry." "We can talk about it when we get home, Marie. Until then, not another word." Patrick played the radio all the way home, looking straight ahead and ignoring me. Earlier in the day, he couldn't keep his hands off of me. Boy was I in trouble. I should have left when Susan started bumping into me. We really caused a scene and I suppose I can't blame him for being angry. When we pulled into the driveway he put the truck in park and shut the engine off. I waited to see if he would help me out and he did, offering me his hand, saying, "I'm going to check on the horses," and then he walked away. "Patrick wait, let me explain, can we talk?" I then started walking after him, no answer, "Patrick, Susan started it!" still no answer, "Are you teasing me? Did you hear me?" I said, rushing past him to get in front. I put my hand on his chest, stopping him but only because he let me. "Are you angry with me?" He closed his eyes, sighed and then opened them. He took my hand and held it gently in both of his. "I'm angry with myself. I should have handled the entire situation differently. I'm disappointed that you didn't just leave when Susan got pushy. Although I suppose a confrontation was inevitable. I have to tell you, I still care for Susan in my own way and she is basically a very good person. Susan is not your competition. I am not interested in Susan that way. That is ancient history...period." Patrick then pulled me close and put my hand over his heart and held it there, "My heart only beats for you, Marie," and I was thinking, "Did he just say that he loves me?", Patrick continued, "I'm not one for flowery speeches and I offer no love sonnets," he kissed me, his hot lips scorching mine, "All I can do is show you. Go into the house and put another ice pack on your eye. It really doesn't look bad so let's keep it that way. I will be in shortly, and then we can grill some steaks." * * *Patrick:* When I finished with the horses, I got my grill out and started a fire with oak and apple logs. They would burn down into fragrant cooking coals. I put a dozen roasting potatoes wrapped in foil in the far corner of the grill to get them started, and it would take a good hour to get a bed of coals for the steaks which was why I didn't use charcoal. I was going to have my dessert before supper. I found my Marie in the kitchen standing at the counter preparing homemade Italian dressing for a tossed salad. She had changed out of the blue jeans and blouse and was now wearing a simple house dress without a bra underneath. Perfect. I put my arms around her waist while rubbing her ass to see if she was wearing panties. Nope. Perfect again. I then kissed the back of her neck and nuzzled it with my face. Marie was wise to my tricks now. She turned around and offered me a taste from the spoon before I could put my finger in the bowl, "What do you think?" She asked, "Does it need more garlic?" "No, it is perfect," I answered, "The fire will be ready in about an hour and then I will put the t-bone steaks on. How do you want yours cooked?" "Medium rare will be fine. I'm glad you're not mad at me, and I'm not wearing panties either." "Was I that obvious?" I asked, kissing her luscious lips. "Perfectly obvious," Marie answered, returning my kisses, "I've been going through the cupboards and we need to go grocery shopping. I want you to taste my sauce." "No we don't and I will taste your sauce momentarily. Any objections?" "Not that kind of sauce," she said laughing, as I caressed her firm ass. "You said you want me to taste your sauce. Your sauce. Marie's sauce. What other kind of sauce is there?" "I meant tomato sauce and you know it, so stop being obtuse." "What, tomato sauce down there? Won't that be messy? It will stain the sheets. What if I get tomato sauce in my eye brows? How undignified," And then I waved my hand as if dismissing the silly notion, while keeping a straight face, "And I won't stop, I love squeezing your little caboose." Marie started mussing my hair vigorously and laughed, "You are impossible, Patrick. Do you know that? Do you? You can be so stern and unyielding, but then so silly. That is why I love you." * * *Marie:* "Of course I have fallen in love with him," I was thinking, "How could I not? Patrick is the least passive aggressive man that I have ever met and the most truthful. He doesn't hide behind words and fancy talk. He told me straight up about Susan, too. I have to admit that I am a little bit afraid of him, though. Or is it respect? Make it both. But I love him, and he loves me. What you see are what you get," and then I asked, "Do you have anything to say to me, Patrick?" "Yes, your eye looks much better." "Thank you, anything else?" "Yes, you look lovely in that dress." "Anything else?" I continued asking, tugging on his hair. "Yes, you are hot and sexy." "You are getting warm, please continue." "That is the best Italian dressing that I have ever tasted...ouch." "You are impossible, Mr. Buchanan," I said, kissing his lips. Patrick then lifted my dress and started rubbing my pussy with his hand, "Tell me my sexy little bitch, do you want me to lick and suck your plump pussy, or do you want to fuck?" Not answering, I took my dress completely off and dropped it to the kitchen floor. * * *Patrick:* Marie told me that she loved me. I knew she would, I just knew it. I picked her up, and then carried my darling Marie, who felt as light as a feather, into the bedroom where I put her gently on our bed. I didn't bother to undress, as I was intent on pleasing her. I could wait until later. I put a pillow underneath her shapely ass and spread her legs. I started kissing and licking Marie's beautiful rounds breasts until I could smell the sweet moistness between her legs. Marie's moans and deep breathing were like music to my ears. I was somewhat humbled by it, actually. It was nice that Marie could be herself with me. I then went down on her, licking and sucking, probing her clitoris with my tongue. Marie's hands were in my hair, pushing my head against her dripping pussy while verbally urging me on. I could feel her swollen clitoris pulsating against my tongue as if it had a life of its own. She was moaning softly and rocking her hips from side to side. Marie tasted delicious. Vanilla spice delicious. Performing oral sex on a woman is something I enjoy greatly. I could never understand why so many men disdain it. They obviously didn't know what they were missing or how much women enjoy it. Many married women deny their husbands oral sex and the husbands can't understand why. They just accept it or make jokes about it, such as, "The minute I said I do, she didn't"...the dopes. Marie's orgasm came in waves with her sweet juices covering my face as I licked like mad and held her in place to keep her from sliding off the bed. Afterward, I lay down next to her and began playing with her hard nipples as she lay stretched out on her back. She was relaxing like a large cat. No, make it a tigress. Marie ran her fingers through her own hair and was frowning thoughtfully. "Thank you, Marie," I said, "You are best tasting little Italian I have ever had." Smiling, Marie rolled over and hugged me, kissing my face over and over. That is when I accidentally found out that she was ticklish. I held her down and tickled her until she was practically begging me to stop. * * *Marie:* As I was kissing and hugging him I was thinking, "Patrick is so wonderfully impossible that I can hardly believe it. He used his tongue like a conductor directing an orchestra. He did everything right and my orgasms were so good. I was ready for more when Patrick stood up and thanked me. But then he started playfully tickling me and I was just about breathless before he stopped. He then excused himself to check and see if the grill was ready for the steaks, leaving me in a content, happy flutter on our bed. Our bed...my Patrick." I have the rest of my life with him. What I really can't believe is that Patrick enjoys eating me out as much as I like sucking on his big cock. You can't fake that kind of enthusiasm. I got dressed, set the table for two and met him outside where he was grilling the steaks. Patrick was sipping a bottle of Yuengling Lager. He smiled, handed me the bottle and I took a sip. I then gave his ass a pinch, "That was for tickling me. When will the steaks be ready?" "They will be ready in another five minutes. The baked potatoes are done. I made enough potatoes to put in the fridge to get cold and then slice up for fried potatoes for at least two meals and look," he lifted the cover to show me, "I am roasting some jalapeño peppers for my hot and spicy lady. Just add a tossed salad to the meal and it doesn't get better than that?" "Yes it does. Dessert, sweetheart," I answered, "I'm going to taste you after I take you out for ice cream at the Upstate Dairy Store that we passed on the way home. It will be my treat," I put my arms around his neck and kissed him, "Please, sweetheart." "As you command, my Queen, as you command...................." We were having a very cozy little dinner with candles and soft music, when the doorbell rang. Patrick ignored it and made no attempt to get up and answer the door. It rang again. "It's probably for you, my love," he said, smiling. Puzzled, I got up and answered the door. There was a young man standing there and his Florist Delivery Van was parked in our driveway. "I have a delivery for a Marie Antoinette Bernardino. Will you sign for it, Ma'am?" "Yes, thank you," I said, puzzled, "I don't have cash to tip you, but if you come back tomorrow I will." "Oh no, Ma'am, the tip has already been paid." I returned to the table with 3 dozen long stem lavender roses, they being my favorite flower by far. "My, my, Marie, roses! You must have a secret admirer," Patrick said, cutting his steak. "How did you know lavender roses are my favorite, and are you familiar with the mystique associated with them?" "I didn't know. Most women like red roses. Red roses are popular and heavily promoted as the most desirable. They are also the most abundant and most common. You are not most women, you are my Marie. It is well known that purple is the color of royalty, my Queen. Many believe that the lavender rose is a sign of enchantment and love at first sight. It is often said that those who have been enraptured by feelings of love and adoration have given lavender roses to express their romantic feelings and intentions." "I thought you didn't know poetry," I hugged him as tight as I could, "Thank you for the beautiful flowers." "Was that poetry?" He asked, while keeping a poker face, "It certainly didn't rhyme. Would you please pass the salt?" I wasn't fooled, Patrick's eyes gave him away. They were saying, I love you Marie................ After dinner, I washed while Patrick dried, listening to music while we did the dishes. Patrick pulled me away from the sink three times to dance with me. If this keeps up there is need to buy a dishwasher. After the dishes were done, we danced into the bedroom for me to get ready. We then danced out to his truck, turning things off and locking the doors on the way out...it must be the lavender roses. I snuggled up close to Patrick in the truck and held his hand while we drove to get our ice cream cones. I was a woman in love; rescued from and ogress and then enamored with the whirlwind romance that had figuratively and literally sweep me off my feet. When we arrived, I didn't care what anyone thought when we acted like teenagers, even though both of us adults are in our thirties. We ordered our ice cream, double-dip ones in waffle cones. I had a of scoop chocolate with a scoop of strawberry on the top. Patrick chose maple walnut and butter pecan. We sat outside on the tailgate of his pickup truck passing our cones back-and-forth, tasting and sharing maple walnut, chocolate, strawberry and butter pecan flavored kisses. I noticed that Patrick likes to drive on all the back roads. Perfect. I never had done anything like this before, but this was a big roomy truck; in for a dime in for a dollar, as they say. * * *Patrick:* We were driving home from the Dairy Store, "Stop the truck, pull over there," Marie said, pointing. "Is something wrong?" I asked, pulling over and putting the transmission into PARK. "No, everything is perfectly wonderful and I love you." Marie replied, leaning over to kiss me. I was starting to catch on. Marie turned the key, shutting the engine off. "It's dark out. There's nobody around, and I want to suck on your cock. But first I want to neck. We haven't done that yet." I started the truck again and started driving away, "Just up the way a bit is the Power Company's access right of way which intersects with an abandoned road that runs along the creek. The county road is pretty rough and overgrown but is a wonderful ride on horseback. I cleared out most of the brush on the west side of the old stone bridge foundation. My great-great-grandfather helped build that bridge. The county shut the bridge down in 1920, it being unsuited for trucks and autos. We will park there, out of sight and out of mind." "Did you ride there often with your wife, sweetheart?" "Yes, I had an arrangement with a riding stable. We bartered our services. I have never had a horse of my own and never rode until after I was married. Anne taught me how to ride. No horse ever took to me, not even White Cloud." "But I have seen you feed and pet her, Patrick. You own her." "That's true, and I have ridden White Cloud, Marie, but only one time since Anne died. The grand old lady's heart just wasn't in it. Yes, legally I own her. On the other hand, philosophically speaking, some would say that White Cloud is her own sentient being with feelings and a soul. I don't buy the scientific theories promoting animal behavior as purely instinctual. I base my opinion on my experience with horses and dogs. My little female beagle, Brandy, blew those cold clinical theories out of the water, and then there is White Cloud." "I never had a dog growing up in the City. There was no room in our apartment. Was Brandy your only dog?" I asked, squeezing his hand. "There is only one Brandy, and yes, she was my only dog. Brandy died just before I went into the Service. There are a series of big bumps coming up and then we will be there. If you want, we can start a fire. Now, as I was saying; take material possessions, for example and my land in particular. When I am dead and gone, the land will still be here. I am merely borrowing it for awhile as with everything I own. Others will say, "Do we really own things, or do they own you"? It is also said that you can't take it with you. I disagree. Love transcends all, my beautiful Marie." * * *Marie:* As we traversed the rock strewn road riddled with deep ruts, I was thinking, "I have fallen in love with a philosopher knight, and to think, the Ogress Clara called Patrick a hayseed?" When we finally parked, I could tell even in the dark what a beautiful little spot this was. It was quiet and peaceful except for the sound of water splashing and gurgling over the rocks in the creek bed. It was a warm, balmy night with the lilac bushes growing along the bank in full bloom. We put the widows down to catch the fragrant, lilac scented breeze. Being here with Patrick is so different from my life in the City. Even when seemingly alone in Central Park, you are surrounded by multitudes of people. This was now our special place; secluded, cozy and safe. Patrick turned to me and gently took my face in his strong, callused hands while kissing my lips, "I love you, Marie," he said softly, holding my face, "I love you more than words can describe," and he kissed my me again, as far as I was concerned, those kisses could have gone on forever, "I am truly blessed to have found you, my Queen." "No, my love," I thought, "I am the one who is blessed, for I am a changed woman. My money and my possessions owned me. I was proud, and I was selfish, and I was hell bent on self destructive revenge to get even for what the Jerk did to me. I haven't spoken with my parents in almost a year I'm ashamed to admit. You make me feel like I'm an eighteen year old girl again, my Blue Knight, my Patrick. You have reminded me who I really am. I'm sorry, Mom and Dad, I'm going to make it up to both of you. Patrick told me that his biggest regret in life was never having children. You were right, my dear parents, family is all that matters." The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 02 Patrick held me close as we kissed, running his fingers through my hair. They were warm kisses, gentle, passionate kisses, no hurry kisses. We had all the time in the world, the night belonged to us. He held me for awhile, and I could hear his heart beating. It was beating only for me. Patrick felt so warm and solid as he held me, stroking my hair and rubbing my back. There was no need for words; the creek's soothing music and Patrick's beating heart was the only sound I needed. * * *Patrick:* This is one of my favorite spots in the world. I would hide out here as a boy when I was angry with my father or to get out of the cow barns. During the summer I would disappear for days on end like Huckleberry Finn or Tom Sawyer on the Mississippi River. I drove my Dad mad with worry and was grounded almost continuously, all to no avail. Corporal punishment or grounding didn't faze me one bit, I never gave up my hiding place. Sure, the same creek ran through our property, and we had a 4 acre pond not far from the house, but the bridge was my private clubhouse. It was my get away where I could let my imagination soar in books. "Robin Hood" by Roger L. Green, "Ivanhoe" by Sir Walter Scott, and I loved all the original "Conan the Barbarian" stories by Robert E. Howard. I read everything by Edgar Rice Burroughs. I was intrigued by "The Once and Future King" by T. H. White, and I am still fascinated by Tolkien. I would climb up on the bridge foundation and settle into a hollow crevice, to sit and read out of sight. My adventures for the day were contingent on what book I was reading. I would run up and down the creek banks fighting evil black knights or would slay dragons with my sword, a stick, or wrestling crocodiles in the creek. I would kill the pretend crocodiles with my knife - a real one, a fixed blade Buck knife. A word of advice, never swim like Tarzan with a sharp knife in your teeth. I still have the scar on my tongue for that stupidity. I even had my own secret magic gold ring that I always wore around my neck on a chain. It was my ring of invisibility and it kept me safe from harm and discovery. I wore it every day on a chain around my neck right up to the day I was married. Unlike the one ring to rule them all and in darkness bind them, from "The Lord of the Rings" by Tolkien, mine was a ring with a mother's love forged into it. It was my mother's plain gold wedding band....Mom died when I was nine years old. Dad never remarried and I assumed wrongly that that fate would be mine after my wife died. * * *Marie:* "Do you still want your cock sucked, Sweetheart?" I asked, knowing that he did. Patrick was so good by patiently waiting. Nevertheless, I could feel his erection straining against his jeans the whole time we were there. "Do I have to talk dirty?" He asked. "Not if you don't want too," I answered, pulling his zipper down, "Just get comfortable and enjoy." "I can smell your sex, Marie, my horny little bitch. You are wet between your legs. You are a wet and willing hot little number. Just remember you are mine now. If you are a good little cocksucker, I will reward you with a good hard fucking." "I love it when you talk dirty to me," I cooed, kissing his stomach. Patrick opened his door and we switched sides. He took his jeans and boxers off before he got back in. I slid over and lay down on my stomach the long way across the seat with my feet hanging out the driver's door. He got comfortable by leaning up against the passenger door and waited for me to start. I couldn't wait to suck on his big cock. Patrick wasn't the only person that was horny. I started by kissing and licking his stomach, working my way towards his cock. It was standing at attention for me, patiently waiting to be licked and sucked. I started licking the base of his cock then moved to the tip, rolling my tongue around there. I had my love squirming in the seat as he played with my hair. I continued to lick and suck, his hands buried in my hair, taking his cock deeper into my mouth, anticipating when he would flood my mouth with his luscious seed. I teased him; bringing him to the brink of sweet release and then backing off. I did this several times until he growled, "Enough," He then took control of me by my hair, setting the cadence. "Enough teasing, little bitch, lick and suck and you will swallow it all." I love it when he talks dirty. Patrick's breathing increased, becoming deep steady breathes and he was making a low noise in his throat, a low deep primal growl that turns me on so much. I was squeezing my legs together, pushing my pussy against the truck seat, trying to stimulate myself. I wanted to come so bad. I tried sticking my hand into my blue jeans to get to my pussy. Patrick slapped my ass with his hand and it stung even through my clothes, "Enough of that, Marie, that's my job. You will behave and wait." Of course I would wait. Patrick was the first man since my father who could actually handle me. He would make me behave, and I loved it, thinking, " A spanking now and that might be just what I needed, followed, of course, by a good fucking afterward?" My thoughts were pushed aside by another of his thunderous orgasms releasing a deluge of hot creamy cum into my mouth. He pulled out slightly so that I wouldn't choke, and as before, it was a delicious relentless barrage of semen for me to swallow. I was almost overwhelmed by his onslaught of creamy semen as my first little orgasm washed over me. I got up to kiss him but Patrick got out of the truck and said, "Thank you, Marie." I watched him run off into the bushes taking off his shirt and dropping it. Now he was completely naked. I got out of the truck smiling, and was thinking, "Life with my Blue Knight will be anything but boring." I started to undress, getting into the spirit of the game. I remembered the times I spent with my Mother. Mom acts in several small community theatres and that is where she met Dad. Dad was hired to do the plumbing work in the restored theatre where Mom was rehearsing. This was something we did as a family, going to Mom's plays and helping out. Mom and I would rehearse her lines, and eventually I had my own small parts, or walk on parts in the small and mostly adult theatre productions. Dad helped with the props and the lights. He joked that he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, although he bragged about carrying his acting skills in a thimble in his pocket. I also took voice and singing lessons from Mom, and we sang together on Sunday in our church choir during mass. In high school I really got involved with all the school plays, and in my senior year I played the star role as Maria from the musical "The Sound of Music". That was followed by the same part in Mom's theatre group, the pinnacle of my acting career to both my parents' delight. Mom was the Mother Superior. Mom and I rehearsed our parts with a passion and then we would laugh and talk afterward. She was sad that I would be attending college in the fall and living in the dormitory. In retrospect, my Mother is far more talented in singing, dancing or acting that I could ever hope to be. Mom stole the show and out shined everyone when she sang "Climb Every Mountain", although I did get by pretty good, coming in a close second from the reviews in the entertainment section in the newspaper. Dad told me afterward that he never heard Mom sing with such heartfelt passion and love. Mom sang that song , "Climb Every Mountain" was for me, Marie Antoinette, not the character, Maria. I was my Mother's pride and joy and her inspiration. This precious song between mother and daughter was a spiritual gift that a Patrick would say" transcends all". Mom could have gone places and then I was born. During the first five years of my life to until I entered school, Mom's entire world was me. I could read when I was three. I entered I kindergarten reading at a third grade level. I was able to express myself with a vocabulary that was unusually large for my age. My drawings and paintings were displayed in every room of our small apartment and then saved in a leather portfolio to make room for new ones. My real talent is painting and drawing, something which my mother nurtured and encouraged. In my early years, my days belonged to my mother and in the evenings my father. It just about broke their hearts when I dropped out of college. * * *Patrick: * I quietly circled back and followed Marie down to the water. As I hoped, she was completely undressed and waiting for me. My lover's trim figure delighted my eyes as it became faintly silhouetted by the water and dim mellow moonlight light from the half moon. In my imagination I saw Marie as one of the mythical Naiads, a fresh water nymph as she waded in the shallow water near the shore. My heart pounded in my chest with enraptured love for Marie, pounding so loud I was certain that she could hear me coming and would return to the water whence she came. * * *Marie:* It was almost a mystical night as I waded in the shallow water along the banks of the creek. The light from the half moon caressed my naked form and I felt as if I was almost part of nature. It was an odd but lovely thought; me, a horny water sprite. I was already wet and aroused between my legs and I imagined that Patrick could smell my woman's scent as I was looking and listening for him, stroking my breasts and getting hornier by the minute, knowing what was to come, a good hard fucking as only he can do it. Then Patrick was there with his hands around my waist, nuzzling and kissing my cheek, his rock hard cock pressing against me. I reached back with my hand and touched his face. "I've been good," I said, taking his hands and squeezing them. "No you haven't. You have been wonderfully sexy and naughty stroking your beautiful breasts by your creek my little Naiad. I can smell you from a distance and now you can't get away. You will have to grant me one wish." "Is a Naiad like a water sprite?" I asked. "A Naiad is a fresh water nymph and cousin to the tree nymph. They are much larger and sexier than a water spirit," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders and turning me to face him. He then took my hand and we walked out of the water to the soft grass of the creek bank. I put my arms around his neck and then kissed him long and deep, "You have your fairytale creatures mixed up Patrick. Genies grant wishes." "You have already granted two of my wishes," he replied, pulling me tight into him and kissing my mouth, "One, you have agreed to stay, and two, you love me. Three will come in time. I am content to wait," he said, pulling me down into the grass next to him. "Get on your hands and knees, Marie, and brace yourself." Straddling my dripping and welcoming pussy with his cock, Patrick then leaned forward until his face was close to mine and kissed my cheek, "Please and thank you, my love," he said as he entered me, pushing slowly, making me gasp and moan while stretching my tight cunt until I could feel his balls caressing my ass cheeks. As before, it seemed that Patrick's huge cock filled my entire uterus and I started to orgasm immediately, moaning and squirming from side-to-side when he suddenly pulled out and slapped my ass, sharply," Not yet, Marie." Then he lightly slapped my pussy as he stroked my clitoris with his fingers until I was literally begging him to fuck me. Patrick started fucking me slowly again. In and out, in and out- bringing me to the brink several times before I was allowed my first little orgasm. Just as it peaked, his thrusting becoming more forceful and his cock seemed even bigger and harder as his balls spanked my ass. Amazed, I felt the beginning of another orgasm building. Patrick was spanking my ass just hard enough to sting, enhancing our love making. He timed his orgasm with mine. I was overwhelmed as that massive orgasm burned though me. I moaned and swore and for the life of me I don't remember what I said to him. Patrick was pulling my hair as he pounded me. The sharp intake of his breathing and the deep growl in his throat that was so Patrick, the Patrick I loved. Perhaps he is a little rough and wild but I like it when he fucks me that way. I have never made love to a man outside in the grass like this, nor have I ever had grass stains on my knees or the palms of my hands from fucking. Afterward, we lay there not talking and he held me. We never had our fire. I was thinking about my mother and started crying. They were happy tears and he intuitively knew it. Patrick continued to hold me and stroked my hair. * * *Patrick:* I have noticed that Marie likes it a little rough and that is good because sometimes I get a little carried away. I notice how turned on she gets when I pull Marie's hair while I bang her, or when I spank her ass and pussy. I absolutely adore Marie when she moans and pants, squirms and swears. There is nothing intimidating about that at all. Wow, talk about an ego booster! There is nothing like making love in the grass at night, it is so wild and primal. Afterward, I held her and stroked her hair. Not so much to comfort Marie because I knew they were happy tears, but because I love her and I could share the moment if not the memory. When we got home, I was exhausted and went right to bed. Marie checked on the horses, and let me sleep. * * *Marie:* Patrick was exhausted when we got home. I must have worn him out, but what an eventful day we had. He went to bed while I checked on the horses and locked all of the doors. Afterward, I went into the kitchen and called my parents. I lost all track of the time talking to Mom. This was the first time in our life that we talked as equals. We both had a good cry, talked some more and then had another cry. We talked about everything. I didn't mention the Club or how I really met Patrick. I wasn't ready for that yet, maybe someday. I told her that I met him in the City while he was on business. That was partially true and I told Mom that I loved him. Mom was intrigued about the fact that Patrick was a sometimes farmer and a blacksmith. She also wanted to attend one of his reenactments when I told her that he was part actor and had to stay in character and period dress the whole time the public was there. As I said, I lost all track of time and was still talking at six o'clock the next morning. While I was talking to Dad, Patrick walked into the kitchen fully dressed. He then leaned over and kissed my cheek. Dad tends to have a loud telephone voice and when he talks, his voice tends to carry. While Patrick was making the coffee, he must have heard some of the comments that Dad made about him being a shit kicking farmer, and remarks about his Scottish heritage and not being good enough for me, things like that. Patrick brought me a cup of coffee, grinning from ear to ear and took the telephone from me. "Good morning, Mr. Bernardino. This is Patrick Ian Buchanan. All those things you said about me will have to be settled when we meet....... No, Mr. Bernardino, I was not listening in on another line. You are loud and have a big mouth," I just sat there, stunned. Nobody dares to talk to my Dad like that, "No, you have no expectations of privacy unless you talk quietly........ Yes, I know you are Marie's father. God bless you for that...... Is that what you think? I'm am eavesdropping punk? How interesting. Is that any way to talk to a future son?......You forbid me to see your daughter? I can assure you that's not happening. I love Marie and nobody is standing in my way, including you....... You are coming down here to kick my ass? I'll save you the trouble. Marie and I will be coming to visit you...... I'm not welcome in your house? That's fine, it is your house. You are welcome to visit mine anytime.....When? We will be coming to visit in about three weeks......Yes, I know you want a piece of me. Good luck with that. If you can't wait three weeks, Marie will give you our address. When we know for sure you are coming, Marie can put on a pot of sauce. That is, of course, if you are not afraid to meet with me....... Such language is that the best you can do. You swear like a girl...... At least curse me out in English, Mr. Bernardino......You are quite the tough guy on the telephone...... You don't say......oh, you do say. I disagree. Obviously somebody does talk to you like that, I just did....... in English, Mr. Bernardino, in English, unless you want me to finish this conversation in Gaelic." Patrick said laughing, "and then I will share some Gaelic swear words with you," he then handed me the telephone before walking out the back door, leaving me to deal with my now irate father........ The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 03 "Dad, I....." "Your father went storming out to the garage, dear," Mom said, coming back on the telephone, "don't worry, he'll get over it. I'm looking forward to your visit and meeting your young man. I have a feeling that Patrick will be quite a challenge for my Dominick..." After I finished talking with my mother I went looking for Patrick. I found him in his workshop repairing the cracked stock of a musket one of his reenacting friends dropped during a skirmish. When I walked into the shop Patrick was still grinning from ear to ear. "You must be exhausted from talking all night on the telephone," Patrick said, putting the stock on the workbench and then wiping his hands on a shop towel, "Why don't you get some sleep. I can make my own breakfast." "No you won't. I will be making you pancakes and that's final," I said, poking him playfully in the chest with my finger. "Yes, my Queen," Patrick said, smiling, and putting his arms up in the air in surrender. "And you didn't hug me yet this morning," I added, continuing to poke him. "Can I put my arms down now, pokey?" Patrick asked, as he grabbed me suddenly, pulling me close to hug me and to kiss my lips. "Do you think it is wise talking to my father the way you did? Are you trying to force a confrontation with him?" "I only spoke the truth, Marie. In the end your Dad will respect me for it." "Then you are trying to force a confrontation with him?" "It was going to happen sooner or later, right? Why not get it out of the way?" "What if my father never likes you?" "Then he doesn't. I will not allow your father to lay his hands on me." "But what if Dad does?" "He won't, Marie." "You don't know my father, humor me, and say that he does." "I will do my best not to hurt him. Most likely we will verbally spar back-and-forth, too feel each other out. Worst case scenario is that we will grudgingly get along. You can respect someone without liking them. What the heck. Your Dad might grow to like me in time." "How can you be so sure, Patrick? You don't know my Dad." "Just call it a gut feeling. You will have to trust me on this one, Marie. Grudging respect is better than polite disdain," and I did trust him, "I'm really looking forward to the pancakes though. Let's hope that there are no unwanted interruptions." "Not so fast with the pancakes. I'm not done kissing you yet." *************************** I can't seem to get enough hugs and kisses from my Blue Knight. I hope Patrick is right, but I have to prepare him. I grew up observing the interaction of my father with his close male friends; Dad was totally different with my ex-husband. Dad and his friends would laugh and joke over a glass of wine or a bottle of beer. Sometimes they would argue loudly in heated debates, going back and forth good-naturedly insulting one another. Father Joe, Uncle Joe was in my circle of Dad's two close friends. Michael McMahon was the other. The three were friends since grade school. Uncle Joe could argue and shout with the best of them, particularly when he was into his cups. In most cases, he acted as a moderator to prevent things from getting out of hand; Uncle Joe was a Roman Catholic Priest. Dad held the Jerk in contempt, but during the holidays was reasonably polite to him. It was contemptuous politeness at best. There was no good-natured arguing or insults tossed back and forth. Dad's full contempt and rage came out when he picked the Jerk up and shook him like a rag doll. It took all three of those private policemen to make Dad let go. While I was mixing the batter, I was thinking about Susan. I wondered if we will ever like each other. Susan lives two miles up the road. Being neighbors, we would eventually have to get along. Patrick pointed Susan's house to me on the way to get ice cream. But I was tired that morning and could barely keep from yawning. The thought of sleeping until late afternoon was so inviting. Patrick didn't fail to notice how tired I was, he insisted that I go to bed, now. Initially I protested, but Patrick kissed my hands and said, "Please, I'll be fine," and that was followed by the look. I gratefully went to bed while Patrick made himself pancakes from the batter. *********************** It did my heart good to see Marie talking with her parents after almost a year. What is more important than family? I thought about going to see Susan, but then decided it best to wait until I talked to Sam. These last few days were like a small tornado for me with my thoughts spinning around in my head, despite my outward calm. Marie was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open. Fortunately Marie listened to reason and went to bed with some gentle coaxing, but only when I promised to wake her up by three to go grocery shopping. After Marie settled down to sleep, I telephoned Sam and he came over alone. We spent much of the day just shooting the bull over coffee in my shop while I finished the musket stock and then started making another project from a well paying customer. Sam explained things to Susan. He also said that Susan seemed to take things better than he expected. Sam then apologized for putting me in a pickle. He still couldn't get over White Cloud's almost colt like behavior with Marie. Sam was a man who forgot more about horses that I ever could hope to know. ********************* I awoke to find Patrick sitting next to me on the bed, gently rubbing my back. "I hope you slept well, Marie. It is time to get up. Sam is here to see you." "I can't let Sam see me like this. What does he want, Patrick?" "Sam wants to apologize." "But Sam didn't do anything wrong. He did know about me then." "Humor him then. We will be waiting in the shop until you get ready. I'm looking forward to tasting your sauce." "What sauce are you talking about?" I asked, feigning obtuse, while sitting up to touch Patrick's face. "Silly sauce of course," Patrick said, smiling, and tousling my hair. "What is silly sauce.....? No Patrick, don't, Stop!" I shrieked, catching on, but not meaning it. My love pushed me back down on the bed and started ticking me. Soon I was squirming happily and laughing as he was kissing my face all over. "I won't stop until you kiss me....good, keep it up....kiss me again, and now, again....don't you just love silly sauce?" ************************** It was chilly that afternoon, but I found the most darling sleeveless red corduroy jumper in the closet. It was very feminine, but modest, coming almost to my ankles. It was very pretty with a pin-tuck bodice and a front button placket and adjustable tie back. I wore a soft, cream color silk mock turtle neck blouse underneath. I was also wearing tan stockings with black pumps. I could tell Patrick approved of my dress when I walked into his workshop to talk to Sam. Sam stood up and took his ball cap off when I walked in to the workshop. Sam also did this when he walked into our kitchen with Susan and saw me for the first time. Being a man of few words, it was a simple apology, but most sincere. He and Patrick both have such nice, old fashion manners. ******************** We had a one hour drive to get to one of the larger cities with a Macy's. Patrick waited patiently while the girl at the makeup counter demonstrated different eye shadows, eyeliners and lipsticks on me. When we left the makeup counter, I had the basic necessities we girls need to look beautiful for our guys. I also received a free makeup makeover. It was fun. Particularly since Patrick helped me make some the selections. I am going back to my conservative look for most occasions, which we both prefer. I also purchased some of the more sultry shades of eye shadow, shall we say for the more adventurous occasions. This included red lipstick which Patrick insisted I buy. Yum, I'm going to paint his cock with my red lipstick lips when we get home. Up until that day, Patrick never used aftershave or wore cologne in his entire life. Surprised, I asked him why on the drive to the city. Patrick shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Of all the colognes for men on the market, my favorite is Old Spice. That is what my Dad wears. I took Patrick over to the counter selling colognes and asked the young woman behind the counter for a bottle, offering it to buy it for him. "No thanks, Marie. Women are supposed to smell pretty, not men," Patrick then quickly walked away like the devil avoiding holy water. I grabbed the back of Patrick's jean jacket and pulled really hard, stopping him; Patrick wasn't expecting that. I then got in front of him of him, grabbed Patrick's shirt and leaned forward to whisper, "When we get home I'm going to put on my red lipstick and suck on your cock...your big cock." "Marie!" he whispered back, looking around, "for God's sake, do you want someone to hear you?" "Do you want me to talk louder, Patrick?" I whispered. "No, of course not, but...." I kissed his lips, interrupting-sticking my tongue into his mouth and watching his eyes get big. I then raised my voice, "When we get home I'm..," Patrick put his hand over my mouth, and he was smiling. "You really are something, Marie. You really would do it," said, Patrick, removing his hand. "It is such a small thing, Sweetheart. It would please me so very much if you would wear it for me." "If I refused?" Patrick asked? "You can't keep your hand over my mouth forever." "Well, I suppose cologne won't kill me." "Then you will?" I asked, kissing Patrick again, less naughtily." "I don't have a choice, do I, my Queen?" he sighed, "You would make me a dandy of your court." "No choice at all, Blue Knight" and I kissed him again, and then I turned to look the young woman. I noticed that she was all smiles watching us and nodded her approval as our eyes met. I handed the young woman my credit card for the purchase, picked up the cologne, removed the stopper and put a few drops in my hand. I rubbed it on the sides of Patrick's face, behind his ears, on the back of his neck, and into his hair." "You smell just dandy, lover," I whispered, putting my face close to his, "Let's go get our groceries." *********************** I forgot how much I enjoyed such a simple thing, grocery shopping, and planning the next week's meals together. There are so many advantages having your own business and being your own boss. I was absolutely overwhelmed and delighted with Marie's enthusiasm. We were in search of the best ingredients. Marie took her sauce seriously...her tomato sauce. Marie had to touch or kiss me for every item that we put in the cart. We bought cans of whole tomatoes, cans of crushed tomatoes, cans of tomato paste and cans of tomato puree. We bought two bottles of first cold pressed extra virgin olive oil, fresh garlic; lots of that, and fresh basil and fresh oregano. Marie made me promise to put in a garden near the house for tomatoes, basil, and oregano. My promise got me a big hug and more kisses. I was thinking, 'What a damn fool Marie's ex-husband is.' We bought a few small red onions, a few hot peppers and a sopressata cured sausage. We bought fresh sweet carrots? Marie explained that the carrots would dissolve to thicken and sweeten the sauce. Don't forget the eggs, the Italian bread for the breadcrumbs; Marie makes her own breadcrumbs. Marie always puts a piece of mozzarella cheese in the center of her meatballs. Mozzarella was just one of the cheeses we bought, and I learned how to pronounce it properly in Italian. I'll get to the other cheese shortly. Then there was the sea salt. I always figured salt was salt, but Marie insisted on sea salt for everything. Now for the meat to go into the meatballs; we bought veal and chuck steak; luckily I have a meat grinder. Marie wasn't happy with the Italian Sausage in that supermarket. We bought the rest of our groceries, minus the sausage and then went to a coffee shop known for their pies. We placed our order and requested to see their telephone book. I received an education on Italian sausage while sharing our pie; one slice of blue berry and one slice of sour cherry. We helped each other to a bit of each while Marie explained. "The best sausage is always homemade because you control what goes into it, only the best ingredients. My Dad's sausage is outstanding. Dad gets together with his two best friends every December 23rd. It's a tradition with them. They make enough sausage for the year, taking close to fifty pounds each. They drink wine. There is bread and cheese and olives and plenty of sopressata for sandwiches. Christmas Eve is meatless with us and we hold with the tradition of the feast of the seven fishes. After Midnight Mass, it is officially Christmas," Marie said, smiling, "Mom will fry one piece and Dad would cut it in three pieces for us to share before bedtime." "That is a lovely tradition, my love," I said squeezing Marie's hand. "When I was little I would help turn the handle on the meat grinder until bedtime. Dad still grinds the meat by hand. Keep in mind, good sausage must always be coarse ground. It must have plenty of fresh cracked fennel. As much my Dad likes his hot peppers, Dad always makes his sausage mild for Mom. Just before they mix the ground meat and spices together, the men pour four glasses of wine for a toast, and then our priest says a small prayer. " "Your priest makes sausage with your father?" "Yes, Father Joseph Sebastian; Uncle Joe is a good friend of Dad's." "Why four glasses of wine, Marie? You said that there were three men. Did your Dad let you drink wine when you were you grinding sausage? "One glass of wine was poured into the sausage mix as part of the recipe. When I was little girl, I got a few drops of wine in glass full of water. Just to give the water a little color. As I got older, and for special occasions, I could have half a glass of undiluted wine if I wanted it. What were your holiday traditions growing up? "We always had creamed cod over mashed potatoes that were swimming in butter on Christmas Eve. We always had leg of lamb for Christmas Day. Easter was always ham, but Mom would cook lamb chops for my Dad. Dad always insisted on lamb for these two holidays. When I turned nine and started working on the farm, I was allowed half a glass of beer or half a glass of cider. I saved most of my money that year to buy Christmas presents. I bought a very special one for my Mom. I hitched a ride into town, and..." Marie interrupted. "You were hitchhiking rides at nine years old?" "Yea, but I wasn't supposed too. Mom didn't drive and Dad was always working. The milk truck driver dropped me off in town, and Mrs. Clark and Susan picked me up on the way back. Boy, did I get an ear full from Mrs. Clark until I showed her the Christmas present I bought for my Mom with my own money." "Was that Susan you-know- who?" "Yes it was. Susan had my back. She convinced her mother not to say anything to my parents. I had to promise Mrs. Clark to stop hitchhiking though." "Did you promise?" "Yes, but it didn't count. I had my fingers crossed." "Did Susan know that you broke your promise?" "Yes she did, Susan was the one that told me to cross my fingers." "Why would she do that?" "Because Susan wanted something from me." "What did Susan want?" I asked, thinking, 'as if I didn't know.' "I can't tell you, it is a secret and I didn't cross my fingers. Susan made sure of that." "You won't tell me even after all this time, Patrick, you were children?" I asked wondering what it was he promised Susan. "Even after all this time, Marie, and I haven't broken a promise and have kept my word ever since. "You were a naughty boy." "And, I'm going to be a naughty boy when we get home." "What did you buy your Mom?" "White Shoulders Dusty Powder." *********************** Looking through the telephone book, we found some numbers to call and found a small Italian Market that made their own sausage almost identical to Marie's father's exacting specifications. Just add the wine and it was there. While we were in that wonderful little market, Marie bought our grating cheese: Pecorino Romano, Asiago, and Parmigianino Reggiano. We would grate the chunks by hand. Marie also bought three big wood spoons, and warned me that they were for sauce and pasta only. Marie talked about the all the appetizers she was going to make for me, stuffed hot peppers and such. I said, 'Wow, and I thought celery with cream cheese on it was a big deal," I got hit on the ass with one of her big spoons for that smart ass remark. My big purchase for the day was two quarts of chocolate milk. ******************** When we arrived home, I went upstairs to change into a house dress while Patrick took off his boots and socks before he put the groceries away. He loves going barefoot whenever possible. While I was up there Patrick called from the bottom of the stairs, "Marie, would you bring down another shirt from my dresser? I spilled chocolate milk all over this one." I had no idea in what drawer to look in, so I opened the second from the top. Most people have socks or under garments in the top drawer. I put my hand over my mouth when I saw it. It was so sad, and so sweet, how I loved him. I could have cried. Patrick told me that his Mother died when he was nine, and I still have my Mom and Dad. Oh, my dear brave man, my Blue Knight. Patrick loved his mother so much that he hitchhiked into town to buy her this Christmas gift with the money he earned working on the farm. His mother was a healthy vital woman then, but she died suddenly January 2nd from a brain aneurysm. I lifted it from the drawer and took the cover from the pink box. Almost all of the dusting power was there. I closed my eyes and smelled; this was how Patrick's mother smelled. How Patrick remembered her that Christmas, and the short time they spent together after. ******************** Marie had the strangest look on her face. Marie smelled it and hugged me, before handing it to me, saying, "I love you Blue Knight." "It's OK, it's just a shirt, and the stain will wash out. I already rinsed it with cold water and put pre-wash stain remover on it." "I love you because you are brave and kind, and sweet and thoughtful." "Well thank you, my Queen. I thought it was because of the cologne," I said, stroking her hair, "I'm thankful to have found you, or perhaps it should be said we found each other, my love. I never imagined that I would have fallen so passionately in love a second time in my life." "You seem to always know the right thing to say," Marie said, hugging me tighter, "and you are far more complicated then you let on. You play the part of average so well. Will you make love to me now?" ************************ "Of course, my beautiful Queen," and then Patrick took my hands and kissed them. We then walked upstairs to our bedroom where Patrick closed the door. We stood in front of the full length mirror with the stained glass and black iron frame hanging on the back of the closed door. Patrick made the frame for his wife as a gift on their first wedding anniversary. "I have something for you," Patrick said quietly, putting his face near mine as we looked at our reflections in the mirror, "As was meant to be, they will finally caress a woman, my woman. Face the mirror and undress while I get them." I quickly undressed and watched Patrick slide the large wood chest on the throw rug to one side on the old and worn wide board floor. The chest was at the foot of our bed. It was very old and was used to hold linens and blankets. Patrick pulled a thin piece of metal, a shim with a notch cut into out of the chest, and pushed it down between the floorboards. He then slid the shim to one side catching a hidden nail underneath, lifting the board on the hidden hinge until it was straight up. This allowed Patrick to lift the hinged board next to it with his hand. The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 03 He reached down below the floor boards and removed a woman's jewelry box, and then a package wrapped in gold foil paper before putting boards down and sliding the chest on the rug back in place. I would never guessed that there was a secret hiding place there; were there others hidden throughout the farm. Patrick stood and put the jewelry box on the dresser before walking over to me with the gold foil wrapped package. "These angel's tears have never caressed a woman's neck. Now they shall caress yours'." I removed the gold foil paper to reveal a red velvet box. I opened it and I was speechless. Patrick kissed my lips. The tears were now exposed, tears that remained hidden for so long; a tear of love from him, in him...along with a very long strand of white pearls, angel's tears that had to be at least one hundred inches long. Patrick looped them over twice and put the pearls around my neck, where they rested between my breasts just reaching my belly button as I looked down. As I looked up, a single tear was running down his cheek as Patrick sought to compose himself. I reached up and put my arms around my Blue Knight's neck. I kissed away his single, salty tear, tasting Patrick's precious love. I then sought his warm lips and kissed them. I took Patrick's hands as he always does mine and kissed them, "Thank you, Blue Knight, your precious tear was the best gift I have ever received," and then still holding Patrick's hands, I raised his arms above his head so that I could take his tee shirt off. Once it was off I put Patrick's arms down and tousled his hair saying, "Close your eyes, Sweetheart." ******************* I closed my eyes as Marie started kissing and licking her way down until she was on her knees before me. Marie unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, releasing my rock hard cock from its confinement. Smiling, naughtily, my love pulled my jeans down to my ankles for me to step out of and my boxer shorts were next. Marie started licking the tip of my cock with her tongue, fluttering and teasing. I reached down with my eyes still closed burying my fingers in her soft thick hair, imagining it waist length as was my wife's. Marie was growing her hair long for me and that was a wonderful gift indeed. Marie continued, licking the shaft and kissing my cock before she took it into her mouth and started sucking and licking with her tongue. Marie was driving me crazy and she knew it. She kept bringing me to the brink of an orgasm and then backing off. My love took my hand and said, "Keep them closed, Sweetheart," as she led me over to the bed and helped me to lie down on my back while propping some pillows under my head, "You may open your eyes now." Marie was kneeling to the side looking down at me. ****************************** The sheer curtains on the window softened the late afternoon sunlight as it caressed her naked form. The pearls infused with Marie's aura, glowed softly, independent of any earthly light source as the nestled between her breasts. My God, how I loved her. My carnal lust was reined in by my love for Marie, but it was no less intense; to hold my Queen close would suffice for now. I sat up to kiss her warm lips but Marie pushed me onto my back and straddled me, impaling herself on my rock hard cock. I reached up and caressed and stroked Marie's firm round breasts. I caressed them with the pearls, adding my aura to hers, while Marie rode me. Marie's eyes were closed in ecstasy. This was new to me, a woman on top and I liked it. I moved along with her, matching Marie's rhythm, and thrusting upward, while helping to support her weight. My beautiful Marie was as light as a feather. I waited for Marie's orgasm, holding back mine, a dam about to burst with a relentless flood of my seed to fill her womanhood. Marie was wild as she rode me, bouncing up and down on my cock. Her head was thrown back, and Marie's hands were buried in her hair, pulling. She was moaning, and talking, "This feels so fucking good...your cock is so fucking hard, and I'm such a horny fucking bitch with you...oh God, I coming, I'm fucking coming...hold me, Patrick..I going to suck on your cock, suck on it, suck on it," as her orgasm took over. Marie then collapsed on top of me kissing my face over and over saying, "I love you Patrick, I love you, I love you..." "I love you too, Marie," I interrupted, "Get on your hands and knees, I'm going fuck you hard, little bitch." ************************** I love it when Patrick talks dirty when we are alone. I love being on top sometimes, and it didn't seemed to bother him a bit, and the pearls; Patrick rubbed my breasts with my pearls. It just got us both more excited and aroused. Patrick actually liked me being on top, good. There are lots of things I want to try with Patrick, all sexy and naughty things. He is going to fuck his little bitch hard now, me, and I'm going to fucking orgasm again. ********************** Marie was still nice and wet. Her musky woman's scent was driving me crazy. I am going to pound my little bitch with my cock. It is my turn to come. I had no idea that she was about to come again, and after seeing my Marie in her pearls, I was insatiable as well. I was fucking Marie hard and deep, as she liked it, a bit rough. Marie is a woman not intimidated by a rough hard fucking. My wife Anne liked it slow and gentle, on our sides facing me or facing away; never on her hands and knees. I was never on top and neither was Anne. I am delighted that Marie is more adventurous. ********************************* Patrick had me on my hands and knees. He was fucking me roughly and lustily with his big, hard stallion cock. I love the sound of his balls slapping my ass as he fucks me with the pure unrestrained lust that is so Patrick. He had his hand in my hair, pulling my head back. I love having my hair pulled when we fuck this way, and I love my Patrick. ******************* Later, before bedtime, I am going to take a bath with him. Patrick doesn't know it yet. We will wash each other, change the water, and then just cuddle and talk. He is going to love my granite bathtub in Long Island. I have so many ideas, my mind is just swimming. We will then make love together and Patrick will be slow and gentle. We seem attuned to each other moods, it is just incredible. ***************************** I had Marie moaning and panting and dirty talking as before. It felt so good to have mined after waiting for Marie's orgasm, but I was still hard. I continued pounding my Queen with my cock. Marie was practically screaming for me to pull her hair as I fucked her and we came together this time, collapsing on the bed in a satisfied heap. ****************** We lay together in a warm glow as Patrick ran his fingers through my hair. There was no need to speak. Patrick fell asleep, and I covered him with a sheet before I left him. I would let him sleep. Patrick had certainly earned it and was very considerate of me that way. I took a quick shower to get ready to make my sauce. I then went outside to check on the horses. It was a good thing that I did. I am no expert on horses, but the brood mare was not acting right. ****************** Marie woke me from a sound sleep and a very pleasant dream. I was dreaming about my wife, Anne Marie. I often dream about her. I still love Anne and miss her. That love will never diminish in any way. This nothing I will discuss with Marie. I want Marie to feel that she is the only woman in the world for me, and Marie is in this world. Anne would understand, my dear sweet, Anne Marie. I was dreaming that Anne was visiting from heaven having been granted one day to say what was left unsaid before she died; that I should remarry. We were all eating dinner, Marie's sauce over manicotti with her marvelous meatballs. It was a pleasant dinner. Marie and Anne were talking like old friends and I was basking in their love, warm and content. "Patrick, wake up. There is something wrong with the mare!" ******************** Patrick quickly dressed and we went out to the barn together. He said that the mare was in the early stages of parturition although a week early and obviously in distress. The signs were there, getting up and down, switching her tail, and sweating in the flanks. The mare then let loose with a stream of water, and Patrick added, "Yes, and frequent urination. I will stay with her for now. Please go call the vet. The number for Doc Phillips is on the refrigerator." I was unable to get a person. I left a message on the answering machine and then I went to the barn to tell Patrick. I wasn't need there so I went inside to start my sauce. Patrick came in an hour later to call the owner. He could not get a hold of her either, and Sam was out of town visiting his sister. Although he didn't say so, Patrick looked worried. We had broiled lamb chops, broccoli with olive oil and garlic, and baked potatoes for supper while the sauce cooked. I like to cook my sauce overnight and then have it sit in the fridge for a day for the spices to infuse their flavors. That is how Mom taught me. Patrick was in and out of the barn all evening. He had his cell phone with him. At three o'clock in the morning Patrick came into the house and said, "I can't get a hold of anyone and the colt is in the wrong position. Susan will not answer her cell phone or home telephone, and I can't leave the mare. I need Susan's help. She is experienced in these things. Doc Phillips took over her father's practice. You are going to have to go to her house and get her." "It is three o'clock in the morning, what if Susan won't come?" "Susan will come, Marie. If nothing else we are neighbors, and that is what folks around here do in emergencies. Please do this for me. Susan's house was less than 2 miles up the road, and her red truck was parked in the driveway. I rang her doorbell and waited...no answer. I pounded on the door and rang the doorbell, shouting," I know that you are home. Answer the door. I know we have our differences, that's why you didn't answer the telephone," still no answer, "Patrick told me the story about the time he hitchhiked, and you and your Mom picked him up. "Go to hell!" Susan responded. "Patrick told me what you did then. We can't get the Vet on the phone. The mare might die giving birth if you don't come. I have no idea how to help Patrick deliver a horse." The front porch light came on. Susan opened, standing in the doorway glaring at me, "Patrick remembered that?" "Yes he did," I answered. "If Patrick told you, what did he buy his mother?" "Patrick bought her White Shoulders dusting powder." Susan sighed and said, "Don't expect me to invite you into my house. You can damn well wait on the porch while I get Dad's bag. And don't you dare thank me. I'm not doing this for you. I'll be right out." We didn't speak on the drive back. Susan went immediately to the barn and spoke quietly with Patrick. There was no point in me being there. I went back into the house to try to get Sam or the vet on the telephone. I was unsuccessful. Patrick came back into the house around six in the morning. Thanks to Susan the mare and colt were doing fine. Patrick was explaining the technical stuff when Susan came into the kitchen to wash her hands. We didn't speak. Susan looked at me and nodded, and I nodded back. I made us a pot of coffee. We all sat at the kitchen table with a cup keeping to our own thoughts. Patrick took Susan home. While Patrick was gone, Sam finally got the message came to check on the horses. I made him breakfast, pancakes from scratch, and we talked awhile. I also invited Sam for sauce, and promised to call him later for the time. After Sam left, I sat on the couch waiting for Patrick to return and I fell asleep. Patrick woke me with a kiss on the cheek, "Come on sleeping beauty, up to bed, we can both use it." "Is everything alright with Susan? You were right, she did come. Why were you gone so long?" "Susan will be fine. We talked in the barn, and then we talked in her kitchen. I want to sleep now," and Patrick took my hand and we went upstairs to sleep, both of us dropping off almost as soon as ours heads hit the pillow. ************************* I woke up with Marie's arm around my waist. My love was sound asleep and Marie was as close as she could possibly get. Glancing at the clock on the dresser it was almost eight PM. The mare and the colt were fine thanks to Susan. That was a load off my mind in itself. We talked and still remain friends on good terms. Susan promised to be civil with Marie, but she wanted something. If Marie and I parted ways, Susan might still be interested, but would keep her distance for now. Women are so much more complicated than men, and if I live to be one hundred, I will never completely understand them. If I did understand the completely, they wouldn't be as interesting. This was between Susan and me and I will never tell Marie. However, neither will Susan. I went downstairs to find Sam sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper, we have keys to each other's homes. "I got a hold of Doc Phillips. Doc has a broken foot. One of McCauley's Clydesdales stepped on it. It looks like Susan might be looking after things for awhile, short of major surgery of course. That girl missed her calling and should have taken up where her Dad left off. I'll have the horses out in another 3 days when the roof on the barn will be done. Thanks for watching them. Did the girls get in another fight?" "No, why would you say that?" "Oh, no reason, except the last time it cost me money. McCauley saw your truck parked in Susan's driveway. He said you were there quite a long time. Did you poke her?" "What kind of question is that, Sam?" "It is pretty straight forward one. Did you poke her? I would have, who's to now?" "Answer him, Patrick, did you poke Susan?" I turned to see Marie standing behind me, and boy, she didn't look happy. "I'm surprised at you, Patrick, how could you do that to Marie?" ********************* "That's it, Patty, I'm leaving. Sam can you drive me to the bus station?" "There is no sense in that now, Marie. There won't be any buses until tomorrow morning. You can stay at my place tonight if you like." "Are you two nuts?" Patrick asked, incredulously, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing, "You're not going anywhere, Marie." Sam however could not and started laughing, slapping Patrick on the back, "We got you, boy. You should have seen the look on your face." "It isn't funny, Sam, and you of all people should know better. I would never do anything like that." "We know, that, Sweetheart. Sam and I had a nice talk about you when you were at Susan's. "I still think you are both nuts," Patrick said grinning, really being a good sport about it, "All this nonsense is making me hungry. I know just the thing I want to eat." ******************* They ate like starving men, and I couldn't get enough compliments about my sauce, and especially for my meatballs. Mine are better than my Mom's if I do say so myself. Patrick went upstairs to soak in the tub and look at some new catalogs that came in the mail that day after we finished the dinner dishes. When I went upstairs, Patrick was sound asleep in the bathtub. That was very understandable considering the big meal Patrick had earlier. When I leaned forward to wake him, Patrick opened his eyes and grabbed me, pulling me in with him clothes and all saying, "Fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice, shame on me." "Are you out of your mind?" I exclaimed, I've got my clothes on, and he started laughing. I shouldn't have gotten angry, but I did. I planned on an erotic bath with Patrick, not this, so I let loose with a string of profanities. Patrick just laughed and said, "Be a good sport, Marie. You had your little joke, and I didn't get mad." But I was mad, and I fought him trying to break free. "Let go of me, damn it," Patrick was like an octopus and no matter how hard I struggled, I couldn't get loose. The more I struggled the more he laughed and kissed me, so I bit him his arm.... regretting it immediately. "God bless you, Marie," he said, quietly, letting go and standing "I was only playing and I was careful not to hurt you." I was thinking, 'Well, Marie, now you have gone and done it. You just might learn how far too far is.' I scrambled out of the tub getting water all over the floor. I slipped and would have fallen if Patrick hadn't reached out and caught my house dress. "You have gone too far, Marie. Even Anne knew her limits." "I'm sorry, Patrick, I got carried away. I didn't mean to bite you that hard." Patrick grabbed a towel and slowly toweled off, looking at me. I followed him into the bedroom. "Will you please talk to me? What do I have to do to make things right?" He didn't say anything until he was dressed. "I love you, Marie," Patrick said while pulling on his boots, "But I will no longer tolerate you attempting to hit me, let alone actually biting me. You will learn to keep your temper in check." Patrick got up and walked downstairs. I followed him not sure what to do. He was so calm. Patrick didn't rant and rave or swear because that is not his way. "I'm going for a walk. Can you guess what is going to happen when I get back? Make up your mind what you want to do." Patrick walked out the front door quietly pulling it shut behind. I would have felt better if he slammed it. What did Patrick mean when he said, "Make up your mind what you want to do?", and what was going to happen when Patrick got back? 'Stop kidding yourself, Marie', I thought, 'You know what's going to happen and you have it coming. There is only one thing to do, try and butter him up when he gets back.' ******************** I went upstairs to be ready when Patrick returned. I showered and washed and dried my hair and then curled it for him. Patrick loves playing with my hair. Curls would be a nice sexy touch. Thank God, I finally had makeup. I took my time, going for a sexy and sultry look, putting on the blood red lipstick that Patrick chose for me. I found a beautiful red silk sheer chemise in the bottom drawer of his wife's dresser wrapped in white tissue paper. I wondered if Anne wore it for special occasions, like when she pushed Patrick too far. I had to smile at that thought, especially when I unconsciously touched my bottom. The chemise was short and very sexy with a floral design and lace trim. It had a slit in the hem to mid-thigh, and came with matching G-String panties. On closer inspection, it appeared that they had never been worn, perfect. It was if they were waiting for such an occasion as this. When I put them on they fit like a second skin. Everything was perfect except for one little thing, the hair on my pussy. Although I keep it trimmed and shaped it didn't look right with the G-String. Would Patrick approve if I shaved it all off? I decided to surprise him. Going back into the bathroom, I spread a towel on the floor and carefully cut of the bulk of my pussy hair with scissors. It occurred to me that when we went shopping that I remembered my pink four blade lady razors, but I forgot my shaving gel. Before we went shopping I was using Patrick's razor and Dove soap on my legs. Well, when in Rome do as the Romans do. I borrowed Patrick's shaving brush and shaving soap to whip up a nice hot lather in the bowl. The boar bristle soapy brush really felt nice on my pussy, and I lathered and shaved twice until I my pussy was as smooth as baby's bottom. As I stood in front of the mirror rubbing my bald pussy with my fingers, I was thinking, 'I wonder if Patrick would like to shave me down here. I like the nice clean feeling and I think I'll keep my pussy this way.' The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 03 I checked my makeup several times to make sure that it was perfect and then put on my perfume, "Chanel Chance" before going downstairs to wait for Patrick's return. Patrick loved this scent when I first wore it for him, but now he was angry. There was no telling when Patrick was getting back from his walk. No matter, I was ready to make up to him, and smelling nice couldn't hurt. I had a hard time sitting still while I waited. I turned on the television, distracted, not really watching anything in particular. Patrick was going to spank me. I just knew it. I had better make up my mind what I wanted to do. Patrick had been so patient with me up until now. Nevertheless, I was a grown woman and a spanking was inappropriate, wasn't it? But it would only hurt for a little while. I'm sure that Patrick wouldn't leave bruises; he isn't that type of man. A spanking might actually do me some good, to remind me to behave. After my spanking came the making up part, from my well deserved punishment. I started to get aroused thinking about that, the making up part after my spanking...OK, I admit it, think about being spanked by him turned me on...just a little. I went to the bookcase and took out all of his family photo albums. Maybe they will help me with my decision to submit to a spanking. Patrick was giving me a choice and would live with his decision, even if it broke his heart. **************************** As I passed Susan's house, I was thinking, 'Well, at least Marie didn't break the skin, but it did hurt like hell.' All married people have their fights and differences. It is how you handle them that counts. When I was angry with my wife, and those times were rare, I always went for a walk or a ride on my scoot. Tonight it was a walk. I'll never completely understand women. Did Marie have it in the back of her mind that I threw a poke into Susan while I was there? That scenario was cooked up between her and Sam to break my balls. Was that it? Their little joke had backfired? Did I hug Susan? Yes I did. I also kissed Susan's cheek before I left. I told Susan that I had feelings for her, feelings of friendship and loyalty; she seemed to understand. Susan will keep her word and not try and come between us. Susan kept her distance while Anne and I were married. God forbid that anything happens to Marie. I have to admit to myself now that if it did, or we broke up, Susan was a good match for me. Everything is so complicated. I hate to hurt Susan but what can I do except be honest with her, I owed Susan that. I didn't want to hurt her and I didn't want her to wait for me. Susan deserved to be happy. If I had a big ego, I would be happy to have two women who wanted me that way. I am not happy about it. Perhaps I am a heel? I don't mean to be. Well, a spanking always worked with Anne. Afterward neither of us dwelt on it. We never dug up old bones to chew on. Making up with Anne, usually a day or two later was always the best part of the spanking. ********************* Looking out the window, I saw Patrick approaching in the distance. I checked my makeup one last time, and refreshed my red lipstick while Patrick checked on the horses. My Blue Knight had a very serious look on his face when he walked into the kitchen. I could tell that Patrick was no longer angry, his eyes always give him away. Patrick stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, at parade rest; once a Marine always a Marine. I saw his pictures in the photo album. Patrick looked so handsome in his dress uniform, and I love him so much. I put my arms around his neck and kissed his lips and said, "I'm sorry, Patrick." "You look lovely, Marie. What are you wearing? I have never seen that sexy night wear before," and I was thinking, 'You haven't, then where did it come from?' "I found it in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Are you still angry with me?" "No, Marie, but I have to do what is necessary so that you will remember to take me seriously. You are not a child. Adults have choices. Adults must face the consequences for their actions. There are some things that I won't stand for...even from you." "You are going to spank me aren't you?" I asked, kissing his lips again. "Yes, my love. You have left me little choice." "Do you believe me when I say I am sorry?" "I accept your contrition, Marie, your apology... but as a Catholic, you of all people know penance always follows contrition." "Just your hand?" I asked. "Yes, applied to your bare bottom and I will not leave bruises. It is going to hurt," Patrick assured me, offering me his strong callused hand and I took it. ************************* When I arrived home, I found Marie waiting in the kitchen. Marie spent her time well in the 3 hours that I was gone. My love looked incredibly hot and sexy, most distracting which was no doubt her battle plan all along, subterfuge. I knew that much about women anyway. Nevertheless, operation bare bottom was about to commence. Marie said she was sorry and I believed her. Marie is anything but a liar. My Queen is strong willed; has a temper and a saucy mouth, and perhaps is a bit spoiled. Marie also has a loving sweetness that has stolen my heart. My Queen loves and trusts me. That was confirmed when Marie gave me her little hand. *********************** Patrick sat on a kitchen chair and made me lay across his lap and holding me in place with his left hand. He pulled my chemise up but didn't bother removing my G-String. What was the point; both my ass cheeks were fully exposed to his good right hand. "There is no turning back now, Marie. I'm going to hold you in place if a have too. You are going to count to twelve," SLAP, and the sudden pain made me gasp. Patrick would sometimes slap my ass playfully, just a tap, but now he was barely holding back. "You will count Marie," SLAP, "Count Marie. Do you want me start over with one?" SLAP "Three," I blurted out, through my tears, SLAP.... "Four," the slaps were six seconds apart, and by SLAP, "six" I was sobbing openly like a child, receiving a child's punishment. My bottom was beet red and stinging terribly, SLAP, "seven"...SLAP, "eight", I was determined to submit to my punishment without shirking, SLAP, "nine"....SLAP, "Patrick stop..."SLAP," please, stop!" "Did I hear you say one, Marie?" "Eleven, I said eleven!" my bottom was on fire, SLAP.... "Twelve" and then I went limp on Patrick's lap, my sobs wracking my body, my tears soaking into his blue jeans, grateful that it was over. Patrick rubbed my back until I stopped crying. Patrick let me up from his lap and we stood facing one another. My mascara was running, my makeup was smeared, and I looked terrible. "I must look terrible," I said, taking a deep breath, while wiping my face with my hand. "I'm proud of you, Marie. You took your punishment like a lady," and then Patrick took a wet dishtowel and wiped all the makeup from my face, staining it red from my lipstick. "I have to tell you something," I said. I was not sure how well Patrick would take it? He just spanked me for god's sake. "What is it, Marie? You can tell me anything you know?" said Patrick, pulling me close and rubbing my back. "I'm horny." "Yes, Marie, I know; I can smell your sweet, musky woman's scent enhanced to perfection by your perfume. I love that perfume on you." "Then you don't think it strange that I get aroused being spanked?" "Not at all; you are a complicated passionate woman, Marie Antoinette. If anything, I'm intrigued." "Do you know what I think, Blue Knight?" "What do you think, my Queen, do you want to make love now?" "I'm still a little sore, but yes, you will be gentle, won't you?" ************************* Marie is absolutely amazing. My brave Queen took her punishment, and I didn't have to hold her down. Marie now fascinates me more than ever. OK, I admit it. Some small part of me enjoyed spanking Marie. It was erotic and enjoyable that Marie submitted to me, I admit that too. As I held my Marie gently, rubbing her back, I was thinking, 'Thank God that I will never fully understand women, as it was intended to be. Marie is just full of surprises, how can I possibly stay angry with her? I wonder what possessed Marie to shave her pussy. I like it this way. Marie has such a nice plump pussy lips that were hidden under all that hair. Now I really can't wait to taste her. I wonder if Marie will let me shave her; hey, I like that idea.' "Your wish is my command, my Queen." We went upstairs to our bedroom and I undressed. Marie turned back the covers and got into bed, touching her bright pink bottom and wincing. ************************ Patrick was a gentle as a lamb as we lay on our sides facing each other, slowly making love. How I needed Patrick's kisses that night, and afterward we lay there close, and discussed our first adventure together in a few days when Sam brought the boarded horses back to his farm now that the barn roof was almost finished. We would visit my parents , hopefully spending a few days with them. Patrick could sleep on the couch and I could have one of the bedrooms. There would be no sleeping together, assuming that Dad allowed Patrick in the house at all. We would then drive to Long Island and spend two weeks there. Patrick was excited about being able to spend time on the ocean on our private beach. Patrick said that he always wanted to build an ornate sand castle like you see on television or in magazines. The closest that he got to that were piles of stones on the creek bank. I wanted to make love on the beach in the moonlight. We also planned on renting a U-Haul Truck and driving it back ourselves to bring his horse and any furniture or clothing that I wanted to bring back with me to our farm. After two wonderful weeks at our second home in Long Island, and I'll get to that later, we left for our farm. We took our time driving back. There were more people that Patrick wanted me to meet on the way. Patrick also said that we would be able to just make it to a dynamite ox roast fundraiser that a Presbyterian Church put on every year, and then a few days later, an Oktoberfest Fundraiser at another Church. In between those mentioned events we were involved in a minor motor vehicle accident in the parking lot of a Restaurant where we just had dinner. Things got out of hand and the Sheriff was called. They were short handed when we got to the Catholic Church. Patrick and I put on aprons and pitched in. We waited on tables, serving Knockwurst, Bratwurst, with sauerkraut with potatoes and pitchers of beer; it was fun. Afterward, we sat in the church kitchen with the Father Dennis, who Patrick always addressed as Pastor Dennis, and the parish workers. We ate the leftovers, drank beer, and we talked and laughed. We also spent the night sleeping over at Jim & Bea's house, new friends that we just met at the Oktoberfest. It turned out that Jim and Bea did Civil War Reenactments, and Jim's Great Great-Grandfather fought in the Battle of Bull Run. Jim showed us the sword used in the battle. Patrick agreed to repair the handle in consideration for 2 dozen of Bea's cinnamon buns, the ones she served us for breakfast the following morning before we left. ************************ My parents were waiting for us in the driveway when we arrived. There was plenty of room. A motorcycle doesn't take up much space. I didn't tell my parents that we would be arriving that way. I wanted to surprise them, and boy, did we. I have never had so much fun traveling in all my life while riding behind my man on that red horse. That rumbling, throaty engine vibrating between my legs feels so good, as does holding onto Patrick as I sit behind him. The wind in my face and the freedom of the open road felt so liberating. The hell with leather corsets! I look hot in my fitted black leather jacket and snug fitting blue jeans; Patrick says so. I'm his biker babe, right down to the black lace up boots. If some of those snooty women I once dealt with in the Art Gallery could see me now? We took a roundabout way to my parent's house, taking three days to see the sights when it was really only seven hours of straight driving. I never realized how many small picturesque towns were in New York, and I was amazed of all the friends that Patrick and his wife made when visiting them. Part of the reason for all the stops were for introductions so that Patrick could show me off. We stayed in a New York State Park at the Glenn Iris Inn on our first night, and then at a small bed and breakfast on the Hudson, traveling by motorcycle. I don't understand all the technical stuff about motorcycles, but Patrick does. It is a full-dresser- 1961 Harley Hydra- glide Panhead with a 74 cubic-inch, 1200 cc v-twin engine. It was his father's and Patrick maintains it in tip top condition. He explained a lot of other technical stuff, making comparisons to the newer and older Harleys. All I care about is that Patrick takes me with him when he rides. Riding on his Harley is something that we will absolutely do together. Patrick's wife was afraid of motorcycles and refused to ride with him, not even up and down the driveway. Patrick was so happy when I did. He bought me my leather jacket, helmet, gloves and boots the next day. My horse riding lessons were set aside for short trips on a different kind of horse, to get me used to it. Basically I had to learn and shift my weight in a turn, and anticipate the road up ahead. That didn't mean that I ignored White Cloud though, I was responsible for all her care now, including shoveling up after her. I called Sam every day to check on her, and Sam would hold his cell phone up to White Cloud's ear to hear my voice. Sam is amazed how well she is doing now. My Dads eyes just about bugged out of his head when I dismounted, took my helmet off, and shook my hair out. I stuffed my gloves in my helmet and handed it to Patrick. I then walked over to hug and kiss my Mom and Dad. First, I kissed and hugged my Mom, and then my Dad. As I hugged Dad, I could see that he was trying to stare Patrick down over my shoulder as if to say, "What the hell are you trying to do to my daughter?" (The motorcycle), and that was step one, the mean look. That alone got the Jerk nervous. Dad could be formidable and intimidating when he wanted to be. "I whispered, "Be nice for me, Daddy, "and I kissed his cheek. "I promise I won't hurt him to badly, honey." Patrick met his gaze with just the hint of a smile. Dad let go of me and Patrick walked over to meet them. "Mom, Dad, this is Patrick Buchanan. Patrick this is my Mom and Dad; Dominick and Mary Bernardino." "I'm pleased to meet you folks," Patrick said, smiling, while gently shaking my Mom's hand first, "Marie has told me so much about you both." Patrick held out his hand and Dad took it, squeezing Patrick's hand in his vice like grip. He expected Patrick to try and pull away. Much to my Dad's surprise, that was not the case at all. Mom put her hand on my shoulder. She was nodding and smiling. Dad's confident smile turned to a frown as they both stood there, increasing the pressure. We could see the veins standing out in Dad's neck as he glared into Patrick's eyes. Changing tactics, Dad put his other hand on Patrick's shoulder near the neck and started squeezing...Patrick dropped my helmet and did same. "Well I had better go and rescue your father?" Mom whispered. "What do you mean, Mom? Dad's doing fine," I whispered. "Well, for now he is," Mom whispered, "You know how stubborn your father can be. It should be over with by now. Dominick was always one for a quick kill and now he is struggling. Patrick is holding back, can't you tell. He doesn't want to embarrass your father in front of us. It would be better for this end in a draw." "Are you boys going to stand here all day like that?" Mom asked. She was standing behind Dad and looking at Patrick, and it seemed a silent understanding passed between them. "Not, now, Mary," Dad, grunted, the perspiration pouring down his face. "Dominick, you promised not to hurt him. Give this young man a chance. How can he work if you break his hand?" "But, Mary, you heard what this mamaluke hayseed said to me on the telephone," Dad grunted. "And I heard what you said to him. It is a good thing that he doesn't understand Italian. Talk it out like gentlemen. I invited Joe over for dinner. I want your word that when I count to three you will both let go." "I will if he will," Dad, said, glaring at Patrick, "but I want to hear him say it." "I give you my word, Mrs. Bernardino." " Fine, it's settled then, one...two...three," They both let go, clenching and unclenching their hands several times. How I loved Patrick at that moment. I hope he knows what he is doing. "Why don't you ladies go into the house so that this one and I can get better acquainted," my father said, deliberately not referring to Patrick by name." "Yes, please do," Patrick said smiling, "We are getting along just fine. Aren't we, Mr. Bernardino?" Patrick slapped my Dad hard on the back surprising him. Dad had to catch himself to keep from stumbling. Wow, that had to hurt. This had me thinking, 'Well Dad, so much for step one and step two. I bet you won't arm wrestle with him now.' "Yes we are," my Dad said, while Patrick braced himself for what was coming, "We are making progress. We have already agreed on something." Dad slapped Patrick even harder. From the sound of it and despite the heavy leather jacket Patrick was wearing, that had to really hurt. Mom and I looked at each other in silent understanding, "We will all go up together," Mom said, "Marie can help me in the kitchen while you two retire to the living room and wait for Joe. Hopefully you two will not break anything. Perhaps Patrick would like a glass of wine?" We went into the house together and Dad excused himself to go to the bathroom. Mom went to the kitchen to put water on to boil for the pasta while I took Patrick into the living room. Once there I put my arms around his neck and kissed his lips, "I love you, Patrick Ian Buchanan." "I love you too, Marie Antoinette Bernardino," Patrick said, putting his arms around my waist and pulling me tight, "Your Mom is a lovely and gracious woman. Like Mother like daughter, as they say." "What do you think of my Dad?" "The jury is still out on that. What time is it?" "It is about three o'clock, why?" "Well, we couldn't just arrive here empty-handed. I made arrangements to have a fruit basket delivered. You said pears and oranges were Dad's favorites. It should have been here by now. By the way, what chair does your father like to sit in?" "Don't you dare?" "I wouldn't think of it. I have aggravated your Dad enough for now. If I push him too far I might not get dinner, and if your Mom's sauce is anything like yours, I will be missing a feast." As Patrick said that, Dad walked into the room with a tray holding a decanter of wine and four glasses. I noticed that Dad had washed his face, and put on a clean white shirt. I walked over to Dad and hugged him, "I love you Daddy, thank you. I'll help Mom in the kitchen." "I love you too Princess, would you like a glass of wine?" "Two please. I'll bring one to Mom." Dad poured them and I left hoping for the best. *************** "Well, you might as well sit down." "Thank you," I sat down in the chair across from him." "Do you drink wine?" Mr. Bernardino asked, "This is homemade Chianti." "Yes, I seldom get a good homemade wine. My Father made a very good hard cider in a whiskey barrel." "I don't like you," Mr. Bernardino said, leaning forward. The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 03 "Oh well," I replied, sipping and enjoying my wine. "What do you think of the wine?" "It is quite good actually. When I do drink wine, I like a dry red." "Are you saying that to kiss up?" "Kiss up to you, don't be ridiculous. You asked me what I thought and I told you. Perhaps you don't like my answer. Nevertheless the wine is very good. If it tasted like cleaning fluid, I would have said so." "Let me top off your glass. Didn't your father teach you that it is good manners to bring something when you are invited to dinner?" "He did, and..." Mr. Bernardino interrupted me, "Then you show no respect. You come to my home empty handed. You dragged my daughter half way across New York on a motorcycle like some kind of hoodlum. Marie deserves better than that." I was saved by the doorbell. Shortly after, Father Joseph Sebastian walked into the room carrying an enormous fruit basket, mostly oranges and pears, Marie's father's favorites. "Dom, where do you want this? They were delivering it when I got here," and seeing me the Priest said, "You must me Patrick, give me a second," as he put it on the floor, and then held out his hand for me to shake, "I'm Father Joseph Sebastian, or as my Parishioners call me, Father Joe." "I'm pleased to meet you Reverend, I have heard nothing but good about Uncle Joe from Marie." "Are you Catholic, Patrick?" "No, the hoodlum is a can't-make-up-his-mind heathen, Joe. He doesn't go to church regular at all." "My mother was Catholic, Reverend, and I was baptized as such. I never attended any particular church much after my Mother died. I didn't start up again until I joined the Marines. As they say, there are no atheists in foxholes. I go to church when I feel the need. I will attend any mainstream Christian Church, regardless of denomination, including Catholic. I have met some very nice people that way and have had many fine potluck or chicken dinners afterward." "As I said Joe, he is a damn heathen hayseed, the mamaluke that he is. All he thinks about is his stomach. He doesn't even know how to address a Priest properly." "I would hardly say Patrick is a heathen, Dom, or a hoodlum because he rides a motorcycle. That's a fine machine Patrick. I saw it when I pulled in the driveway. What year Panhead is it? My best guess would be the early sixties." "You know your scoots, Reverend. It was made in 1961 and it once belonged to be my father." "That's Father Joe or Father Sebastian to you, heathen, show some respect!" "For God's sake, Dom let the young man speak for himself. Make yourself useful and pour me a glass of that bilge water you call wine. He does have a point though, Patrick, the preferred address is Father, or Father Joe." "No disrespect intended Reverend, but you are not my Father. That is reserved for my Father-God of the Holy Trinity. John Ian Buchanan was my father on earth. Dad is now in Heaven with my Mother, and the Lord God Our Heavenly Father." "I appreciate your honesty, Patrick. Under the circumstances, no offense is taken. Feel free to call me Joe if you like. Reverend is a proper title, but I am not here in that capacity now. Do you hear that Dom. Let me give you a hypothetical, Patrick. If you were to marry Marie, and came back into the fold, attending Mass every Sunday, would you address me as Father?" "You're a big help, Joe, siding with him," Mr. Bernardino said, handing the Reverend his wine, "now you have this hayseed married to my Marie." "No, I wouldn't Joe," I answered, waiting for a chance to speak. "I have known this big lout since Kindergarten," Joe said, sipping his wine and laughing, "He is not so bad when you get to know him. Dom is even worse. You will soon learn to tolerate him as we all do if only for Marie's sake. By the way, Dom, this wonderful fruit basket is from Patrick and Marie." "Patrick and I were having a conversation. Since you are not a priest today, if you want to eat, shut your yap and listen." I was thinking, 'Well, he finally called me by name? This must be Mr. Bernardino's attempt at apologizing. I have to admit he is a strong bastard though. He could certainly give Sam a run for his money.' "What makes you think that you are good enough for my daughter?" "What makes you think I'm not?" "I don't like you. You show no respect." "Yes, you already said that. Respect goes both ways, Mr. Bernardino." "Are you after my daughter's money?" "No." "I don't believe you." "You are entitled to your wrong opinion." "How much money can a farmer possibly make?" "How much money can a plumber possibly make? I'll put my bank book up against yours and day." "If I didn't love my wife and daughter as I do, you wouldn't be allowed in my house." "Don't do me any favors, Mr. Bernardino. I never go where I am not welcome. "So you are a farmer." "No, I'm a Blacksmith who knows how to farm. "Living on a farm in the middle of the sticks can't be much of a life for my daughter. Do you even have indoor plumbing?" "Why, are you looking for work?" I almost thought I saw the hint of a smile, but he caught himself and scowled, "Would you ever consider moving to the City?" "Our homestead has been passed down from father to son since 1786. The land is in my blood and generations of Buchanan's are buried in the family cemetery." "So, you are saying from 1786 to the present, nobody in your family had the brains to pick up a skilled trade?" "You have a big mouth, Mr. Bernardino and you curse like a girl. Marie does a better job swearing at me than you do," I put my wine glass down and stood up. "You are treading on thin ice when you insult my family, do you want to settle up now." The good Reverend Joe was taking it all in and smiling, "He's got you there, Dom. You just crossed the line. You would have hit Patrick if he insulted your family. Did you forget the way Mary's father treated you? Mary's father didn't want his daughter marrying an Italian, Patrick. They wanted Mary to marry the doctor she was dating when she first met Dominick. Mary was a Presbyterian when they married, but embraced the Catholic Church after Marie was born." "Wait a minute, son, Mr. Bernardino said, back-peddling, "Sit down. I'm sure you come from a fine family. I take back everything I said, or inferred about them. It's you I don't like, and I am entitled to my opinion in my own house. Let me fill your wine glass. You told me on the telephone that you love Marie." "That is true, and I say it again, I love Marie." "Marie, Mary," Mr. Bernardino called, "would you come in here please?" *********************** "Marie, do you love this man, this Patrick Buchanan?" "Of course I do, Dad," I replied, walking over to Patrick and squeezing his hand." "Did you swear at him? Did you really let him have it? That's my girl." "I did, but only after Patrick wouldn't let me hit him with a shovel, or punch him in the nose." "The Saints preserve us! Marie hit you with a shovel, and you still wanted to come here to meet us, Patrick? What did you do to get Marie that angry?" "Marie didn't hit me with a shovel. Marie tried to hit me a shovel. I took it away from her. At the time I had no idea why Marie was angry. My wife had a temper, it's no big deal. When Marie tried to punch me, I pinned her arms until she stopped struggling and calmed down." "I can believe that. Why was my daughter angry in the first place?" "Marie thought I was still married." "You are divorced then?" Mr. Bernardino asked, thinking that he found an opening, "What did you do to make your wife leave you?" "My wife, Anne Marie died." "I'm sure Anne Marie was a fine woman," Mr. Bernardino offered, making The Sign of the Cross, "But in your case the saintly woman could have done better, much better." Mr. Bernardino then raised his glass in a toast, "In memory of Patrick's saintly wife," We all took a sip, and then Marie and her mother returned to the kitchen, smiling. ********************* "Are you two still planning on spending the night?" Mom asked. "Yes, did something change?" "No, nothing has changed. Thank you for the fruit basket. If you get a bowl down, I'll put the fruit out on the table after dinner. By the way, I made your favorite dessert, cannolis." "Can I have one now?" "No, you will have to wait with the rest of us." "What do you think of Patrick, Mom?" "I've waited to talk to you face to face, honey," Mom said, taking my hand, "We didn't hear from you for almost a year. Your father and I were so worried. You went back to college, and that was a good thing. But you took a wrong turn. You were spending money recklessly and dressing like a tramp. I couldn't believe it when you cut your hair, but I'm glad you are back to your God given color. You weren't the same after your divorce, Marie. You were distant and you were bitter. You stopped attending Mass. We are your parents, Marie. We love you. You will always be our baby. And then there is Joe, your surrogate uncle, your Priest; the man who Baptized you, from whom you received your First Holy Communion. When we heard that those bad friends of yours died of an overdose, we were frantic. We went to your house and nobody was home. Nobody at the college has heard from you. Joe called in a favor and no stone was left unturned. They tracked you down to a private nightclub. The trail went cold there. You have no idea how relieved we all were when you telephoned. We had a telephone number, Patrick's name and an address. Joe did some further checking. All Joe would tell us was that you were in good hands and not to worry. You were safe. Do I like Patrick? How can I not like him? Patrick brought our baby back to us." **************************** When dinner was ready, I went in to tell the men, and then we all sat down to eat, and Uncle Joe said grace. I noticed that Patrick made the Sign of the Cross during the prayer. My father didn't fail to notice, "I heard you say you weren't a Catholic anymore, heathen. Is it appropriate for you using the Sign of the Cross." "Don't call me a heathen, again, Mr. Bernardino," Patrick said firmly, "The Sign of the Cross is a beautiful and holy gesture. I was baptized a Catholic. My Mother was a Catholic and I attended Mass with her every Sunday until she died. Mom taught me how to pray as soon as I was old enough to speak, and that is how a prayer begins and ends. I carry my Mother's memory in the Sign of the Cross. All Catholics are Christians, although not all Christians are Catholic." I looked around the table. Dad looked very uncomfortable, and my Mother was giving Dad dirty looks. Uncle Joe had a very thoughtful and knowing look on his face, as took a sip of wine, smiling. Patrick was taking everything in stride. He made himself very comfortable in our family, as if my Father's behavior was the just part of the way things were with us. Patrick continued, "One meaning of the word, Catholic, found in any good dictionary, is universal. But I'll stop; I don't want to beat the subject of Catholics verses Christianity to death." "The Church's position is that you are Catholic from the minute that you are baptized Catholic, Patrick," Uncle Joe offered, "and therefore logic dictates you will die a Catholic, as well as a Christian. Would you not find comfort in the Last Rites?" "With all due respect, Joe, you are not the first Priest to tell me that. "Then you agree?" was the follow up question." "I am open to that idea; it would certainly please my Mother." "Was your wife, Catholic, Patrick, Uncle Joe, asked. "She was a Methodist, the same as my Father, Sam. Anne Marie's mother was a medicine woman and held with the teachings of her Native American heritage. "I concede you are a Christian, Patrick," My Dad offered, trying to save face, "As a Universal Christian and sometimes Catholic, don't you find it hypocritical not to practice the faith you were baptized in?" "You and I could argue that point forever, Mr. Bernardino, or until both of us are dead and gone. I promise to save you a seat in Purgatory if I go first." 'Wow,' I thought, 'Patrick, plays the part of a simple blacksmith so well. Dad is no dummy, but Patrick keeps catching him off guard and Uncle Joe doesn't seem the least bit surprised. The really amazing thing is that Dad seems to be enjoying himself now.' ************************** Marie's father seems to be easing up a bit. He not a bad sort, and is just looking out for Marie. The good Reverend plays the part well as the referee. There is more to Joe Sebastian than meets the eye. ********************** Mother and I took control of the dinner conversation after the Purgatory zinger. Dad and Uncle Joe sat back and ate, listening while the three of did most of the talking. Mother peppered Patrick with questions about his family and background, but mostly about his reenactments. Patrick answered with great enthusiasm on that subject. My Blue Knight has a great deal of knowledge about American History of that period of time. Mother and I cleared the table and started the dishes while they stayed in the dining room with their wine to digest their meal and to make room for dessert. I tried to sneak a cannoli from the refrigerator and Mom caught me and made we put it back. I got scolded, and then we hugged....I still had to wait to have it with coffee, later. Dad and Patrick were at it again; ding-ding, round three. Dad started telling jokes to get under Patrick's skin. Ethnic jokes were allowed, as long as they were not mean spirited. Political correctness was left at the threshold in the Bernardino residence, and our dinner conversations were not for the faint of heart. Dad started telling every Scottish joke that he knew, most of them funny, many insulting. Uncle Joe even got into the act; maybe it was the wine that loosened his tongue. They were both testing Patrick, feeling him out. Mother and I were listening from the kitchen. Patrick laughed along with them, taking everything in stride until they ran out of Scottish jokes. Patrick stood up and announced, "My turn, Gentlemen. But first let me pour the next round of drinks, and after he poured them, Patrick didn't sit down but walked around the table, circling them as he spoke. "How do you know you are Italian?" Patrick walked over and put his hand on Dad's shoulder, answering, "You can bench press 325 pounds, shave twice a day, and still cry when your mother yells at you. You carry your lunch in a produce bag because you can't fit two cappicola sandwiches, 4 oranges," Patrick took four oranges out of the bowl, two in each hand, and started juggling them, "2 bananas and pizzelles into a regular lunch bag," and then Patrick tossed them one at a time to my laughing Uncle Joe, while continuing to rattle them off more Italian jokes. He stopped circling and put his hand on Uncle Joe's shoulder, asking, "How do you tell you are a true Italian? " To which Uncle Joe, replied smiling, "Your mechanic, plumber, electrician, accountant, travel agent, lawyer, and Priest are all friends or cousins." Which got them laughing all over again, and Patrick continued, "You have at least 5 cousins living in the same town or street. All five of those cousins are named after your grandfather or grandmother. You only get one good shave from a disposable razor. You netted more than $50,000 on your first communion." Patrick had them both of them laughing and slapping the table now. Mom and I were in dining room table hugging one another and laughing near to tears; neither of us expected anything like this. Patrick must have heard us because he paused to listen and took a sip of wine before calling out, "Would you ladies like to join us and not strain your hearing?" Mom and came out of the kitchen and sat at the dining room table to join them. When we sat, Patrick refilled all our wine glasses. "You know you are Italian if someone in your family grows beyond 5'9", it is presumed his Mother had an affair. There are more than 28 people in your bridal party," and Patrick took my hand and kissed it. "And you REALLY, REALLY know you're Italian when, pointing to my father, "Your grandfather has a fig tree," Dad replied, and then to me, "You eat Sunday dinner at 2:00, and on Christmas Eve . . . only fish," and then to my Mom, who pointed to my Dad, "You think your mom's meatballs are the best. Don't tell your wife." All eyes were on him as Patrick gave his finale, as he spun Mom's good china a dinner plate on the tip of his index finger as he circled us. "You know you are Italian because you've been hit with a wooden spoon or had a shoe thrown at you. Plastic on the furniture is normal. You know how to pronounce manicotti and mozzarella. You fight over whether it's called," and then he quickly pointed to each of us one at a time, the plate still spinning on his finger, before putting his free hand to his ear, and we all answered at the same time, "Gravy or sauce." You know you are Italian because you've called someone a mamaluke. Perhaps even your daughter's future husband, who you don't like. Think fast Mr. Bernardino." Patrick pretended to fling the plate at him, startling Dad, but then carefully put it back on the table instead. "And finally, you know you are Italian because you understand what bada-bing means? What does bada-bing mean? Patrick asked, throwing up his hands, and looking at each of us in turn. Patrick then bowed to all of us and then raised his wine glass in a toast, "Per la salute." (THE END OF CHAPTER 3) The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 04 Author's Note: as with the previous Chapters I continue to delve in detail into Marie and Patrick's past and hint of their future to put their Romance and deep feeling for each other into perspective. Some won't like the story for its lack of constant vicarious sex. While others will like it for the balance of both in keeping with the Romance that it is. ***** MARIE: IT'S A SMALL MIRACLE; despite the telephone call in the kitchen when Patrick had Dad banging his telephone on the table; my blue knight received from my father what my ex husband couldn't in our 16 years of marriage...Dad's respect. Actually three small miracles occurred; two on the first day of our visit and the 3rd during lunch the next. My father hugged him and thanked him for bringing me home to them. Dad kissed Patrick's cheek catching Patrick completely by surprise. My love's eyes got big like when I kissed him in Macy's in front of the clerk and I stuck my tongue in his mouth. My blue knight glanced in my direction and I smiled and nodded to assure him it's my father's way so get used to it from now on. Dad stepped back with his hands on Patrick's shoulders looking him directly in the eyes. This is Dad's way of apologizing, a rare occurrence under any circumstances and asked "Do you still demand an accounting from me, Son?" "No, Sir, that field is plowed under," and he hugged Dad briefly slapping his back...minus kissing Dad on the cheek of course...that first happened on the day our twins were born and that was the first time I saw Patrick cry...and Dad was crying along with him as they hugged Sam who was standing between them twisting his ball cap in his hands "happier than a Blue Jay in a field of sunflowers" one of his many quaint expressions and just as thrilled, Sam barely managing not to cry now that he was a grandfather; the dear sweet man that he is. I mentioned a third small miracle...an astonishing sharing of tradition with an outsider to the family; the men in the Bernardino family, especially my Dad's two brothers now living in Connecticut, cling tightly to the tradition of who receives a heel from the bread. It is a serious matter with them. At family gathering there are enough loaves of crusty Italian bread for each to have their accorded heel. Nonetheless, regardless of who is hosting the get together; the first heel from the first loaf cut always goes to Dad; it's our Tradition that goes way back in our family. My Nonno Aldo, Dad's father took both heels from the bread when he was alive. Bread is sliced by the oldest male at the table and the basket is passed around after we say grace. Dad is the eldest son and after Nonno died, Dad sliced the bread and had his choice of heels. He dropped out of school at 17 and worked two jobs to take care of his mother and his younger brothers; Vincent 13 and Rico 15. They found part-time jobs after school to help out. There was no way the Bernardino brothers will allow their mother to clean houses for other people to support the family. Dad wisely gave Uncle Rico a heel to keep peace and harmony among his brothers and in turn Rico gave Vincent half of his. Dad and Patrick were sitting next to each other at the kitchen table. There was a large antipasto platter and fruit on the table. Mom and I were sitting beside our men. Dad sliced off the heels from the bread and put them on Patrick's plate...the first seed of the plowed field and Patrick gave one back to Dad, nodding in acknowledgement. My father's gesture of respect was solemnly accepted and returned and both Mom and I wiped a tear from our eyes. I first shared the story of the tradition of bread with my Blue Knight while we were sitting at the farm on the porch swing wrapped in a quilt. It was a wonderful starlit night and we were listening to the crickets. Over our antipasto salad, Patrick told my parents how his father always received the liver, gizzard, heart and neck from the turkey or chicken served at a meal regardless of the bounty before them. His Dad did it to remember the hard times. Patrick's father joked that he was so poor while growing up when the Great Depression came he thought it was an improvement. Patrick described how during the Depression his grandfather and father raised chickens to be canned for their own consumption and nothing went to waste; including the feet from which his mother made a flavorful broth for chicken soup and they were thankful to get it. He joked it took 24 chicken feet to make a cup of broth, however, that one cup kept him on his feet all day long. Patrick described when he was growing up how they rarely purchased beef being Dairy Farmers. Eventually a cow aged to the point where it stopped producing enough milk to become a source of beef, however tough, to be canned by his mother or traded off for a spring lamb or a hog to be butchered. Granted, both Patrick and his Dad had a roof over their heads and enough to eat while growing up. It is the little things and luxuries that I've always taken for granted while growing up such as a new this or that. At times Patrick had to settle for used or hand-me-downs. I went regularly to a beauty parlor with my Mom and my Dad to a barber. Patrick's Mom cut his hair and his father's hair and she used her skills as a seamstress to put aside a small portion the money she earned to go to a beautician; her one luxury in life. I've seen photos of his mother and she was a strikingly beautiful woman. They had so much; and they had so little; and they had what money can't buy: it put into perspective the first time I brought him a cup of coffee, something that pleased him so much; and after, we sat on the front porch swing wrapped in a quilt listening to the crickets and watching the fireflies. My Dad needled Patrick about not having indoor plumbing on the farm and they didn't until 1965. Electricity in the farm house came a mere 10 years earlier and only after they did the barns first. Patrick's father was also a staunch optimist and great admirer of Will Rogers. He quoted him in part saying "We farmers have to be optimists or we wouldn't still be farmers." After lunch, Dad and Patrick went to Dad's social club to play Bocce. DOMANIC BERNARDINO: IF MARY HADN"T INTERCEEDED I would've cried uncle or received a sore or sprained hand for my stubbornness. While I was in the bathroom washing my face and changing my shirt, I was contemplating 'Here is a man who possibly might be good enough for my daughter despite the motorcycle. Patrick was holding back out of respect for an older man.' He has a sense of humor and apparently he can dish it out as well as take it but who ever heard of a Marine with a Purple Heart who doesn't curse or swear at all. Joe did some checking on him. He assured me Patrick is a good and decent man. He assured me Marie is in safe hands and given my daughter's temper and sometimes saucy mouth, Patrick will be a good match for her. I can accept Patrick marrying her if that's what Marie wants. I've noticed the way he looks at my daughter and she him. I'll ride on a motorcycle to hell and back if they give me grandchildren and not care where they live. It's six blocks to my Social Club and we decided to walk. We stopped at a small Market owned by a friend of mine. I wanted to get a fresh can of talcum powder to get a good grip on the ball. As we were leaving two young men entered who I will refer to as rabbits as you shall soon understand why. They were wearing ridiculously expensive sneakers, hoodies and baggy carpenter jeans and the fools underpants were showing. One went to the back of the store and the other to the checkout counter. It is said New Yorkers are cold and unfriendly and never get involved and that is a load of crap; not this New Yorker; although crappers are an integral part of my livelihood...a little plumber humor here...I digress; this is my neighborhood and they have no business here causing trouble or worse. I looked at Patrick and we were thinking the same thing; that confident half smile he returned was all I needed to know...game on...they cast the pallino and we went back into the store to finish their game. The black rabbit at the counter pulled out a large Gurkha Kukri knife, almost a short sword that was hidden under his sweatshirt and began violently slashing and chopping the items on the counter near the cash register demanding all the money. I knew Patrick had a large bowie knife concealed under his jacket and wondered if there was going to be knife play. Joe told me Patrick was an amateur fencer. I glanced to my future son and he was nowhere to be seen...mere seconds later a heavy metal display rack full of snack pastries came screeching across the floor like a speeding freight train full of Twinkies, Zingers and Ding-Dongs with Patrick as the caboose...talk about a sugar rush. Not to be left out I jumped aboard too ride the rails and pushing together we slammed the "fruit of the loom" underpants showing against the counter and pushed the rack over the top of him as he slashed ineffectually with the Kukri knife before we pinned him to the floor. So much for his big knife when I stomped on his hand to make him let go of it and I kicked it away. Sal came from around the counter and sat on the rack to weigh it down...good idea! Yes, he struggled to escape; cursing and threatening to kill us if we didn't let him up...easily solved...I banged the black rabbits head on the floor until he stopped squealing and lay still and behaved. With him out of the game it was three good guys to one bad guy. Patrick went to the back to flush the other one out...how did he describe it to my friends at the St. Nicolas Social Club over drinks? Oh yes, "like a beagle flushing a coney out of a thorn patch". The mangy rabbit came running down the dry goods isle holding onto his baggy pants to keep from tripping on them with Patrick close behind snapping at his heels. Oh well, flushing rabbits is a young man's sport, while Bocce is mine so I stepped to one side as Patrick's 6' tall plus white rabbit tried to run past me; he didn't make it. I tripped him and sent him wildly flailing his arms and legs as he slid stomach down across the floor; halfway out the door and partway on the sidewalk. He hit his head on the door frame on the way out leaving him momentarily stunned. Confused, he crawled all the way out with his pants half off. He sat up and leaned against a fire hydrant as a small crowd started to gather. Patrick picked up my canvas bag full of bocce balls as he walked outside and stopped, taking one out and dropping the bag to the sidewalk. He rolled it between his finger and palm; tossing it up in the air twice to gauge its weight and density. He ordered the white rabbit to stay put and wait for the Police to arrive. Getting his second wind the rabbit pulled his pants up. He ran about 50 feet before Patrick wound up like a pitcher on the mound and threw it like a fast ball, hitting him between the shoulder blades and knocking him off his feet again while New York's Finest arrived to answer the stores silent alarm... PATRICK: THE LOOK IN HIS EYES assured me he had my back and Marie is right; her Dad is not one to mess with. It's fortunate the handshake didn't escalate because I surmise my future father is a lot like Sam; he will go all out in a fight with no holds barred. He didn't hesitate a second to help me and banged that mangy flea-bit rabbit's head on the floor to subdue him; smart move. Mr. Bernardino knew both those Patrolman by their first names. They took our statements and advised us they'd contact us if something further came up. Most likely those two mangy flea bitten rabbits will plea out at armament saving me to return for a trial. What a great bunch of guys at the Saint Nicks Club; they made me feel right at home when Mr. Bernardino introduced me around. I took a great deal of good natured kidding about my Bocce technique of throwing overhand instead of underhand and the drinks flowed like an artesian spring. I played baseball at a young age and built up my pitching arm, starting by throwing rocks. If they fit in my hand I threw it and as I grew larger and stronger so did the size of the rocks. I never had the time after school to use the fancy equipment in the weight room; the hard manual farm work had the same effect and there was plenty of lifting, pulling, bending and squatting there. I've picked enough rocks out of the fields and especially as a teenager until I joined the Marines. Sam hired me out to do his fields to earn spending money. He gave his two champion prize winning stud draft horses, Caster and Pollex a workout. One or the other pulled the oversize wood sledge and I'd fill it with rocks. Sometimes Anne would help out to lead the horses for him. She was a tomboy in those days; all rough and tumble. It was a bit awkward after I turned her down for the dance though. She was all business then, although she did see to it I had plenty of cold water and sandwiches because of the agreement I made with her Dad. I was obtuse to the fact that she really liked me; more than liked me. We did play together as small children; our Dad's being best friends. I've never played Bocce before so the guys took me outside to the clay courts to demonstrate the finer techniques of the game. This is the real New York City and the many good people who live here; they're the people the media seldom talks about because it's the bad news that sells. Mr. Bernardino actually called people at home to come and join us and in all the drinking and eating and celebrating, we forgot completely about Marie and Mary. DOMANIC BERNARDINO: WHEN WE ARRIVED AT THE CLUB, I took Patrick right to the bar and introduced him around. I left him alone for a while to make some telephone calls and then we celebrated with everyone there and anyone who came later. We watched the news report about us on the TV in between going to the courts to teach him the game. Patrick was very at ease there and I'll say another thing for him; the man doesn't have short arms. They reach into his pockets to put his money on the bar to buy round after round of drinks when his turn came up and apparently he can hold his liqueur. It will be a challenge to drink him under the table. I haven't had a good toot like this in years. MARY BERNARDINO: IT WAS ALMOST 10:00 PM and the boys weren't home yet. Patrick wasn't answering his cell phone. Just before we left to go to St. Nicks we received a telephone call from Mrs. Goldstein who was excited that there was a hero living in the brownstone next door. Rachel went on to describe the 10:00 PM news story she saw about them. We went online to the local station's website and found a brief earlier interview of one of the thug's mother. She went on and on to describe what a good boy he is; everybody likes him at her church and how he sings in the choir. He was enrolled at city college and all the other blah, blah; the etcetera, etcetera, plus the usual explanations, accusations and excuses why he is the real victim here. Marie and I drove to the club see exactly what they were up to and it was a good thing we did. The men were in no condition to walk home and had a snoot full. MARIE: THEY WERE SITTING AT A CORNER TABLE talking quietly with a half empty bottle of Jim Beam Black and two shot glasses. They both were disheveled and relaxed and they had smiles on their faces. They were obviously having a great time. When we walked to their table, Dad stood up and teetered in place for a second or two before sitting back down to finish his shot and boy was he plastered. Patrick finished his shot, stood up and bowed to us announcing "Ladies, my Queen" he kissed my hand "please forgive us for not calling. We lost all track of...of ...of what we were doing. Isn't that right Dominic? My Dad nodded and slurring his words slightly said "We're running a tab so please sit down and have a drink with us. I've about had enough or not; what about you Patrick? Are you ready to admit I'll be the last man standing? "There's half a bottle of fine Bourbon whiskey left" Patrick replied. "Good point Son" and Dad filled both their glasses and they drank them down before he asked us "Do you know what happened?" "Yes, Dom" my Mom teased "One of the sweet little darlings mother claims you and Patrick brutalized those innocent and misunderstood youth who walked into Sal's store to buy milk and cupcakes and the knife was for self-protection. Thank you but we'll pass on the drinks." "Wait that's not" Patrick started to say so I put my finger on his lips and whispered "Mom's teasing." "Oh...oh, I get it" he whispered "Marie, I really like your father." "I can tell, sweetheart, but don't you think you've had enough to drink?" "Nag, nag, nag, and we aren't even...even hitched yet." I realized he was teasing me "Yeah, I'm feeling pretty mellow and your Dad is trying to drink me under the table. Can you get me out of this?" he whispered kissing my cheek. "What are you too whispering about?" my Dad asked. "Patrick says he's really likes you Daddy and is proud to have met you." "Did he now" my Dad said standing suddenly with the help of Mom holding on to steady him as Patrick nodded in agreement. "I like him too, Princess; he has guts. Your mother and I are coming to visit you on his homestead. I want to see where my grandbabies are going to be living." "What grandbabies? Do you know something I don't know and when were you going to tell me about the trip, Dom?" My Mom asked. "What babies, Patrick?" I asked "Shouldn't I be part of that equation or are you and Dad planning for the stork to deliver them? I imagine you and Dad have already picked out their names." I just had to tease him about it. "Oh, boy" he said grinning "thanks for all the help." "I believe I just did, Mary" Dad answered her "A change of scenery can do us both good." "But Dom, you hate to leave the City. I practically have to use dynamite to get you to Connecticut to visit your brothers." "Patrick says he can fix Dad's old Barlow knife and he wants my advice about updating his plumbing; it's over 50 years since it was put in." "Do you mean that old pocket knife in your sock drawer with the broken blade and bone handles? I asked "Yes that's the one" Dad replied. "And you sweetheart" I said hugging Patrick and kissing his cheek "What's all this talk about babies? We're not even engaged yet, let alone hitched, Mr. Buchanan!" "I um, I ah" he started to say when Dad piped in "How about we discuss everything over coffee and pie?" thinking he was coming to Patrick's defense and getting out of the drinking situation gracefully "we've both had enough to drink and don't need to prove anything, right son?" "Yup nothing at all" Patrick answered going along "sure, coffee and pie sounds great!" The excitement at the store and following celebration really took their toll on my Dad who fought to stay awake on the short ride home. Dad fell asleep in his chair before the coffee finished brewing so Mom quietly ushered him off to bed and joined him leaving Patrick and me alone together for the first time since we got here. After I finished putting the pie away and the coffee to cool for iced coffee tomorrow, I changed into the long pale yellow flannel night gown I found in the bottom drawer of the dresser in my old room. I found him Patrick sitting the long way on the couch in his tee shirt and boxers and he was partially covered with a cotton blanket. I kicked off my fuzzy yellow slippers, another thing Mom saved for me like the nightgown and snuggled up between his legs before putting my head on his chest. Patrick kissed the top of my head and put his arms around me. He sighed contentedly saying "I think I overdid the drinking a bit. You're not angry or annoyed at me are you?" The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 04 "Of course not; whatever gave you that idea? Mom and I talked while you and Dad were out. It was a long overdue heart to heart talk that can't be done over the telephone. Everything is good and I have some things to tell you." "You can tell me anything my Queen." "I knew you'd say that, sweetheart. Mom told me how shabbily her parents, my Grandma Joyce and Grandpa Tom treated my Dad and the contempt they had for him until I was born. I realize now why I wasn't allowed to call them Nonno or Nana or speak in Italian around them. Mom said a few weeks after they announced their engagement, Dad was working double shifts at construction site in Manhattan near the docks. Mom said two men dressed like longshoremen and carrying clubs jumped him one night in the subway station men's room. Mom said he beat them both unconscious and left them there pummeled and bleeding on the floor. Dad said these impostors fought like sissies and their soft hands gave them away. He also said a homeless man; a vagrant who witnessed the whole thing went through their pockets looking for money. The bum asked Dad if he could have one of those men's new Carhartt work coat and Dad let him." "Really" Patrick commented "this sounds like something I'd do." "Mom's parents refused to attend the wedding until the very last minute and after tried to have the marriage annulled. Dad knows people to and that was quickly squashed. They didn't talk with Mom's parents for two years. Things changed for the better after I was born; there was a neutral polite truce with my father. Mom missed her parents and the close relationship she once had with her mother. Daddy was the bigger person when he allowed Mom and me to spend two weeks with them twice a year at their summer house on Cape Cod." "Did he go with them?" he asked kissing my head again. "No, Dad stayed home. My parents kept this from me so I wouldn't think badly about them and my grandparents never spoke badly about Dad in front of me." "This speaks well of your parents and put much in perspective of what happened between us; your Dad and me, and especially how he reacted during the robbery; it speaks well of his character. He told me your mother is a wealthy woman in her own right from her parent's inheritance and that's why they have this big spacious brownstone. It's a matter of pride with him rather than envy. What's the second thing you have to tell me?" he asked "I told Mom how we first met at the Sex Club... and, well, almost everything after up until now" "I see" he replied "almost everything... what do you mean when you say almost everything and will she tell your father?" "I explained you were there on business and about the sword you made for the owner. Mom already knows about your business from Father Joe and you said I can tell you anything; don't worry sweetheart, she won't tell Dad." "Your mother is very gracious and understanding woman, Marie. That explains why she hugged me so hard before she went to bed. Is there anything else you'd like to share?" "Yes" I said squeezing his hands "You deserve a reward. I'm going to suck on your big cock!" "For goodness sake lower you voice" he whispered "do you want to wake them?" and I took a deep breath to say it louder "OK, OK" he whispered "you win my Queen. If we get caught it's on your head...wow, did I just say that" he chuckled quietly "your head on my head? I'm drunk and you're taking advantage of me." "Well I hardly think you're that drunk. I can feel your hard cock pressing against me" I said teasingly squeezing his hands "Although if you are that drunk, I'm might get a buzz just by sucking on it" I added sitting up and pulling boxers completely off to see his big hard cock standing at attention. I started by kissing the tip of Patrick's hard cock. His cock was pulsating and twitching in anticipation with a mind of its own as I licked; I love teasing him this way. I continued to lick and suck on his hard pulsating cock... probing and teasing him with my tongue and lips...occasionally to look up into his eyes as I did so...looking up into the eyes of my wonderful Blue Knight who I love with every atom of my being. I had half of his cock in my mouth as I licked and sucked; the deep-throating soon to follow while he played with my hair. I stopped sucking and licking his cock to lick and suck on his balls making him gasp with pleasure. He is putty in my hands when I lick and suck on his balls and he admits it. I playfully teased him as I nibbled, licked and kissed them feeling him shudder with pleasure. Patrick's hands were buried in my hair as he pushed his cock deeper into my mouth; as I licked and sucked ravenously; savoring every inch of it, all wet and sloppy. I was fantasizing his big cock buried up to his balls in my cunt. While my love isn't classically movie star handsome...while God may have scrimped a little with handsome; nonetheless he more than blessed Patrick with being well endowed and unbelievably virile. I always wanted more erotic sex play and love making from than the ex would give me. My Blue Knight more than satisfies my natural healthy sexual needs. Surprisingly, I found out during the face to face, heart to heart talk, my Mom's and I are much alike in this; having a healthy sexual appetite...and wow...you go, Mom. Handsome is as handsome does and Patrick is delightfully rugged looking. He has kind expressive eyes and a quiet gentle patience when we're alone...unless he's angry or lusty. Then his eyes become smoldering hot and ready to burst into flame. Even then it is a controlled burn. He's very fit and strong; incredibly strong as my Dad can attest too. Patrick's orgasm was an onslaught of testosterone laden energy as his hard male member assaulted my mouth and tongue, followed by a torrent of his thick rich semen flooding my mouth for me to swallow greedily as he moaned softly and whispered "I love you Marie." I tease him by saying sucking on his cock is an aphrodisiac and I adore the taste of semen so the fact that I love him makes it so. PATRICK: After my sensual and sexy blowjob Marie covered my face all over with her sweet hot kisses. I admit I'm not much to look at...I'm just Ok in the looks department while my Queen is strikingly beautiful as is her mother. They possess the same voluptuous figures. It is said look to a girl's mother to see what your wife will look like 25 or more years in the future. In the short time I've known her; I've observed Mary to be a sexy and sensual woman in her subtle quiet way. Although in her late fifties or early sixties Mary's thick hair is the same rich brown as Marie's, although Mary's is much longer. I can very well understand a stranger mistaking them for sisters; something that annoyed Marie when she was a teenager; although not at all now. If Mary dyes her hair so what; who am I to judge? Dominic is a lucky man and he admitted as much to me, or should I say he stated so outright while in his cups. Marie was really horny; she's always like this after she grants me nirvana and swallows my seed. Marie says sucking on my cock is intoxicating and my semen and aphrodisiac while just hugging and kissing her is mine. I reached back and tapped the floor lamp near the end of the couch to dim it. She started licking and sucking on my cock again and soon got me hard again...she's so amazing; I love her and she's mine. Without further fanfare she pulled up her nightgown and being panty-less straddled me lowering herself carefully onto my hard cock. Soon, Marie was bouncing up and down and rocking from side to side. I reached up with one hand to caress and stroke her firm round breasts as she rode me, her eyes closed in ecstasy. I moved along with her, matching her rhythm, thrusting upward while helping her balance. My beautiful Marie is as light as a feather, or so it seemed at the time. I'm certain I felt the tremors of her marvelous orgasm as I held mine back to let her finish. When I could not hold mine any longer I held her waist as I let mine overtake me. Marie's hands were in her hair and she smiling and watching me as I came a second time in her sweet little cunt. "Wow, thank you, beautiful" I said as she got off and pulled her nightgown down and covered me again with blanket and I slid my boxers on "Do you want to cuddle?" "No, I have a breakfast date with my Dad tomorrow morning; just him and me. If you want, you may sleep in my bedroom while I sleep here." "Are you sure?" I asked "Of course I'm sure and you can get better acquainted with Mom. This way Dad and I won't disturb you when we leave early tomorrow morning..." I didn't argue and my dreams were pleasant. I was brushing my future wife's hair; Marie's very long hair, like her mother's is now. I sat in the edge of the bed and did this for Anne; often times braiding it for her or pinning it up. I felt some weight on the edge of the bed and a small hand on my shoulder; this is how Marie wakes me. I was a bit groggy and disoriented from celebrating the night before and thinking I was home. I rolled over and reached and touched her face smiling. I let my hand linger before putting my fingers in her hair...my eyes were half open and with a sudden epiphany I realized the hair was far too long to be...it was Mary. I quickly pulled my hand back and sat up to adjust the sheets and open my eyes to really look at her. Mary's long hair was loose and unbound falling almost to her waist. I've only seen it worn up since I've been here and now my curiosity of how long it is was satisfied despite the awkward situation. It was blunt cut straight across the bottom as I prefer it on most women. Mary's blunt cut straight, full bangs accentuated her brown eyes now shining with amusement. "Did you think I was Marie?" she asked laughing softly but not getting off the bed "You did think I was Marie, how sweet." "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bernardino" I started to apologize "It's Mary, Patrick and no harm done, and I won't tell anybody...if you know what I mean" she suggested licking her lips suggestively and pulling on the sheets and the blankets...