Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, ft/ft, Consensual, Humor, Sister, Father, Daughter, Spanking, Light Bond, Group Sex, Harem, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Public Sex, Nudism, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Spouse splitting for parts unknown. Thrilling adventures on the Adriatic, planned by a travel agent provacateur. International relations and indelicate diplomacy. You always get what you pay for, but pay dearly when plans go awry. Pay attention to the clues in front of your eyes. Who's really in charge? Does it matter? Clever, charming, conspiratorial choices certainly carry considerably captivating consequences. It's all good in the end. Eventually, in the end. It's a long hot summer.
Full disclosure: This fantasy was inspired by an incomplete story, read years ago. I can't find it, nor can I remember where it was. It involved people and a beach trip, but lots of stories have commonalities. There the resemblance ends. My iteration is vastly embellished.
It may not true, although there is an Italy with actual resorts, people walk the earth, the Adriatic is a sea and airplanes fly. Grander tales have have survived on less evidence.
Disclaimer: Close cover before striking. Do not use near open flames. Do not exceed recommended dosage. Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Do not operate heavy machinery. No vehicles over seven feet allowed in drive-thru. Take a number and wait your turn. No refunds without a valid receipt. Restocking fee charged on returns. Please, no wagering. Do not repost without written permission.
Maybe I should have seen it coming. It wasn't the first time clues slipped past me.
A little backstory would come in handy about here.
Me? Ted Charles, a normal guy, not too hard to look at, just under six feet tall, jogger/swimmer build, an average green-eyed dirty blonde. Not too nerdy, not a jock, but I did marry a real honest-to-goodness beauty at the ripe old age of 18. It was not a shotgun wedding, but we were the proud parents of the sweetest little girl you ever saw within the year. Laurie was born on my 19th birthday.
Thanks to my full academic scholarship in engineering and hers in, of all things, French Literature, plus a little (and I mean little) help from my parents we managed to graduate college on time. I was offered a position with a NASA contractor near Cape Kennedy. Winnie took a teaching post in the public schools. Little five-year-old Laurie spent her time at a pretty decent daycare/preschool when we could not be home.
Clues being the elusive things they are, several slipped under the radar. Winnie missing dinner, Winnie forgetting to pick up Laurie at school, Winnie missing the gymnastics and piano recitals, etc., excusing it as trying to get ahead in her field. I could understand. It is the same in almost every professional field. Management taking advantage of insecure employees, tethered to the job by cell phones and emails, is an oft-repeated chorus. Never knew it happened in middle school, but what did I know? I was getting square eyes looking at a computer monitor.
I paid for taxis to bring Laurie to my office for after school techno daycare, attended all the rites of passage a little girl could have before aging into double digits and more or less functioned as a clueless single parent who did not know he was a single parent. Laurie figured it out long before I did, having the intuitive wisdom reserved for little girls. Getting volunteered to make cupcakes for the gymnastics team bake sale was another clue missed. She seemed OK with Pops doing mom duty, but never knew life to be different. Nor did I.
We both prospered handsomely. Winnie published a book or two of poetry and a new translation of some obscure 15th Century poet. She made the bestseller list and a boatload of money, went on signing tours and appeared on talk shows. Though Laurie and I were proud of and happy for her, Winnie became a virtual stranger in our house.
In a moment of unusual clarity, I discovered a way to minimize the exploding rocket syndrome sadly common to new launch vehicle designs, or rather a novel way to computer model angular force vectors vs. vibration vs. acceleration stresses. Plus, I designed a deceptively simple 'fix' for the existing mega expensive engines already in inventory, ours and the competition's. What put it over the top was the prefailure alarm. My corporate overlords were overjoyed at the potential until they discovered that I did it on my own time and they had no proprietary claim on the patent.
Fine print is a double-edged sword. Sometimes the little guys win. Always read the contract twice.
They were not evil overlords and we reached an equitable agreement. I licensed the patent to them; they did all the marketing and heavy lifting. I got twenty percent of the profits, which were verifiable and considerable. Preventive rocket surgery pays well. Pays even better when it is applied to commercial jet engines.
I invested in some outrageously stupid dot coms (email delivery of organic nail polish, personal shoppers for retirees, personalized monster truck tires for subcompacts, thought recognition hats, ad nauseum). The same ones all the crazy rich venture capitalists were drooling over in the national hysteria. The difference between them and me was that I didn't drink the miracle soy-based power fruit juice substitute. Were they really going to make millions on GPS trackers for hot dog vendors at Candlestick Park?
There was no way this fantasy could continue. When did it make sense for the information processors to be more important than the information generators, more important than the workers actually making the products that made the money apparently needing management?
A clue I did catch was tossed out in a departmental meeting. After one particularly colorful presentation, praise was lavished on the assistant-whatever person for the style and pace of the little show. No one seemed to care that the actual content was grim as hell and bode ill for the immediate future of the bottom line. It was all about the cleverness of the show, not about illustrating the obvious problems. Solutions were not even on the table. He could have saved a ton of expensive media by just saying, "We're screwed this quarter. Suck it up and find new markets for new gadgets. Then make new gadgets."
At least my company was diversified and old enough to take a little heat. Not my company, but the one I worked for.
I bailed out/bought in or IPO-ed around the pyramid schemes until the whole mess became too absurd for words: valuation and job performance based on pretty graphs about companies consisting entirely of mid-level flunkies selling nothing more than potential profits from imaginary products. OK. I lied. Too absurd for words that make sense in a rational business climate. Several months after I sold off the worst offenders, the hot air escaped in a rush and I found myself in possession of a lot of foolish people's money. That happens when you buy lots of assorted nothing at $7.00 per share and resell the vastly improved nothing for $125.00 per share, several times, different pipedreams.
A small percentage of the ideas became legendary 'killer apps'. I still have those. The patent royalties made me quite wealthy. The dot com bonanza tripled that. And the money keeps rolling in.
Yeah. Gas prices were not an issue at our house. Is this a great country or what?
Meanwhile, back at the history lesson, Winnie and I kept separate professional and investment accounts. No particular reason, just seemed easier to keep records. Balances were never shared. Perhaps she thought she was stealing a march on me. We never talked about work at home. We maintained a joint account to operate the house and keep Laurie in sneakers and tights. We denied her nothing but she never asked for much either. Laurie was a sweet, low stress kid as girls go, or so the other PTA parents tell me. Cute, smart and a little goofy, she was my favorite daughter.
One Friday, after I picked up Laurie at the gym, we got Japanese take-out for dinner. It got cold. We found, on the dining room table, a great huge, might-as-well-have-been neon lit clue shaped suspiciously like a letter.
"Dear Ted and Laurie,
I can't pretend to live a double life any longer. Barbara and I must follow our dream as a single beating heart. My One True Love and I can never be wife or mother material so, sadly, we say farewell. The page is turned thus our new chapter is begun. Have as good a life together as we will, chasing our muse.
Sorry to leave so suddenly, but we have to think of us. There is no room for a family now so we decided to cut our ties to the past. It's nothing personal, just something we have to do. We are sure you understand we have to live our own life.
Winifred and Barbara
ps: We have packed my things and departed. I leave you an uncontested divorce, legal fees prepaid. All I want to take away are my separate bank accounts and the Miata. Read and sign the documents in the packet. My attorneys will retrieve them tomorrow and the deed will be done."
Except for an occasional book review or NPR interview, that was the last we ever heard of her and Barbara, directly. In her public biography, we never existed. No family references ever passed her lips. Barbara was the only significent partner ever mentioned and that was very rare.
We sat there reading and rereading the letter. It didn't change, nor did it reveal any more. I was shocked at the abruptness. No discussion, no preamble, a poorly scribbled note left on the dining room table. We had grown distant but this was lightyears distant. Sadly, I felt little sadness; mostly regret for the future we had planned when we were older. I hurt for Laurie. Though Winnie played an ever-decreasing role in her life, abandonment by your mother had to be painful.
"So, kid, what ya thinking?"
"Honestly, Pops, it sucks she didn't say goodbye, but not much is different. I saw Sadie's mom more than her. Mary acted like a mom. Mom acted like a roommate. The only hugs I remember are yours and sometimes Mary's. You are the only real parental unit around here." Laurie shrugged, attempting to be a tough girl, but her eyes told the truth. "You?" A small sob leaked past pursed lips.
"Kind of like something was torn out. I thought we were going to travel and get old together after you grew up and began your life. Guess I was misinformed."
"Lot of that going around. Years ago, she promised to tell me the secrets moms share with daughters. I think there was a secret or two she didn't share with you, too."
"Any idea who 'One True Love' Barbara is? The mystery ventricle of the beating heart with whom she makes decisions as a 'we'?"
"If she is who I think she is, it's Barbara Swain, volleyball coach at the middle school. My balance beam teacher, Ms Simpson, shared an apartment with her. I only met her once or twice when Ms Swain picked Coach up after practice." Laurie made a face. "Why would Mom run away with a volleyball coach?"
"Sweetie, that is something we will have to figure out when you get a little older. It's one of those girl secrets Winnie kept secret, I bet." He dreaded that conversation today with a barely ten year old girl, precocious daughter or not. "Let's wait a day or so and talk to Ms Simpson. Wonder if she saw it coming?"
(I did get a chance to talk to Edie Simpson, the gymnastics coach and jilted lover. The coach did not see it coming, was bisexual and into revenge sex over the balance beam. I did stick the dismount on the floor exercises several times, but that is a tale for later.)
"Can I call Sadie? We were going to have a sleepover tonight. Mom was supposed to be here. She said so in an email."
"Go ahead and call. Don't cancel the party. Invite Mary, too. I can make some more rice and we have some frozen spring rolls." I suggested. "Why change our plans just 'cause your Mom and my wife ran off and left us?"
"Prolly forgot anyway." Laurie hissed. "Prolly, nothing! Did forget or blew me off as excess baggage on her dream trip. You, too. Do you think you'll miss her?"
"Too soon to say. It's hard to let that many years go, years I thought were good, kid. You can't just erase and reboot. But, she made it easy to move on. 'Not mom material, have a good life.' Not really things you say when you expect to see someone again. But, hey, I'm glad it was nothing personal. Like that will make abandonment OK."
"Yeah. 'Have a good life' is something you say to a girl in class when her parents move away. I vote we take the advice. Turn the page and start a new chapter." Laurie shrugged without wet eyes this time. "Pops, can you make some of your yummy beef teriyaki to go with the rice? I'll put this stuff in the microwave. If you get Mary, you get Andrew Larson, too. Package deal."
This evening set the tone for our near future. With Sadie, attached to Laurie at the giggle, as best friend, Mary Larson as surrogate mom and Andrew as my football and barbeque buddy, life was not that much different. You really don't miss someone if they were never around anyway.
The next years were interesting. My job mutated as the company re-diversified and redirected its focus toward the consumer aircraft markets during the lean years after the end of the Shuttle program. Not sure if that was a good thing, I sold my company stock while it was still high and retired at the age of 30.
Suddenly, I was in great demand as a consultant to the privatized space travel and commercial aircraft industries. A positive report from me became the 'Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval'. In truth, I did find more than a few dangerous flaws before the items went into production. They rewarded me quite handsomely.
Fortunately, I could do most of the work at home. When I had to travel, Laurie tagged along if Mary couldn't do the kiddo keeper chores.
What Mary did do was help guide Laurie through puberty. The day my little girl took two hours to tell me she needed to get a training bra for gymnastics was the day I drafted Mary Larson as my adolescence consultant. I knew the facts in the clinical abstract, Mary knew the function and little details. When she stopped laughing, she asked what took me so long to notice that the two girls were growing up.
"Laurie is right. You are clueless sometimes. What do you think I've been doing these past few years?" Once I learned how many times she saved Laurie and me from 'delicate' situations and terminal embarrassment, Mary named her consultant fee. That woman did not work cheap.
All it cost me was the price of a not-so-minivan and the rest of my free time. I became the dad version of the soccer mom, schlepping Laurie, Sadie and their constantly changing mob of teammates, campers and crazies to any number of practices, lessons, performances and trips to the mall.
I was easy to find. Look for the bewildered guy in the bleachers with a laptop and headphones, trapped in and trying to ignore the mad maelstrom of girly insanity loose on the world.
Actually, it wasn't that onerous a task. Beat listening to endless PowerPoint presentations and browbeating engineers into fixing their stupid mistakes. And I got to watch my little Sweetie grow up. That was worth every minivan minute spent on the road looking for the next rest stop or burger joint.
What the hell was Winnie thinking when she walked out on that girl's life? Besides, I loved that Miata.
Eventually, Laurie and I put in a swimming pool and freestanding mini-gym in the backyard. Our house instantly became the eye of the teen girl storm. I suspected a vast conspiracy among the Consolidated Moms of East Florida to get some free time at my expense. The first clue was when a Mom I knew from Girl Scout meetings called to see if I minded hosting a slumber party over a weekend. I didn't have a problem.
Apparently, they considered me 'safe.' Single father, too science nerdy and detached to be a perve, worked at home, not hard to look at, no social life outside of dinners and nights out with the Larsons and familiar with and to the girls. Clearly, I had the qualifications and the time they needed to borrow. The perfect kidsitter for a weekend away.
I laid out the ground rules. No boys, parents had to be available for emergencies or give me the authority to get health care if someone breaks something, the girls had to act like ladies and not wreck the house, no drama, no fighting, those and more made the risk management list. The Consolidated Moms agreed. I made them promise to take their girls back Sunday. Some balked at the last item but I insisted.
Friday evening, nine fourteen-year-old lunatics appeared at the door in twos and threes with overnight bags. All I had to do was make sure no one drowned in the pool and that no boys crashed the festivities. And cook breakfast Saturday and Sunday morning. The girls would deal with the pizza orders or make supper as required by whatever stomach alarms teenaged girls marched to.
I survived the weekend and many more like it as the next years passed. So many girls passed through at any time of day, I quit locking the doors.
The girls also grew into young ladies when I wasn't paying attention. Clues missed again. One summer, I hardly recognized most of the guests, and wondered if I was imagining things or were these creatures flirting with me? Then I saw the faces. That was the one who owned the uneven parallel bars, that one was the first string striker, that one had so many merit badges we thought she would develop knee problems.
Incremental changes are easy to miss. Laurie's friends incrementally turned into bikini models when I had my back turned. My safe, non-perve status was in dire jeopardy, but I soldiered on, giving the girls the idea that I was the perfect crash test dummy to hone their girlcraft.
I am a guy with normal urges. What early thirties man isn't? I had not been a monk after Winnie left us, but my relationships were few and never at home. Laurie pretended not to notice just as she pretended not to notice the less than subtle flirting. She was a better athlete than she was an actress. Even clueless me saw the sly smiles. Little Laurie was a ringleader in the teasing department.
The bikinis got smaller, Laurie's included, but she and Sadie usually refrained from the little accidents the others suffered. They had their 'accidents' just fewer. Their friends set the standard. Tops lost in the pool, boobs popped out and not covered, and assorted 'innocent' exhibitionism became the norm.
Weaponized tits, destroying civilization as I knew it. Kill me now. Don't get me started on the thermonuclear asses.
This time, the Consolidated Moms were clueless. Of course, they were having a life while I watched the kids.
I wore an extra jockstrap and dark sunglasses a lot. It was an interesting season. Winters were almost as much fun. Same routine, moved indoors. Pajamas based on alien technology inflated by weaponized tits and thermonuclear bottoms. I could not win so I quit fighting.
In a private moment, my Sweetie confessed the girls were teasing each, too. "Now I understand why Mom left with Barbara. Some of my friends are like Mom that way. It's OK, I don't care and they are still the same girls. At least they know now before they mess up other people's lives. I'm still mad she didn't say good bye."
"Me, too, a little. But grudges take up too much headspace and that was a different time. Trust me, I'm a rocket scientist. I know about space. I really wish her the best. Let's face it, kiddo, our life ain't too shabby."
She gave me a hug. "So you don't mind all these shameless tramps running around the house?"
"I have a confession to make. I kind of enjoy it. They do brighten up the house. None of you are rejects."
"Really? Oops. Did I say that out loud?"
The next summer Laurie was to be 16 on the same day I turned 35. "Pops. Can we go somewhere for our birthday? Someplace special?" This was the first time she ever asked for a biggie. "I have summer off except for late August. No practice, no camps. Nothing but glorious free time."
"Great idea! I have a clean calendar until September. We can blow off June and July. Tell you what. You book the places and times. Our passports are good, so anyplace you want to go is where I want to go."
"Really? Any place? Europe? Can I bring Sadie?"
"Any place, except France. And you can invite Sadie if Andrew and Mary agree."
Her monster smile was a missed clue.
Laurie did a fine job as the travel agent provocateur. All I did was give her my black card, passcode and promise not to look at the invoices. I lied. Curious choices. She convinced the Larsons to let Sadie come along so the girls could do girl stuff while I did whatever 'Pop' sorts did.
We were wheels up, bound for Venice, the first weekend in June. We spent enough time there to soak up some romantic atmosphere, walk where famous dead people walked and see some pretty fabulous art. Our hotel was art. Getting over jetlag in a picture postcard is the bomb.
We celebrated our birthdays with a picnic at the Piazza San Marco and a gondola ride back to the hotel. It was very elegant and a lot of fun. Sadie had a good time being our little waitress and clowning around in her striped gondoleer shirt.
Tuesday morning, Laurie told me to pack up for the next stop on the itinerary. I had converted sufficient funds to tip properly the gentlemen who loaded our luggage into the limo and off we went.
The destination was a plush resort area south of the waterlogged city on the Adriatic Sea. It was quietly remote only in that it was so very exclusive. Places like this are where the rich, famous and beautiful go to avoid the curious and the cameras. Every detail was first class or better.
We got settled in our beachfront quarters and spent the rest of the day shopping and sampling the open-air restaurants. The girls managed to avoid the star struck fan-girl look even when we were seated next to a movie or music legend, which happened rather often.
The little actresses acted like they did this sort of thing every day. Not bored but not disinterested in the stars either.
They did get me to take a few pictures with the odd superstar in the background. Some of the celebrities even volunteered to pose since the girls were cool and were really quite cute in shy kind of way. Basically, everyone was friendly. If you could afford to be there, you were OK. We were equals.
I personally thought the nouveau riche celebrity types were posers, spending zillions to prove they could. The old money people were those we didn't recognize. To them, this was McDonalds. Real money people had no need to flash it around. Maybe that's why the celebs were friendly. They had no idea who we were. Be nice to people you might need to know in the future. The silent stranger may own your bank and your talent agency.
Our suite was as deluxe as everything else. A sitting room, two bedrooms with king sized beds, three baths, a Jacuzzi and balcony with a breathtaking view of the sea. We hung out after showering, waiting for dinner in the smaller restaurant/disco downstairs.
Laurie and Sadie sent pictures to the folks back home, excited about who and what they had seen. Both kept the bragging to a minimum. Around eight we dressed for dinner in little black dresses and my tux. They were the very image of blossoming beauty. I was the guy in a tailored tux escorting my ladies like protective sugar daddy. I told them as much. "Oh, hush. We'll wind up protecting you from hotties trying to steal you away from us." Laurie laughed daintily, "Now feed us before we waste away."
The meal was the best ever. Fresh seafood, vegetables too wonderful for words, prepared and served in leisurely perfection by elegant servers clearly dedicated to the craft of fine dining.
The dancing afterward was to the sounds of American rock 'n roll, played by a competent cover band. They mixed oldies with current pop, fast and slow, a variety designed to let all ages do a turn on the dance floor.
We danced constantly in any number of combinations, sometimes all of us together, until around 1:00AM, about the time the sharks began to circle. Laurie tugged me down and whispered, "Let's go back to the suite before the 'overserved' get bold and start asking for dances. We don't want to spend time with them and I don't want to make a scene when we turn them down."
I signaled the waiter to let me sign the chit. He was prompt and courteous, asking if there was a problem. "Most young people stay a bit longer. Pardon my saying, but you seem a bit tense. Please, if you are uncomfortable, allow us to correct it."
"We aren't trying to cause any trouble, sir, the hotel staff has been great. You treat us like princesses." Sadie looked at me and I nodded for her to continue. "We just feel a little weird with all those single men circling around us. We don't want to cause a scene or anything. I'm sorry if we upset you."
The waiter stared incredulously for a second and then burst out laughing. He cut it off when the girls frowned at the lack of sympathy. "Please ladies, don't misunderstand my mirth. In any other club, that would be a concern and the staff would, how do you say, have your back. If there is any circling happening tonight, it is around your handsome and debonair escort, Signore Charles. After hours, this particular club has become popular with men who prefer the company of other men. They value our discretion."
That cracked the girls up. They dissolved in giggles. "Next time you ought to listen, Mr. Charles. OK we were partly wrong. We thought the hot little starlets would steal you away. Who knew it would be the guys lusting after our Sugar Daddy?"
And that had the waiter laughing again. "Your princesses are entirely correct. Over the years, I have developed a sense of what appeals to our clientele. You, sir, would be seen as a prize. The bartender, who is my wife, suggested you were eye candy to the late night patrons and she is proven correct. In any case, I'm happy to have eased the ladies' concerns even as I have put the burden on you."
"That is quite alright, my discreet friend. To each his own. I don't have a problem; it is nice to be appreciated. I just never considered riding sidesaddle, if you know what I mean."
"Indeed I do, sir." He was still smiling. "You should leave now before the ladies have to protect your virtue. As they said, we must not cause a scene. Shall I have the bouncers accompany you to the door?"
And that sent us back to our rooms. "Thank you for a fun night, debonair Signore Charles." Sadie mugged. "We want to hit the sack and do the beach early in the morning. If we don't get some sun, folks will think we faked the beach trip."
"We want our handsome sugar daddy to treat us like the princesses we are." Laurie grinned, "He will need his strength."
Sleep came easy after such an unusual day. If I dreamed, I didn't remember.
I smelled the wake-up call in the morning. The little scamps ordered eggs, bacon and pastries from room service. Orange juice and strong dark coffee completed the setting. "Thank you, girls. This is a wonderful surprise. Now we don't have to get dressed for the café and again for the beach. We'll eat on the balcony in our robes and hit the beach for the day."
Breakfast was fun and quick. They were eager to become bronzed sun goddesses as soon as possible. I was eager to watch them do just that.