The Saga of Bass and Sarah
Chapter 1

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, NonConsensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Cheating, Cuckold, Petting,

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Love, infidelity, and family

Oh shit, it’s only 7:15 a.m. I just got the coffee on. I’m cold, I’ve got a headache, my wife said she wanted to go out to eat tonight, and I’m staring at this thick stack of papers my supervisor wants done before I go home today. The only thing I see that’s important is my supervisor’s scribbled comment that we can’t afford the new safety equipment I recommended; he says the county won’t pay for it. And now this; another call!

Well it’s Thursday, it’s foggy and it’s wet out on the Interstate, everybody’s in a hurry, and it sounds like real trouble. I drop the memo, grab my crap, and rush out to join the ‘regulars’ for the run. I’m an EMT, a supervisor, youngest one in the county, and from the voices crackling over the radio this is shaping up to be a bad one. Bass Ebersole’s the name.

Across town, roughly six miles away Owen Ebersole, Bass’s father, had just finished with his nebulizer. He cursed himself for he guessed the millionth time for not quitting smoking and for working around all those caustic materials at the machine shop all those years. Pulmonary fibrosis is what they called it, five years was what they gave him, that was six years ago. He was lucky. He took his medications religiously; the pf was getting worse, and it didn’t help that he had ‘afib’ and a half dozen stents. The doctors said his veins and arteries looked like sausage.

He went to the front door and unlocked it so Margaret wouldn’t need to when she got home. He saw outside the paper had come, but didn’t feel up to getting it himself. Margaret would see it and get it when she got home. He went back and poured in the water to make the coffee. Margaret his wife and mother of his two grown sons would be getting home soon. She promised she’d be in before the morning traffic. She’d spent the week at her sisters in the next town up. Her sister was a widow and had been having a bad time; she was dying of cervical cancer. Margaret was an RN, and though retired she still liked to be of help where she could.

Owen looked at the lights on his old scanner. There’d been an accident on the freeway. He wondered if Bass was on. He hoped the accident wouldn’t delay his wife.

The ambulance pulled as near the wrecked vehicles as they could. First on the scene, Bass scoured the area. They’d need more help. He called back to a partner, “Call in some more people. This is even worse than anyone thought.” He jumped forward and ran through the wreckage. There must be five, six, no ten cars strewn all about. Everywhere he heard the moans and cries of the injured. Christ what a mess!

Over beyond the shoulder he espied an overturned Jeep Cherokee. Next to it a crushed Honda, and beside the Honda a Ford sedan turned on its side. He recognized the National Guard decal and the yellow ribbon that complimented it. It was his mother’s car!

He rushed toward the crashed Ford. He saw the driver’s side door was agape. Had she forgotten to fasten her seat belt? In the soggy brush, in last fall’s still uncut foliage he saw the worn leather coat, the ragged slacks, and the heap of torn flesh that had been his mother. By the time he reached her he knew. He fell to his knees and brushed the brambles away from her once beautiful face. There wasn’t anything he could do. He just stared at the lifeless shape. He reached out and caressed her now cold dead cheek. “Mom,” he whispered.

Behind him Bass vaguely heard his friend and cohort Vernon Abernathy, “Bass! Bass!”

Vernon saw the bloody carcass. He reached for the phone held on his shoulder and called in, “We’ll need a lot more help. Send four, no five more vehicles. There’re several fatalities, at least four. It’s a bad one, and it looks like my partner’s going into shock.”

Over the speaker Harriet the dispatcher at the center responded, “They’re being called. Who is it?”

Vernon replied, “Bass, Oh Jesus; he’s found his mother.”

Bass looked up but didn’t immediately recognize his friend.

Vernon saw the signs. He grabbed Bass by the shoulders and spun him around. He slapped him hard on both cheeks, “Bass!”

Brought back to reality by his partner’s crisp voice and insistent slap Bass responded, “No, I’m all right. Get a stretcher. Let’s get her out.”

By then two other EMTs were on hand. While Vernon pulled Bass away and to his feet the others loaded his mother on a stretcher. She’d be bound for County General in a matter of moments.

Bass pushed his friend away, “I’ve got to get home, tell dad, tell Rath.”

Vernon knew both people. Rath was short for Wilson Rathbone Ebersole, Bass’s older brother, “Come on,” he said, there’s a state cop, “we’ll get you out of here and back to the firehouse.”

A few miles from the Interstate his wife Sarah had just backed her car up and pushed the button that closed the garage door. She stepped out and up to the door that took her through the laundry room into the kitchen. She heard on the radio about the accident; she assumed her husband would be there.

She stepped through the kitchen to the hallway. Her hands were shaking; perspiration was already slowly dribbling down her back moistening the thin filmy blouse under her jacket. Sarah worked part time at the town’s ‘Welcome Center’. She’d already called in and told her morning’s compatriot she’d be a few hours late. She done it before and expected no trouble.

Sarah stepped into the dining room, “Rath, you there?”

Rath Ebersole, dressed only in a pair of white boxers, carrying a towel stepped from the shadows, “Over here.”

Sarah stepped into Rath’s outstretched arms, “Your wife?” She involuntarily shuddered when she said it; she disliked Rath Ebersole, his indifference regarding his wife, his lack of compassion for the woman who loved him. She wrapped her arms up around his scrawny shoulders. She pulled his face down to hers. She gave him the appropriately affectionate kiss he expected.

Rath returned the kiss and nuzzled his face in her thick brown hair while his hands searched and found her large firm breasts, “Not to worry, she won’t be home till late this afternoon.”

Sarah sighed. She felt his manhood, hard and insistent as it pressed against her. She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat. She knew what she was doing was wrong. She was happily married, she had three young children. She murmured, “Rath this is...”

He whispered back, “I know. I don’t care...”

She kissed his neck and thought, ‘Me? Oh well. She loved her husband, but right now ... this moment she’d do... ‘

He lifted her and carried her to the bedroom.

At County General Bass, Vernon, and several others concerned themselves with the people they were bringing in. Bass had declined the policeman’s offer; he wanted to stay with his mom till her remains were safely at the hospital.

Bass wanted desperately to protect his father for as long as he could, but they wouldn’t let him forge his father’s name on the paperwork. Not knowing what else to do he opened his cell phone and called his wife’s work.

He got Nellie, a friend and fellow employee. Nellie told him his wife had called in that she’d be late. Bass thanked her and called his wife on her cell, but it went to voice mail. He figured she’d had to stop off at school; something probably about the kids.

Now what? He called Rath, but got the same response; voice mail on his cell and the recording on his landline. He dare not call his father; something like this over the phone could kill him. What to do?

Down a ways across the street from the hospital was ‘Heaven’s Place’, a hospice. His good friend Corinne Woodward worked there. He saw Vernon, “Hey Vernon. I’m gone OK?”

Vernon held up a hand and waved, “Need a lift anywhere?”

Bass waved him off, “No, going over to the hospice to borrow Corinne’s car.”

Vernon gave his friend a closer look, “You sure? You OK to drive?”

Bass waved back, “I’m good.”

Minutes later Bass was at the hospice. He found his lifelong friend, “Corinne I need your car.”

Corinne was unabashedly and unashamedly in love with Bass Ebersole. He’d been her ‘Knight in Shining Armor’, her ‘Prince Charming’, her hero, ever since they’d been children but especially since he’d stepped in and rescued her from her abusive husband. That had been seven years now. She was sure she’d be dead if it hadn’t been for Bass. She went and retrieved her purse, handed him the spare key to her Chevy and asked, “Anything I can do?”

He took the key and kissed her cheek, “Talk to you later.” He was out the door.

Corinne watched him drive away. God how she loved him; she hoped everything was all right. How could men be so clueless?

Back at the eldest Ebersole’s Owen poured himself a second cup of coffee. He checked the clock on the wall. Margaret was late. He bet the accident on the Interstate had held her up. He went to the living room and turned on the TV. Nothing about the accident so he turned to one of the cable news stations, adjusted his oxygen, sat back in his chair and started to doze off.

On his way to his father’s Bass got cold feet. He felt shaky. He knew he wasn’t feeling right. He needed help. Better go get Rath. He’d tell Rath. Together they’d see dad. He turned off and started for his brother’s house.

He thought about Sarah. God if he could only talk to someone; if he could just talk to Sarah. He pulled open his cell and called her work. Nellie told him she still wasn’t in. He thought, ‘Better not try her cell, if she was at school, a call there would only get in the way.’

He drove on.

Sarah squirmed out from under her half somnolent brother-in-law. She checked the digital clock by the bed. She knew she had to be going soon; couldn’t leave Nellie hanging forever. She slipped into the bathroom. She’d take a shower and wash Rath’s smelly goo off her thighs.

She wished she didn’t have to do this. Rath was much older than his brother. He wasn’t all that virile; a lousy lover, lousy in bed, and had nothing to say. He was sloppy, lazy, boring, turning to fat, and just generally a loud, obnoxious, mean hateful man. Yet she kept seeing him; well it wasn’t like he was her first.

She thought about Bass; he was such a tender lover, long lasting, adventurous, always trying to please. He was a good father, a caring husband, and terrific provider. She only worked to get out of the house; it gave her a chance to dress up and flirt with the tourists.

She showered and stepped back in the bedroom. She looked at the lummox asleep in the bed. What a piece of shit. How had he gotten to her so easily? She knew he resented his brother, was jealous as hell. That was why he did it; but her? She knew it was a mistake, a stupid mistake. She shouldn’t have fallen for it. Her life was full of stupid mistakes. Someday she’d get caught; and what for? Half the time with Rath she got nothing out of it; nothing except a dirty crotch and a guilty conscience. If only she...

Sarah found and slipped on one of Beatrice’s bathrobes; Beatrice, Rath’s wife was almost like a real sister. Bathrobe on, washed and reasonably clean she slipped into the kitchen. She figured she had just enough time to make a pot of coffee.

While the coffee perked she leaned against the counter and hummed a favorite tune; an old Oakridge Boys thing called “Lucky Moon”. It was one of their favorites. They’d heard it when they’d been in Branson years back. Bass said it reminded him of something that almost happened years before.

She thought about it now. She and Bass had been dating and getting it on, but she felt like he’d been taking her for granted. She remembered she hadn’t always been exactly faithful, but he didn’t know. It was before him anyway. Well he’d gotten scared because she’d said something about California. Afraid she’d leave him he’d pulled out all the stops; flowers, special dates, gifts, and then the proposal. She’d agreed and they’d gotten married. Oh yeah, lucky moon. He was her lucky moon.

She thought about Rath again; better try to cut it off. He was getting kind of possessive anyway.

Bass didn’t remember driving to his brother’s, but he realized he was standing at the front door. He didn’t have a key. Sarah did, but he knew where they had a front door key hidden. He found it, turned the latch and stepped inside.

Rath and Beatrice owned a small but well-maintained rancher on a quarter acre lot. Rath always seemed to have money problems, and Bass was glad he was able to give his brother his used John Deere. He was even happier he could afford to buy a new one. He took a deep breath; time to get his brother up, time to tell Rath, time to get the help he knew he needed.

Bass stepped through the house. It was a simple design. Off to the left was the formal dining room and an open portal that led to a smallish family room where an old TV sat across from a comfortable old sofa.

Straight ahead was an open portal that led to the back hall. Through the portal and to the left was their dining room and further down the kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was the laundry room, and passed that was the garage. To the right were the bedrooms and main bathroom.

Rath was currently employed at a car dealership. He was in charge of purchases for tools and inventory and such. Their dad had gotten him the job. He’d probably stay on long enough to be eligible for unemployment; then he’d find a way to get laid off. Rath and Beatrice never had any children; why he’d never asked and Rath had never volunteered a reason.

He paced through the hallway to the back hall. His head started to pound again. He hoped Rath wasn’t hung over; he really needed him.

As he reached the hall he noticed some shadowy movement off to his left. Rath must be up. He turned to speak.

There was his wife. Sarah! She was wearing one of Beatrice’s old robes. Her hair was obviously wet and still up in a towel. She was looking down and holding two cups of coffee.

Bass grabbed the doorframe; the room seemed to spin. A wave of nervous responses started to sweep over him; a hard knot formed in his stomach, he felt weak, his arms felt like lead, the malaise was overpowering. What was she doing here?

Sarah looked up and said, “Rath I’ve decided ... Bass...”

Stunned, in shock, Bass stepped back. He clung to the doorframe. It felt like there was a jackhammer pounding in his head. There was movement and some soft sound off to his right. He turned and saw his brother step from the main bedroom. He was wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else.

For a second Bass caught a glimpse of surprise on his brother’s face, but the surprise was quickly replaced by first a stupid and then a snarky grin.

Bass turned from his brother back to his wife. Breathless; he was gasping for air. No one said anything. No one moved.

Owen kept flicking from channel to channel. There had to be something on. He had his portable oxygen kit beside him, a cup of stale coffee in his hand. There had to be something!

He stopped at one of the cable news stations. Some woman was talking about the 60,000 Mexican terrorist children the president wanted to let in the country. Her side kick said something about cooties. She was interrupted by some guy who warned that if the president didn’t do something there’d be a nationwide Ebola epidemic. An old guy who said he was a judge said the whole thing with the immigrants was unconstitutional. A third host warned about a measles outbreak and autism. Jesus, it was back to the woman; she mentioned something about Isis terrorists blowing up the country.

Nothing there he turned to the local news. Maybe he’d get the weather and the sports. He wondered how the local high school team did the day before. He couldn’t remember what sport it was.

He got the local news. They had somebody on the scene out on the Interstate where that accident had occurred.

Owen, already bored listened, “Good morning this is Barbara Menjuvenant on the scene of the accident on the interstate. We have a trooper here, “Hello officer what can you tell us?”

The officer gave the typically officious reply, “Well it’s pretty bad Barbara. We’ve got a multiple car and truck crash. At least three fatalities.”

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“Barbara from what we can figure a deer might have gotten on the highway. An underage driver was operating an over-sized rental truck. He must have swerved to avoid the animal, lost control, and rolled into the right lane forcing at least two cars off the road.”

Trying to get a glimpse of the vehicles Owen leaned forward.

Barbara pressed the trooper, “the vehicles?’

“We’ve got two in the ditch; a Jeep Cherokee and a late model Ford.”

Owen tried to look around and beyond the two talkers.

The newscaster turned from the policeman, “That’s all from here. Let’s go to Sky Cam. Mike are you with us?”

From somewhere Owen heard, ““I’m with you Barbara. Traffics backed up for miles. Looks like eight cars and a truck were involved. We count six, no seven emergency vehicles. Looks bad Barb.”

Owen wasn’t listening. Out of his seat now, he was crouching and walking toward the TV. Leaning forward into the screen he saw the late model grey and maroon sedan that had to be his wife’s, “Margaret ... is that ... oh...” Those were his last words. Clutching his chest he fell forward into the TV. He was dead within seconds of hitting the floor.

Rath’s house was on the far side of town. Traffic had been terrible; it seemed like it was taking forever. Bass hadn’t waited for an explanation; none was needed. It didn’t matter ... not anymore. He’d done a one-eighty, simply re-crossed the front lawn and returned to Corinne’s car. He’d have to face his father alone. He felt lifeless, numb. He murmured, “Mom.”

When he got to his mom and dad’s there were people, mostly neighbors all around outside. Everyone looked somber. He saw a lot of sympathy; he guessed they’d already heard about his mom.

He parked Corinne’s Chevy and hastened to the front door; it wasn’t locked. He went in. Straight to the left to the living room he went. He saw his father’s lifeless body piled in a heap on the floor in front of the TV.

“Dad,” he yelled! He yanked his phone from his shoulder and called in, “Hello. ‘CODE!’ We’ve got a cardiac at 1444 South Sycamore. Send help immediately,” that was the last thing he remembered.

A few minutes later an emergency vehicle reached the Sycamore location. They found Bass inside administering CPR to his long gone father. They pulled him away.

One whispered, “Come on Bass ... he’s gone.”

The next thing Bass saw was the ambulance parked in front of the house. Two paramedics, two more of his colleagues, were busily carting a gurney out of his parent’s house. While one continued to push, the other saw Bass and hurried over. Someone was pulling him toward the ambulance.

Bass was awakened by a fellow paramedic working him over. He heard somewhere in the distance, “Bass. Bass, wake up!”

He stirred and realized he was in one of the emergency vehicles. Somewhere, a friend was talking, “We’re sorry. We got here as soon as we got your call. Bass, we’re so sorry.”

Bass looked from his colleague, to the ambulance, to the gurney, and to the heap that had to be his father covered by a sheet and blanket.

His friend said, “The television, it had to be the TV. He must have seen. It was just too much. He ... it was fast ... no pain ... he went fast. I’m sorry, we’re all sorry.”

Bass looked at his wristwatch. It was almost 11:00; not yet time for lunch. He wondered, ‘What was he supposed to do? What should he do about lunch?’

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