© 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather
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They met on the first day of school, and it was dislike at first sight. On that first morning, the early-grades teacher, Mrs. Wells, called the class of 15 kids to pay attention, and she spent the next several minutes learning each child's name. The class spent the next hour or so repeating names, matching names with faces in the combined class, the second-grade kids helping the kindergarteners with the memorization.
Later that day, after lunch and after recess, the kids were scattered around the room. Some were playing with clay, others were drawing with pencils, and Mrs. Wells had the older kids at the blackboard, working on addition and subtraction. Harold, or Harry as he was known then, was just walking toward the closet where there was a big box of wooden blocks, intending to build a bridge or a town or something. Just as he reached the door of the closet, he saw a girl - he thought her name might be Mary Lou - hanging from the edge of the big cardboard box that held the blocks, either trying to pull the box over, or else climb into the box to get the blocks. Suddenly, the side gave way. There was a loud crash, followed immediately by a cry of anguish from underneath the torn side of the cardboard box and a big pile of wooden blocks.
"Oh, no! Owwwww!"
Don't start crying, thought Harry. It was your own darn fault.
Mary Lou started crying.
What a stupid girl, thought Harry.
"What a stupid BOX!" wailed Mary Lou between howls of pain and embarrassment.
Mrs. Wells came bustling over to lend aid and comfort to the slightly injured little girl. Meanwhile, most of the rest of the class came over to watch the entertainment, and to see who was stupid enough to pull an entire box of wooden blocks over onto themself.
To Mrs. Wells, Mary Lou was an unfortunate child, needing little more than a bandage and a soothing word.
To the rest of the children, Mary Lou seemed to instantly become the teacher's pet, and so was immediately considered an outcast.
To Harold, she was, additionally, without doubt, the stupidest girl he had ever known.
It was an inauspicious start to the school year for Mary Lou, who was reluctantly allowing Mrs. Wells to minister to her cuts and scrapes. At six years of age, she was the youngest child in a family of eight, so she was well aware that this accident put her in a difficult position in the classroom. She just fervently hoped that the rest of first grade went better than the first day did.
"Do you remember that time in first grade when you tried to climb into that box of blocks?" Harold wheezed as he laughed. He was gazing down, unseeing, at the jumbled stack of dog-eared playing cards that had tumbled to the table, triggering the memory of an incident from their childhood so long ago. "I think it was the first day of school, too." He started laughing, a breathy, gasping sound that quickly deteriorated into a series of raspy coughs as he sat on the sagging couch in the small room. His face turned a mottled red as he coughed, and he reached for a tumbler of water on the end table with one hand, and struggled to extricate a linen handkerchief from his back pocket with the other as his coughing eased down. He was wearing an old pair of trousers that may have been part of a suit at one time, held up by suspenders stretched to accommodated his large belly. He wore a stained sleeveless t-shirt that might have once been white, the cotton fibers struggling to stay together across his middle. He was almost completely bald, with just a fringe of steel gray hair horseshoeing around his head.
Mary Lou just looked at him, her eyes following everything he did. Her frail, worn body was slumped in her wheelchair, leaning to one side like a worn piling of an old seaside dock. She had some use of her arms and hands, but she needed help with even the seemingly small tasks, like eating or adjusting the tattered blanket that covered her weak and horribly thin legs. Her white hair was thin enough to see her scalp as she leaned against the support post of the back of her chair. Her brain was muddled and confused, but only part of the blame could be from the drugs and painkillers her doctor had her on. She was, after all, 85 years old, and slowly, too slowly, dying.
Old age is not for the faint of heart, she thought for about the hundredth time.
She remembered the blocks falling on her. She remembered Mrs. Wells as if she had seen her just yesterday. Why couldn't she remember what she had for breakfast that morning? Or had she not eaten breakfast that morning? She brushed a strand of hair off her forehead with a hand veined and twisted from rheumatoid arthritis, the knuckles large and bony, the fingers bent and misshapen into nearly useless appendages.
Her eyes fluttered as the drugs took another circuit around her body, sending her brain into swirls of semi-consciousness.
...they were on a cruise ship, unpacking in their stateroom. (This really happened, her subconscious self insisted. We were on this cruise.) Mary Lou looked over at Harold and laughed.
"What's so funny?" he grumbled.
She sat down on one of the small beds in the tiny cabin. There were two single beds, perpendicular to each other, taking up about 70 percent of the room available. The rest was cabinets, a tiny desk and chair, and floor. They had been bumping into each other almost constantly, getting in each other's way as they unpacked their suitcases.
"You are," she said with a smile. She admired her husband's backside as he took a pile of shirts out of his suitcase. "And you're cute, too," she added.
"Huh," he grunted. "Cute. Since when is a 47-year-old grandfather 'cute'?"
"Maybe I just like 47-year-old grandfathers," she said, still grinning.
He looked over at her in unconcealed surprise. "Really? I would have thought you were more of the younger gigolo type of granny," he teased.
"Come here," she said, a gleam in her eye as she patted the bed beside her. "I'll show you how much I like grandpa types."
Harold raised his eyebrows at her, then glanced at the cabin door to make sure it was securely locked. He sat down next to her and leaned back, propping himself on his arms. Mary Lou leaned into him, reaching up to play with his ear as she closed her eyes and softly kissed his lips.
She pressed against him a little harder, opening her mouth just enough to moisten their connection, and ended up pushing him down onto the tiny bed and draping herself across him. He put his arms around her, quite naturally reaching down to her butt and pulling her lower body harder against his swelling cock.
Keeping her lips against his mouth, she murmured, "Is that a present for me I feel?"
"Might be," he replied, still clutching at her bottom. Her dress was starting to hitch up her legs.
"When do I get it?" she asked, still connected to his lips.
"You can have it any time you want it," he said with a smile. "Just reach down and take it."
"Oh, like this?" she asked. She reached down.
Harold groaned. "Yeah, just like that," he mumbled.
She squeezed him a little harder.
"Or like that, too," he said.
"But not like this?" she asked teasingly as she pulled his zipper down and snaked her fingers into the opening. She had lifted up and was looking at his face by now, gauging his reaction to what she was doing to him. She wanted to be careful not to set him off too early. It was her vacation, too, after all, and she wanted to have her fun.
"Like that is good, too," he said with a struggle. It seemed like all the blood was rushing south, leaving his brain a little starved for oxygen. He was having some trouble putting two coherent thoughts together. Even his hands had stopped their clutching and grabbing as he concentrated on the sensations running up and down his nervous system.
When she saw the look in his eyes that told her she had taken him far enough for the moment, she stopped what she was doing and began unbuttoning her blouse. She pulled it out of her skirt and shrugged out of it, reached behind her and undid her bra, discarded that alongside her blouse. She leaned down, rubbing her swollen nipple along his cheek, tempting him. He turned his head and captured the swollen nub between his teeth, biting down softly before suckling at her breast.
It was Mary Lou's turn to moan. Her breasts had always been very sensitive, and she loved having them sucked on and played with. She gazed down at her husband of 25 years with love and desire as he worshipped at her body for perhaps the 3,000th time, and she closed her eyes and remembered the first time he had kissed her naked breasts...
.... There is more of this story ...