This is a fictional story of older woman, younger man and/or other sexual involvement. This is a work of fiction and does not suggest actual life situations nor is it intended to do so. It is fiction, contrived, and exists only in the author's mind.
If you are offended by reading such material stop now. If you are troubled by graphic accounts of sexual behavior, stop reading now. If it is illegal for you to have the aforementioned material in your possession or available stop reading now and delete any copies you may have made.
Any similarity between actual persons, places, or things is purely coincidental and absolutely unintended by the author.
Finally, if you do not find my work to be satisfactory, I understand. I am well aware I can not and will not attempt to please everyone.
However, I do not understand sending me insulting emails and telling me I am a fucking idiot and should stop writing and wasting your precious time.
If you should send me such an email, do so with the understanding before hand that I am acutely aware of who the actual fucking idiot or fucking imbecile is and it is not I.
I eagerly and warmly welcome constructive criticism and both positive and negative comments within reason. I write because I love the craftsmanship of writing and hopefully entertaining those I hope to see become my friends and just perhaps fans of my work.
I read anonymous feedback, however, I can't respond to you so be a stand up person and give it a name. We're exchanging ideas, expressing opinions, good things in the aggregate. You may someday, hopefully, see the name Marlin Steele and say to your friends, "Hey! I used to read that guys stuff when he was struggling to learn how to write and we sent email to each other." and you can prove it.
It was early spring and the ice upstream in the mountains was beginning to thaw in earnest now. The crocus was poking their cheerful white blossoms through the patches of ice and snow that lingered. This was my favorite time of year really.
I sat on my veranda and heard male fox squirrels barking at one another as the spring mating ritual got into full swing. As much as I hated the little bastards when I had sweet corn just on the verge of husking, I dearly loved their antics as they played at mock combat for the paw of the fair lady squirrels.
The rest of the year they were nothing more than plundering thugs and ruffians. I took perverse pleasure in lining one of them up the sites of my Winchester.22 rifle and showing the little upstarts who was really the toughest bastard in the woods.
My wife never understood how I could claim to hate the way they pillaged my sweet corn but sing their praises when I had one of them baking to a tender golden brown on a bed of new potatoes, onions, carrots, and shredded cabbage.
Like the wild hare, a steady diet of either one would result in death by starvation. They had no fat on them and other than having an interestingly gamy flavor after soaking the carcass in salt water overnight, offered no other virtuous claim as a food.
The thought of my wife brought tears to my eyes yet again though she had been gone nearly four or was it five years. Yes, it was five, I remember clearly now.
She and my daughter Jamie had been stopped at a rail road crossing waiting for a train to pass by when it happened. A large tractor-trailer hauling logs pulled up behind her and though the driver tried to swerve and miss her when his brakes failed, caught the right rear bumper of our car and slammed her and Jamie into the side of the fast moving freight train. Something to do with water in his system. A blow down valve failed and didn't purge the moisture as it should have. The mass and kinetic energy of the truck booted them like a football.
Thankfully, little Jamie died instantly, my beloved Heather lingered for days in excruciating pain before she gave up the ghost. I sued the trucking company and received a handsome settlement but it was a hollow victory and brought me no pleasure. It was the only way I had of punishing them for taking my family from me.
I made them bleed money, I would rather it had been blood.
Heather and I met while I was stationed at Fort Hood where I was a rotary wing flight instructor. She was an Army brat as I was and though she understood that my chances of surviving in combat were excellent compared to an infantryman, nearly worried herself ill when I was sent to fight in desert storm.
I was on the leading edge of the assault but our Apache helicopters were deadly and routed the enemy in every engagement. I once herded prisoners with my helicopter believe it or not. They were generally well behaved but a few tried to monkey around so I reminded them to get back in line with a burst over their heads.
At first I was upset with the devastation they had wrought on Kuwait until I saw that whole part of the world was a fucked up mess. If it wasn't for crude oil, I'm certain the free world would probably ignore them. They were all just a bunch of fucked up fanatics in my book. The way they treat women and children is unthinkable and stupid in the extreme. If it wasn't because of the loss of innocent lives, the whole mess should be cleaned up and set right. I get angry thinking about it. I met some very nice and intelligent Kuwaitis but there isn't enough of them as long as they have kings, princes, and shit like that to deal with.
It was pathetically laughable, we were killing idiots so idiots could continue being idiots because they had oil to sell. What a fucking joke.
I came back home appreciating our way of life a great deal more. Heather gave birth to Jamie and I have to say I was a very happy man for a long time. Much longer than I deserved I suppose.
When Jamie and Heather were killed, I was flying 'Life Flight' for the large hospital that served the region. After they were killed, I couldn't take seeing children butchered in accidents or worse. My last trip was to the burns center in Louisville Kentucky and the smell of charred flesh stayed with me for several days.
I got a job flying for a corporation and though it isn't rewarding by any standard of measure, it pays good and allows me the opportunity to retire sooner. Another five years or so and I'll hang it up.
I was on vacation and it just so happened my birthday was during that period. The lady at the liquor store asked me how old I was and I had to stop and think. I was going to be fifty-two in a few days.
On the way home, I crossed the highway and saw what looked like a motorcycle in a drainage ditch. I thought about it and decided somebody must have junked it and pushed it in the ditch. That reminded me of an old Harley I had restored from literally being a basket case while I was still in Army a few months before I met Heather. She had really enjoyed helping me fix it up and did a perfect job of painting and restoring decals and whatever.
I stopped and turned around then hightailed it back to the cycle. When I saw it up closer, I realized it was fairly new, a Japanese bike about one thousand to twelve hundred cc's I guessed. I saw the saddle was missing and the front forks were bent. The front fender was a mess. The tire and rim must be on the bottom of the ditch. I hitched my snatch strap to it and drug it up on dry land.
I was studying the bike when a flash across the ditch caught my attention. I stared where I thought I saw the flash and damned if I didn't see again. It came to me then, something or someone was moving to cause the flash.
The only way to the other side was through the ditch and I nearly decided to call 911 instead of going over to see what was flashing. The water was ass chilling cold and chest deep as I waded to the other side. I headed where I had seen the flash and heard a weak cry, "Ohhhh help me!" then sobs
When I got there, it was a young woman with a sapling through her side. I don't have a clue how it happened but a sapling about an inch and a half in diameter had impaled her through her left side.
She must have come down on top of it and broke the top off then fell on down to impale herself. It was a gruesome looking mess. Not a lot of blood I was thankful to notice.
I flipped open my cell phone and called 911. She moaned, "Where's my brother mister?" I blinked and told her, "I don't know honey! I'll look for him. Don't move... You're not bleeding very much which is a very good thing. Helps on the way ok?" She nodded and answered weakly, "Ok mister."
I ran to search the area and decided he must still be in the ditch. I moved down about ten feet from where the bike had been and dove in the water. I figured he must have been in control and held on as long as he could before the impact threw him. About ten minutes of staring in the water which wasn't real muddy, just muddy enough to make searching underwater a bitch and I saw a shape that had to be him. I surfaced and took a deep breath then went down and pulled him up.
It was a mess but he wasn't very big maybe one hundred twenty pounds as I got him up on dry ground and started giving him CPR. Naturally I filled his stomach full of air and he wretched up muddy water but started breathing. He looked at me and I patted his chest and said, "You're gonna be all right son."
Later I learned the near freezing water helped but he was without oxygen for too long and suffered some brain damage. They said he would be nearly normal in time but it would be years probably before he fully recovered.
.... There is more of this story ...