I'm dedicating this story to the delightful Melissa, a lovely young lady from the islands who's been a faithful reader and kind commenter on my stories for some years (married three times already she's a sexy young thing who's left a slew of faithful admirers in her wake... ).
It's a love story. Enjoy!
1 - Miami Beach, Florida, 7:30 pm, Monday November 21st 2011
"SIT," dad ordered as both Paloma and I started to get up from the dinner table.
I looked resignedly over at my sister as we both slid back down into our seats. We both had recognized his tone.
"Your mother and I want to have a talk with you," dad added unnecessarily.
"I'm pretty busy dad ... studying ... I've really got to get going," I protested as I again pushed my chair back from the dining room table.
"Me too daddy, big exam coming up," my younger sister quickly added as she jumped to her feet.
"SIT!" he ordered, his dark eyes drilling into mine.
"Please Bobby, your dad and I have something important to tell you and your sister," mom said, interrupting me.
Both sis and I were wondering what we'd done wrong this time ... as if we didn't know.
"Your sister's going to be home on Wednesday night ... for Thanksgiving Weekend," dad finally started.
Looking across the table I could see that sis was as confused as I. What's Melissa got to do with this I wondered as I turned back to watch dad at the head of the table. For seconds he said nothing, a very rare occurrence for my father.
"And..." sis finally encouraged.
Dad still said nothing but then mom started up, asking, "You know we visited Melissa three weekends ago up at her college?"
Were we complete morons? Of course we knew! I looked guiltily across the table at my younger sister, knowing she was wondering the same thing as I – had they somehow got wind of the wild Halloween party we'd held when they were away?
Our parents lapsed back into silence when sis and I said nothing. As I looked expectantly back and forth between them I couldn't understand their reluctance to get at it. Maybe they were hoping we'd admit to our sins.
"There's a problem with Meli," mom finally whispered.
"Whaaaat? Is Melissa sick?" Paloma screeched, asking the question that had risen to my lips at almost the same instant.
"Not exactly," dad finally answered after staring at mom.
"Not cancer?" I asked a millisecond after that dreaded word had popped into my head.
"Of course not! Your sister's just bringing somebody home for Thanksgiving," mom blurted in response.
"WHAT?" both sis and I ejaculated.
"A friend," dad said.
"A girl friend," mom added.
"What's that got to do with her being sick?" I demanded, now having no idea what the hell we were talking about.
My father, who had no ability to beat around the bush, suddenly spat out loudly, "Your sister's become a lesbian."
"Whaaaat? A LESBIAN?" I asked as I broke out into a grin, then laughter.
"You don't suddenly become a lesbian Carlos," mom instructed dad before turning to me and saying in her most firm and adult voice, "It's not a laughing matter Roberto."
I looked over to sis who had her hand covering her mouth and was clearly struggling to keep her laughter from joining mine. Both of us knew with absolute certainty that our sister, Melissa Carmela Martinez, was not a lesbian. Neither of us would ever forget the afternoon we'd spied on her as she'd lain writhing and moaning under her then male sweetheart. As he'd pumped his cock into her pussy.
"It's perfectly normal," mom insisted to my still smiling face that displayed my disbelief so clearly. Then I watched as she flashed a warning glance at dad.
"Being a lesbian isn't normal mom," Paloma chimed in. Which was a big mistake! Because for the next twenty minutes mom expounded, in a way only our mother was capable of, on women, sexuality, homosexuality, liberalism, religion, feminism, gay marriage, and on and on until the three of us forced to listen to her speech were glassy eyed.
I finally stood up and fled without a word.
2 - Miami Beach, Florida, 9:30 pm, Monday November 21st 2011
Dad was sipping a beer while he watched a hockey game on our thirty-seven inch flat screen TV when I entered his den and private sanctum an hour later. "Hockey?" I asked disbelievingly, knowing that dad had absolutely no interest in the sport. He simply mumbled and then turned back to the screen. I knew he wasn't watching the puck.
"Another beer?" I offered as I moved to the fridge behind the bar. A quick, almost imperceptible nod was his only reply.
I opened two Coronas and carried them back to the couch where I flopped myself down on the opposite end from dad, then stretched out an arm and handed him his. He looked at the beer in my other hand but said nothing. Although he knew I'd had the odd beer in the past this was the first time I'd ever attempted to just have a casual beer with my old man.
Another small nod came from him as he brought his beer to his lips and then half drained the bottle in one long gulp.
"You never should have sent her there ... that school," I finally ventured after taking a drink from my bottle.
"I didn't send her to the bloody school," he spat out, sending beer flying as the spittle left his mouth.
"They're all lesbians at those schools, everyone knows that," I added, ignoring his outburst.
"Thank you Roberto for that wonderful advice. Mind you it's about three and a half years too late." Dad's deep, booming Latino voice echoed his displeasure around the room.
"Why'd she have to go north anyway ... among all those lesbian Anglo Saxons. I mean what was so wrong with going to Miami and living at home? I am. A Latina girl up there-"
"Roberto," dad started and I could almost see the smoke coming from his ears, "your sister, who happens to be half anglo-saxon, and your mother, who is one hundred percent bloody anglo-saxon, chose the school. Against my advice as it happens-"
"Still," I interrupted.
"Roberto," he warned, every syllable of my name a warning to drop it.
"So what are we going to do about it?" I finally tried after we'd silently watched a couple of minutes of hockey.
"Your mother believes," and dad's tone conveyed quite clearly he didn't agree, "that we should just let it run its course, that-"
"Yeah but what are we going to do?" I interrupted.
"This weekend you better be on your best behavior," dad warned but with no real conviction in his voice.
"Have you talked about it with Dr. Singh?" I asked. Dad nodded quickly. "What did he say? Can we cure her?"
"He said it's complicated ... That we have to find out what kind of lesbian she is."
"Huh? Kind? How many kinds are there? What do the various kinds do differently?"
"How should I know? He said just to watch them this weekend ... see whats going on ... don't do anything differently," dad stammered. "Then we'll talk after Melissa has gone back to school, make a game plan."
"Maybe I should talk to him," I offered.
"ROBERTO," dad warned again.
"But you're not going to let them sleep together when they're here are you? Do whatever lesbians do at night, when they're naked?"
"They will not be sleeping together in this house," dad promised in a voice that brooked no argument.
"Have you ever heard anything crazier?" I heard whispered into my ear forty-five minutes later. I jumped about three feet.
"Christ Paloma ... you've got to stop that!" My younger sister, who'd just turned eighteen, a high school senior at Joseph Marti High, just grinned at me as she leaned over my shoulder and looked down at my computer screen.
"Stop what?" she asked with a grin.
"Stop sneaking up on people like that."
"You're checking up too aren't you? On lesbians," she said as she ignored my comment.
"Dad says we're to act normally, not say anything," I reported from my earlier conversation from dad.
"Yes, but what are you going to do?"
We talked excitedly for the next hour ... my sister Paloma was the crazy member of the family.
3 - Miami Beach, Florida, 10:30 pm, Wednesday November 23rd 2011
Mom, not trusting either dad or I not to blurt out something inappropriate in the main concourse of Miami International Airport, had insisted that she and Paloma would pick up the "girls" as she referred to them. "You'll meet them here in our home, politely," she'd instructed dad but also included me when she shifted her eyes to mine.
I don't know what dad or I were expecting but Emmanuelle de Bonheur certainly wasn't it! She could best be described as a long haired, blond, runway super model with breasts. Tall, in fact easily as tall as my five foot nine inch older sister, and perfectly proportioned, she walked into the Martinez living room to find two dark haired Latino men standing with mouths agape. She was an instant hard-on generator.
"Bonjour, I'm Emmanuelle ... call me Manny, you must be Meli's father," she said softly in a lilting French accented voice as she took my father's hand in hers. The high heels she wore just accented the curves of her calves and the length of her legs. Legs which were left amply displayed for us by the tight, hip hugging mini skirt that barely covered her delightfully rounded French derriere. Her pointed breasts, braless, moved freely under an ivory colored silk top. In her heels she was as tall as dad!
.... There is more of this story ...