Saving One Another
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Pregnancy, Cream Pie, Slow, Violent,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Love can blossom when least expected. Just ask Gary and Shiloh. Both of their lives are at low and dark points. Gary, a retired and divorced pilot, has love as the last thing on his mind when he moves into a new house. That's where he meets Shiloh, a soon-to-be 17 year old. She helps him move in and, later, deal with the darkness in his life. He helps her deal with her abusive step-father. They both, in their own ways, save each other and come to terms with their feelings for each other.
The day I moved in is a day that, in my mind, is the day my rebirth began. I didn't know it at the time, though. The house itself was a decent size—3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, 2-car garage and, best of all, an in-ground backyard pool, all on a one-acre lot. The folks I'd bought the house from were an elderly couple who wanted something smaller and easier to take care of. Having a pool served them no good since the grandkids were all grown and moved away and the size of the lot made upkeep fairly difficult for them. I was more than happy to take the property off their hands. It also helped that Eric was a retired, disabled veteran. He'd seen action in Korea, so he knew all too well what I'd gone through in Afghanistan. Surprisingly, they cut ten grand off the final price. Good folks those two.
I arrived about thirty minutes before the moving company was scheduled to arrive. I went through the house and opened the garage and all the doors to make moving the furniture and other household goods easier. May in southwest Idaho is a decent time of year—not too hot nor too cold. I decided to wait out front in a lawn chair for the movers, so I grabbed the chair and a bottle of water and parked my carcass on the front lawn under a small tree.
I took in my surroundings from behind my sunglasses. I lived on the corner of the entrance to the neighborhood, so I only had a neighbor next door to me and one across the street. The house across the street had a patchy lawn and wasn't much to look at. It appeared to have someone residing there though there weren't any cars parked out front at the time. The neighbor next to me, well, if you looked up the definition of redneck living, you'd see the picture of the house next to mine.
A car was up on blocks, two of the tires missing. A fat-track motorcycle was parked next to the front steps and a ratty-looking '80's model Chevy pickup was parked on the street. Jacked up suspension? Yup. Gun rack in the back window? Yup. 102 inch whip antenna for a CB radio? Yup! All that was missing was the requisite redneck in a stained wife-beater.
I wasn't disappointed because about the time I was thinking that, who should appear? Mr. Redneck himself. I rolled my eyes behind my Oakleys. Priceless! Stained wife beater AND pushing 275 pounds easily. And drinking a beer at nine in the morning. Wonderful, just outstandingly wonderful.
He noticed my Dodge half-ton pickup in my driveway, stopped for a second and then decided to saunter on over for a closer look. "That a Hemi?" he asked.
"Yeah, all 395 horsepower of one," I replied as I got out of my chair. No sense in starting off on the wrong foot I figured and stuck out my hand to shake his. "Garret Ashton," I said.
He took a swig of his beer, belched and said, "Rudy Upton." Didn't offer to shake mine, though, so I just lowered my hand. A snooty redneck! A rare breed! I struggled to hold in my chuckle.
"Eh, Dodges. Pieces a shit they are. You're better off with a Chevy. Like mine," he grunted as he tossed a thumb over his shoulder towards his truck.
"To each their own, I guess," I said.
"Whatever," the fat-assed Rudy grunted as he turned and walked to his truck. He climbed in, chugged the remainder of his beer and drove off leaving me to just shake my head.
I went back to my lawn chair and was about to sit down when the moving truck rounded the corner. They pulled up and we got down to business of getting me moved into the house.
As the movers started unloading the truck, a Hispanic guy walked up and stuck his hand out. "Juan Valdez. I live across the street."
I shook his hand and replied, "Garret Ashton. Call me Gary. Juan Valdez, like the coffee guy?"
He laughed and said, "Yeah. Same name, different guy. If I had his kinda money, I sure as heck wouldn't be living here."
I grinned. "Yeah, I suppose not. So how's the neighborhood?"
"Oh, it's not so bad. Most of the folks here don't make a lot of money, but are friendly enough. Well, except for that jackass next door to you."
"Yeah, I surmised he was an outstanding example of society."
"Yeah, he's a grade-A jerk. Drinks like a fish, can't hold down a job to save his life and I'm pretty sure he smacks his wife around," Juan sighed.
"Oh really?" Why didn't that surprise me?
"Yeah, but I can't say for sure. She doesn't come outside much. Nice enough gal, real quiet, though."
It didn't take a rocket scientist to add up that there probably was an abusive relationship going on between Rudy and his wife. From what Juan had just told me, all the signs were there. Great! I made a mental note to have 911 on speed dial on my cell and landline.
About that time, one of the movers needed me so I bid farewell to Juan. He told me he'd catch me later, possibly after work, and left. I went inside to help the movers for the next twenty minutes.
When I came back outside, I had another visitor. A tall, slim redhead. With the most captivating green eyes. Hair down to the middle of her back caught the sunlight in such a manner as to make it look like it was on fire. Definitely a natural redhead. On the young side if I had to guess. I also noted that she was in Rudy's yard as she leaned against the fence separating the two properties. Rudy's abused wife? She didn't look abused.
"Nice truck!" she quipped with a bright smile.
"Thanks! I'm rather happy with it. Garret Ashton. Call me Gary."
She took my proffered hand and shook it in her slender hand. "Shiloh Graves. But canary yellow?" nodding at my truck.
Hmm ... not the same last name as Rudy. Friend perhaps? Maybe step-daughter? "It, my dear Shiloh, is called, if I recall correctly, Sunburst Yellow. I'll admit, not my first choice of colors."
"Then why'd you get it in that color?" Another dazzling smile.
"Well, for the price I got it for, I can't complain about the color too much. It was listed at forty-two grand. Got it for almost half that with my old truck as a trade-in. The color's kinda grown on me now."
"Well, I guess for that price I'd learn to love it too. 395 horsepower 5.7 liter Hemi engine, right?"
She knew her stuff, it appeared. It was at this point I noticed how tall she was. I'm just a hair over six feet and a lean 210 pounds and she's darn near looking me in the eye. I guessed around 5'10" and athletically slender. Freckled face and perfect teeth. And downright beautiful even in holey cut-off shorts and a faded gray Fox Racing t-shirt. That put me off-kilter. "Uh ... yeah. She'll light up the tires with that engine. Pulls a trailer like a dream, too."
"Nice!" she purred. "I might have to see that for myself."
"Perhaps," I chuckled. Ok, so I was getting thrown more off-kilter. "So, are you Rudy's daughter?"
Shiloh frowned. "No. That drunk slob of an asshole is my step-father. I only live here 'cause I don't have anywhere else to live other than foster homes. And I refuse to live in a foster home. Plus, I don't want to leave my mom alone with that asshole for any length of time."
I sighed. "Sorry, darlin'. I didn't mean pry into things that aren't my business. I was just curious."
We spent the next two hours chatting while the movers made my new home more homey. During those two hours I discovered that she was 16, was into sports—she was a letterman on the high school's volleyball, basketball and cross country teams—knew her way around a car and could carry a conversation quite well. She mentioned that she was a junior in school and I inquired about that. She told me that she'd been advanced a year and was currently carrying a 4.0 at school. Impressive! At the mention of knowing and working on cars, I asked her if she had her driver's license and she replied that she did.
"Good. I need a hand when the movers get done here. Mind helping?"
"Sure! Whatcha need a hand with?"
"I need help moving my other car over here from my dad's place. And since you're the only one here, beside myself, that's available to drive a car, you can help me out."
"Alrighty!" she chirped.
A couple hours later the movers finished and departed. I locked up the house and headed out to the truck. I opened the passenger door for Shiloh and she got in. I hopped in the truck, fired her up and we drove out to my dad's place out in the country.
Along the way, I asked Shiloh if she had a preference for music and she asked me what I had on my iPod. I unlocked it and handed it to her.
"Wow! Kind of an eclectic taste in music."
"Yeah, I listen to pretty much everything. I'm very, very picky about rap and R&B, though. And I don't do that bubblegum pop music playing nowadays."
"What kind of music does this group play?"
I glanced over and saw that she had Two Steps From Hell on the screen. "It's kind of a mix of classical and movie background theme music. Try it and see if you like it."
She played the group's music and listened for a few minutes. "Wow, I kinda like this. It sorta moves the soul, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do. It's relaxing and gets the creative juices flowing."
She cocked a delicate red eyebrow at me. "Creative juices?" Then she giggled.
"Yeah," I chuckled somewhat nervously, "I love to write and this music helps me visualize scenes and plot lines in my head."
"Oh, so you're an author? What kind of books do you write?"
"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm an author by any stretch of the imagination. I'm, as I like to say, aspiring. That means that I've started and not finished a crap-load of stories." I laughed at that. "But what I do like to write is mostly science fiction and a little bit of fantasy. I know, I know. Nerd stuff. Mostly I write as a hobby and as a way to keep my mind off things."
"Keep your mind off what?" she asked.
A cloud passed over my face as I briefly thought of my divorce. "My divorce. And my daughter." I sighed. "And ... other ... things."
"Oh," she replied quietly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." A small, sad frown traced her features.