Tamron climbed down off of the ladder with the wicker basket full of eggs. She would have to rush to get to practice. They lived in an almost isolated farm a few miles from Kansas City. She had inherited it from her parents a number of years ago.
The stone chicken coop had been built in the 1850's and was probably originally a homestead for a small family. It was about 12'-0" wide and about 16'-0" long. The roof was a little over 7'-0" at the eave and had a 45° pitch to it. The fireplaces at each end had been capped off at the smoke shelf. They had no dampers in those days. The walls had been built with one thickness of limestone. The walls were about a foot thick.
The stone building had been built from limestone gathered by clearing the fields so they could grow crops. The fields were bordered with a 3'-0" high wall built for the same reason; refuse from clearing the fields for plowing.
Once the more permanent main farmhouse had been built, the chicken coop had been used as a granary to hold harvested corn and Milo. Tammy had changed it to a chicken coop by adding screens to the windows.
She let the chickens out for the day. She had to get dressed to go in for practice in a few hours. Tammy was nearly naked. She wore cork thong sandals that were almost invisible if not for the thin straps up between and over her big toe. She had no underwear; just a thin t-shirt that fit snugly around her and went down to mid-thigh. Her daughter, Dakota, had already gone to the corner to wait for the bus. Her husband always went into town early to read the paper, drink coffee at Starbucks and avoid the 8:00am traffic rush. Besides, she knew he liked to see her dress this way.
She set the eggs on the back porch, in the refrigerator with the tomatoes and walked through the dining room to get dressed. The dining room was lined with trophies. Her mother had made quite a name for herself. There were pictures of her with Kim Gallagher, Mary Decker, and Zola Bud.
Tammy had followed in her mother's footsteps until her overtraining gave her shin splints. She finally gave it up in the middle of high school to focus on her violin. She had been almost as good with her violin as she was on the track. From there on, she devoted most of her time to music.
She went to Julliard on a music scholarship and managed to have a career with the Philharmonic Orchestra. Now, she and her daughter were both obsessed with the violin. The difference might have been that her daughter was still on the cross country and track teams. As a freshman she had been part of the school team that placed third in the state cross country finals for the 4A class. She had run second and the girl who beat her was going to go to Oregon when she graduated.
Tammy put on her high-heeled elephant skin boots, dark denim jeans and blue oxford cloth button down men's shirt. She tucked her hair back into a pony tail that hung to her waist and put on her Yankees baseball cap.
Her 4-wheel drive 1997 Geo Tracker hummed when it started. She had put a can of injector cleaner in the gas last night and it seemed to run like a kitten. She had changed the spark plugs, wires, distributor cap and rotor a couple of days before, and now the injector cleaner took the remaining surging out of it.
She had to lock several gates behind her as she went from the farm house to the main road. It wasn't that much of a main road, actually. The red, sandy road was covered with ruts and if it wasn't for the washouts on the side, there wouldn't have been any grader ditches for snow removal.
She liked it that way though, it kept most visitors away. The posted "No Hunting" signs kept most of the others out. Tammy had had some bitter experiences growing up, and had never really adjusted to the idea of much company. With her young daughter now in high school, she was forcing herself to adjust.
When she got to practice, the conductor quieted them to make an announcement. "Zoltan Goldberg has died. We do not know what that will do to our orchestra." He said. Mr. Goldberg had been the main benefactor for the Philharmonic for over thirty years. With the main contributor for the funding gone, the future of the orchestra was uncertain. He had many children and the orchestra had been his pet project. Now with his passing, there was going to be a bitter struggle for his assets. Without his sizeable contributions, they would have to find somebody else to make up the difference.
"These are the main contributors for the orchestra." The conductor said. "I have broken the list up and put their information on index cards. I am splitting up the contents so that all of us have an equal number of cards. We are all going to have to contact these people and any others you know to see if we can increase their level of contributions."
Tammy was numb. "What was going to happen to them?" she wondered. With her job in jeopardy, how would she pay her bills? If her daughter was not good enough to get a scholarship to Julliard's, how would she get through college?
Tammy thumbed absentmindedly through her cards. She had heard of most of the people in her pile; bankers, lawyers; rich spinsters who had inherited their husband's income when they had died. Her hands shook and she almost dropped the pile when she saw the name of Mariano Ramos.
It was a name she had almost forgotten. He had been a senior when she had been a freshman. He was a huge man; almost obscene in his physique alone. He had played basketball, football and baseball in high school and college. He had gone on to play baseball for a number of years. Then he had gotten into a lot of trouble with the law and was kicked off of the team. The rumor was that he had been dealing drugs.
Nothing had ever been pinned on him. Others had taken the blame for him at the time. Rumors continued that he had become quite a drug dealer over the years. She had seen pictures of his home in the papers. He had several homes in Kansas City, the Bahamas and in Europe.
Mariano had been the one who had changed her life. It was him who had put her into almost seclusion. They had dated for a while; her, a fourteen-year-old freshman, and him, an eighteen-year-old celebrity in high school. A freshman who is invited to the senior prom is a celebrity in her own right in the eyes of the other freshmen girls. After she had attended the prom, the other girls banded together to make a rule that only juniors and seniors could attend the prom. It was a mixture of all the girls in school who felt slighted by this skinny, long-legged girl with long red hair and wire rimmed glasses who had taken their places with this famous and popular athlete. "She had to be fucking him." They all rationalized.
In truth, they were not far off in their speculation. Tammy had been smitten more by the attention from him than with him. Her tall, slender frame with, as yet, underdeveloped breasts, glasses, and self-conscious nature had not really captured the attention of the more popular athletes. She did not seem to see any red flags when the muscular and popular senior began to show her attention.
The girls in school huddled in small groups and whispered vindictive speculation as to what Mariano saw in her. Once she began to receive attention from him, the other boys seemed to show more interest in her also. She soon began to dress better; come her hair out and smile more. Soon all the drawbacks in her looks became features that intrigued the other boys. If Mariano saw something in her there must be more to her than they first saw.
Tammy soon became more self confident, cheerful, and likeable. She went out of her way to make others feel good about themselves. She was like a moth that came out of a cocoon to become a sway.
His competitive nature caught on. She became much more disciplined in her track practice, which in turn made her more intensely focused on her violin work. It had not been a completely bad experience. But as time went on, she became more dependent on being a part of the popularity community. She was becoming more involved in being popular.
Soon, the peck on the cheek when she got out of the car, became a time of skipping the movie to sit and park. Instead of spending the whole evening at the school dance, they left during the middle of the dance to "talk" in the car.
Tammy knew she couldn't afford to get pregnant. She had a good guess what the gossip was; how she was managing to keep him for herself. As time went on, the issue became more of a reality. As time went on, the caressing became more of a petting session. The fondling over the clothes gave way to clothes being removed. Tammy didn't remember how or when she first found herself naked in the back of a van. She didn't remember how many times she struggled to keep her virginity.
She had heard the girls in the locker room talking about these problems and how they tried to handle it. She had been able to fend him off for a while with "hand jobs;" by shyly squeezing him; by stroking him as they lay there naked in the back of the van or on a blanket under the stars.
It seemed to be a likely progression of events when she allowed him to lower her head closer and closer to her "hand job." She had been appalled the first time he had erupted and got some of it on her face.
"Anything to keep from getting pregnant." She told herself. Soon she began to understand what she was doing to him; how she could control the time it took for him to erupt and how to keep the stuff off of her.
She was fighting a losing battle and she knew it. Eventually she learned to kiss the end of it. She would tickle the end of it with her lips; then her tongue. At first the curiosity of how things worked was intriguing.
.... There is more of this story ...