Chapter 15

Thursday – 3^rd Week

All Good Things

I massaged Jo’s shoulders as we listened while my dad pointed out features on the 2.5 acres she was purchasing. All three of us were naked except for hiking shoes, hats, and sunglasses, the unofficial uniform of Black Hawk. The sun felt good on my skin today, after a day spent wearing clothes the day before.

“As you can see, the previous owner drilled a well and cleared a pad that you could use for a prefabricated cabin or park a trailer while you build,” Thomas Sr. said, pointing at the leveled ground under the pine trees at the end of a short road, just over a ridge from his 5 acres.

The land had sat unattended for over a year after the owner, a FEMA official, decided to sell, opting for a more rural, off-grid property in the Upper Peninsula (UP) of Michigan, 300 miles north of here.

“I see,” Jo said. “I haven’t decided yet. I do have an architect in mind, but I would be just as happy in a travel trailer next year to start.” I ran my hand along her neck under her blonde hair, her upper body slick with sunblock.

Dad wrote in a notebook as we surveyed the land nestled between two low ridges dotted with pine trees and sandstone and limestone bluffs, while in front of us, a spring-fed creek glimmered at the bottom of the draw.

“We have a guest room you are welcome to use,” Dad said, closing the notebook. “Lunch?”

“Yeah, lunch. Jo, this is a good piece of land,” I said, sliding my hand down her back to her ass, patting her firm buttocks. She’ll have many options next year.

“Tom, I had fun at the game yesterday. Thank you for inviting me,” Jo said, as we turned to walk back over the ridge to my parents’ cabin.

Yesterday’s Brewers–Cubs game was a good time in Milwaukee. Dad had bought a section, a dozen seats. Phil, Sharon’s husband, drove the Compound’s big passenger van. Our family of seven, plus Jo, Ben, Devorah, and Julie, took the day off. Jo hesitated at first lest she be recognized, then decided it wouldn’t hurt to be seen out at a baseball game. In the end, she received a few glances, her Brewers cap and sunglasses were enough cover.

A 1:10 game in Milwaukee at Miller Park, we left mid-morning for the two-hour drive to the game vs the Cubs. Mom, a lifelong Brewers fan, gave us a recap of the season. They were well above .500 (57-49) on a hot streak against the Cubs, who were well below .500 (42-63). Dad and I, San Francisco Giants fans because of my brother’s coaching job, felt disloyal wearing Brewers hats purchased at the stadium. I drank Old Milwaukee beer, ate brats and cheese curds, while watching mostly a pitchers’ duel as the Brewers won 2-0, sweeping the 3-game series. Most importantly, my kids had fun, and so did Jo. Heidi was along for the ride and beer, more of a soccer fan. It was fun to share the day with Ben and Devorah, fellow baseball fans, doing something normal, wearing clothes.

My family was already eating lunch on the deck by the time we ascended the steps, and I kissed Heidi, who was waiting for us. She asked, “Burger or hot dog?”

For some reason, Heidi and Jo clicked the other day, and well, I was one lucky fucker. Literally, last night, I had the pleasure of fucking both Jo and my wife while my daughters lent a hand from the corners of the big bed. Tommy, in the loft, banging away with Julie, the older woman satisfying his needs. The trial marriage with Gwen and Beth dissolved. Apparently, Gwen got mad seeing Tommy settling down with Julie Saturday night and went off with Skeeter. Whatever, my wife and Beverly took care of it.

“Hamburger, please,” I replied and took the offered can of Old Milwaukee lager. “Thank you,” I kissed her again, before she went back inside.

I sat next to Sydney at a round table in the shade of an umbrella. She was reading one of her Manga books, bare ass on a towel in one of the webbed chairs. I wasn’t going to ask what the story was about. “Hey, Dad,” Sydney looked up and smiled from behind her gold-tinted sunglasses, a half-eaten hot dog on the plate in front of her.

The previous Sunday, after church here at my parents’, we had a picnic on the deck with our friends, Heidi and I had time to talk. Saturday night had gotten a bit crazy with our kids; the entire previous week had been intense, sexually. This week, I wanted to focus on my wife and family, knowing I would be leaving and returning to Kenya for another six months. The exception being Jo, whom my wife had invited to share our bed, guest rights. No objection from me. Still, we focused on family this week.

“Hawkeye, you ready to shoot this afternoon?” I asked. The rifle part of the “Olympic pentathlon” was taking place later this afternoon out at the gun range. The four other events in the morning.

Sydney closed her book and picked up her can of Diet Coke. “Yes, and I can win. Carlos has been teaching us the events, and we had our last practice this morning,” she said, sipping soda.

Heidi set a paper plate in front of me, my cheeseburger with homemade potato chips, and sat down with us, setting a can of Old Milwaukee in front of her. Kicking up her feet on another chair out in the sun, she closed her eyes and dropped her Aviators over her eyes. Taking a sip of beer, “Don’t let me burn,” she said.

I ate my burger and looked at the Manga pictures over my daughter’s shoulder, content.

Evening - Myths and Fairy Tales

My three kids were riding high after the small-bore rifle shoot, all with great scores after firing ten .22-caliber rounds at 25 yards. Hitting small metal plates is easy, but under timed pressure after a naked, barefoot, 50-yard run, it’s harder. The ancient pentathlon was a demonstration of skills useful in battle; the games dated back to 708 BCE, a long time ago, according to the Encyclopedia Britannica. I was a proud parent, of course. They had been shooting .22s for years, single-shot target rifles and later semi-auto Ruger 10/22s on the range and out in the countryside sniping pests like ground squirrels.

The 2nd Amendment, the right to bear arms, was sacred in our family. My family’s three years in Communist Poland in the 1980s behind the Iron Curtain, while my dad was posted to the US Embassy in Warsaw during the Solidarity movement, a harsh lesson in what happens when you are stripped of your God-given rights. Dad spent the afternoon smoking pork ribs, which were later served St. Louis-style, while the younger kids debated the latest Harry Potter movie. We feasted on ribs, potato salad, cheese curds, and brats, washed down with lemonade and craft beer, our bellies full, ready for story time with Claudia as the sun set.

I smiled at Claudia, who had our attention. Alice squirmed on my lap, getting comfortable. Her mom, naked, stood in front of the stone fireplace, the yellow light of a single candle flickering behind her on the mantel. Glancing at the stapled papers in her hand, she continued with her erotic telling of “The Tale of Myrrha”, from Ovid’s Metamorphoses about Zeus and Hera.

” ... Zeus had watched her, Hera, with skin like polished ivory, eyes like the wine-dark sea, hair cascading like golden wheat. She was no meek maiden; she was the storm that matched his thunder. Yet Zeus, crafty lover, knew she would not yield easily. Disguised as a cuckoo bird, drenched in rain, he flew to her garden, landing on a branch.

Tommy stood in the middle of the room, with a hairband of colorful feathers on his head, his hair wet. “Tommy, fly,” Claudia said, a twinkle in her eye.

Dutifully, doing as told, cock bouncing, he flapped his arms and walked in a circle, passing by his mom, grandparents, David and Anna, Jo and Mom, landing on the arm of the chair where Alice sat in my lap and began to shiver, body shaking.

I pulled Alice back, wrapping my arms around her. Tommy shivers over the top, his body shook. Around us, my family and the Wilsons watched the Greek myth play out.

“Hera go,” Claudia said, pointing her papers at Sydney, a small tiara of fake diamonds in her blonde hair. Nude, she slowly walked toward us from the kitchen, eyes on the wet bird. Golden blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, apple-sized breasts damp with sweat, she stopped in front of the bird, Tommy/Zeus, her face laying it on thick as she looked her brother up and down.

” ... Hera found him trembling on a branch, took pity, and cradled him to her breast to warm him,” Claudia spoke, her voice firm yet warm.

In front of us, Hera pulled Zeus to his feet, cradling his head against her naked breasts while running her hands up and down his back. Tommy’s cock twitched to life.

Claudia took a step toward us, taking a deep breath, and spoke, ” ... In that moment, Zeus revealed himself, his true form towering, his desire unmasked.”

Tommy broke the embrace, ripped off the feathered headband, and raised a slip of paper to his face and read loudly, “Sister, queen of my heart. Our blood is one, let it flow as lovers, not as kin. Together we shall rule the heavens, our passion the spark that births the world.” Tommy said, his voice deep. He let the slip of paper fall as he looked Hera/Sydney in the eyes, gripping her shoulders, his cock curving toward her heat. Very dramatic, well played by teenage amateur thespians.

Claudia, her beautiful, full breasts bare, stood behind them, a hand on Sydney’s shoulder, “Hera, feeling the fire ignite within her, her body awakening to the forbidden thrill, did not recoil.”