Chapter 7

Apparently I'm a lot more fucking adorable than even I would have dreamed of. Though, to be honest, that's not the adjective I'd have chosen.

But let's not rush to get to where I eventually got. That's because I didn't get to rush, and I'm going to make you live through what I had to live through.

Sort of.

Anyway, the rest of the day was interesting. For one thing, we were no longer strangers who fate brought together in a way that required restrained interaction. When we had first met, both of us assumed we would interact on a very detached level, and for only a very short time. When things didn't work out on the short part, there was a subtle shift in how we perceived each other. And that shift had kept happening, like the shift of tectonic plates that grind against each other creating pressure that seeks some release. That shift took us from a place where there was no "us" to something very different and I don't think either of us was prepared for it. The only thing I can think of to compare it to is that feeling you have when you know you're coming down with something. You can feel it inside. Something's not normal. And you start slamming vitamin C, or going to the sauna or whatever it is you try to do to stave off whatever affliction is about to make your life miserable for two weeks or whatever. There's this tension associated with the dread of getting sick.

Except there was no dread with the situation we were in. It was just tense in an indefinable kind of way. Things weren't bad, by any stretch of the imagination. Maybe it was more like the starving man who finally snares a rabbit and it's on a spit over the fire and he knows he has to wait until the meat is thoroughly cooked so he doesn't get sick and throw all that protein up. So he sits there on his haunches and watches the meat slowly turn brown and sizzle and he gets ... tense.

Whatever it was, it wasn't horrible, or even unpleasant. When you've gotten a kiss like that, that says "I want you!" in words the size of small moons, and the woman who kissed you hasn't run right out to rent a motel room so she doesn't have to be around you any more, you need to be patient. And, when the prize is a woman like Valerie Martin ... you can be patient.

If you can't, then you don't deserve her.

When the kids got home they were all excited because after the Christmas break, it would be the start of science fair season. They already had a sheaf of papers with ideas they could use to frame their own science project around. They had a couple of months to get it ready, but both were straining at the reins to get moving.

So the evening was spent around the table, talking about various ideas and experiments. I brought the laptop in and researched what was available on line, such as instant snow, and 30% hydrogen peroxide and microscopes and all sorts of other things that could be used to display and explain a scientific process to the uninitiated.

Then somebody remembered that homework hadn't been done, and that took them past their normal bedtime. Naturally, being up late was exciting for them, so they lollygagged about brushing their teeth and getting their PJs on and all that.

But, being just the landlord, all I had to do was curl up on the couch with another book and listen as life went on in the other rooms around me. It was kind of nice, actually, and I knew I'd miss it when they moved back into their house.

When I read at night, it puts me to sleep. I dozed off and then woke up when the light went off. I just assumed it was Valerie and lay there, snug under the blanket. But my clothes had tightened in places, and were uncomfortable, so I got up and stripped down, hurrying to get back into the warmth I had left behind.

I don't know if I got back to sleep and was then awakened again, or if I was almost asleep and then became alert, but I opened my eyes. They were accustomed to the dark and I could see Valerie standing beside me. She looked ghostly, her body almost luminescent, framed by that long black hair that soaked up all light that hit it.

That's because she had on a white T shirt and her legs were naked.

I don't know how she knew I was awake. I hadn't been when she turned off that light. Maybe my eyes glittered in the faint light.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch any more, Bob," she said, softly.

I didn't say anything. I was thinking about a thousand things, but I didn't say anything.

"The bed is big enough for both of us," she said.

I remembered her children saying they were glad to leave that bed because their mother snored and "moved around" a lot while she slept.

Someday they'd learn there are things worth putting up with.

She reached and pulled the blanket off of me.

"You're naked!" she said.

"I don't have any shorts," I explained.

I saw teeth show, even whiter than the face they were in. Those teeth emitted a giggle that sounded a little like a proud one, somehow. Then, in a flurry of movement, her hands gripped the bottom of the T shirt and pulled it up. It got tangled in her head and hair, which gave me time to admire the tantalizing sight of two dark spots where there had been only white before. They seemed to match a triangle of darkness where her legs met her upper torso. Then all that thick dark hair was falling everywhere, covering, swishing, caressing her body. Her hands moved automatically and, with a toss of her head, her hair was flung to fall down her back.

"Now I'm naked too," she whispered.

She sounded like a little kid, exploring, playing doctor or something.

"I'm confused," I said.

"I know," she said, her voice normal, and startlingly loud after the whispering. "Me too. But I can't help it. This may be the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life, but I have to do it."

I sat up. She offered me her hand. I took it.

And then she led me to her bedroom.

My bedroom.

Our bedroom.

Maybe you expect me to say I was on her like a lion on a lamb.

You'd be wrong. It wasn't like that at all.

In fact, all we did, once we navigated the bed, and then pulled covers up over us, was lie there on our backs in silence.

"You okay?" I asked, for no reason other than to break the silence.

"No."

"You want me to go back to the couch?"

"No!" Her voice was sharp, and accompanied by a hand that came to grip my forearm.

That touch seemed to break the log jam and we rolled, simultaneously, to face each other. We were almost touching.

"I don't care about your money," she said, softly.

"Me neither," I sighed, enjoying the fragrance of her breath.

"I don't want you to think I'm doing this because of your money," she insisted.

"I don't want you to think I'm doing this because I'm hornier than I've ever been in my life," I said.

"Really?" I heard sharp interest in her voice. "Are you?"

"A witch appeared at my door on Halloween night," I said. "She cast a spell on me. I am helpless to resist her. I am ... bewitched."

That got me my first kiss. It was a tentative, exploratory kind of kiss, filled with eagerness, but not passion.

When it broke, we wiggled closer toward each other. Her hand came to my shoulder, and my hand landed on her hip.

As I leaned in for another kiss in the dark, the hot tips of her breasts touched me.

It's a blur in my mind as I think back on the next ... I don't know ... half an hour, maybe? All we did was kiss, but there was definite slippage of those tectonic plates I was talking about. We made out like teenagers on prom night, writhing against each other and feeling each other with our hands, bodies, lips, noses, all of it. I got stiff, of course, and at one point she gripped my hard shaft and trapped it between her thighs. I felt a new source of heat, that matched her nipples, as the top of my shaft slid through kinky hair and against slippery lips.

At one point I rolled back, removing my cock from its warm nest, so my fingers could explore that nest. She groaned into my mouth, and raised a leg, giving me access.

My fingers plundered her sex, sinking in to probe her depths. She liked it. I could tell. But she couldn't kiss me and have an orgasm at the same time, and right then she wanted kisses more than orgasms. I got that on an unconscious level, because while I wanted to fuck her brains out, I was also having more fun than I'd had in maybe a decade ... and we had all night.

So when she reached to make me remove my fingers so she could replace them with my cock again, and went back to seriously trying to eat my tongue, I didn't mind.

And we did just make out like that for at least half an hour. It would not surprise me if the fly on the wall timed it at a full hour.

Then, like a switch had been thrown, she reached to direct the tip of my cock inside her opening, and pulled, clearly wanting me on top of her.

I went, gladly, and lunged forward, skewering her on my lance of love and groaning like a little boy who's hit his funny bone on a rock.

She was noisy too.

In fact I'll reverse those two words and say she was too noisy.

The lights went on.

Two concerned ten-year-olds stared at the beast with two backs, under the covers, the beast that had two faces, one hairy and fierce looking, and the other that of their mother.

It was quiet again as I froze, deep inside her. I am ashamed to say I was unable to keep from wiggling just a little bit.

"Oh," said Chip.

"What's wrong?" asked Sam.

"I'll explain it to you," said Chip. "Come on. It's okay."

"But she was yelling, and he's lying on top of her," complained Sam. Then her face transformed and she said "Oh!"

She was the one who dragged him out of the room, and then reached back in to close the door.

I was astonished. I think Valerie was too.

"They approve," I whispered, hopefully. I hadn't lost any of my firmness, and I did not want to pull out and take a break.

Her hands slid over my back.

"You have no idea how happy I am right now," she panted.

"I bet I do," I said.

"You talk too much," she said, and humped her loins up against me.

The earthquake arrived and we rutted like animals. Humans are animals, though, so that's not a bad thing. I think one reason we went so long, that first time, was because we were new to this, in terms of doing it together. I knew what I liked, but had to learn what pressed her buttons. It was like that for her too, though there was little she could do other than use her internal muscles, and her hands and legs to stimulate me. But I don't think either of us was actually trying to have an orgasm at first. We were just having too much fun submerging ourselves in a sea of erotic waves. We were joined at our loins and our faces, as we started kissing again while I pushed and prodded and ground up into her. I didn't even try to withdraw and reenter, in the classic fucking motion. I knew that if I did that, I'd spew, and I didn't want to spew, because I didn't want this to end.

I did, however, want her to cum. And during that initial time of exploration of each other, I began to recognize things that made her move faster, or push against me with more force, or rip a groan of satisfaction from her throat.

I don't know how long we spent just being lovers before I sensed I could wrench an orgasm from her if I held myself in her just so, and then moved back and forth sideways.

I had only thought she was loud. That first orgasm was a screamer. I heard the thud of running, bare feet, and the door handle rattled. I heard Chip yell, "It's okay! I know it's okay! He's not hurting her!"

I realized there was going to have to be a mother daughter chat the next day.

And I was going to have to look into means of soundproofing the bedroom.

I hoped it wouldn't take a complete remodel.

Pleasure and the desire for pleasure are very strong motivators. But eventually the even stronger motivator that Mother Nature put in all of us surges to the forefront and can no longer be denied.

Thankfully, by the time I had the sudden, impossible to resist, urge to finish, she had experienced multiple orgasms. Each one was a little quieter than the last until, by the third one, I started thinking that maybe tearing out the walls and installing more insulation might not be required.

And then I wanted to jet my seed into my mate, and I started sliding in and out of her. I went fast, and I pounded her, no longer concerned with her pleasure, until I slammed forward one last time and, sounding like that little boy with his funny bone killing him, again, let loose as many and as powerful jets of semen as I possibly could.

What made it even better was her sharp fingernails, pressing deep into the tender skin of my butt, keeping me inside her while I spurted.

The shaking stopped. The pressure had been relased. The earthquake was over.

As I dragged in huge lungfuls of air, I looked forward to the aftershocks.

Children are more perceptive than adults give them credit for. They always have been. Their little minds soak in information supplied through their eyes and ears and it all gets cataloged and stored away for future use. Generally speaking, kids know more than adults think they do, too. That is to say that they have learned things that adults haven't intentionally taught them.

Children also make the same kinds of decisions about other human beings that adults do. They just don't talk about it like big people. Adults are forever talking about what musical group they like, or what kind of food they like. There are discussions about what brand of car or which sports team is best. And when it comes to what grown ups don't like, that is even more vociferously thrown around. It's all part of a thing adults have about trying to get everyone else to adopt the same opinion. And that doesn't even include advertising.

But with children it's much less complicated. Some of that may be because kids are more secure. When they're young they don't have to fight off the wolves at the door, or win friends and influence people to get a promotion. To kids, it's easy. They either like something, or they don't. They either like someone, or they don't.

They don't talk about why they don't like peas. They don't try to rationalize it or explain it. They just turn up their noses at them. And when they like something or someone, they don't try to explain that either.

Children don't feel the need to justify what and who they like or dislike. It's always an adult that wants to know "Why?"

The reason I have pontificated about this is because of what happened the next morning. Since adults always seem to want to know "Why?" I thought I'd explain it before the fact, rather than after.

Valerie's children, like most children who are given a chance, had adapted to the results of the tragedy that had left them homeless. Kids, being less tied to the "things" in life, had already mourned and then forgotten all the possessions the fire had taken away. The really important things had survived ... their mother and each other. They had new clothes. They had a new bedroom. They still went to school.

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

Support the author's future writing by purchasing this book from Bookapy

Bewitched

Lubrican

$4.00