Chapter 15: Checking Things Out

“ ... before I scrape you off my... !”

Skeet hangs up, not allowing Slim’s ruinous invective.

“List.” Skeet concludes for him, giving Slim a shred of dignity despite himself. Hearing “Shoe” would have irreparably damaged any possible future relations.

None of the Franklins experience a guilty pang of conscience.

“I thought I loved him, and now he frightens me.”

Stephanie whimpers. Mrs. Franklin holds her snug to her bosom and rubs Stephanie’s back. Tom fumes, then stalks outside. Skeet begins to extend a comradely hand to clasp Stephanie on her shoulder, but drops the gesture before fulfilling it. Mom provides all the conciliation needed. Skeets role is to provide an alternative outlet for those intense emotions, in intense effort. A different, more rewarding form of expression than passive tears.

“I’m going for a run. Want to join me Stephanie?”

Skeet doesn’t wait for an answer. Answers are more coherent in actions. Stephanie peels away from Mrs. Franklin’s comforting arms. Bolts after Skeet, rubbing tear streaks away with her hands. Clears her nose at the roadside, bends over, presses closed one nostril and blows. Then clears the other.

She resists sprinting to catch Skeet. Steady goes. Skeet will turn around after a couple of miles. Stephanie can fall in beside her on the return. She’s proud she can now match Skeet mile for mile. Her endurance and pace is gradually increasing, unaware Skeet is gradually upping both each run.

Tom fled the house, to find a safe violent outlet for his anger. Instead, he finds Alma.

Alma has an old hammock she found stored rolled up, on a shelf in the smithy. She strung it in an ideal position behind Skeet’s old playhouse, where she sleeps. There is about an hour each day, when the hammock isn’t shaded. Perfect for sunbathing without risk of burning, if she dozes off. The creeping shade automatically limits the exposure. It’s als a secluded spot. Not visible from the barnyard. Someone needs to intentionally pass behind the playhouse, to see her lying nude in the hammock.

Today she isn’t reclining, but sitting in the hammock like a swing. She has a bucket of water filled by the garden hose, and a razor. Tom discovers Alma naked, just finishing shaving her pussy. Her inviting glance is too much temptation in his upset overwrought condition. Penetrating her, standing between her encircling legs, he swings the hammock gently to and fro, fucking her in the shallow swing of it.

But it’s not Alma hes fucking. Doesn’t desire the slut Alma. Tom’s reliving a memory. When he caught young Skeet giving herself to a despicable excuse of a teacher. Thrashing the wimpy teacher, who fled and escaped, he next turned his ire upon his daughter. She wants to fuck? He’ll show her what it’s like to really be fucked, by a real man! His uncontrolled anger was the aphrodisiac then and now. It only happened that once with Skeet. Once was enough to produce Morgan.

Now he relives the memory, of fucking his fifteen year old daughter, Skeet. Fifteen year old balded cunt Alma, is merely the surrogate, inspiring that fantasy of remembered incest. Alma never experienced such a passionate fucking before. When Tom came, it was explosive, powerful, and copious.

“I’ll be your daughter for you, any time you want me, Tom.”

Tom burst into tears, and ran into the fields, away from home.

The birthday candles were dumped from the sandwich sized sack onto the table. They were the unconventional numbered candles. A pair of ones, a three, a pair of fours, a six, two zeros, and a big question mark.

“Okay, who forgot how old they are?”

Sammy claims the question mark, and suggests everyone forget how old she is. I assemble a thirty for myself, a sixteen for Paula, a fourteen for Missy, and I’m left with a mysterious forty.

“Sammy? Are you certain these aren’t for you?”

“Flatterer! Don’t I wish. But thank you for thinking it could be possible.”

I get a nice kiss out of the transaction. Grandma reassembles the candles. Sixty for her, and a pair of fourteens for the girls.

Now I know this isn’t kosher. I was confused at first. Accepted Paula was on the cusp of her fourteenth birthday, until I did the math. Paula was learning to walk when I was FIFTEEN.

Paula is sixteen tomorrow, she has to be. Missy, turned fourteen last week, me thirty next month, Grandma turned sixty two months past, and Sammy turns ___? in a few days. She always claimed Paula was her birthday present doll, until Missy became her birthday doll. So why is Paula pretending to only be fourteen? Afraid of growing up?

“We’re twins, Daddy. Twins are the same age, share the same birthday. Are in he same school grade. I refused to start school until Missy was old enough and could attend kindergarten with me. We’ll both be freshmen in the fall. And we will take drivers education together. On completion, I’ll get my full license and Missy gets a sunset license, daylight hours only. We’re twin sisters, Daddy. What’s so difficult to understand about that? Tomorrow, you’ll have twin brides.

It has a very simple explanation. Love between sisters.

“Where are we going for our honeymoon, Daddy?”

“I’m the one who waited the longest for my honeymoon. T should be up to me to decide.”

Sammy has a valid point. Oh, well. Buying an LCI isn’t a frustrated lifelong ambition, it was more of a whim, actually.

“I think it would be fantastic, if our family owned a gigantic yacht. Erik has all the skills and experience necessary to run one, from top to bottom, navigating to overhauling engines. Wouldn’t that be fantastic fun? Cruising the river just like Cleopatra on her royal barge?”

Sammy is fanning herself with the Boats and Harbors issue I circled the auction advertisement in with a magic marker. She posing like she’s an exotic disdainful princess. The twins are laughing their cute butts off. I’m too much in love to laugh. I content myself with kissing the princess passionately.