Chapter 2

Julie's next conscious recollection was either waking or regaining consciousness on the floor of her room, with her mother pounding on her locked door and yelling her name. After a few seconds of total confusion, she remembered, and felt her stomach start to churn. Staggering into the bathroom that opened to her room, her brother's room, and the upstairs hall, she barely made it to the toilet before emptying her stomach. As she moaned in anguish afterward, she heard her mother trying the two other doors to the bathroom, both of which Julie always kept locked.

Theresa was not without motherly instincts, and right then they were as elevated as at any time she could remember. She had barely slept the night before, horrified at what had happened in the kitchen. The fight over college the previous afternoon had left her disturbed as well. Vince had scoffed at Julie's threat to refuse to attend their college, or to flunk out if forced to attend. At this point, Theresa was inclined to believe her daughter was serious. During that fight, she had sensed an element of desperation in Julie that had never been there berfore.

Of course, the issue of which college was not something they could back down on. It was far too important a decision for them to leave to Julie. And the idea of following a high school sweetheart to college was just carrying things too far. She and Vince had found each other at college, and that's the way it should be. The idea of falling in love forever at sixteen was ridiculous. They were twenty, almost adults, when they started dating.

It was painful watching her daughter's anguish - it seemed surprisingly real. Of course, faking emotions was a highly developed family art, and Julie may have been doing a good acting job. Sometimes, parents had to use tough love to ensure the best for their children. It would be the best for Julie in the long run.

But what about Glen? He was a genuine nice guy, although Theresa could not understand why he avoided their house. It seemed like he was offended by a little honest expression of emotion. Julie could never be happy with someone like that. They were doing her a big favor keeping her away from him for a while. Too bad, though, the kid was an honest to goodness hunk. That reminded her of Julie's comment in the kitchen yesterday: the comment about Glen taking care of her pussy. That level of intimacy would make the separation harder. Oh well, that was not her worry. They as parents had to do the right thing.

Thinking of the episode in the kitchen brought a few flurries of guilt, but it was as if last night's tossing and turning had used it all up. Theresa rationalized that she and her husband were entitled to a private sex life, and Julie had no right to criticize. It was unfortunate that she had stumbled on them, and she would have to talk to her daughter about her disgusting display in front of her father. Their family just did not flaunt their bodies like that. It was wrong. And then her refusal to talk unless they were all naked! Where had that come from? And this morning!

It was harder than usual for Theresa to rationalize the correctness of her own actions, but she was very good at it. The several totally uncharacteristic responses from Julie required new ways of looking at things, but her confidence in her own rightness and parental expertise was hardly shaken at all.

Theresa shook her head slightly to clear the musings that had briefly overtaken her. Her daughter was in some kind of distress, and she wanted to find out what was wrong. All the ways into Julie's room were locked. She knew there was a way to open them with a tool, but she was reluctant to get Vince involved. He was really different since the kitchen episode and Julie's naked display this morning. Julie's only response to her many knocks and pleas was 'Go away!' That was not an acceptable answer from a child, but there seemed little else she could do about it right then. After hanging around for about twenty minutes, Theresa left.

Julie was in absolute agony. For the first time in her life, she had thoughts of suicide. The thing she had most feared was separation from Glen. Now, she had caused it herself by losing her temper. As crazed as she was by her anger, she could not recall all of what she had screamed at him. But she could recall the look on his face and the sight of him retching beside the car. She knew with a heart-stopping certainty that she had lost him for good. Damn her terrible temper! Damn her parents for fueling it her whole life! For once the anger was a good thing, for it offset the despair enough to prevent her from ending her life then and there.

After heaving his guts out on the curb, Glen staggered back to the driver's seat and drove away. He had a vague impression of someone running after the car and waving, but it was so hard to see through his tears that he could not be certain what he saw.

In his despair, the impulse was to drive away as fast as he could from the scene of the horror. Fortunately, his natural caution won out, and he drove carefully, stopping several times when the tears made vision impossible.

Pulling up to his house, Glen was not sure he wanted to leave the car. It's isolation was a sort of protection from reality, protection he was loathe to abandon right then. He put his head back and just sat, for how long, he was not sure. After realizing the pain was no less and the isolation was no real protection at all, he dazedly got out and headed for the door.

Betty Voss had been enjoying a pleasant Sunday morning home alone. Alan had gone fishing with his brother, both of them taking their younger sons along. Not being very religious as a family, those Sunday fishing outings had become commonplace. This was just fine with Betty. Alan was such a wonderful father, a real pal to his children. Not that he neglected her, either, but she was more than happy for the high quality time he spent with the kids. One of her most heart-warming memories was of Alan hurrying into the pool bleachers for one of Glen's swimming meets. The dual meets were usually early, right after school. Because he worked an early shift, he was one of the few fathers who would always be there.

While the men went fishing that Sunday, their daughter Ellie, sixteen, was at her best friend's house.

After a long, relaxing bath, Betty donned just a light robe, poured herself a glass of wine, and pulled a romance novel from a bottom drawer. She had panties all laid out, but decided to do without them. The novel, which none of the rest of the family knew about, was a pretty steamy one, and she just might want easier access to her pleasure spot. Propping a pillow against the arm of the living room sofa, she stretched out for a leisurely read.

The sensual setting was not a reflection of a lack of sex in Betty's life, it was just something she thoroughly enjoyed. Even after more than twenty years of marriage, Alan kept her very well satisfied in bed. In bed, and elsewhere, she thought with an audible giggle.

Betty was big woman. Not fat, just large. At five foot ten, she had wide, muscular, swimmer's shoulders, substantial hips, and muscular thighs. Even after three children, she had kept her waist admirably tight. An impediment when she was swimming competitively, her substantial breasts were a perfect complement to her other sizable assets. Probably because of the sound musculature beneath them, her breasts had minimal sag for her age and their heft.

In a swimsuit, at one of her religiously followed workouts in the pool, Betty could have easily qualified for an Amazon role. Her face would be called handsome, not classically beautiful. It was a strong, resolute face, but when she lit up one of her frequent smiles, it changed completely. The recipient of the smile was always prompted to throw out his previous concepts of beauty.

When Alan started dating Betty as a teen, she began calling him 'Horndog' as her completely private pet name. At first, she had been a bit put off by the way he openly panted after her. Fortunately, she was mature enough to see that that combination of lust and true devotion was something to be prized in a suitor. Twenty years later, she gave thanks daily for her flash of perception. Today, such a simple thing as walking around the bedroom in panties and a blouse, trying to decide on which slacks to wear, could get him excited enough that she would have to fend him off. Though she tried not to let him know about it, she often had to change panties before donning her slacks after such a playful rebuff.

Alan was a big man, standing 6'5". He had a trim, raw-boned physique and a face to match the overall cowboy image. His sexual equipment was scaled properly for his size, a fact Betty discovered to her delight after only a few dates. Despite his appearance, Alan was not at all a macho sort. Oh, he loved sports and outdoors and vehicles and drinking with his buddies. But more than any of those things, he loved Betty and the kids. Through the tight financial times they had suffered, they somehow held onto a rustic cabin on a swimmable lake a few hours away. Alan would give up literally any other activity to take his family there for a getaway.

One thing about Alan had given Betty pause while they were dating, and had caused her parents to question Alan's suitability. He did not have great ambitions for financial achievement. He earned an Associate's degree from a local Community College, and got a union job in a manufacturing plant. Betty had opted for true love and physical attraction over the material benefits she might have realized with someone else. Alan was an excellent employee, and moved up nicely to supervisory status. The economic vagaries of manufacturing, however, had hit them hard on three occasions. Betty had gone to work in the breach, but otherwise concentrated on her house and family, keeping only part-time positions revolving around local swimming clubs.

Although Alan would never enjoy an executive or professional income, there was one area in which Betty did not feel at all deprived, her home. He was a skillful and enthusiastic do-it-yourselfer. Early in the marriage, both sets of parents had helped them acquire a choice lot. Starting with a small core of what they absolutely needed, the house had since grown to rival those in much grander neighborhoods. The house was admittedly a bit rambling in design, and the appointments were certainly not opulent, but there was space aplenty and luxuries in sufficiency. The sun-lit jacuzzi tub Betty had just left was at the top of her appreciation list.

Marty, her younger son, was like a clone of his father. He had begun joining Alan on the house projects when he was not yet a teen, and he was very good. The two of them had actually started taking on some work for other people on the side, in fact having to turn down referrals from satisfied customers. Betty felt certain Alan could make more money as an independent contractor than he did on his job, but was equally certain that he would never take the risk.

Looking back, Betty was more than happy with her choice. Among her circle of friends, she was at the bottom in terms of wealth. As far as she knew, though, she was the only one who had had a single lover in her life, and one of only three who were still with their first husband. Having three teenaged kids with not a single behavior or substance abuse problem was unfathomable to the rest of the group.

A group of eight women friends had kept a standing Wednesday morning breakfast date for several years. The 'well-fucked look' being no myth, Betty was the frequent target of gibes of barely disguised jealousy.

"Come on, Betz! When you gonna start renting out that stud of yours?" had greeted her several weeks ago from one of the divorcees.

"Damn, girl! I bet you schedule Tuesday nights just to make us feel bad, don't you?" had been the first comment one other week. At that one, Betty had come up with an uncharacteristic saucy reply.

"Well, you know, every night is scheduled. I just wake him up early on Wednesdays to give you guys something to joke about!" That, of course, brought the expected hoots of derision, even though most of the others believed her totally. There were several among the group who would instantly have traded their homes, cars, jewelry, clothes, and memberships for Alan. Betty knew this, and considered it a terrible bargain.

Of all the things Betty found enduring about Alan, one in particular was even more important, now. As a big, strong, athletic girl, Betty's self-image suffered greatly in the sex appeal area when she was a teen. Alan had an old-fashioned view of women as the gentler, sweeter sex. He treated Betty like a sexy lady, no matter what, and over time, she began to feel genuinely sexy. To this day, he celebrated the sexy side of her with comments, seductive gifts, etc.

Their sixteen-year-old daughter, Ellie, was a near carbon-copy of her mother. Even in those more enlightened sexual times, she had the same sex appeal problems. Without a word from Betty, Alan had mounted a campaign to change all that. He regularly took Ellie on dates, always to places that required dressing up. Dinner, dancing, plays, concerts; Betty was at times tempted to a bit of jealousy, but she knew exactly what Alan was doing and loved him all the more for it. It was wonderful to see that special bond between a father and a daughter.

As a twelve-year-old, Ellie had been about as gawky as a pre-teen could be, and that is when Alan started his campaign. He also enlisted Glen's help. Ellie had worshipped her big brother from her earliest awareness, and their shared love of swimming had forged a very nice sibling bond between them. Alan encouraged his son to do anything he could to boost his sister's self-image.

On one occasion, Glen had passed Ellie's room and heard her crying. When he came in and sat beside her, she unburdened herself about her body and her discontent with it.

"Ellie, don't worry about it. You're only twelve. Before you know it, you're going to be a babe just like Mom," Glen told her with amazing tenderness for a fourteen-year-old boy.

"Me? Look like Mom? You've got to be kidding!"

"Nope! Dad says you look just like her when she was twelve. You're definitely going to be a babe." From that day on, he rarely called her 'Ellie, ' just 'Babe.' At first, she tried to pooh-pooh it, but it was obvious it meant a lot to her. When she joined him in High School and he would call her 'Babe' in front of her friends, she seemed to instantly grow taller and straighter. Of course, the fact that her loving brother was the heart-throb of every girl she knew did not hurt her self-image, either.

Betty's musings naturally turned to the relationship between herself and Glen. With just a touch of shame, she had to admit to a sexual thrill at every thought of her hunk of a son. All of those hours at swim meets watching his thick, smooth muscles ripple and flex as he swam, or pushed himself from the water, or just stood talking to his coach or teammates... That was the first fruit of her womb, and God, had she done well!

Today, in particular, she could rejoice in her first-born. He had just received the prize he had dreamed of. He had a full swimming scholarship to one of the best programs in the country. All of the poolside hours now seemed completely worthwhile. Her son had his dream, and the love of his beautiful Julie, besides.

Thoughts of Glen and Julie and college introduced the one troubling aspect of Glen's success - they would be separated. Why Julie's parents would not send her to the same school as Glen was beyond Betty. Perhaps they disapproved of Glen, but how could they be that foolish? Glen spent almost no time at their house, but Julie had never hinted at any disapproval from her parents. Knowing how much she herself dreaded Glen's pending absence, she could imagine how it must terrify the girl.

There was no doubt in Betty's mind that Julie was reaping the full benefit of the fruit of her womb. Julie was a great girl, one Betty considered completely worthy of her son. There was an intensity to Julie, a flash of passion, that was not present in their own family, but that was not a bad thing. She just hoped the girl appreciated the wonderful loving she was certain her son gave her. She had to stop herself from picturing Glen's cock plunging into the shapely young brunette. It was even harder not to fantasize about engulfing it in her own burning pussy...

Betty comforted herself with the assurance that such sexual feelings about her son were only natural. Sometime, she would screw up the courage to ask Ellie if she ever felt her father's hardon while slow dancing on one of their outings. She would bet anything they did not always observe a respectful distance on the dance floor. One time when she and Glen joined them dancing, she herself had certainly not maintained any distance. She had plastered herself to Glen on a slow dance and thrilled at the proof of proper inheritance between his legs. Why should Alan and Ellie be any different. She honestly hoped Alan was giving her an occasional thrill. Ellie needed it. She refused to even think about the ultimate thrill for Ellie, so confident was she that it would never happen.

That was the beauty of these precious interludes alone, Betty realized. There was nothing important missing from her life, so when she was alone, she did not feel lonely. Instead, she basked in what she had. As she took the first sip of her wine, its rather warm temperature told how long her lovely reverie had lasted. With a small sigh, she picked up her novel and opened it to the bookmark. Within two or three pages, she had slipped her free hand inside her robe and begun lightly teasing and stroking the hair at the top of her mound.

It was after only a dozen pages of reading that Betty heard a car pulling into the driveway. A characteristic run-on and clatter at shut-down assured her that it was their trusty but well-used second car. Glen had taken the car, and he should have been at lunch with Julie right then. Puzzled, she got up and peeked out around the side of the living room drape. What she saw filled her with alarm. Glen, his face ashen, was lying back in the seat.

Immediately, Betty assumed Glen was ill, and her first impulse was to rush out to see if he needed help. Besides being dressed only in her light cotton robe, she was restrained by her firm policy of not smothering her children. Both in discipline and assistance, she had always given them plenty of room, waiting for them to come to her or to exceed their specified limits before intervening. Now, seeing her son's condition, it was very hard to stick with her policy, but she persevered.

For over fifteen minutes, Betty watched patiently from the corner of the drape. When Glen at last got out of the car, his stance showed utter defeat. This was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. What had gone wrong? Showing remarkable restraint, she did not open the door for him, but waited a couple of steps inside. When he closed the door and turned toward her with anguish evident in his eyes, she asked "Honey, what's wrong?"

"It's over!" was all Glen could get out. Then, he clapped his hand over his mouth and dashed toward the small downstairs bathroom, with Betty right on his heels. He just made it to the toilet before letting fly with the first expulsion. Observing how little he spewed and how quickly and painfully he degenerated into dry heaves, Betty guessed that this was not the first time he had thrown up.

'It' over!' Betty had heard. That could only mean one thing: Glen and Julie had broken up. But how? And more incredibly, why? She knew for certain that Glen loved her deeply and sincerely. She was just as certain that Julie felt the same way. It was hard to imagine anything that could have caused the breakup. Except... except the impending separation. If that was true, then damn the Menconis! Had they no idea what their stubbornness had done? As her anger started to build, she reminded herself that Glen needed her right now, and she didn't really know what had happened.

By the time the retching stopped, Glen was trembling alarmingly, obviously in shock. Betty made him sit back in the corner of the small bathroom, then gave him some water from the small glass on the sink. He rinsed his mouth and spit a couple of times before swallowing some of the water. She noticed that his clothes reeked of vomit. Not sure just where the problem was, she pulled off the nice sweater he had on, then unbuttoned and removed his button-down shirt. While he still sat, she took of his shoes, then she helped him to his feet. He had trouble standing, he was trembling so badly. Kneeling in front of him and placing his hands on her shoulders for support, she unbuckled and pulled down his slacks, leaving him in just his jockey shorts.