Epilogue

Life is strange. You can plan your life out, but don't assume your plans will come to fruition. By the time I graduated I was exceedingly well fucked, though not in the way people usually mean when they say, "I'm fucked!" That was something I hadn't actually planned on as a young man. Most men dream of a career and hope to get laid by the time they graduate. With me it was kind of reversed. I dreamed of getting laid, and those dreams came true much earlier than they do for most men. But I never gave much thought to what I'd do with my life after High School. Maybe it was because I was living that sexual dream. I don't know.

But the fact was, that when I walked across that stage and the Principal handed me my diploma, I had no idea what the heck to do next. I'd never wanted to be a fireman, or policeman, doctor or lawyer, and I had no concept of what most businessmen did. I just never thought about it much. I had worked part time for a hamburger joint called Sandy's, which was bought out in the seventies and is now known as Hardees, but that wasn't a career and I knew it even back then.

I remember it to this day. I was driving along in town one day and I saw one of those big billboards that said, "Uncle Sam Wants YOU!" with a picture of the kindly looking old guy with white hair and a beard, and a red, white and blue striped top hat. His finger pointing at me. So I went to the recruiting office to find out if that was true.

Turned out it was true. So I joined the Navy.

I spent six glorious years touring the world, almost all of it at sea because I loved that and tried to get thosae kinds of assignments. And I found out that women all over the world appreciated the same exact things I had learned that the posse members appreciated. If you treated a woman with a little respect, you got all the pussy you could ever dream about.

Oh sure, there were all the women who were hunting an American husband so they could get to the States and live the life of Riley, but they were pretty obvious, and I learned to avoid them, for the most part. I think the ones I liked the best were the ones who were curious about what an American male was like, socially and sexually. They were ... curious ... like the girls in the posse had been curious. Of course all those women hadn't known me for years, or been infatuated with me for years, and they didn't, for the most part, want to tie themselves to me for the rest of their life, or leave the culture in which they were most comfortable. But they all loved to feel good, at one level or another, and I found out that a warm pussy feels the same the world around.

Well, I found out what it feels like through a condom. Those movies they show you every time you leave port are pretty damn scary, to say nothing of the stories the old timers loved to tell. Did you know they used to treat one kind of syphilis by laying out your infected prick on a table and smacking it with a big rubber hammer? When they did that it squirted, and it wasn't semen that came out. You could also hear the patient's screams clear through steel walls. I only had to hear that scream once and I made sure never to expose myself to any potentially infected pussies. And it didn't matter if the girl was a virgin or not either. In Singapore girls serve in the sex trade for years before they actually take a prick inside them. So virgins aren't necessarily safe either. Anyway, it still felt good, and it was still possible to make the girls feel good without giving or getting any unwanted little gifts.

They say that all good things come to an end. A month before I was due to re-up, I got thrown into a bulkhead while we were riding out a hurricane. I ended up with a compound fracture of the bones in my lower right arm, an 'iffy back injury' and a cracked skull that led to a couple of months in the hospital and a medical discharge. Just as unplanned as when I joined, I was right back on the street, with no prospects. Oh, I had some training, but it was the kind of training that doesn't exactly mesh with civilian occupations very well. The one bright spot was that I had some money saved up, so I didn't have to be in a hurry to figure out what I wanted to do.

My parents still lived in the same house, and my stuff was still boxed up in my room. My mother kept all that stuff. She had some kind of sixth sense that I'd be back, some how, some way. It was kind of eerie. So I went back to Junctionville to see what life had to offer me there.

Of course one of the first things I did was check up on the members of the posse. I had gotten a few letters from them in that first year I had been gone, and Christmas cards every year from most of them. Claire wrote to me pretty regularly and kept me abreast of what was going on in her life. She mentioned the rest of the girls occasionally, but not in any great detail. I figured that after they graduated they probably drifted away from each other for the most part. That's what usually happens, right?

My mom was, like most moms, overjoyed to see me, even though I hadn't called ahead to actually tell her I was coming home. She knew it would happen, but not when. I'd asked her not to tell anybody about that because I wasn't sure how things would shake down. And mom, like most moms, was eager to gossip about the girls. She didn't show any surprise whatsoever when I asked about the posse.

Large Marge married Homer Gilson, of all people, right out of High School. She got pregnant almost immediately and, my Mom told me, had the cutest little toddler. But it turned out Homer had a drinking problem and a couple of years was all Marge would stand for. She divorced him and hadn't remarried. She worked for one of the lawyers in town as a paralegal.

Loosey Suzy, A.K.A Hot Mamma, went to college and was working on her Doctorate in applied physics. She was married too, but didn't have any children yet. It turned out she was some sort of genius, and was about to graduate two years ahead of everybody else in her age group.

All Mom knew about Monique was that she was married and had two kids. She and her husband still lived in Junktown but Mom didn't know much else.

Donna got married but was childless thus far. She actually worked for my Dad in his Insurance business. Mom hinted that my dad was interested in me going to work for him. He was getting close to that age when men want to retire but are expected to work another ten years. Mom suggested that if he had a partner he could really trust, he could take more time off work and spend it with her. She wanted to see the world outside of Junctionville, but not alone.

Knobby Robby went to college and graduated with an education major. She had somehow wrangled a job right there in town as the girls' gym teacher at the High School, and was coaching a winning volleyball team that Mom said everybody was right proud of. She ate lunch with Mom every Saturday and asked about me all the time. I found that surprising, since she had only written to me once after I left for the Navy. She hadn't been happy that I enlisted. There were a lot of body bags coming back from Viet Nam back about then and it hadn't looked like it was going to end real soon. Of them all she was the only one who screamed, "I hate you Bobby Watkins!" when I got orders to go to basic. It was pretty obvious she didn't want me cluttering up her mail box with a bunch of letters, so I hadn't.

Claire, of course, I knew more about. Like I said, she had written me pretty regularly, so I knew she still hadn't found the "right guy". She got a job working for a travel agency and was one of the reasons my Mom wanted to travel so much. I had fed Claire tips about where to send tourists in various places around the world. You know ... which hotels were the best for the uninitiated, and what sights to recommend seeing, customs and culture stuff ... all that that you never really get without actually being there. I also gave her tips on what Americans did that pissed off nearly everybody in other cultures, so she could warn them not to do that kind of shit. She had her own apartment now, over on the other side of town somewhere.

I called Claire first. My mother hadn't told her I was coming home, as I had asked. She wanted to surprise her too.

"Hey" I said into the phone.

"Bobby?... Bobby?!" squealed Claire. I hadn't been all that good about calling in the last five or so years.

"Hi Claire Bear," I said. "I missed you."

"Bobby?" she squealed again. "Where are you?"

"Well, at the moment I'm in our parent's house. I have my old bedroom back and everything."

"You're home?!" she squealed. Claire was a good squealer. She squealed in bed a lot too, or used to.

"Yeah, I kind of got hurt and they kicked me out. You wouldn't know anybody who has a job they need to fill do you?" I tried to act like my being home was no big deal. I mean everybody had moved on, right?

"2201 Maple" said my sister tersely. "Be there in ten minutes. You are in big trouble Mister!" She might have moved on, but she was still the Sheriff, or thought she was.

So I borrowed Mom's car and drove over to 2201 Maple, which turned out to be my sister's apartment. Half of a duplex, actually. I thought it was a little odd that she was in her apartment this time of day, especially since Mom had said the number she gave me was to where Claire worked.

I knocked on the door and my baby sister opened it ... stark naked. One slim arm snaked out through the open door, grabbed a fistful of my shirt, and dragged me into the room.

I swear to this day that it only took Claire sixty seconds to get me naked and drag me into her bedroom and push me down on the bed. Somehow, during that minute, Mr. Happy, who was, in fact, glad to see Claire again too, stood up to get his own hug and kiss of welcome back home. Claire let herself down on him, engulfing him in one long drop. She gave out that wonderful soft sigh of happiness that I'd heard so many years before as she settled her clit down onto my pubic bone and ground her hips in a little circle.

For a guy who was in so much trouble I was feeling pretty good about things.

Then she started rocking back and forth, milking my already leaking cock, and cussed me like she was the sailor. She cussed me for not calling, and for writing such short letters back to her. She cussed me for ruining her sex life by making her perpetually horny. She cussed me because she compared every man she went out with to me. Somehow it was all my fault that they didn't measure up, and all my fault that she'd never get married, and all my fault that Mom was hassling her about, "Where are my grandchildren? I'm getting ancient here!".

Of course, intermixed with all that cussing were little statements like, "Oooo you feel so good in me Bobby," and, "Nobody makes me feel like you do Bobby," and, "Mmmmmm I missed this so much." Things like that.

In other words, it was still impossible to understand the opposite sex.

And then, when she'd worked me up to a fever pitch, she leaned down and whispered the bombshell: "I have never let another man cum in me without a rubber Bobby. You wanna squirt up in my pussy?"

She smothered my groan of assent with her lips and I fountained her full of twenty-four year old sperm ... sperm that was in the prime of its life ... sperm produced by healthy balls that were mad as hell that they had been denied the chance at fertilizing an egg for the last six years. Well, the analogy breaks down somewhere in there, but you get my drift.

And, as she felt it flushing into her she got even redder in the face and growled "You would come home right when I'm ovulating you bastard. You would come home and fuck your baby in my belly the very first time you put your prick in me in the last six years." She sounded mad, but then she moaned, "Oh Bobby, make a baby in me ... pleeease? I've been waiting soooo loooong."

I may have mentioned this before, but I have to ask the question anyway ... who understands teenaged girls? Even when they aren't teenagers any more.

But I'll tell you this. She drained every single healthy, eager sperm cell out of my balls that afternoon. She didn't go back to work and she didn't let me out of her apartment until Mr. Happy wouldn't budge whether she talked nasty, or used her mouth on him, or anything. She made it quite plain that it wasn't going to be any six years before she got him in her again, too.

Between times we lay there cuddling and caught up. It wasn't all heated accusations and cussing. She talked about the men she'd met and tried to fall in love with, wanting to be "normal" like other women. But she pined for her first lover, who just happened to be her brother.

She did get my brat in her belly too. And, oddly enough, while she was pregnant, she met Mister Right, who didn't care that she'd spread her legs once (thirty times!) too often than was good for her. He married her and they had four more of their own kids.

Well ... they had four more kids anyway. Claire has never stopped pulling me through that door with a naked arm once in a while. And I'm a pretty normal looking guy, as is Jim, her husband, so who knows who her pretty normal looking kids have as a biological father? He has siblings too, so Claire's closeness to me isn't surprising to him. I don't think he really knows just how close we really are, but they're happy, so maybe it's better that way.

This is going to seem a little disjointed, because I'll be bouncing back and forth in time, but it's easier to tell you what happened with each member of the posse in one sitting, so to speak. So be patient, kind reader, and understand that.

One evening (before she met mister right) Claire called me and said she wanted to have dinner with me at Delvechio's, which was a little Italian restaurant that had opened up in the new strip mall that had been built while I was in the Navy. She told me to meet her there at a particular time. That seemed odd to me because usually Claire and I just ate at her house when she was feeling frisky. But I liked Italian food, and figured I should have some kind of relationship with my sister that didn't involve sex, so I went.

When I got there an employee who introduced himself to me as 'Bruno' (roll the 'r') smiled with perfect teeth and said in some sort of accent that wasn't anything close to Italian, "Ahhhh you must be Meester Watkins. Come with me please." How he recognized me I don't know, but he led me to a table at which were seated my sister ... and Large Marge.

Having a baby hadn't done anything bad to Marge at all. She was a little thicker in the waist, and didn't look quite so top-heavy, but I wouldn't find that out until she stood up. Right now those bounteous breasts of hers just bulged nicely, hanging over the table as she grinned and leaned forward.

"Hi Bobby," she said.

It was like I had entered a time machine. Her voice sounded exactly like it had when she had said, "Hi Bobby" the morning after I took her virginity in my bedroom.

"Hi," I said back. Marge still left me a little tongue tied. She had always been so beautiful, and a few added years only made her more beautiful.

Claire was grinning. "I told her you were back in town and she wanted to see you."

Marge looked up at me with smoldering eyes. "Claire told me what you two have been doing. Old ways die hard, eh Bobby?"

I sat down. Bruno had arranged the chair so I'd be sitting across from them. "I'm sorry about your divorce," I said. I didn't know what else to say.

"It's okay," she said. "He was a jerk." She smiled. "Besides, now I can spend some time with you again."

Mr. Happy lurched in my pants. Marge always had that effect on me.

Dinner that night was tense. While we chatted about the Navy and what Marge had been doing, and her little girl and all sorts of things, what was on everyone's mind during dinner was what would happen after dinner. Claire didn't give any indications about what the plans were though. Isn't it interesting that I expected Claire to call the shots? I guess it was a holdover from her days as the Sheriff or something.

Marge grabbed the bill from Bruno when he brought it to the table.

"This one's on me," she said.

"How will I ever pay you back?" I asked, calling on some dim memory of what suave was like.

"Oh you'll pay," said Marge. And she and Claire both laughed out loud.

They had ambushed me, and had planned it that way. I had a girl on each arm as we left and, to my everlasting amazement I learned that some of the members of the posse were switch hitters. Of course I klnew they were close, but I had no idea they had ever done anything serious together. Now that I think about it, I should have had some suspicions. Donna had called me silly one time for thinking that the girls didn't know about her inverted nipples, and Robby had been embarrassed about being naked in front of me, but not the other two girls, that first time she got naked at the creek. Not to mention that kiss she gave Donna before I pillaged Miss September's maidenhead. And I knew that they had all worked on Monique when she "prepared" to lose her virginity in that crocheted outfit that I heard the girls calling "so cute". And, oh yeah, Marge didn't mind showing them her cum-filled pussy either. As it turns out, Robby and Donna spilled the beans about Claire and me to the rest of them, too. But, maybe because they had explored sex with each other before they were allowed to date (and before me) they all seemed to have been willing to accept it.

So I shouldn't have been all that surprised when they took me back to Claire's apartment, got naked and almost fucked my brains out. And when I wasn't able to perform between bouts, they pleasured each other in ways that spurred my desire to ... perform.

There was a time when I was lying on Marge's bounteous boobs, luxuriating in the feel of her hot pussy milking my cock for its nectar, when she kissed me and sighed. "It would be nice if you could marry me Bobby." Her pussy muscles milked me some more and I got close to blowing. "But you can't. It just wouldn't be right."

I didn't know what that meant then and, to be honest, I wasn't listening too closely because there was an orgasm screaming through my balls right about then. All I heard was that she couldn't marry me.

"If you ever change your mind ... let me know," I gasped, filling her up with gooey spunk.

She smiled and kissed me again. "You're so sweet. You've always been so sweet."

That from a girl who used to call me the most horrid pestilence to ever be loosed on the world.

I still see Marge too, occasionally. She's dating a couple of guys but she says neither of them are serious. She never mentioned marriage again. I found out later why.

The next member of the posse I ran into was Unique Monique. As I said, she was married and had two kids, the latest of which was only eleven months old when I ran into her at the grocery store. I was perusing the ever-growing number of different kinds of breakfast cereal when she turned the corner, pushing her cart towards me. We saw each other at the same time. I had been back a week but hadn't contacted her. I thought it might be a little awkward, her being married and all.

Gentlemen, one thing you really need to remember is that a woman never forgets her first man. That first full sexual experience, whether it goes really well, or disastrously, is imprinted on her brain until the day she dies. In the vast majority of situations, that's all it is ... a memory ... but once in a while, it's unfinished business too. After all the posse got deflowered, Monique came back for seconds and thirds and so forth up until the day I left for the Navy. She loved the way I made her feel, and I loved making her feel that way.

When she saw me, and it connected who I was, the look on her face was classic.

Monique was a lady. She didn't squeal or shout or anything. She pushed her cart up to me and said, "I didn't know you were back in town." Her posture, and her voice and everything else about her, that a bystander might have observed, was completely normal ... just a woman bumping into a man she was acquainted with.

But I could see what was in her eyes, and it looked just exactly like I remembered her eyes looking those times she showed up at our house and said, "Hi Bobby," in that special voice she had that said, between those two simple words: "Bobby, I need a nice hard prick in me and sooner would be much better than making me wait."

We finished walking the aisles together and I admired her baby, which was a beautiful little boy she had named Theodore. Her other child, a two year old, was at her neighbor's house. The neighbor was another girl we'd gone to High School with, named Linda, who had gotten married right out of High School and started having babies of her own. She opened her house as a Day Care Center and took care of Monique's daughter, Nicole, during those few times Monique needed to be gone from the house. Monique, it turned out, was a stay-at-home mom, whose husband worked over in Derby at a natural gas pumping station there.

Somehow I ended up following Monique home and carrying her groceries in for her while she took care of little Theodore, who was wet and hungry. I put her groceries in the kitchen and the cold stuff in the refrigerator and when I called out that I was done Monique yelled that she was almost done and for me not to go anywhere. Then she walked into the living room, her upper torso just as naked as the day she was born, with cute little Teddy firmly attached to a fat dark brown nipple. He was a noisy eater, I'll tell you that. Monique acted like I'd watched her nurse her son every day since he was born and continued to chat with me about this and that until she had burped him and his head got all noddy.

"C'mon" she said, and I followed her to the kids room, where there were all the things little girls love and a crib for Teddy with toy elves and such suspended over it and other things like that. She put him down and then turned around to face me, her big, milk-filled breasts sticking out at me like the front bumper of a '56 Buick.

"I've never cheated on Roger," she said casually as she bent over, sliding her slacks down and stepping out of them.

"As you shouldn't have," I said. I wanted her to have the opportunity to be able to say the same thing in about ten minutes.

"This is different," she said.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yes," she said simply.

Monique liked to be on top too, and her breasts leaked all over me, dripping hot, white milk on my chest until she suggested it would be a lot less messy if I licked her nipples. I sucked instead and got mouthfuls of that warm, sweet offering as she rode my cock in that same languid way we had made love all those years ago.

"This feels so good," she said, as if we were having a conversation about sitting in the sun.

"What about Roger?" I asked. I liked what we were doing, and had done it to a lot of lonely navy wives in one port city or another, but I wasn't out to wreck any homes.

She rocked on me and shivered as I sucked her milk. "I love him and I'll never leave him, but it turns him on to think about me making love to other men."

"You're kidding," I said, astonished, letting that fat lovely nipple pop out of my mouth.

"He's a little wimpy," she said, almost apologetically. "He says he likes to feel like his wife is attractive to other men, and that the idea of seeing me being made love to by another man makes him horny. He's been trying to get me to do this for a long time. I wouldn't do it before, but now that you're home I think I can make him happy from now on."

"Oh," I said. I would never have pegged Monique to be attracted to that kind of man.

"Besides," she said, rocking harder and panting. "Roger already gave me two beautiful babies."

She came on my cock and moaned. "And I never got to have yours."

Presto. For the second time in a week a woman was asking me to knock her up. I was beginning to be very glad we'd sailed into that hurricane.

It turned out that Monique had met Roger at a seminar she attended while she was in college. He was from back East somewhere and was ... different ... from anyone she'd ever met before. She invited me to dinner a couple of days after I carried her groceries in for her and introduced me to Roger as the man that would make his dreams come true. I had no idea how he'd react, but Monique didn't seem to be worried at all. It was as different a situation as I've ever been in.

That night I made love to a woman for the first time in my life while her husband sat in a chair and watched. It was surreal and I didn't think at first that I'd be able to actually make Roger's dream come true. I was also a little distracted by having to make constant checks on him to make sure he hadn't gone to get a baseball bat while I lay between his wife's legs and she urged me to give them their third child. But when he hauled out his dick and began whaling on it like there was no tomorrow I realized he really was different in some way that I still don't understand.

So I forgot about him and set about making one of Monique's dreams come true.

I noticed something about Monique while I spurted her full of my semen in front of her husband. Her orgasms were different. When we had made love in the past she had tight almost controlled orgasms, where she tensed up and made little mewling sounds of appreciation and joy. But when Roger was watching she got loud and wild in her gyrations, thrusting up at me harder. At first I thought she was acting, but as time passed I realized she was actually letting herself go. She was doing that for Roger - experiencing something with us both that she couldn't experience with only one of us present. When she went wild under me, he went wild in that chair. In a weird twisted way she loved him and understood him and wanted him to be happy. She thought - and she was right as far as I can tell - that Roger needed that kind of stimulation to get off in a way that was most pleasurable for him. I talked about all this with a shrink friend of mine one time and he hypothesized that Roger had a letch for his mother (Don't all shrinks think that way?) and that watching Monique and me was feeding his fantasy of watching his mother and father make love.

That was a strange relationship. It still is. Monique told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't allowed to fuck her without a rubber until she was good and pregnant and that if he didn't like it he needed to remember that it was all his idea in the first place. I don't think she ever told him what she told the girls - that some day she'd have my baby.

I gained ten pounds going to dinner at Monique's house over the next month and Roger shook my hand every time I showed up. In the end Roger was very happy, and so was Monique. She had a little girl and they named her Bobbie Jean. Roger's mother was named Jean.

It was a strange relationship. For that matter it still is, though I only get invited to dinner every other month or so these days and Monique has gone back on the pill. She's still the most unique woman I know. Her husband too, for that matter. Except he's a man. You know what I mean.

I went to work for my father and found out that I have a knack for helping people understand how insurance and annuities and all those kinds of things can help a family plan for the future so that retirement isn't a financial drag. I made a bit of money along the way, though for me, as long as I had enough to get by on I was pretty much happy. I thought about other people's futures a lot more than my own. Go figure.

Working with Miss September was interesting. Donna was happily married, and didn't say anything about yearning to have my baby or anything like that. She was very warm toward me and just as beautiful as ever. She'd filled out a little and was more lush looking. Her attitude in the office was very professional and I really enjoyed being around her all day. For the first couple of months I was getting all the sex any man could want from Claire, Marge and Monique, so it was easy to just appreciate Donna for who she was without getting a boner every time I looked at her. Even though I got a boner just about every day at one time or another ... from looking at her.

One day Donna came into my office and leaned against the wall with her arms folded.

"So ... how long are you going to delay seeing Robby?" she asked.

I knew Donna and Robby were still friends. Donna had mentioned Roberta several times, in passing conversation, and had told me a few things about Robby's volleyball team and all that. I couldn't remember if I'd actually asked for any of that information or not, and I couldn't understand or explain why I hadn't gone to see Knobby Robby. That made me uncomfortable. My mother still met her every Saturday at noon for lunch, but for some reason I never went along.

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, you've seen everyone except Roberta and Suzy," She put some uncomfortable emphasis on the word "seen". She went on. "And Suzy is too busy to be bothered with you right now. So why haven't you gone to see Robby?"