Chapter 4

Sally wasn't the only woman in the house who acted like nothing had happened.

Something had happened, though.

It had happened to all five women, though none of them compared notes. All five women had seen Bobby's penis and, while only two of them had seen it hard, all of them knew it could get that way. That, encouraged by all of them far underestimating his intelligence, led all of them to think about that penis a little differently than they would had they seen, say Frank, the storekeeper in town, without his pants.

Of them all, two reacted more strongly than the others. Donna had wanted more children after Wally was born, but they waited until he was four or five to try again, and by then it was too late. By the time he tried making another baby, his fading ability had left him impotent for the most part. Donna had been able, for a year or two, to use her mouth on him and get him hard enough to penetrate her, but he never stayed hard ehough to bring her to orgasm. So she was not only pining for more children, she was unsatisfied, and had to learn to use her fingers. That night, as she stroked her clit, lying in bed, she thought back on her life, and the life of the only man who'd claimed her sexually.

Walter, being from the old school, thought that sex was something you did to make babies, and it wasn't for fun, even though, of course, it was fun. He'd worked the farm he inherited from his father at the tender age of twenty, and he had to work hard to make it go ... much too hard to waste time on girls. The life of a bachelor farmer came easily to him, because he had no time to dwell on it. It had been on a winter's night a lot like this one, when it was too cold to do anything outside, and all the inside work had been done, and all his books had been read for the tenth or eleventh time, that his thoughts had drifted to what it might be like to have a warm woman in bed with him. With a start of horror, as if awakening from a dream, he realized he was fifty years old and had nothing to show for his life. The farm supported him, but he had no one to pass it on to.

Walter Pratt had gone wife hunting the very next day, January the first, nineteen twenty-eight. It was almost ridiculously easy. He went to a church social, New Year's Day being on a Sunday that year, and talked to the only woman who wasn't accompanied by a man, and who was over the age of sixteen. Walter knew he had no business marrying a girl, even though that was perfectly honorable in those days. He wanted a woman who knew how to love a man, and who wouldn't kill him while he was between her legs.

Donna, at the time, was considered a spinster. She was twenty-three, and every time her parents tried to get her married off she did whatever it took to spoil the plan. The problem was that Donna had gone to finishing school, where she met interesting men, but had no urge to marry any of them. When she went back home she was one of the best educated women in town, but it didn't do her a bit of good. The only jobs available for women were cleaning, and laundry, or being the servants of the rich folk, none of which appealed to her. She was stubborn, and it cost her. Eventually she got work as a nanny, which was fine, as far as that went, until the man of the house wanted to make more babies for her to care for ... and not necessarily with his wife. She had stalked out of the house after slapping the man, abandoning her job in the process.

That had been on December the thirty-first, the night before she met Walter Pratt.

She talked to Walter because she was bored, but soon found him to be a fascinating man. He was well read and intelligent, if a little shy, but she found his shyness engaging too. They had talked for two hours, sharing bits and pieces of their lives and dreams and disappointments and, at his leave-taking, when he abruptly suggested that he needed a wife, and she needed a husband, and a place to lay her weary head, she blinked twice at his effrontery and heard herself say that she would consider his proposal most closely.

When she thought about it, it made more sense to her than she wished it did. It provided for her. He was a decent man. He'd die first, of course, but that left the farm in her name. And if they could have children, like both of them wanted to, she and her children could work the land. She didn't think she'd be able to love him, but then one didn't always marry for love. The only reason she could think of not to do it was because there would then be no hope for excitement in her life.

She had accepted his proposal and they were married by Valentines Day.

To her surprise she had learned to love him. He was a good man, and sweet and sensitive. She worked hard - what she was able to do - but it was good work and it kept her from getting fat on her own cooking. His was horrible. And she had loved being pregnant. Knowing that life stirred in her womb had made her feel complete. Raising Tommy had made her happy, even when Walter began to be unable to please her in bed. Now Tommy was off in the war, and might be killed, and she had felt empty ever since he left. She knew she shouldn't feel that way. She had done good things in her life, and it hadn't been for nothing. Still, she yearned in her heart of hearts for more babies to raise and love ... to keep her company in her old age.

When Mavis had changed from a boarding house to an orphanage, it was as though she had been given a chance to do what she loved most ... care for children. The tillable land was rented and she went to work for Mavis full time. Now, as she rubbed her tortured clit, reaching for an orgasm, she felt pangs of guilt. She wasn't thinking of her dead husband's penis. What she envisioned in her mind could only be that of a much younger, more virile man.

A man like Bobby.

Prudence had been exposed to a lot of sex by her husband before he left for the war, but his skill had been non existent. He climbed on her, shot his wad, and climbed off, not caring whether she had reached her peak or not. She, too, had wanted a child. She, too, had had to learn to satisfy herself with her fingers.

Prudence lay in her own bed, in her own house, her fingers embedded firmly in her empty pussy as she writhed under the covers. Her orgasm came quickly. She was a hot blooded woman and, if she had the right fantasy in her mind she could cum quickly and often, for as long as she chose to keep making herself do it.

That was a hollow victory, though, because there was nothing like the real thing, as far as Prudence was concerned. She was miserable, even though she had cum twice, thinking about Bobby. Her husband had left her, or was going to leave her ... she didn't actually know what her status was. She assumed that there would have to be some papers to sign or something legal that she'd either have to do, or that would be delivered to her after it had been done, or something. She did know that Private Watson was still paying the rent, or having it paid, because the landlord hadn't kicked her out yet.

Mavis had offered to let her live in the Milleson House, but she resisted that. It wasn't because of the women - she liked them all - and it wasn't because of the children - she loved them. Rather it was because if she moved in with them she'd have to admit that it was over ... that another woman had taken her man ... that she wasn't even desirable enough to come home to.

Now she thought about her marriage, and the possibility that she'd have to move, and the possibility that she'd never have children. Men didn't want to marry a divorced woman. There were a lot of things men did want to do with a divorced woman ... but marriage wasn't one of them. She had gotten married to be able to have children. Working with the poor things at Mavis' house was fine - she loved that - but she wanted her own children so much it hurt. She had assumed, when she came to work for Mavis, that all the children were orphaned by disease, or accident, or perhaps, in the odd circumstance, crime. She was horrified to find out that a lot of women didn't want their children in the first place, and simply abandoned them to die. She didn't understand any woman who would give up a precious baby, much less let it die for lack of caring. She was quite sure she could commit murder on such a woman. All the children that they cared for at Milleson House deserved loving parents. Even poor Bobby.

Thinking of Bobby made her remember why she'd needed to stroke herself when she got home. He was really quite a handsome boy, now that he had a little meat on his bones. His smile was gorgeous, rare as it was, and his tenderness with June Bug and Emily had brought tears to her eyes. She remembered that dangling penis he was so unconcerned about as he stood, naked, in front of five grown women.

She began rubbing again. This time she was going to cum until she was too tired to stay awake.

Back in Milleson House Mavis lay with her eyes tightly closed, the vision of Bobby's penis clear in her mind's eye. She'd almost forgotten what an adult phallus looked like. Her hand stole to the joining of her legs. It had done that three times before, and she'd always jerked it back, ashamed that she wanted to pervert herself. At last, though, she couldn't stand it any more. With a groan of mingled frustration, satisfaction and shame, she pulled her night dress up and splayed her legs open. She was already slippery and wet.

The other two women in Milleson house lay in their beds too, their eyes wide open and staring at the unseen ceiling. Meg pinched her nipples, but couldn't bring herself to masturbate. She knew some women did that, but she couldn't picture herself as one of them. She had pride. She was stronger than those other women.

In reality, though she didn't know it, she was only more frustrated than those other women. That frustration, and the image of Bobby's erect penis, shooting long streams of semen ... kept her awake most of the night, tossing and turning.

As for Sally, it was all so new to her that she just lay there thinking about what she had seen, and how things had felt, and all the new things she'd experienced. She was excited in the same way a scientist is excited when he's on the verge of a discovery. She didn't know what to expect, or what would happen, but she knew it would be interesting. Sally's dull, gray life had been boring for as long as she could remember. Interesting was so much more ... interesting.

Bobby had lain in his warm bed, in this amazing house, with its fantastic practices, and had just relaxed. Relaxing was not something Bobby had much experience at, and it felt almost decadent. He felt twinges of conscience at fooling the women, all of whom were so nice that he was sure now that some kind of mistake had been made. No one he knew would have intentionally sent him to this wonderful place. It was too late to just yell "Surprise!" and laugh at the big joke. He knew, beyond any doubt, that their feelings would be hurt. They'd find out he wasn't simple-minded ... that he could read just as well as Meg and Donna did ... that he was perfectly capable of taking his own bath.

He thought about the baths. He hadn't counted on that happening, but he was glad it had. The feel of Meg's hands on his skin - everywhere, not just on his cock - was almost indescribably wonderful. He'd cut out his own tongue if it ensured that Meg would bathe him for the next year or two.

Then he thought about the feeling in is cock when it had squirted. He'd thought something was wrong with him at first. The pain had come on him like a rushing freight train and had stabbed directly through his penis and into his aching balls. Her hand moving had caused that pain. He knew that now. And then the pain in his balls had reversed and come back out his dick as the most intense pleasure he had ever felt.

Ecstasy is something a lot of people feel rarely. It has a lot of definitions, but ecstacy, in this case, was the sudden experience of unanticipated joy. That's rare, in the sense that we have expectations of joy usually. We plan for it, and reach for it, and when it arrives it is expected. That's fine, but when it's un-expected, the feeling can be overpowering. Not only Bobby, but Meg too had experienced ecstasy that night.

Somehow, he knew that if he rubbed his own cock, he could make that feeling come back.

But he didn't.

That was saved for Meg to do. If she refused to do it again, then he'd do it for himself. But only if she refused.

His relaxation ended abruptly and violently as a piercing scream cut the air in the dark, quiet house. Patrick screamed again, a wailing, horrified, blood curdling scream and Bobby bolted up out of bed. He dashed out into the hall and down to the second floor, where he threw the door open, expecting to find someone beating the daylights out of poor Patrick.

Bobby's eyes had become accustomed to the dark. What he found was Patrick, eyes wide open, tears running down his face, leaning against the iron bedstead with the covers pulled up to his chin. His roommate, Terrence sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. Patrick was babbling and, when he saw Bobby, his hand jerked forward and he pointed to the closet door in the corner of the room. In the darkness Bobby saw something move on the face of the door. He realized instantly that what he was seeing was moonlight, bouncing off the snow, and being broken up by tree branches moving in the wind outside. He moved to the window and closed the curtains, just as Sally and Meg came running into the room, panting from their dash up the stairs. Meg had a kerosene lamp in her hand.

"What's wrong?" she shouted, elevating tensions in the room just by her own tense reaction.

"The Umpelty Oog!" squealed Patrick. "The Umpelty Oog!" he screamed.

Meg stared and looked upward, slumping. Sally sighed at the same time. Mavis came puffing up the hallway, asking what was the matter.

Meg moaned. "Patrick says he saw the Umpelty Oog." She turned, angry now that she'd been pulled out of bed for this. "Patrick, how many times have I told you there is no such thing as the Umpelty Oog!"

Patrick cried now. "But I saw him" he pleaded. "I saw him!"

Jenny, Emily and June Bug appeared in the open door, huddling together. Their room was right next door to this one. They looked terrified too.

Bobby recognized the women doing what all adults did ... ignore children's fears and concerns. He'd always thought adults just didn't care, but he couldn't think that about these women. They had shown him too many times that they were different. He'd seen what had convinced Patrick that something was moving in the corner, so he understood that Patrick could believe in the imaginary beast. And he knew that if they all just left, Patrick would still believe that he was in danger.

Bobby slapped the closet door with the flat of his hand. The boom startled even him.

"What?!" cried Mavis and Sally.

Bobby put one finger up to his lips, in the universal signal to be quiet. Then he tiptoed over to Meg and took her hand, pulling her toward the closet. She resisted at first, but then curiosity overcame her unhappiness at being jerked from her warm bed - even though she couldn't sleep - for this nonsense.

When he got her to the closet door, Bobby began a series of pantomimes that included taking a deep breath and then opening his mouth widely. He took her hand and traced the letters "S-C-R-E-A-M" into them and then pointed at her.

"You want me to yell?" she asked.

Bobby nodded and then went through the whole plan one last time. He would jerk the door open and she would scream.

Her eyes got wide.

She whispered "You want me to scare the Umpelty Oog away?"

Bobby nodded again.

Meg smiled widely. She stood up and turned around. Everyone in the room was watching them like they were monkeys in the zoo.

"Bobby and I are going to scare the Umpelty Oog away. Cover your ears please," she said smoothly.

Of course nobody covered their ears. But they should have. When Bobby jerked the door open Meg let out all her pent up passion and frustration in a blood curdling scream that, had it been summer, with the windows open, would have brought men running from four houses over. Bobby slapped the closet door three or four times and then slammed it closed. Then they turned to see what their audience thought.

Mavis had one hand over her heart, and the other over her mouth. Sally had both hands over her mouth. Patrick and Terrence both sat, their eyes round as saucers, their mouths wide open, and their hands gripping their covers.

Mavis snorted and then bit her tongue to keep from laughing. She went to the bed and urged Patrick to lie back down. Then she tucked him in securely.

"Well, if I were the Umpelty Oog I surely wouldn't want to stick around here ... not with Meg screaming at me like that. And I bet he's afraid of Bobby too. He's used to little boys and Bobby just plain scared him away, don't you think so?" Patrick's saucer eyes blinked and he nodded hopefully.

"Of course he did. Now you just go to sleep. I don't think the Umpelty Oog will be back to bother you again tonight."

Everyone filed out. In the hallway, Meg had an excuse to hug Bobby again, this time with only a thin night dress ... well, two of them, his and hers ... but both thin ... between them. She kissed his cheek warmly as her unfettered breasts pressed against his chest. "Thank you Bobby," she said. "That was just brilliant."

Bobby held on, feeling the heat of her breasts coming through the cloth between them. She let go of him before his prick could become fully erect and push into her.

Then everybody went back to bed.

For Bobby and Meg, things were very much like they had been before the excitement.

The next day Bobby made some preparations for future events. With all the snow on the ground, it was difficult, but he finally found a suitable stick, of suitable thickness, that made a satisfying and loud snapping sound as he broke it across his knee. Based on what he'd heard, he smuggled two lengths of the stick into the house, hiding one in Patrick and Terrence's closet and the other in the closet of the room that held Jenny, Emily and June Bug.

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The Orphanage Blues

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