Chapter 25

James didn't show up for New Year's Eve, but Grace still had a good time. She'd gone overboard on the fireworks she'd purchased. Oscar went ashore to help her set them off. Mary, Little Bundle, Agnes and I watched the colorful, noisy display from the safety of Sweet Rose.

Agnes was right. Oscar was a sweet man. Little Bundle fell in love with him. He had a knack for getting down on her level, both figuratively and literally. They tussled on the floor frequently, which made Little Bundle squeal with delight.

Oscar said he hadn't been swimming in a lake since he was a boy, but riding or driving a jet ski must not have qualified as swimming because before we returned to Scottsdale, he was as adept and daring as Grace on the machine. He was a man's man, and his lack of education showed in the way he talked, but whenever a lady was around, he was always the perfect gentleman. He referred to Mary and Grace as Miss Mary or Miss Grace, and nothing they said could get him to drop the Miss. He helped with meal preparation and wasn't above washing dishes or pots and pans. And last but not least, he taught me his method for catching catfish.

We were sitting on beach chairs on shore with our fishing lines in the water. The sun was setting, and the sky was aglow with streaks of yellow and orange. The water was like glass. No wind. Red cliffs met the water and kept going in the reflections. Nature flowing into water, I thought.

"That's a sight fer good dreams," Oscar said.

"That it is," I agreed. His comment reminded me that Agnes had said some of his cabinetwork was true art, and the memory gave me an idea. "Speaking of dreams, we're building what we call our dream house, Oscar. Did Agnes tell you?"

"Yep."

"She says you're a cabinetmaker and a finish carpenter."

"Yep."

"She says that you're good at what you do."

"Yep."

"Wanna do some work on our dream house?"

"I ain't cheap, Brent."

"It isn't a cheap house."

"I ain't fast, either. Folks like the results, but I tend ta piss off general contractors. I like you, young fella. I wouldn't want fer us to get cross-haired 'cause I don't meet yer deadlines."

I chuckled. The conversation wasn't proceeding as I'd expected. I thought he'd be pleased if I tossed some work his way. In the back of my mind, I'd even harbored the concept that he'd come along on this trip to finagle some work from us without going through the bid process. Then it hit me. That's exactly what he was doing. He'd attracted my attention with the stink of expensive, slow work, and I was nibbling on his bait.

I grinned. "You're a clever man, Oscar.

He said nothing, and he didn't smile, which effectively set his hook in the side of my jaw. "I want you to build my desk and the bookcases in my office," I said. "And Grace might want to work with you for the same items in her writing studio."

He nodded, but not to accept my offer. He nodded toward my fishing pole and said, "A catfish is nibbling on your worm."

I grabbed my pole and jerked, setting the hook.

"That's for starters," I said as I reeled in the bottom feeder that I'd filet and soak in milk for Agnes to fry up in beer batter.

Agnes, Oscar and Grace were exploring canyons on a jet ski when Mary came up through the hatch. "It wasn't easy," she said, "but I got her down for her nap." She cuddled next to me at the helm and kissed my ear, sending chills up and down my spine. "Let's go mess around," she said.

What did I do? I dropped anchor, and Mary and I tumbled naked onto the V-berth. Little Bundle was asleep in the mid-stateroom.

After some kissing and fondling and stroking, I lifted her legs and dropped them over my hip as I pushed my erection into her wet heat.

She giggled. "Wanna talk while we fuck, huh?"

"We have the time," I said as I spread her juices liberally over her clitoris with my fingers.

"What would you like to talk about?" she asked.

"Incest."

"Yeah, let's talk about incest. When are you going to fuck your sister?"

"Never," I said, but my cock stretched longer, belying my response.

"That's possible, but not likely," she said and brushed my fingers away from her clitoris so she could play with it. "Hmm, this feels good."

"Tell me about your girlfriend who fucked her brother," I said.

"Robyne and Daniel. Danny Boy. He was such a hunk, and Robyne was just as sexy. Robyne was my friend. Danny Boy was a year older than us."

"How old were you at the time?"

"Sixteen. Robyne and I were friends, but we weren't lovers, not that I wasn't interested in her. As I said, she was a sexy little package, a little over five feet with a tight, petite body to die for. I was at a gangly stage. Robyne made me feel... ungainly, awkward. Anyway, I had a crush on Danny Boy, not a huge crush, but seeing him got my arousal motor humming." She tweaked her nipples with her fingers, pulling on them, and then letting them go.

"How did you discover Robyne and Danny were incestuous lovers?"

"Patience, bucko. This is my story. It has a beginning, middle, and end. Let me tell it my way."

I grunted acceptance and thrust deeply as I caressed her silky hip and legs with my hands.

"I was dating. Robyne wasn't, and it wasn't because boys didn't ask Robyne out. For a while I thought she wasn't interested in boys, but when she repelled some not so subtle passes I made at her, I dismissed that notion. Robyne and Danny Boy were latchkey kids, had been for years. No father, a working mother. So they were alone in their house a lot. One day, I rang the doorbell. I waited and waited and was about to walk away when Danny Boy answered the door. He was bare-chested but wore a pair of walking shorts. He also had a partial erection.

"'Robyne's in her room, ' he said. I nodded and walked down the hall and into Robyn's room without knocking. Like her brother, she was bare-chested, but she was in the process of pulling a shirt over her head. She didn't see me because the shirt was over her eyes. Guess what I smelled?"

I chuckled. "The fragrance of sex."

"Yep, specifically the stronger scent of fresh semen. Danny Boy had just fucked his sister. They must have finished about the time I rang their doorbell. Incest. I'd just run into real incest for the first time. Curiously, I wasn't repulsed, just the opposite. My mind's eye created a fuck scene: Danny Boy covering Robyne, plunging his rampant cock into his sister's cunt, and that combined with the fragrance of sex in the room jump started my arousal engine and took me from mildly aroused from seeing Danny's partial erection earlier to dripping wet in two seconds flat."

"Hot, huh?" I said.

"Yep. Anyway, Robyne jumped a foot when her shirt stopped covering her eyes and she could see me. I debated with myself about whether to mention my conclusions or leave well enough alone, and ended up choosing the latter approach. A few days later, I guided the conversation to a discussion of incest by admitting that I fantasized about having sex with my daddy. 'If I had a brother like Danny Boy, ' I also said to her, 'I'd fuck him.' I said what I said for shock value, but Robyne didn't bite. Unknown to me, they had figured out that I knew about them, so instead of feigning shock, Robyne shrugged and said, 'That's what I do, fuck him, I mean.'"

Mary sighed, and her fingers flashed over her clitoris. I was soaking inside her, barely moving, resting on the bottom like a catfish.

"I'd intended to shock her," Mary said, "but instead, she'd shocked me. 'I fuck him most days after school before Mom gets home, ' she said and hugged herself. 'I love him, Mary, and I love sex, and somehow, someway I'll fuck him most days for the rest of my life.'"

Mary started to shake, and her hips made small jerking motions. "Coming," she said quietly. "I'm coming."

I watched a red blotch form and spread over her left, upper chest and creep up the side of her neck. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and the pulse of her orgasm rippled over the surface of my buried cock. Her climax wasn't heavy, and she recovered quickly.

"After that," Mary said, "they weren't very careful around me. One afternoon, we were watching a TV movie. It was a sappy, girl movie, I remember, because it was making me feel sexy. Robyne, too, because when Danny Boy started to fool around with her, she didn't stop him. They were sitting next to each other on the sofa. I sat in a chair to the side, so I had a good view of them out of the corner of my eye. I wondered if I should leave, but watching their foreplay excited me. Danny Boy had his back to me, but Robyne knew I was watching. She gave me a knowing smile and unbuttoned her blouse. That's when Danny turned to me.

"'Let her watch, ' Robyne said. 'I don't mind if you don't, Danny.' He shrugged and turned back to Robyne, bending his head to take her breast into his mouth. I raised my eyes to hers. She'd been watching me watch them. 'This is what you want, isn't it Mary? You want to watch us. Right?' she said.

"My mouth was dry, Brent, but I croaked a yes. Without taking her eyes off mine, she unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled out his stiff cock. It was a beautiful cock, long with an upward curve, the crown slightly smaller than the base, and like you, he wasn't circumcised."

Mary's fingers had become busy on her clitoris again, and I was thrusting without clenching, trying to take myself to the edge of a climax without falling over into the rapturous abyss.

"Robyne laughed when she saw me lick my lips. 'Wanna suck it?' she asked me. Well, that's not what I had in mind. What I wanted to do was fuck it, but I nodded, and without waiting for her permission, I rose from the chair, took a couple of steps, and then moved to my knees in front of them. I leaned forward and ran my tongue around the crown of his shaft.

"'That is so sexy, Danny, ' Robyne said. Danny agreed with her by groaning with pleasure, especially when I opened my mouth wide and sucked in half his length. While I sucked him off, Robyne stripped off her clothes. 'You can't fuck him, Mary, ' she said, 'but you can suck him, and he can lick you.' We ended up naked on the floor. I sat on his face, and Robyne sat on his cock. Are you hot, Brent?"

"Yes!"

"Good. Come with me this time."

"All right."

"I'm close."

"That's good."

"That was the first time," Mary said. "There were others."

"Did you ever fuck him?"

"Yes, once. Oh, god, I'm there, Brent! Coming! Yes! Yes!"

I pictured a long cock with a slight upward bend filling my Mary's teenaged cunt and promptly blasted my semen into her. Exquisite sensations rushed from my core and spread as I reared back and plunged into her again, hitting bottom just as I spurted each time. The pulses of her climax were fast and strong, milking my shaft, urging me to give her more. I gave her all I had to give.

When we recovered, I said, "Once, huh?"

"Yeah. Robyne wasn't there. Danny Boy and I got carried away. He felt guilty. I felt guilty, and Robyne was furious, not with Danny, either, but with me. That was the end of that friendship."

"Are they still together?"

"I don't know. Probably." She sighed. "I've thought about what happened, and I stopped feeling guilty a long time ago. If a couple invites someone to join them for some fun and games, they shouldn't be surprised or upset if the threesome veers off in unexpected directions."

I thought about the James/Deanna/Grace threesome. It had certainly veered off in unexpected directions. I could say the same about some threesomes I'd become involved with when I lived as Jane Wilson.

The afternoon after we flew back to Scottsdale, I stopped by Agnes's studio. She was working on the small sculptures for the pharmaceutical company.

"You've got a problem," I said.

"Oh, what problem?" she replied.

"The ceiling in your studio isn't high enough for a twenty-foot sculpture."

She laughed. "You just figured that out, huh?"

"Yes. I was stretching two twelve-by-fifteen canvases. I'll need to rig some scaffolding to work on them, and it dawned on me that the ceiling height in your studio is less than mine. What is it? Twelve feet?"

"Closer to fourteen, but that doesn't do me any good."

"My ceiling height in the area without the loft is a little over twenty feet, but..."

"Which isn't high enough to do me any good either, not if you add the shipping crate to the height. Besides, getting that big sucker out of your studio would be impossible," she said.

I nodded. "What are you going to do?"

She grinned. "Use some yard space at Oscar's shop. As we speak, he's building a shed roof to protect the piece. I'll do all the forged pieces here and the cutting and welding there."

"That sounds workable," I said.

"Crating and shipping that monster will be a bearcat, Brent. I'm glad you made the pharmaceutical company responsible."

"We'll need to change the ceiling height on your new studio," I said.

She shook her head. "Don't. The problem isn't ceiling height, buckaroo. When the sculpture is finished and crated, I'll need a crane to set it on its side on a flatbed truck, and the big problem comes at the other end. I've been talking with the architect for the home-office facility. They'll need to remove a section of the glass front and bring in a crane to lift the piece off the truck, turn it upright, and set it in place. They'll use a rubber-tired crane, but the marble floor will be laid and finished in the main lobby, so they'll still have to protect that floor. How, I don't know. I'm leaving those details to the architect and engineers on that end. The smaller pieces can be moved on dollies and will fit in a freight elevator, so they don't present a problem."

I shook my head in amazement. "The problems inherent in a large sculpture are much more complicated than I imagined. Won't moving the large piece around like that pop some welds?"

"Maybe, but popped welds can be fixed."

With a sigh, I said, "The entire process makes my brain hurt. Better you than me."

"Brent, a sculpture that large commanding a place of importance like the main lobby in a national pharmaceutical company's home office is a dream come true for me. You called it monumental, and that's what it is. With a little luck, I just might end up in the art history books along with you. Can you get away right now?"

"I'll need to lock up and set the alarm, but yes, I can get away. What do you have in mind?"

She gave me a lop-sided grin. "Wanna see my auxiliary studio? Also, I'd like you to see some of Oscar's work."

"Let's go."

Oscar was every bit the artist I was, or Agnes. His medium: wood.

"Furniture ought to last fer generations, Brent," Oscar said. "That cain't happen with veneers, so my pieces are solid hardwood. I use mortise and tenon joinery and build ta handle the expansion and contraction that'll happen as the piece lives and breathes."

"Do you design the furniture?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I cain't do that. I can copy somethin', but..."

Agnes interrupted him. "His pieces end up looking better than what he's copying, Brent. He refines the lines and adds subtleties that make the furniture a work of art."

She spoke with pride, I noticed. Agnes and Oscar were more than mere fuck buddies. They cared deeply about each other. I wondered how long they'd been a couple. A confirmed bachelor and an old maid, my ass. What did Agnes say? Something to the effect that having a man underfoot all the time would drive her batty. Perhaps they couldn't live together, but that didn't mean they weren't devoted to each other.

"Do you do built-in woodwork, like bookcases?" I asked Oscar.

"You bet," he said with a grin. "If all I did was custom furniture, I'd get mighty hungry."

The germ of an idea was starting to flourish. "Have you ever mixed media, I mean used both metal and wood, for example?"

"Nope, 'cept for handles and hinges and such."

"What are you thinking?" Agnes said.

"Our formal dining room table. A cast or forged metal base and a solid wood top, something the two of you could work on together."

She cackled. "You, too. You do almost half my forged work now."

"Look, I can't make this decision unilaterally. The dining room is in the communal area of the house. I'll need Grace and Mary's input for any communal work, but as of right now, Oscar, you're hired to build my desk and the bookcases in my office. I'll work with Bill on the design, but we'll leave the specifications open so you can do your magic. Okay?"

"I ain't cheap," Oscar said.

I laughed. "I know, and you aren't fast. Would you mind if I sent Grace and Mary to your shop to see what you do? My architect, too?"

"Fine by me," he said.

Standing behind him, Agnes gave me a thumbs-up and a wide smile. "Thanks, friend," she mouthed.

But for James's continued absence, life was blissfully normal. Mary and Grace had returned to their classes at ASU, and I'd started college at the University of Phoenix online. My work was ahead of schedule, and it was the best work I'd ever done. The demolition of the old house on our land in Paradise Valley was complete, and the construction of our new home was progressing under Bill's watchful eye. Mary and I reinstated our shooting lessons, both of us forsaking the .45 semi-automatic pistols that Burger had talked us into buying for the 9 mm XD-9 that James's people had lent me after the police took my .45. The new weapons helped a lot, and soon our shooting progressed to the point where we hit the target most of the time. Not many bullets struck the ten rings, but we could shoot at and hit something as large as a man if we were attacked.

Still, sunrise tai chi with my three ladies was the highlight for me for most days.

At my insistence, Agnes and I spent some time with Bill to redesign our studios. The makeshift scaffolding I was using to paint my large canvases required design changes for my studio, too. The altered designs were outstanding. Our new studios would boast 30-foot ceilings, and Agnes's studio included an overhead crane. Under Bill's direction, an engineer designed an adjustable, rolling scaffolding for my studio that folded unobtrusively against the wall when not in use. The change order increased construction costs to the tune of almost $90,000, but I signed the order with a smile and a flourish.

We also commissioned Oscar to do the finish work for my office, Grace's writing studio, and the furniture for both spaces, as well as the furniture for the formal dining room. Oscar had told me the truth. He wasn't cheap, but the numbers he gave us for time and material weren't outrageous either. I noted that most of the increased expense fell into the material column. Solid hardwood is expensive. I chose rosewood for my office. Grace went with maple for her studio, which I thought appropriate. Maple was lighter, more feminine.

Agnes and I also conferred with Bill to design the dining room furniture that included an expandable table that would seat from six to eighteen diners. The cherry-wood top would rest on cast bronze pedestals, and the chairs would be crafted from cherry wood and designed in the mission style, but modernized. We also designed a built-in china closet and hutch that matched the table and chairs. Grace and Mary put their enthusiastic stamp of approval on the designs, and we turned Oscar loose to do the work while Agnes and I searched for a foundry that would cast the bronze pedestals. We planned to sculpt the pedestals in clay. The foundry would make molds from the sculpted clay and pour bronze in the molds. Grace and I would do the polishing.