Chapter 3

In the back of the pickup truck, which Flo was driving while Mirriam sat, trying to make herself comfortable in the passenger seat, the scene was a little bit like it had been the year before, when Flo had seen Bev’s hand drop and squeeze the front of Bobby’s jeans.

Bev wasn’t there, though. She was with Bill Gregory, who would bring her home. This year, it was Linda who sat beside him, leaning back against the back of the cab. Suzie and the twins, were chattering animatedly about the night, in the rear of the bed of the truck. Linda leaned over to whisper in Bobby’s ear.

“I’m going to come see you tonight,” she said.

“Okay,” said Bobby. He’d had a good time at the party too. He’d gotten to hold most of his children, and their mothers had left him pleasantly on the edge of being horny.

Later, as she dropped her nightgown, and climbed in bed with him, Linda kissed him with a little extra ardor.

“I found a boyfriend, tonight,” she said.

“Oh, really?” he said.

“I tried to find you, to show him to you, but we got kind of busy, having fun.”

“How did you stumble on this boyfriend?” asked Bobby. Prior to this, Linda hadn’t expressed any real interest in any particular boy.

“His name is Paul Engle,” she said, rubbing her breasts against her brother’s chest. “I never noticed him before, but he took me on some rides,” she explained.

“And that made you want him for a boyfriend?” asked Bobby, smiling.

“He was nice to me,” she said, reaching for Bobby’s penis. She wrapped her hand around it, and slid it up and down. She was getting good at that. “He helped me not be scared of some of the rides.”

“Did he do this?” asked Bobby, catching a nipple and squeezing it gently.

She shivered, and ground her pussy against his thigh.

“No,” she sighed. “He didn’t try anything. I wanted him to, but he didn’t.”

“You wanted him to.” said Bobby.

“I wanted to kiss him,” she said, “like this.”

She kissed him, and crawled up on top of him while she did so. She settled her pussy down on his stiff prick, the way she had watched Bev do so many times, but had done only twice herself. She started rocking, and felt the rush of sweet pleasure inundate her loins.

When she stopped kissing him, to breathe, Bobby cupped her breasts, and squeezed them.

“You probably shouldn’t kiss him like this,” he said, smiling. “Not for a while, anyway.” He pushed up at her with his rod.

She felt like giggling, but it came out as a moan, as her clit scraped along his prick.

“I really like him,” she panted, moving faster. “I really like him a lot.”

“Just be careful with him,” said Bobby, feeling the urge to splatter his stomach with spunk.

“Ohhhhh,” she whined, feeling the orgasm she’d wanted for the last three hours rushing toward her.

She was so excited that she was a little extra enthusiastic in her movements. She also leaned a little further forward than she had the last two times she had done this. That combination, resulted in something unplanned, which was that she rode off the tip of Bobby’s prick on the way up, and impaled her pussy on two inches of it on the way back. It was a little like a car, sliding on the ice in winter, and having a little fender bender. The damage made her wince, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

“Oh Owww“, she whined, feeling the pain of her hymen splitting, and, at the same time, the most wonderful stretching sensation, and the most wonderful warm, wet feeling in her horny pussy.

“Ahhhh!“ grunted Bobby, whose prick had begun to belch sperm, at exactly the same time she stuffed two inches of it in her pussy. It was his copious spend that she was feeling. It was also his copious spend that lubricated her incredibly tight pussy and aided those two inches of penetration.

Bobby, as experienced as he was, fell prey to instinct, about the same time his penis told his brain what had happened. About the time his brain was saying, “You might want to pull that spurting thing out of your baby sister, pal,” instinct was bunching the muscles in his abdomen, and sending the signal to his hands, which slid off her breasts to grip her hips, holding her in place while his abdominal muscles powered his penis further into her, where it happily finished spurting.

As it had been with Flo, who intended to get fucked the first time she did that with Bobby, the completion of his orgasm made his penis less firm immediately, which lessened the stretching in Linda’s pussy. Linda had not intended to get fucked, but her pussy, in the process of reporting the accident, also added that what had happened wasn’t all that bad, and that there was probably little enough damage that the Police didn’t need to be called to the scene.

Both of them just stopped, and she looked down. She couldn’t see his penis, which wasn’t too odd, since she could tell it was still inside her.

“You just fucked me,” she panted.

“I was just lying here,” he said, his hands still gripping her hips.

“It’s inside me right now!,” she breathed. She suddenly realized there were muscles inside her she’d never known about. She flexed them, and felt something pushing back. She knew it was his penis, and it fascinated her.

“I think it is,” said Bobby.

“I think I like this,” she said.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” he cautioned.

“I’m on the pill,” she said. She leaned down and kissed him. “And I like it. Do it again.”

“I can’t just do it again,” he said.

“It was too quick!” she whispered. “I barely got to feel it.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen, Linda,” he insisted.

“Well it did, and it’s too late, and I want you to do it again!”

After the argument was finished, which, of course, the woman won, Linda learned how to taste him. Then she learned what it was like to be pinned to the mattress by a man, whose “pin” was significantly larger than the kind she was used to, when making a dress with her mother. She liked that, too. Tonight was turning out to be a red-letter night, with her discovering all kinds of things she liked a lot. The orgasms were much more intense, and the feeling of hot skin massagine her insides was much more intense, and that beautiful, wonderful fullness was much more fun than just having a plain, old orgasm.

Like all the others, though, the best part was when she saw his eyes flutter, and heard him moan, and knew that she was the one who had brought him to this place, where he was in such ecstasy, as his warmth spurted into her belly.

The fifth of July dawned bright and cheerful, and the bright sun woke Felicity, who found herself draped over Chester, whose eyes were open, just staring at her.

“Good morning,” she mumbled, aiming her mouth so that her morning breath wouldn’t wash over his face.

“I love you,” he said, his voice husky with age. His hand went to mold against a firm breast.

“I know you do,” she said, smiling. “It’s the reason I’m so happy. I love you too.”

“I know you do,” he said softly. “It’s the reason I still feel like staying alive.”

It wasn’t until breakfast, which she always fixed him, giving the cook mornings off, that she brought up the subject of the reunion again.

“I told you,” he said, his voice a little whiny, “I don’t want to go off to Kansas City, and sleep in a strange bed, and have all those youngsters stare at me.”

“I know,” she said. “Remember what you told me? About hiring someone to act like he’s you?”

“Yes,” he said. “You didn’t think much of that, as I recall. I also recall telling you your friends would be a lot more impressed by a strong young man, than an old geezer like me.”

“Your memory is a lot better than people think,” she said, smiling. “I was at the party last night - the fireworks were divine, by the way. You can be proud - anyway, I was there, with Millie, and she pointed out a young man that she says would be perfect for that.”

“You told Millie about this?” asked Chester.

“She’s my friend,” said Felicity. “She’s discreet. I wouldn’t have told her if she wasn’t.”

“I hope you’re right,” said the old man. “That would probably raise a lot of eyebrows, if folks found out about it.” He smiled at her as she served him oatmeal, with brown sugar on it. “Who is he?” he asked.

“His first name is Bobby. I can’t remember his last name. It’s Darwin ... or Donald ... something that starts with a D. He’s a handyman, around town, apparently. He did some work for Millie.”

“And what is it that makes him so perfect to play the role of your husband?”

“Oh, she went on about how smart he is, and how much of a gentleman. Apparently she was quite taken by him, though she says she didn’t give in to temptation.”

“He’s handsome?”

“I suppose he’s nice to look at,” she hedged. She was trying to be polite. He was most definitely handsome. She felt a twinge of guilt for thinking that, though.

“Repairman, you say?”

“Handyman is what she said. He put in a brick walk for them.” Felicity watched her husband. He was thinking. She could tell.

“Have him come over here to fix something,” said Chester. “I want to meet him ... talk to him.”

“All right, Darling,” said Felicity. “I’ll call Millie and get his number.”

Bobby approached the mansion with a few doubts. He could fix most things, even if he had to jury-rig them, so they’d work properly. He didn’t know if his aesthetic skill, though, was good enough to satisfy the likes of Chester Chumley. True, it was Mrs. Chumley who had called him, and asked him to take a look at the porch swing which, she said, was sagging. She was of the opinion that it might not be safe anymore, and wanted him to see about making a new one.

His doubts increased, when he saw the place up close. It was beautiful. Everything about it was beautiful. It was old, but had been well cared for. The gardens bespoke a full time, professional gardener. The crushed lava driveway didn’t have a single weed in it anywhere. Someone had paved the area in front of the house with pink slabs of some kind of what looked like granite. They were so closely spaced that nothing grew in the cracks between them, either.

He saw the porch swing as soon as he walked up the steps, made of the same stone as the paving. The swing was old, to be sure, but the chains it hung from were not rusted, like they’d be in town. Someone had taken a wire brush to them and oiled them. The swing itself was painted white and, other than a slat, missing from the backrest, and which might have been left out intentionally, as part of the pattern of the thing, he could see nothing whatsoever wrong with it.

He sat on it, gingerly. Sometimes looks could be deceiving. He didn’t want to break the thing he’d come to fix. It was rock solid. He didn’t feel any give in the wood, or the chains. He got up and looked around. Sometimes people had more than one porch swing. Seeing nothing, he frowned, and pulled the old time rod that rang a chime inside the house.

He thought the woman who answered the door was a maid, because she was so young. She was quite beautiful too, but that wasn’t odd. Rich men had beautiful women around them. It was just a fact of life. Bobby knew who Chester Chumley was, of course. He’d toyed with the idea of trying to get on at the factory, when he was younger. But they had only full time positions, and he was needed at the farm. He knew Chester’s first wife had died, and that he’d married a younger woman. He’d even seen her a couple of times, from a distance. In fact, he decided, she looked a lot like the woman who had answered the door.

“I’m Felicity Chumley,” said the woman, her voice a high alto. “You must be Robert Dalton.”

“Please,” said Bobby. “Nobody has called me Robert since I was christened. I go by Bobby.”

“Such a young name, for a man,” said the woman. She was looking at his face.

“It’s just a name,” he said. “I’m used to it, that’s all.” He went straight to the point. “There’s nothing wrong with the swing on the front porch. Do you have another one, somewhere else?”