Chapter 15

The next day the Amazon and I went to Red Hook to the county administration offices. Before entering I called the old flapper at her Montauk mansion from a phone booth. She wanted to come up except for two problems: where to stay and the baby. The Annandale Inn wasn't suitable. Either one of two extremes, camping or a fancy hotel would do. I told her I'd look into either.

The baby proved problematic, but mentioning her made me realize I longed to see her. The old flapper dedicated herself to the child. She trusted her with my mother until she started losing focus; and to me while she took a break from mothering. Driving up she wanted to be fully attending our daughter.

Her Morris was a cute car she drove around Long Island. Her ex-husband liked cars, especially English motorcars, and the Morris was the least gaudy, so she asked for it in the divorce and got it. She hated driving into the city, and her ex provided his chauffeur or the chauffeur's brother to drive her in or pick her up and have the car end up in Montauk. The chauffeur also maintained the machine since it often sat unused. The old flapper liked to drive, and in the wild twenties she owned a fancy Chrysler which she and a boyfriend or girlfriend enjoyed taking for long excursions to nowhere. Weekends in Montauk usually involved a couple hours with me driving.

I had never acquired a driver's license. I decided I needed one. We planned for the Amazon to drive me into the City to pick up my films and whatever else we discovered we needed from the penthouse and then drive to Montauk. From there I'd drive the old flapper and our daughter north in a mini caravan with the Amazon. I told the old flapper I'd call back after I got the license and had more information about where she'd stay.

The government official I talked to proved surprisingly helpful considering how young I looked and was. Germantown was districted for residential purposes and the pasture intended to remain a pasture. Land around Bard focused on growing apples and peaches. There had been lots sold in the woods around Bard, but would not be practical and usually the occupant had a solid connection with the college. He recommended an Inn in nearby Rhinebeck for more luxurious rooms and gave us a map with camping areas marked. A license requirement made me purchase one for the nearest campground to Bard.

We headed to Poughkeepsie for my driver's test. The testing occurred more occasionally in Red Hook and not at that moment. The helpful official gave us a booklet with answers to the usual questions on the written test. I'm good at studying and memorizing unless its thousands of words arranged in random thoughts. I used the mulatto's memory system to help cram the information into my noggin.

We spent a long lunch at the Rhinebeck Inn and the hour trip to Poughkeepsie firming my memory. If we had arrived any later, the test would have been postponed until the following day, but I ended up being the last driver tested, and the evaluator looked forward to his day ending. I passed despite his impatience. We headed back to Annandale to gather and discuss.

The young poet and the ranger spent the day resting. The suffering poet needed a day without events. My sister sketched the great poet and his wife twice, keeping the one they liked less, although they loved them both of course. Then she headed back to the art studio and found the professor, another woman, and discussed the curriculum and art in general. My sister doesn't sound like she has the equivalent of a sixth grade education even with her gap filled English, making her inquiry about the school a waste of time, so the charmed professor enthusiastically endorsed the program.

Before the gathering I called the old flapper and she received the information enthusiastically. We gathered at the Annandale Inn hearth. I told them and the barkeep we would be moving to the Rhinebeck Inn the next day. The Innkeeper there had let me see the rooms after we ate our lunch earlier and I reserved a suite and a couple other rooms to be moved into the following morning. I reserved them for the weekend and through Labor Day, handing the Innkeeper several large denomination bills to show my earnestness. Our supply of cash dwindled, but the Amazon would be stopping on the way south to cash a check at her bank, her stake not yet fully placed in her account, but she asked for some for our search and a generous amount was deposited by her father. The old flapper would have a nice roll with her as well.

I discussed the problem with farming. I realized buying two houses seemed silly. Despite my misgivings, Woodstock became our focus. We wanted to watch Bard come alive with students and attend the acclimating events for the freshmen before heading there.

The bar became busier that night with students trickling onto campus. The guide came and we shared a pitcher of beer. I didn't. The barkeep preferred me drinking tonics, because with students, a lawman might appear. The Amazon had bought me a bottle of cognac, and I went to my room for an occasional nip when I got uneasy with my body. I perused the nubile coeds, but had lovers beside me. I danced to the jukebox with pop and big band and some be bop and flirted. The young poet and the ranger sat near the fire. Students joined them and they enjoyed easy conversations.

My sister and I went to bed early. We discussed what art she wanted brought up. We made love. The Amazon entered while my cock slid inside my sister's pussy and she got naked and when my sister climaxed I fucked her while my sister played with her tits and rubbed her clit. We climaxed at nearly the same time, and then double teamed my sister with mouths and fingers until she climaxed.

Waking up early, we ate breakfast and woke the others for our move to the Rhinebeck Inn. Once in our rooms, everyone but the Amazon and I slept. Everyone enjoyed the more comfortable beds and the more spacious rooms but missed the homier environment of the Annandale.

Heading down Highway 9, we observed the area for possible choices and found orchards and then towns. When I saw a sign for Croton, I thought about taking a detour to visit the pixie unexpectedly, but being a family weekend before the kids went off to boarding school, calling her or calling on her would embarrass.

Arriving at the penthouse we surprised my mother. The Amazon didn't want to come up, but stuff needed hauling. Grandmother remained enthusiastic about her visit, and we stayed long enough to get a percentage of her adventures. Mother looked less weary, enjoying the delight of her mother. Coldness towards the Amazon balanced my grandmother's warmth. Grandmother encouraged the Amazon's plans to be a carpenter in the sticks. When we left, Grandmother asked me to kiss the ranger for her. When I did, his discomfort turned into a joke about preferring the Amazon giving the message, which she did with a quick peck.

Looking forward to seeing my daughter, the Amazon let me drive through town and into Long Island. Uneasy in town, the Amazon encouraged and instructed me to be more aggressive. Once in Queens and then into Long Island, I felt at ease.

The Amazon having never seen the Montauk mansion, I gave a tour ending in the spa room. She perused each photo of me hanging there, spending an extra minute at my image spending, reaching for the actual member and tickling it. The massage table took focus, and I offered a massage which the Amazon accepted, stripping naked and jumping on face first. The old flapper left us to it, finishing her packing and bringing it out to the car. She rejoined us and took the Amazon's place on the table. The Amazon teased my erection, inevitable when I massage. I warned her sex wasn't aloud in the spa. "With that picture there?" she asked.

The flapper giggled. "The guest room outside the spa is the most used next to the master bedroom," she explained. When I finished her massage, the Amazon and I made use of the room for a quickie, both ready to spend, and it took only a couple minutes doggy style to release our need. The old flapper awaited us in the steam room, and then we took cold showers and dressed and left.

It was good the Amazon followed us. As soon as we reached rural environs I found a dirt road to hide. The old flapper teased me from the beginning, reaching over our daughter to play with my penis through clothes and eventually out of them, her other hand sliding between her thighs to caress herself. Careful not to breach too much of my concentration, me being a novice driver, by the time we exited, I neared orgasm. The Amazon started asking what the problem was when she realized the situation. The old flapper handed her the baby and we moved to the back seat. The Amazon watched as my mouth and fingers brought the old flapper to near orgasm and then the flapper straddled my penis and we fucked until I climaxed. She hadn't reached a second climax, so I returned to her pussy tasting my spend, and she groaned loudly once achieved. A blushing grin from the Amazon pleased me. Though my penis hung loose and small and my mouth felt over exercised, I offered my services. Thankfully she declined.

Arriving in time for a late dinner at the Inn, we dumped our stuff and ate. The mini caravan with me driving the Morris accompanied by the old flapper and my sister watching my daughter in the back seat and the Amazon driving her truck with the ranger in the cab and the young poet covered in the wool blanket taking fresh air in the bed headed to Bard and the white mansion. We watched the sunset from the shelf of grass ... I filmed it, but mostly I filmed my friends and my daughter colored by the red sky.

The guide joined us accompanied by a pair of male students revealing an interesting dynamic. One of the students was interested in her. She was interested in the other one. He was interested in the male. The queer was in the dance department and the normal one was an actor. The dynamic changed when the young poet noticed it and removed the dancer from the triangle. The actor, amusing but small and quiet, remained at the guide's side for the rest of the evening, sharing her with the Amazon and slowly building her interest, especially since the tall handsome dancer remained with the young poet. The guide invited us to the stable the next day and all who had been there the previous evening accepted and the old flapper did too. Our gathering moved to the Annandale Inn.

I introduced the old flapper and my daughter to the barkeep. When I admitted fatherhood, I got another free cognac after a bewildered shake of the head. We sat at the bar and chatted most of the evening, the ranger joining us. The barkeep got busier, so it mostly the three of us chatted. Being with his girlfriend or with me while at the penthouse, it became the first opportunity for the two older friends to chat directly. The ranger admitted he recognized the old flapper from magazines he "enjoyed" while alone in the fire tower. Though he wanted the real thing, she subtly steered him away from the possibility, preferring young men or me basically. They chatted about old times, his ranger and pre-ranger stories and her debauched model stories. I mostly listened and learned about lives before my time. At one point, the old flapper wanted some air with me and in the balmy evening. She confessed her interest. "He's old, but I'm attracted," she said, surprised. "I know he flirted from the get go, and I sent him no signals, but I'm interested."

"He's a cool guy," I said. "He likes women, and I'm sure he's skilled and he's in great shape. I think you should surprise him tonight, knock on his door and invite yourself in. Don't let him know until then."

"No objections about stealing your grandmother's lover?"

"You're not stealing, you're borrowing. Are you going to fall in love?"

"I'm in love already, baby." We hugged and kissed, the students walking by looking at the mismatched couple giving us extra space as if we projected danger.

Looking across the traffic circle, I spotted the great poet and his wife with a couple other men sitting on their porch. I told the old flapper I wanted to visit. She said to wait while she collected our daughter.

Like I had been, my daughter felt at ease with the noise of public gatherings and slept in the ranger's arms. As we walked across to the great poet's house, she awoke and suggested loudly she needed food. "Ask if it's okay if I nurse her in their presence," said the old flapper. I went ahead and they agreed. Nestling in a comfortable padded wicker chair, the old flapper released a small breast, bigger than it used to be, but compared to the great poet's wife for instance, small. I was used to it, but everyone else watched. I liked that they didn't pretend not to notice like most people.

The two gentlemen taught comparative literature. One was a professor at Bard, a rugged guy with a deep past, thick athletic shoulders and useless legs. Paralyzed by bomb damaged rigging on his merchant ship ("It broke me but didn't kill me. An inch to the left and it would," he said) during the war severing spinal nerves, despite his athletic vigor, he exuded little if any frustration. Brilliant, his active mind and his continued upper strength kept him vigorous. The other was visiting. Purposefully eccentric in his choice of clothes, he had long reddish brown hair and a beard, somewhat scruffy and unmanageably wavy, and wore a three piece suit despite the heat and a monocle. He taught at NYU which began a couple weeks after Bard. The purpose of his visit was to discuss the courses he created for a fledgling film studies curriculum. Along with his usual comparative literature lectures, he would be teaching a year of film analysis. Not so much a history or survey, but within such chronological structures analyzing specific films. The final quarter would examine avant garde tendencies. I couldn't have been more excited. I wanted in. Not sure how that worked, he told me the time for classes and suggested I talk to administrators about auditing. The great poet had been hoping I'd drop by because films he owned and the NYU professor had brought planned to be screened in the new screening room the following evening. I told him I had some of my films and he invited me to show them.

After rambling from subject to subject for awhile, the old flapper pleaded exhaustion and we took our leave. Not academically inclined, when I asked as we crossed back to the Inn if I'd bored her, she told me she loved my intellectual participation.

Back at the Inn, various parings became evident. The Amazon felt like a third wheel as the guide and the actor got close and intimate. The young poet and the dancer danced with my sister and a lovely woman about her height but with a pronounced chest and wider hips. Her shape hid because she dressed like the Amazon but with an untucked shirt that tented over her pants. Lesbians and queers danced together, disguising their true partners. When the song ended, I told my sister we planned to leave and asked for her plans.

"I want to stay," she said, staring at her new friend who shyly stared back. I glanced at the young poet and knew his answer. I asked the Amazon if she would trust the truck to the young poet. She agreed and handed him the keys. He bowed to our considerateness. The guide reminded us to meet early in front of the student commons.

The first night alone with the Amazon for nearly two weeks; we made the most of it. As soon as the old flapper winked and slipped out the door, our bodies made contact and didn't stop connecting at the mouth or other orifices until morning. My cock remained inside her pussy when we passed out. We got up earlier than needed to reconnect. Both my penis and her pussy felt delightfully abused by the time we showered and dressed for the day. I asked if riding would be a problem. "I have strong thighs," she said.

Neither the young poet nor my sister nor the truck made it back to the Inn by morning. My sister left a message at the desk telling us she decided against riding. The young poet was incommunicado. We left the ranger alone with his consent. He planned calling my grandmother collect and then wandering around town. We had breakfast and headed to Bard.

I learned to ride the horse at a gallop. The Amazon rode with the guide and the actor for a while then let them have their time, retreating to the slower group of the old flapper and myself. The old flapper hadn't ridden in years, but looked natural in the saddle. She didn't want to ride because of our daughter, but decided to trust a kindly woman her age who had ten kids, the youngest a couple years old, and who helped run the stables with her husband and oldest daughters. Towards the end of a couple hours of riding, I noticed the Amazon grimacing. "We'll walk the horses. I'll be fine," she said.

I asked the old flapper if she had similar problems. "The old gentleman meant well, but I guess I excited him too much, you know, the magazine photo made flesh. A gentleman, he made me cum, but when he got hard, and he got hard as lead, he didn't last. I played a bit of the whore making him think the soft erection that followed pleasured me. He pumped it in and out for quite some time. He's got stamina. But you're still the only one for me, baby."

"Is he expecting you tonight?"

"I told him it was a one time thing. Luckily I told him at the beginning or I would have hurt his manly ego."

When we arrived at the commons, smiles stuck to our faces like bobble heads, my sister met us with her new friend. I approached her, leading her away from her friend. "I'm calling the princess. Would you like to talk to her?"

"No thanks," she said bitterly. Then she led me to a quieter spot on some grass. Speaking French, probably relieved after needing English to get to know her friend, she told me why. "Princess thinks I'm her maid. I enjoyed playing maid for you and your mother and the mistress. It was fun dressing sexy and I didn't mind the work. She's such a slob, and when I kept the apartment presentable, she expected it. She'd come home from a shoot and yell at me for not cleaning her mess. I mean I'm not some housewife waiting for her man with slippers and dinner. I have things to do to. I'm an artist. I paint. I draw. I build canvases for me and my mentor. Sometimes it's enough of a day working at my art, getting better at it by working hard. But she thinks I'm at her beck and call. And does she listen to me? She used to. We would talk about anything and she cared what I said. Now she'd rather go out flirting and bring home a boy and think she was bringing me a present. She doesn't even know who I am. Whatever she wants to do I'm supposed to want. She likes shopping now and talks about the designers and what they're like or how much she wants to model so and so's clothing. I tried looking interested. I stopped. And when I ask her why she doesn't spend the evening at home writing, reminding her someone actually wants to do her play, she gets angry like I'm insulting her. I'm trying to encourage her for her own good and she thinks it's an insult. Only in bed is she loving. That makes it hard. When we're alone and naked and loving each other, I see her as she is and she's so beautiful it breaks my heart. In the morning, at breakfast, up until she showers and transforms into Miss Prima Donna Princess, we're so intimate I can't imagine not being with her.