Chapter 4: Winter is Cold; Suzanne is Cool; Cynthia Warms Up

Cynthia had just expressed interest in hearing about the burr. It was not something that I made a habit of telling others about, but that night in her garage when she'd boasted that she knew everything about me, I'd told her that if she didn't know about the burr, she knew nothing about me.

It was a reasonable request. Mrs. Cynthia Collingsworth had just made room in her closet for me to store the clothes she'd purchased for me. The razor and other toilet articles she selected were clear signs that I was welcome in her home, even to take up residence. She'd also been candid about wanting to have my baby, and when the question arose regarding marriage, she made it quite clear that she didn't intend to remarry.

Why was I taking this turn of events so calmly? Why was I letting her buy things for me? Why was I not letting her wealth intimidate me? It was obvious that she knew how far I could be pushed. That's one of the things I liked about her; she was sensitive to my need to call most of the shots.

The thing that amazed me was my willingness to let her take a stand. 'That's final!' was quickly becoming her favorite saying.

"Cynthia, I don't know where this is heading, but I like having you trust me. You're generosity extends beyond material things or monetary value. There is one thing, however, that is holding me back from telling you my story."

She spoke rapidly, pleading really, making it difficult to follow what she was saying. "What are you asking, Sammy? Just ask me what you want to know. I'll tell you anything."

"It's not something I want you to tell me. I don't want to upset you, but I believe you know what I want."

"I can't," she said, implying that she was asserting her, 'That's final!' adage.

"I know, that's the reason I'm going to give you the short version. Unlike you, I did not always live the privileged life. Until eight and one half years ago, I was on the brink of doom, discouragement and failure. Something happened in 1985 that brought me to the home of John Oldham. He took me in, educated me, clothed me, gave me his name, and challenged me to excel. His plan worked and I went from being an underachiever to exemplary.

"In addition to John, I had a lot of help from others. It has not all been pretty. Every so often, I let the experiences of my first fourteen years dictate my actions. You would not like that kid or the path that he was on until the strange events that occurred that hot day in July of 1985."

Cynthia lay quietly until she realized that I was finished. "Did the burr have something to do with changing the path that you were on?"

"Yes, I guess you could say the burr was the catalyst that redirected my path."

She became silent, pondering really. I could only hope that I'd whetted her appetite for the rest of the story. I was pretty sure she understood what she needed to do in order to hear the complete story about the burr.

Like she often did, Mrs. Cynthia Collingsworth stirred, smacked her lips, and grinned at me. "I hope you weren't teasing when you said, 'There may be another one in the not too distant future.'"

"Have you been a good girl?" I asked as I ran my hand up her thigh.

She nodded, grinning mischievously. "I've been a very good girl," she said, feigning shock when she felt my cock. "What's this?"

"That's my bad boy," I answered, discovering that she was already wet as I moved into position.

She wore a look of wistful anticipation as she watched the head of my cock penetrate the outer lips of her pussy. She smiled and said, "It's my bad boy now."

Cynthia was not only a good fuck. She thoroughly enjoyed sex. She was also fun. I didn't mind her taking temporary possession of my cock. It was not like she was buying it with the clothes and gifts she was bestowing on me; it was more like she was renting it.

I lost my concentration for a moment. Mrs. Collingsworth jolted me back into consciousness with her fingernails digging into my back. I put aside my thoughts of being a hired servant and got busy giving Cynthia her money's worth. I apparently satisfied her. She wanted to stay joined, long after we'd regained our breathing and congratulated each other on our performance.

My concerns demanded that we have a serious talk, but this was not a good time. She was too consumed with what she would wear to dinner with my parents to focus on anything more serious. I resolved to wait until I got back from Denver.

Tuesday morning was bedlam. Cynthia changed her mind three times regarding what she would wear to work that day. I tried to convince her that Suzanne and John would accept her, regardless of which dress she chose to wear.

"Does that mean you want me to wear a dress?" she asked.

"Not necessarily. Wear slacks if you'll be more comfortable."

"I can tell that you prefer I wear a dress."

I didn't care what she wore. What I wanted was to go downstairs, have something to eat, deliver her to work and go to my office. "Yes," I said, hoping she would pick a dress and put it on.

"Which one?" she asked.

She was wearing black panties, dark stockings and the black padded bra. I went to the closet, found a black dress and handed it to her.

She frowned. "It's short," she said.

"You'll wear a heavy coat. I'll warm the car and I'll deliver you near the door," I said, thinking that she was concerned about getting too cold.

"They'll see my legs."

"So?"

"They're thin."

I replaced the dress where I'd found it and took her into my arms. "You have lovely legs," I said, brushing my lips against hers.

"You never told me that before."

"I told you last night. You just weren't listening."

She pulled her head back. "Is that what you were saying when you were fucking me?"

"That's exactly what I said."

She kissed me, before asking me to hand her the dress.

I could tell that she was still concerned that her legs were too thin, which they were, but she wanted to believe me. I briefly considered letting her wear high heels.

We had a hurried breakfast and talked about my trip on the way to her office. She would deliver me to the airport the next morning and await my phone call to know when to pick me up on Friday.

I pulled the black SUV up near the door to her office. She hesitated, not making a move to give me a parting kiss, but not opening the door either. I considered going around and helping her out.

"Are you sure they're not too thin?"

I laughed and saw concern come to her face. In truth, her knees were knobby and her lower legs were spindly.

"Some girls would kill for your legs, Cynthia."

"Really?" she asked, wanting to believe me.

"That's what I was thinking when you had them wrapped around my ass last night. 'Some girls would kill for those legs."

"Thank you," she said, moving over to reward me with a kiss. She opened the door and stepped down to the ground before turning. "Those girls would kill to have their legs wrapped around your ass."

She closed the car door, and was halfway to the office door when she turned to wave goodbye. I returned her wave. It was good to see her happy, even if I'd had to lie to reassure her that her legs met my approval.

We spent the day getting me ready for my trip. I wanted to make the best use of the time. Wanda loaded everything on my laptop, saying that she would expect me to keep her up to date on my progress.

"You're not the only one who's set on me keeping in touch," I quipped.

"The investors?" she asked.

"One in particular," I said, and watched her nod, knowingly. At least she was noncommittal about our affair. I wondered if Wanda thought my devotion to the tall woman was motivated by my wanting to cozy up to her money.

This was Cynthia's first visit to the Oldham house. If she noticed that it didn't rival her mansion, she made no indication that she felt that way. In fact, she commented about the warm atmosphere of the sunroom.

Suzanne kept the dinner conversation neutral, allowing no discussion about my Denver trip. Instead, she said she was making plans for us to celebrate my birthday at the Florida house. She got up and came back with a calendar.

"Since we never know when you're going to be here for dinner, let's set the dates now," she said, circling the twentieth of March on the calendar.

"I promised my mom I'd take her to Florida. My birthday might be the best time," I said, thinking that I didn't know when I'd be going back.

Suzanne studied the calendar. "Why don't you plan to go down a few days in advance, Honey? We'll wait until the weekend, be there with Jane on your birthday, and we'll stay the following week. Is that what you were thinking, John?" she asked, and he confirmed that the dates coincided with his thinking.

"I was thinking that mom might bring K.O.," I put in.

From the look Suzanne gave me, I may as well have pissed in the punch bowl.

"Well, that complicates things, doesn't it? You know we only have one child's bed. What will I tell Penelope?"

"Suzanne," I said, showing irritation. "Naturally, I didn't mean that we should exclude Ned and Penelope. It's simple; order another child's bed."

"It's not that simple," she complained. "We only have four bedrooms. What if your sister wants to come?"

John cleared his throat, a clear sign that he had something to say. "It's Sam's birthday. He'll invite whoever he wants to be there."

Suzanne got up and went to the kitchen. I took the opportunity to involve Cynthia, who'd remained silent throughout the discussion.

Suzanne returned from the kitchen; saw me with the calendar in my hand, showing it to Cynthia. "We'll leave on Tuesday, the fifteenth, and return on Monday, the twenty-first. How do those dates suit you?"

Cynthia was clearly overwhelmed to be included in my birthday celebration and couldn't answer.

I got up, gathered the plates and carried them to the kitchen. Suzanne followed with some of the other dishes. We worked in silence for several minutes before she unloaded on me.

"I've never interfered when you paraded girl after girl through here, but I could see why you were attracted to them. They were all pretty. There's nothing attractive about this one. What are you trying to prove, Sammy?"

"I'm not trying to prove anything."

"That dress is juvenile, something I would expect a sixteen year old girl to wear if she's trying to attract the attention of a much older man."

"The dress was my idea. She was taking forever to find the right thing to wear. I don't think she ever wore it before."

This news set Suzanne back, but only for a second.

"Is it her money? I've never known you to let that influence you before."

"Please don't ask that, Suz. Her money is a sore point with me, but I'm pretty sure that's not it. She needs me and I guess I need her."

"When are you going to wake up and come home? We miss you."

I folded my arms around Suzanne and drew her to me. "What's to miss? I've never lived here more than three months at a time until I finished school."

I felt her hands on my back. "We got used to having you here."

"You see me at work."

"That's not the same."

"What if I make it a point to come for dinner every Tuesday?"

There was no response for a couple of minutes. "Her too?"

I laughed, thinking at how excited Cynthia had been to be invited to have dinner with my parents. "I'm afraid you're stuck with her too, Suz."

"If that's the way it's going to be," Suzanne said, accepting my terms.

We returned to the dining room to find John and Cynthia involved in a quiet conversation. I didn't find out what they were talking about until we were on our way home.

"Out, you two," Suzanne said, adding that coffee would be served in the sunroom. She put everything else on a tray and had me carry it to the kitchen where she put me to work loading the dishwasher while she stored the leftovers and cut small slices of cheesecake.

I pulled Cynthia next to me on the loveseat, knowing I would have to eat her cheesecake.

John wanted to know what I hoped to accomplish in Denver. I told him that we needed to decide how to divide the building into rentable bays, but withheld my primary purpose for making the trip. It was imperative that Neill and Tom bury the hatchet.

It didn't surprise me when Cynthia took two small bites of cheesecake before giving up. However, I could see that Suzanne was shocked by the way Cynthia fed it to me.

After a respectable time, I excused myself and went up to my room to get my travel bag. There was a stack of mail on my desk, and the light on the answering machine was flashing, but given the mood Suzanne was in, I hurried back downstairs, hoping to prevent any embarrassing moments for Cynthia.

"You didn't pack anything," Suzanne said when she saw that the bag was empty.

"I've got some things at Cynthia's," I said, wanting to escape without having to admit that my side of the closet contained suits from the most expensive store in the area. Suzanne would misinterpret my good fortune. I didn't want to hear that I was being bought.

It was still early, but I explained that I needed to pack and get up early. Cynthia thanked Suzanne for the delicious dinner and Suzanne graciously said that we were welcome at any time.

Cynthia was full of questions when we got in the car. "Did they like me? Are you really taking me to meet your mother? Who's K.O.?"

I had some questions, too. "What were you and my dad talking about?"

"He was telling me how proud he is of you. What were you and Suzanne talking about in the kitchen?"

"He did?" I asked.

"You must be a good boy. He said you've never disappointed him."

"He said that?" I asked, not believing my ears.

"What did Suzanne say?"

"She admonished me for the way I've been avoiding them. I had to agree for us to have dinner with them every Tuesday."

Cynthia didn't respond and I didn't expand on what Suzanne had really said. She'd uncovered something that had been bothering me for some time. Why was I devoting all my free time to the tall widow? I had to admit that I didn't know why. Was it infatuation? I didn't think so. Was it pity? I didn't think it was. Was it a need to give back for all the good fortune that had been bestowed on me? That must be it. Everyone I met lately seemed to need my help, and I felt a need to give it.