Chapter 3

I was just putting the lawnmower and trimmer away when Davey and Ramon rode up on their bikes. Davey did the introductions.

"Tom, this is my friend, Ramon Ortega. Ramon, this is my cousin, Tom McMillan."

As we shook hands, I noted that Ramon had a lot of Indian genes in him; he was a tall good-looking kid with straight black hair and light brown skin. "Nice to meet you Ramon. Come on in and I'll show you the setup."

After I'd shown them the equipment and explained the rules, I gave Davey a spare key and said, "I'm sure you understand that you're the only two guys allowed in here, right?"

"Right! And don't worry, we'll clean up after ourselves."

"Good. You can have access to the kitchen if you need a snack and the bath if you need to shower after your workout but I insist that you respect my privacy, OK? No exploring the rest of the house just to satisfy your curiosity!"

"No problem, Mr. McMillan," Ramon affirmed, "We won't abuse your hospitality."

"That's good to know. Davey, would you ask your mom if she'd like to come over for dinner this evening? Of course, you and Ramon are invited too."

"Sure, I'll ask. I don't think she has any plans but Ramon and I are going out to his uncle's ranch to ride horses this afternoon and then we're having dinner with them. He's coming to pick us up and it'll probably be late when we get back. I'll have Mom call you when I get home."

"You do that. Have fun playing cowboys. Seeya!"

They took off on their bikes. Margie called a few minutes later to confirm that she'd be over around seven.

Think what you will, I'd be lying through my teeth if I said I didn't have a few incestuous fantasies floating around in my head. I mean, who wouldn't with a woman that looked that good, but I had no intention of pursuing them. I was already too much of a social dud to be burning any bridges like that.

For dinner I decided on a vegetarian lasagna and had to make a trip to the grocery to pick up a few ingredients. While I was there, I grabbed a bottle of decent Chianti in case she was a traditionalist. It's also good in the sauce. I hardly ever did any serious cooking for myself any more and I'd almost forgotten how much fun it was. By six-thirty, the lasagna was in the oven, the table was all set and my computer was sending some nice music through the speaker system. I had time to take a hot shower and make my mouth minty-fresh before she arrived. I actually found myself feeling butterflies in my belly in anticipation of an evening spent with my childhood crush.

She didn't disappoint. Margie was dressed in a form-fitting button top, khaki shorts and sandals showing off her long tanned and shapely legs. I poured her a glass of wine and we sat outside on the patio enjoying the cooling evening breeze and talked mostly about high school, remembering some of the wild and crazy things we did as teenagers, naively unconcerned with our own mortality. We practically laughed ourselves into belly cramps over things that should have earned us at least a month's grounding if not an appearance in juvenile court.

I got rave compliments on my lasagna; in fact, we both had seconds, a rarity for me since I'd grown so weight-conscious. As we stacked the dishes in the washer, she suggested, "Why don't we go for a walk and burn off a few of these calories before they settle in my butt?"

"That's a great idea." I made a point of looking at her derriere and added, "Of course, if I were a calorie, that's where I'd want to be." She laughed and punched me on the arm.

It was just starting to turn dark as we ambled down the sidewalk. The only thing even vaguely unpleasant about the evening was the slight essence of treated wood from the sawmill but I was used to that. What I wasn't used to was the feel of Margie's hand as we walked and talked. I could only grin when she slid hers into mine and gave it a squeeze. We'd been flirting with each other all evening and I took that as hope that something more was at least a possibility. That is, unless I did or said something remarkably stupid.

Just as we walked in the door an hour later, her cell phone rang. It was Davey asking if he could sleep over at the ranch. "Sure, why not? Don't get home too late tomorrow because we have things to do."

We sat on the couch and couldn't seem to run out of things to talk about. One memory led to another and before I knew it, the clock was pushing midnight. She had pretty much killed the bottle of Chianti and her declining inhibitions were beginning to show. From time to time she'd get a little grin on her face that I couldn't quite figure out. Finally, she says, "Do you mind if I make an observation?"

"Hey, go for it."

"You should never entertain any thoughts of becoming a professional gambler."

"Um, I don't get it."

"Well, your face is a dead giveaway to what's going on in your mind. Your eyes have been roving all over my body the whole evening." She saw me start to blush and quickly continued, "Oh, don't be embarrassed, Tommy! The fact is I'm very flattered. It's nice to feel appreciated for a change."

"I'm still sorry I was so obvious, Margie. I know it's kind of rude but you're such a beautiful lady I can't help it."

That brought a big smile to her face and she leaned forward to kiss me lightly on the lips, causing a sudden growth spurt in my dick. "In my case, Cousin, flattery might get you anywhere. So I have a proposal: Would you have any interest in a commitment-free tumble in the hay from time to time? You know, just to keep it in the family, so to speak."

I guess the look on my face shouted my answer because she stood and held out her hand to me. "I really like your house, Tommy. Would you like to show me your bedroom?"

I locked up, turned out the lights in the kitchen and living room, then put my arm around her waist and guided her down the hallway to the bedroom. The single bedside lamp gave off a soft amber glow, just bright enough to enhance and highlight her beautiful face. As soon as we stepped through the door, she turned and began to unbutton my shirt, looking at me with pale blue eyes that I was sure could read every lascivious thought running through my brain. I felt supremely pleased that I once again had a body that I wasn't ashamed of.

As my shirt slid off my shoulders and dropped to the floor, she whispered, "I love doing wicked things, don't you?"

I could only grin and nod my head.

None of the dreams and fantasies I'd ever had about making love to Margie even came close to what we did that night. I wanted to be inside her so bad I ached but I fought off the urgency. If there was one completely positive thing I'd learned during my time with Vickie, it was how to give a woman pleasure. Probably like just about all men, I fancied myself quite a lover when I got married. My new bride quickly disabused me of that notion and proceeded to give me detailed instructions on what making love was all about. Rule number one: NEVER rush! According to my mentor, most women like to be touched, kissed, stroked and gently coaxed toward orgasm. Shame on the selfish bastard who slams it in, gets his rocks off and then rolls over to go to asleep.