Tuesday, 22 October 2013

DAD

Prologue:

I was typing away, answering the usual morning emails, 
trying to politely turn down unsolicited plot ideas 
that I "do not believe I can do justice to." You know 
the kind: "dear mr vargas I want u to rite me a story 
about me and my mama, like we r both left handed 
and..." 

I was about to do the same with a rather nice request 
from the Edgewaters when I read closer. The happy 
couple were about to celebrate 25 years of married 
bliss. George wanted an erotic story to give his wife 
as the beginning of a night of hot anniversary sex. 
Well, I thought if they get excited enough, they might 
have a little "accident." How could a writer like me 
turn down such an opportunity?

And thus we have:

Dad

Homer Vargas

Vargas111@yahoo.com



I didn't like Fred at first and the feeling was mutual. 
He thought I was too "prissy" for Ralph, too much a 
party girl. He should have heard what my family said 
about him. I was Jersey Shore money, thought few dared 
ask Papa where it came from. Ralph was working class 
scholarship at Georgetown where we met. Martha, on the 
other hand, could see immediately that I wanted to put 
my wild past behind me and commit myself to Ralph, 
truly wanting to settle down as a good wife and mother. 
I loved her from the beginning.

My opinions of Fred changed when Martha became ill. 
They were living in Florida by that time. NYC 
firefighters don't get paid enough for risking their 
lives, but if they survive, they can sell their 
Brooklyn row houses and retire early with a nice 
pension. Fred took care of Martha in their Florida 
condo as long as he could. When she went into the 
nursing home he visited her every day, spending almost 
all his time at her side. It must have been hard for 
him seeing her go downhill so rapidly, her body 
becoming frail and contorted. We were there when she 
died. While Ralph mourned the passing of his mother, I 
cried with Fred, "Dad," for the loss of his wife.

Now we were coming for our first visit in over a year 
since Martha's death. Both Ralph's career at a 
Manhattan law firm, my teaching Spanish in the local 
high school, a house in Bergen county, and a teenage 
boy, Kevin, kept us busy. In the last year I had grown 
close to Dad. Often he called me just to talk or to ask 
my advice -- Ralph was always far too busy. 

Dad was very much impressed by my college degree, as he 
had been of Martha's. From his calls and letters, Dad 
appeared to be doing well. Not long ago he told us he 
was dating a Cecilia Corsillo, a medical technician, 
originally from El Salvador, he had met at the nursing 
home where Martha had resided. She was divorced and had 
two boys, but sounded very nice.

Ralph was contemptuous, almost angry. "How can Fred be 
making a fool of himself over a woman young enough to 
be his daughter!" he fumed. I defended Dad, thinking it 
a tribute to Martha that he still loved women, although 
I did feel strange thinking about Dad with a woman 
younger than I.

Maybe I was also a little envious of Dad’s new 
girlfriend. Ralph had not been "making a fool of 
himself" over me for some time. I guess we had been 
passionate enough when we were first married, but he 
seemed to change when I became pregnant with Kevin. 
Always having wanted lots of children, I was overjoyed 
that it had happened less than a month after our 
marriage.

I made a ritual of informing him: a candle-light dinner 
and my EPT tied up in a little box like a gift from me 
to him. I expected my young husband to want to 
celebrate by re-enacting the exact circumstances of the 
conception. Instead he was cautious, only wanting to 
talk about the problems this would create -- loss of my 
time from work, a new house, day care. He did not seem 
to appreciate that *I* had chosen *him* to be the 
father of one of my few chances to pass my genes on to 
the next generation.

The pregnancy was a nightmare. Oh I didn't suffer more 
than my share of the normal physical inconveniences, 
nausea, aversions to food and odors, swollen ankles, 
backache, just not being able to move freely. But I 
suffered them pretty much alone. Ralph never said it, 
but his attitude seemed to be, "You fucked up in your 
bed, now sleep in it." Other men, especially older men, 
told me I was beautiful, but Ralph did not. The other 
difficult thing was that my libido went through the 
roof. I wanted Ralph, I needed Ralph to make love to 
me. Or if he didn't want to make love, just to fuck my 
brains out. He wouldn't even cuddle.

Kevin was the end of our romance. Ralph and I still 
made love, but it was predictable and he was always 
cautious about the "danger" of my becoming pregnant 
again. I could not take the pill, but he was careful 
always to use a condom and usually restricted our 
lovemaking to days near the tail end of my cycle when I 
was feeling less amorous. There were no intimate 
dinners, we never went dancing, nothing that might 
start something he did not want to finish. Once burned, 
twice shy.

When the man you love, or did love, is indifferent to 
your sex appeal, it's hard for you care. Over the years 
I put on a lot of weight. But when a 5 foot 3 inch 
woman hits size 16, she knows something has to change. 
I guess Martha's death was a catalyst. By a combination 
of rigorous dieting and working out with a personal 
trainer, I had in the last year settled in at a curvy 
size 10, not that Ralph seemed to care anymore. Still, 
my remaining pounds seemed to be in the right places; I 
was getting hungry looks from men again and I liked the 
feeling.

It was about that time that I noticed a change in the 
letters from Dad. They became taciturn and, very 
significantly no longer mentioned Cecilia. Ralph would 
have been pleased, if he had noticed. So it was I who 
then decided that we really needed to go down to 
Florida to visit Dad. By pointing out that Disney World 
was in Orlando, only a couple of hours from where his 
grandfather lived, I enlisted Kevin in my campaign. 
Ralph agreed without enthusiasm.

Dad's condo was a small two bedroom apartment nowhere 
near a beach, although there was a pool. Kevin groused 
a bit about having to sleep on the couch in the living 
room, but then he realized that Grandpa had some cable 
channels that Ralph did not allow at home (and that Dad 
my not have known he had). Dad had moved himself into 
the second bedroom, not wanting to sleep in the bed 
that he and Martha had shared before she became ill. 
That left Ralph and me with the master bedroom, which 
was only a little larger than the other one. The bed 
was queen size, however, which gave Ralph room to curl 
up on his side away from me. It had been years since I 
had tried to sleep in his arms. I remembered bitterly 
how joyously we had snared a single bed when we were 
dating, our movements choreographed all night to keep 
us coiled together.

Men have their ways of bonding. Ralph and Dad talked 
business, managing some of Dad's small investments. 
They went over the advantage and disadvantages of 
buying a house or another condo vs. continuing to own 
this one. I piped up that the apartment needed to have 
someone come weekly to clean it, something Dad could 
not afford, but Ralph and I could help with. They got 
into arguments over politics of course. Dad, after a 
dalliance with the Republicans in the Reagan years, had 
returned to his family and ethnic trust in the 
Democrats. Ralph had never wavered in the allegiance to 
the Republicans that he adopted when he went to work 
for big law firm. I bided my time, letting them talk.

Two days about exhausted these topics and I could see 
that Ralph was growing bored. Kevin was climbing the 
walls, there being only so much a fourteen year old boy 
can do in a 12' pool when the youngest female resident 
in the complex is 55. I supported Kevin's plea to be 
taken to Disney World. Ralph was happy to get out of 
the apartment and a Friday-to-Monday excursion was 
mapped out. Ralph assumed that Dad would come along, 
but he really had no interest in standing in line to 
see Pirates of the Caribbean. I begged off as well, 
saying I would stay with Dad.

As soon as Ralph and Kevin had left I clapped my hands 
and twirled, making the hem of my short yellow sundress 
billow out and up. "OK, Dad! *We* are going shopping!"

Shopping wasn't much further up Dad's list of 
preferences than standing in line for Pirates of the 
Caribbean, but he had the company of me, his vivacious 
daughter-in-law. And I knew that men like to shop, too, 
just for different things. Because Ralph and Kevin 
taken our rental car, Dad and I got in his Taurus and 
headed toward an obscenely large home improvement 
store. I happily followed Dad up and down the aisles as 
he planned projects that would never happen -- new tile 
for the bathroom, a redwood banister for the balcony, 
tools to make easy, jobs that would never be 
undertaken. In the end Dad bought a new tool box and 
enough replacement light bulbs to last years.

Dad was beaming and I could tell I had now accumulated 
enough credit to drag him to a mall. Besides, given 
what I was going to be shopping for, this would not be 
at all painful for Dad. Although he had not said 
anything, I could tell by the way he looked at me, Dad 
had noticed the change in my measurements. Dad wouldn't 
know dress sizes, but a deep instinctual part of his 
brain registered a woman who once again had the 
proportions males were hard wired to appreciate, my 
husband being a possible exception.

"You've got to help me, Dad. I want to get some new 
clothes, but you know Ralph doesn't like anything too 
risqué. I need you to keep me under control." This was 
a task that Dad was not sure he either could or wanted 
to do, but it must have sounded like fun to try. My 
first few stops were for skirts and tops -- garments 
that hardly exist in size 16 petite. In 10 there is a 
lot more choice. "Do you think this skirt is too 
short?" I asked about a cocktail dress, coming out of a 
fitting room and pirouetting. The grin on Dad's face 
gave me his answer. "Do you think it might be too 
tight?" I inquired about a fire engine red mini skirt?" 
Dad could see that there was a lot of girl in that 
miniskirt, but his response was the same embarrassed 
grin. Some of the tops I bought were pretty sheer and 
would definitely require new brassieres but Dad 
approved. He even thought I looked good in one off 
those tank tops that show off your navel. He was right!

Of course it's pointless to have fashionably short 
skirts and dresses if you don't have good shoes. It had 
been years since it had been safe for me to wear high 
heels. Now I made up for lost time: black patent pumps, 
lime green stilettos, and several strappy sandals with 
3, 4 or 5 inch heels. Dad was enjoying this a lot more 
that looking at shop vacs.

I think he was a little nervous when we walked into a 
Victoria's Secret. Just to raise the ante I took his 
arm. I know we looked like Sugar Daddy buying toys for 
his latest trophy, but if people wanted to think I was 
a trophy, that was alright with me. It was such a 
relief to be able to buy bras and panties from an 
ordinary store instead of a specialty shop and to chose 
among colors, and silks and laces, push ups and half 
cups, thongs or French cut. I made my choices of new 
lingerie without Dad's input, of course, but I did 
model my selections of stockings, some with a garter 
belts and some thigh highs, having sworn never to wear 
pantyhose again. Dad really liked the seamed ones.

Now if this next part were a in a story, you'd pan the 
writer for coming up with anything so clichéd. But so 
help me, it happened, just as we were heading out of 
the mall. I was wearing one of my cute new outfits and 
I had slipped my arm in Dad's again, giggling at the 
stares we were getting. Dad may not have understood 
what people were thinking, but as a red-blooded male he 
enjoyed having a woman at his side.

Suddenly behind us, we heard screams. Dad tore loose 
from my grip and sprinted back toward the commotion. I 
arrived just in time to see smoke coming from a toy 
store. Everyone was shouting and pointing toward the 
entrance. Dad was standing, listening, trying to 
capture what was going on. Someone else pointed and Dad 
disappeared into the store. The crowd grew silent as 
long seconds dragged past. Then a shout as Dad came out 
coughing and leading two terrified little black girls. 
A paramedic from the mall had arrived and tried to get 
the two girls and Dad to lie down on stretchers, 
though, thankfully, they looked unharmed. Then one of 
the girls seemed to recover from her daze and began 
screaming, "Mommy! Juanita! Mommy! Juanita!" The girls' 
mother and another sister were still inside the burning 
store!

"You can't go in there, sir," one of the paramedics 
said but Dad was already up from the stretcher and 
bounding back into the acrid, billowing smoke that 
poured from the establishment. The whole assemblage 
gasped as Dad once more disappeared into the smoke, 
darker and thicker than before. Several people were 
sobbing, none more than I, convinced I would never see 
Dad alive again.

The sound of fire engines was approaching, but I knew 
it would be too late for Dad. Almost a minute had 
passed and I could feel the heat from the blaze on my 
face. Even here the stench of burning plastic was 
overpowering. He couldn't survive in there; no one 
could. I broke down completely, not believing he could 
be taken from me like this, a victim of his 
fearlessness and noble instincts.

I didn't see it, but the roar of the crowd made me jerk 
my head around. There was Dad! Staggering, he was 
carrying a black infant in one arm and leading a 
bedraggled and very pregnant white woman with the 
other. "Mommy! Mommy!" the little girls whooped as a 
whole crew of paramedics swooped in to take the woman, 
baby, and Dad in hand. Police, too, were now on the 
scene and were pushing back the crowd. I was being 
pushed back with all the others when someone said, 
"She's his girlfriend," and I was allowed access.

When I got to his side they had an oxygen mask over 
Dad's face and several people were taking his pulse and 
looking at instruments, all concerned frowns and 
whispers. I didn't dare to ask how he was. Finally, one 
of the technicians stood up and shook his head. "Shit!" 
he exclaimed, "I wish I had this old geezer's 
constitution!"

*****

It was almost nightfall when we got back to the 
apartment. By the time it was clear that both Dad and 
the young family were unharmed, reporters from the 
local TV station were on the scene, recounting the 
dramatic events for "Live at Five." Dad tried to 
explain there was nothing out of the ordinary in what 
he did, that any trained person could hold their breath 
for minutes if they knew how to move deliberately. 

More important, from an earlier fire inspection of that 
store (some kind of volunteer program) he knew of a 
parallel passage used for stocking which had proved 
free of smoke, allowing him to go deep into the store 
before facing the flames. The reporters didn't care 
about details. The story had everything cameras love: a 
scene of destruction, a grateful mother and child, 
adorable kids, and a heroic retired NYC fireman with a 
pretty, adoring woman clinging to his arm -- Moi.

In the excitement neither of us had eaten. I offered to 
fix something but Dad wouldn't hear of it. He called a 
buddy, also ex-NYFD, who had opened a pizza place 
nearby and soon the stereotypical teen age boy was 
collecting money for the pizza and staring at me. Then 
I remembered. I was still wearing that miniskirt with 
the sexy stockings. Only two of four buttons held the 
front of my blouse together. Feeling lightheaded from 
all the excitement and appreciative of his awkward 
admiration, I kissed him on the cheek and sent him 
away. I giggled, thinking that he would masturbate 
tonight with the image of what those other two buttons 
concealed.

Never had cheese and mushrooms and black olives, 
pepperoni and onions tasted so good. We had a couple of 
Buds in the long-neck bottle that Dad likes. I put the 
remainder of the six pack on the table in the loving 
room. He didn't have much to say about the rescue. One 
floor, a small shop, nothing to a guy who had brought 
people down five floors on a ladder.

For a while we just watched the Devil Rays who had an 
at home series against the Red Sox. I was hoping Tampa 
would push Boston a few games farther behind the 
Yankees, but more important, I had my eyes out for Tino 
Martinez <YUMM!> who the Yankees had traded to the 
Devil Rays two years ago. Dad was upright in his 
recliner; I sat nearby and slowly drinking my beer.

By the third bottle, plus the one with the pizza, I got 
up my courage. "What's gong on, Dad? For a while your 
letters were so cheerful. Then you practically stopped 
writing."

"Nothing, Ellen, honey. Not much happening in the life 
of an old guy like me."

"That's not true Dad, starting with the part about you 
being old. It wasn't an 'old guy' that saved four 
people's lives this afternoon."

He looked back at the TV and didn't say anything.

I reached over to the remote and pushed the power 
button. "It's about you and Cecilia, isn't it?"

Over the next half hour, with denials and silences from 
Dad and slightly inebriated prodding from me, the whole 
story came out. Apparently Cecilia had been as moved by 
Dad's devotion to Martha as I was. When they ran into 
each other at a supermarket a few months after Martha’s 
death, they fell into conversation and she invited him 
home for dinner. They had dated for several months, but 
always on her days off or early evenings. Her two boys 
didn't allow much intimacy, although she usually sent 
him home with soggy shorts after a session on her couch 
when the boys were in bed. In fact, he frequently 
babysat the boys for her, telling them stories about 
the NYFD, which they loved. "They are too young to be 
firemen, Fred," Cecilia had joked. "Stop trying to 
recruit them."

Dad didn't say so, but I could tell he was far past 
infatuation with the young woman and she seemed 
genuinely to return his affection. "Do you have a 
picture of her?"

Dad protested that everything was over between him and 
Cecilia but I pressed. Reluctantly he went over to a 
bookcase and drew a frame from behind the books as if 
hidden. Silently he placed the picture in my hands. I 
was stunned. Cecilia looked very much like me! She was 
a little younger and thinner and not quite as busty as 
I, but had the same nose and high cheek line, dark hair 
and eyes like mine and a similar golden brown 
complexion that I got from my Italian grandparents Then 
I thought about her last name, Corsillo. Apparently 
Sicilians had migrated to El Salvador as well as to the 
United States.

"She's very ... pretty." I ventured.

"Yeah, prettiest woman I've met in a long time ... 
almost."

"So, you are dating a beautiful woman who's got enough 
on the ball to be a sonogram technician plus raise two 
boys and who seems to be in love with you. What went 
wrong?"

This was a question that Dad clearly did not want to 
answer, but I looked at him squarely and waited.

"I messed it up! I can never see her again," he 
muttered as much to himself as to me.

"Dad, arguments and misunderstandings happen between 
couples all the time. Call her; talk to her about 
whatever it is."

"There is nothing to talk about, after what happened."

Finally I cajoled the rest of the story out of him. 
Early one night Cecilia showed up at his apartment 
unexpectedly. She'd gotten a sitter and didn't have to 
pick up the boys until 10PM. She had on the kind of 
clothes that were made for taking off. After some 
kissing and groping, Dad excused himself and quickly 
took a Viagra. Even three years ago, before Marta 
became sick, it was a good insurance policy. When he 
came out of the bathroom Cecilia was no longer in the 
sitting area. "In here," she purred from Dad's bedroom. 
Already naked, Cecilia quickly helped Dad out of his 
clothes and within minutes they were pawing at each 
other like teenagers.

"I wanted to, you know, pleasure her the way I always 
did ...." Dad's voice caught, "But she was in a hurry. 
'Fred, we don't have much time and I've been waiting 
for this for so long,' she urged me."

Then IT HAPPENED or rather it didn't. Dad explained 
that as he started to slide his cock into the eager 
young woman, his penis deflated. He was intensely 
embarrassed and more of less forced Cecilia to leave.

"And she won't go out with you again because of that?" 
I asked incredulously.

"She's called and says she understands and that she'd 
still like to get together, but how can I ask her to; 
I'm not man enough for a woman like her!"

"Not man enough, Dad? You should see yourself through a 
woman's eyes. Everything about you says you are strong 
and caring, experienced and competent, a man who would 
walk through fire to protect his woman and come out on 
the other side unscorched -- like you did for that 
young mother this afternoon. God Dad, you are a woman's 
man!"

"But not where it counts."

"Everywhere it counts. Here," I slipped my hand into 
his shirt and pressed it against his heart. "And here," 
I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "And as 
for here," I dropped my hand to his crotch, "This feels 
very manly." I said it to be nice, but my surprised 
fingers were nodding in agreement enthusiastically. An 
image flashed to mind, something I must have seen 
around the pool these last few days without thinking 
about it. There had been quite a lot of Dad packaged 
into his Speedos, quite a bit more than Ralph.

"But not when I needed it," Dad replied bitterly.

"That's what can happen you get a woman too hot, too 
fast, stud," I grinned, "Although it sounds to me like 
she was hot when she arrived. Too bad she didn't have a 
trace less passion and a smidgen more experience with 
men."

"Experience with men? Cecilia was married for eight 
years and has dated plenty since."

"She'd been dating boys, Dad. She doesn't understand 
men. And," I added, "I see that you didn't read the 
directions on the package." I went on to explain the 
reasons for his "failure," the time since he had last 
made love, the surprise of her visit, and especially 
that Cecilia moved too fast, before the Viagra started 
working. "You know what they say, Dad. If you fall off 
a horse, you've got to get right back on. Call her."

"But what if it happens again?"

"Well, maybe you should practice with someone else 
first to get your confidence back," I grinned.

"Who?" he asked, not looking at me.

"A woman who thinks you are hero," I whispered and 
tumbled myself into his chair, managing to move the 
lever to male it recline all the way. I was kissing him 
before he knew what was happening. He tried to protest 
a little, but having a willing woman in his arms, a 
woman who, I realized, had been flirting with him all 
day, whose breasts crushed against his chest and whose 
lips were glued to his, soon silenced his nonsense. 
After a few minutes of tongue fencing I let him up for 
air.

"Now, we are going to bed. You are going to take your 
Viagra and I am going to spend as long as it takes 
showing you how a woman gets a man like you ready for 
sex."

For the next forty five minutes I envied Martha and 
felt sorry for Cecilia. I had nothing to show Dad. His 
mouth and his hands traveled my body like vagabonds, 
never spending too much time in one place before moving 
on. Oh, they did have their favorite spots that they 
returned to, time and again: Twin Peeks, Lake Navel, 
the long thoroughfares of my legs, secluded nooks 
behind my ears. For the most part it was a narrated 
tour, as Dad lovingly told me how each feature of my 
intimate geography made up part of a perfect woman-
scape. 

"This land is your land,
"This land is my land,"
I hummed silently to myself.

Only one geographical feature of that mysterious 
continent Ellenia remained unexplored: the grotto 
hidden deep in the jungle between my legs. It could 
hardly have gone unnoticed to such an experienced 
explorer as Dad, especially as a small stream now 
issued from it and a musky aroma gave away the 
location. Gradually I realized Dad's delay had been 
tactical; he had been waiting for a third member to 
join his fingers and mouth in opening up and conquering 
this new territory. Once the party was at full 
strength, tongue was sent in on a scouting mission.

As Dad began his long, loving assault on my last 
redoubt, I stopped envying Martha and started wanting 
to light a candle for her in gratitude: this man knew 
how to eat a woman. Ralph had gone down on me a few 
times in grudging exchange for a blow job and several 
boys in college were not bad, but nothing compared to 
Dad's meticulous, well-planned invasion of my pussy, 
not least because of his very effective psychological 
warfare. "Your body is so beautiful, Ellen, especially 
here. Let me make it wet for you, so wet," he whispered 
all the time he was petting and stroking me. "That's 
it, honey, let me love this beautiful pussy."

Gently Dad pulled the lips apart. I felt his eyes on my 
inner lips, giving them their first, playful lick which 
made me shudder. Next he spread the tops of my all but 
neglected pussy until he found my clit. He blew it a 
soft salute, but avoided touching me there just yet. 
Dad stalked my pussy slowly, sensing that I love to be 
teased. He zeroed in on the inner part of his victim-
lover's thigh, kissing it, licking it making designs on 
it with the tip of his tongue. Time after time I 
squirmed with unbearable arousal as Dad came 
dangerously close to my center, only to float away. I 
never knew just when he would strike.

Suddenly Dad was licking the crease where my leg joined 
my pussy. I quivered as he nuzzled his face into my 
untamed bush. Brushing his lips over my now flowing 
slit without pressing down further excited me. Dad had 
me! Soon I was bucking up from the bed, straining to 
get more of him into me. The moment had arrived. Dad 
put his lips directly upon my slit.

He kissed me, gently, then harder. With his tongue, Dad 
separated my pussy lips and when I was opened, my 
assailant ran his tongue up and down between the layers 
of my pussy flesh. Gently she spread my unresisting 
legs with his hands.

Gently, ever so gently, Dad began to tongue-fuck me. My 
moans of arousal and frustration told him he was 
teasing his son's wife unmercifully. I was dying for 
some attention to my clit. It must be hard, hard enough 
to peek out of its covering. I wailed when Dad licked 
it and again when he licked harder, pressing into my 
skin.

Gently, Dad pulled the pussy lips aside and flicked his 
tongue against my uncovered clit. He did it quickly and 
my legs shuddered. Sensing that I was approaching 
orgasm, Dad made his lips into an O and took the clit 
into his mouth. Starting to suck gently, Dad looked up 
into my face for my reaction. Seeing I could handle it, 
he began to suck harder.

I lifted my pelvis into the air with the tension of my 
approaching orgasm. Dad hung on, keeping his hot mouth 
on my temple. "Don't stop. Please! Don't ever stop!" I 
wailed as I orgasmed.

Even as I was recovering, Dad began to finger-fuck me, 
making for the sensitive area at the roof of my vagina. 
It drove me crazy when a man touched her there. Wetting 
them with my flow, Dad slipped one then two fingers 
into my pussy, rubbing slowly at first, then a little 
faster, massaging my G spot rhythmically with a "come 
here" motion. He was tracking my responses perfectly, 
speeding up only when I did. 

My ragged breathing told him what to do. Sucking my 
clit and finger-fucking me at the same time, Dad was 
giving me far more stimulation than Ralph or any man 
could with a cock alone. I could feel my almost 
uncontainable excitement. I blushed and began to 
tremble.

Even when my next orgasm broke, Dad didn't let go of my 
clit, hanging on for the duration. When I started to 
come down from that climax, Dad pressed his tongue 
along the underside of my clit, leaving his lips 
covering the top. Gently, he moved his tongue in and 
out of my cunt. His fingers were still inside and he 
began to move them a little too, gently though, knowing 
how sensitive I was just now. Bingo! I was off towards 
another big O.

Not content to make me come, Dad must have wanted to 
make me his love-slave. He didn't leave me alone just 
yet. He talked to me, stroked my body, caressed and 
praised my breasts, pinched my nipples. He continued 
making love tome quietly until I had floated all the 
way down.

I was dazed from the intensity of the orgasms when I 
realized Dad so far was just softening me up. He sent 
his lips for a parley up by the lobes of my ears. 
"Ellen, sweetie, are you absolutely sure this is OK 
with you?"

What kind of trick question was that? Was it OK to let 
this wonderful, virile man continue to make love to me? 
"Yes, Dad, yes, please!"

Then I saw the implications of the question and my 
answer. He was on his knees, straddling my hips; my 
pussy, wet from repeated climaxes was open and 
defenseless. His cock, the cock I thought needed my 
help to get it hard, help sustain an erection long 
enough to penetrate a woman, hung there below his 
belly, short but as thick and hard as any cock I'd ever 
seen. It put my husband's to shame. "It's ... you're 
... beautiful, Dad," I whispered.

His mass sank on me in reply, his lips on mine as he 
penetrated my last defenses. Slowly he began to move in 
me, twisting and grinding his pubic bone against mine 
on each stroke. Even as he fucked, he was kissing my 
breasts, loving them as my husband never did. "So 
perfect, Ellen. So perfect." 

He continued to fuck me with short, strong strokes. His 
stamina was amazing. I was slowly headed for yet 
another orgasm. Already defeated, I could only sue for 
peace on the best terms I could get. "Fuck me, Dad! 
Fuck me, fuck me, please! Fuck MEEE," I cried out as I 
came on my father-in-law's cock.

Fucking me was exactly what he was already doing, but 
feeling my cataclysm may have accelerated his plans. I 
was headed for yet another orgasm when suddenly I felt 
him withdraw. I shuddered and almost cried at the 
emptiness. How could he leave me now when I needed him 
so much? Then I realized he had not given up, only 
exchanged the frontal assault for a flanking movement. 

His large hands grasped me and his powerful arms 
flipped me and pulled my ass into the air, vulnerable 
to a renewed onslaught. From this angle when he re-
entered me he could grasp me by my waist and slam me 
against his bulk as he rammed himself into me with 
incredible power. My world shrank to the pillow in my 
face and the incessant hammering of Dad's cock in my 
pussy.

At last, his thrusts became quicker and punchier. I 
heard a low, animalistic roar as he stiffened, 
shuddered, and slammed himself into me. "So gorgeous, 
baby! So sexy! Come for me, come for me, Ellen!" From 
out of nowhere yet another climax erupted over me as 
Dad released himself deep into my womb. He collapsed on 
top of me, his cock still plugging me, holding his 
sperm inside me. The war was over; the colonization had 
begun.

When the fireworks in my body subsided, I twisted onto 
my side to face him, glowing with feelings of love and 
protected ness in his strong stocky arms. I wanted to 
say something in gratitude, in tribute to the best 
lovemaking I'd ever experienced, but Dad was already 
asleep, smiling. I settled for kissing his nose, 
pushing my butt into the crook of his groin, and 
pulling his arms around me.

Dad is over 60 and we did not "go at it" four more 
times that night. Nor was I awakened at 5 AM by him 
pounding away at me. In fact Dad was still asleep when 
I got up the next morning to fix breakfast. I figured 
it should be a hearty one. I was rather pleased that I 
had exhausted him. As I mixed flour, meal, eggs, and 
oil for pancakes, the reality of what we had done, of 
what *I* had done, for surely I had started it, sank 
in. I had had sex, no I had made love with my husband's 
father. 

And not only that -- another thought intruded -- I had 
done so I the middle of my cycle, totally unprotected! 
I never thought I would be having sex on this trip, 
much less with my father-in-law, and besides, I was 
accustomed to Ralph taking the precautions, precautions 
against consequences I didn't particularly want to 
avoid.

There! I had thought it. I wanted more children. I 
resented Ralph for being unromantic and far too sparing 
with lovemaking, for failing to pet me and hold me, and 
tell me I'm desirable, but I resented more his not 
wanting to make babies with me. Looking back at my 
actions, it seemed as if I had spent the last 24 hours 
with the sole intent to seduce the handsome, virile man 
still sleeping in the bed I had just shared. I had used 
every wile ten thousand generations of women had 
learned to ensure that this male would shoot his potent 
seed into me at the best possible time and most 
propitious way to achieve conception. And I didn't 
regret it in the least.

The rest of the weekend was a more drawn out reprise of 
last night. I discovered that Dad had not taken Viagra, 
which lasts only a few hours, but a newer drug, the 
Mexican version of Tadalafil called (I'm not making 
this up) "Rapivir," which touts itself as a 
"weekender." I could write an unsolicited testimonial, 
although I prefer to believe it was more the excitement 
of our slow but passionate lovemaking that keep Dad 
going Saturday and Sunday and indeed once Monday 
afternoon, just hours before Ralph and Kevin were to 
return. We did it that last time in Dad's recliner in 
the living room, teasing each other to insane arousal 
about the danger of his son and my son walking in to 
find their parents fucking.

They did not of course. I was counting on Ralph to be 
predictable. They had seen news of the fire on TV and 
wanted to know all about it. I had to do most of the 
talking -- that's lovable, reticent Dad -- over a nice 
dinner in a little Cuban restaurant. The next day we 
packed, said our good byes, and were off for New 
Jersey.

*****

About two weeks after we got back, I got a call from 
Cecilia. Dad asked her out, she found that sitter again 
but allowed more time, and they spent a wonderful night 
of lovemaking. A few days later, however, Dad confessed 
to her how he "got his groove back." 

"He told you that?" I gasped, dreading what she would 
say next.

"We have promised not to have secrets and besides, why 
should I be mad? He is grateful to you, but he's in 
love with me. As we say, 'No hay mal que por bien no 
venga.'"

"Oh, that's good," I laughed. "'Nothing bad happens, 
but that good comes of it.' But, hey, that makes me the 
'something bad,'" I protested in mock anger.

"No Ellen, you are the 'something good,' the best thing 
that's happened to Fred since Martha died, except me, I 
hope."

"Count on it, Ceci."

"I had to call to thank you. I know you didn't intend 
to seduce Fred, but because you did, I have my 
wonderful man back. Just don't make a habit of it!" 
There was an edge of seriousness in her levity.

*****

From then on scarcely a day went by we were not on the 
phone or at least sending e-mails to each other. Maybe 
it had something to do with knowing how much alike we 
look, but I felt like Cecilia was the little sister I 
never had. She mentioned feeling the same about me.

Then one day I got an excited call. "Ellie, Ellie, I've 
got to tell you. I can't believe it, it's so grand!"

"Calm down Ceci, what's up? Did you finally get your 
echocardiogram service incorporated?"

"No, something a hundred times better. Fred and I are 
getting married, the twenty-fifth of next month!"

"Oh, that's wonderful, Ceci! I'm so happy for you, for 
you both, but frankly, I'm not surprised. Dad's letters 
have been full of "Cecilia this" and "Cecilia that" and 
"the boys and I," and "we." He sounds like a teenager 
bragging about his first girlfriend. But why so soon? 
There won't be time to plan a real blow out. This 
deserves a big celebration."

"We were planning to announce it for early next year, 
but we no longer have that luxury. I got the news, 
yesterday, Ellie. I'm pregnant."

My mouth dropped. "You're ... you're WHAT? Why that 
horny old stud!" I laughed again.

"Yeah, I think he got me on the very first time we were 
back together. After what happened the time before, I 
wasn't prepared. I'm not on the pill and I didn't have 
any condoms. We almost didn't get out of bed all 
weekend."

"Yeah, that's how he operates," I snorted. "I'm about 
two weeks ahead of you!"

*****

Epilogue:

"Ohmygod! What a hot story, honey," the woman 
exclaimed. "That was a wonderful anniversary present, 
Mr Edgewater. I can't believe how horny it got me. I'm 
gushing."

"I'd better check, don't you think honey?" her husband 
grinned, pushing up her pale blue camisole and sliding 
his hand toward her pussy.

"You'd better do a lot more than check, baby! You've 
got one seriously turned-on wife in this bed that needs 
her husband's balding head between her legs. And if so 
much as one drop of me spills onto the sheets, you get 
it! AHHHH! Like that! Ummmm! Don't hurry. I'm not going 
anywhere until you finish. Haaa! Take all the time I 
need."

"I just can't get over how close that story comes to 
what happened last month when we were down visiting 
your father. Ooouuu, Yes! Ummm. Of course Dad's 
girlfriend is kind of white trailer trash and not a hot 
Latina babe and he and I did it just once, while you 
and Rodney were at the Devil Rays game, not all 
weekend, but ... OH, nice! Oh oh! Slow down, tiger, I, 
going to ... AAAAhhhh!"

"Uh uh. No you don't! Just stay right where you are, 
Buster. I'm not finished with you. Aahhhh! Remember no 
spills down there. Get that wonderful mouth of yours 
working again honey. Ummmmm 

"Of course I made Dad wear a condom. I mean, I'm not 
stupid. You certainly wouldn't want me pregnant again! 
Ahhhh Aaahh!

"Wow! Was that for me saying 'pregnant again?' Ahhhh 
Aaahh Aaaahhh! I guess so."

"Now I get it! You put that Vomer Hargus, or whatever 
his name is, up to writing that story, didn't you. You 
were telling him things about me, letting a stranger in 
on our little secrets because my husband is fantasizing 
about me getting knocked up! Ahhhh, Ahhhhh!"

"Is that it? You want to see my breasts go back to 
42DD? Ahhhh, Ahhhhh!" 

"And my belly swell up tight with another baby? Ahhhh, 
Ahhhhh!"

"By your dad? Ahhhh, Ahhhhh!"

"I guess your tongue has answered those questions! 
Well, let me tell you something, you pervert! It's not 
going to happen. DON'T STOP LICKING! I'm not gong to 
play along with your little sick game! You probably 
want, to watch while another man fucks me! Ahhhh, 
Ahhhhh!"

"And what else has been going on in that fevered clump 
of nerve cells you use for a brain? Me fucking a black 
man? Ahhhh, Ahhhhh!"

"Giving you a little brown bastard to raise? Ahhhh, 
Ahhhhh, Ahhhhh!"

"Disgusting lowlife! No way, Jose. YOU are going to 
make a baby in me this time, you bastard, no two ways 
about it. And if you so much as glance at the drawer 
where the condoms are, you're not going to have a cock 
left to put one on. Now, get your face out of my pussy 
and get your dick in there where it belongs. You're 
going to make me pregnant if I have to fuck you all 
weekend!"

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