(ASS) Marie Chapter 13 part three of four parts
FRIAR DAVE
I called Dan, and he agreed to come to the hotel for dinner. I didn't
mention Mark, and Dan didn't ask; he was assuming Mark would be there
now.
I took a very hot shower, scrubbing my flash vigorously. I washed my
hair and used the blow dryer provided by the hotel. I ordered food
from the room service menu and told them to deliver it at 7:30. Dan
was due at six.
At 5:30, I put my hair under a shower cap and again got under the hot
spray. After 10 minutes, I wrapped myself in a towel and left the
shower running. I stood there in the bathroom doorway, letting the
steam fill the hotel suite.
At a couple of minutes after six, I heard his knock. I turned off the
shower and answered the door. He stared at me.
"Come in, come in -- or do you want someone to see me besides my very
own brother?"
He entered, and I locked the door behind him as he shed his coat.
"Where's Mark?"
I took his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. "He had to
leave town early, so I thought you and I could have a nice, quiet
family dinner together." I saw his gaze flicker to the tops of my
tits, squeezing above the towel, and to my hardening nipples. He
glanced down at my legs. The towel barely reached to my pussy and
covered maybe half of my ass.
"Well, aren't you going to kiss your little sister hello?"
He bent awkwardly, keeping our bodies apart, to peck me on the cheek.
I took his face in my hands, and then I laid it on his lips. The towel
fell. I pressed up against him, wrapping my arms around his neck, but
he wasn't trying to get away, now. I felt him shiver, and then he
grabbed me in both arms and began kissing the hell out of me. I could
feel his cock, stiff and throbbing, through his trousers. I ground my
cunny against his thigh. I felt his hands move over my bare back and
then cup and squeeze my butt. I was going to cum in about another 10
seconds, and I wanted to make this last. I released him, planning to
get his pants out of the way.
As soon as I let go, so did he, and he stepped away.
I moved toward him, but he held his hand up, palm toward me. "No."
"But you want it! I want it! Mark's gone! Why the fuck not?"
"Something just doesn't feel right about this, about you."
"Don't give me that 'sister' crap -- "
"Not that. Something else. Desperation? I don't know. But I know this
is wrong right now. Every instinct in me says it's a bad idea."
I turned and ran, butt-naked, in the bedroom and threw myself on the
bed, crying. The only thing I heard from him was when he stood in the
bedroom doorway, eyes hungrily devouring my naked form. "Good-bye,
Marie. When you're ready to talk about it, I'm ready to hear about
it."
After room service came and went, I took some pills. I had become an
expert on this. I washed them down with a half bottle of wine. It was
only 8:30, but you better believe I slept.
I went home the next day. I got a job paying minimum wage at Big Boy.
I wore the shortest skirts and the lowest blouses and got the biggest
tips. I moved in with five other girls in an old house in a bad
neighborhood on the East Side of Toledo. I partied. I coped.
I never saw Mark again. He wouldn't see me, wouldn't allow me into the
restaurant, wouldn't call me or return my calls. I knew why, but it
didn't help when they found his body a month after New York. Four
shots to the back of the head. I was never approached in any way; he'd
made it clear to the watchers that I was not involved in the business,
didn't know anything or anyone.
Of course, by then I knew I was pregnant.
Gerald, One of the guys I'd occasionally dated in high school, had
stayed in touch with me, as a "friend." We dated more often after
Mark's execution, and he finally told me he'd really been in love with
me for two years. He didn't care whose baby I was carrying; it would
be our child. So we married in the spring of '72, a small ceremony at
city hall. I was almost eight months gone. I didn't love him, but he
was a good guy and devoted to me and our child.
Raising a kid is tough on anyone; for a 17 year old, it was hell. For
someone as young as I was, it could only get better, I figured. Wrong.
Remember the Oil Shortage? Gerald's job disappeared with most of the
others when his plant closed. He began drinking. I joined him more
often than not. When he was drunk, he wanted rough sex, and if I was
drunk, too, so did I. When he was sober he whined. I took it as long
as I could, and for a while, when he was getting regular work with a
local contractor, things improved enough that we regarded my second
pregnancy as a hopeful sign. When my second son was born, Gerald was
true to his vow: the boys were identically loved and revered in his
eyes.
But Gerald was always looking for a get-rich-quick scheme. He finally
got into the kind that involves selling shares of a company that
doesn't make anything.
[Yes, a Ponzi.]
Somehow, he couldn't find anyone in the Midwest as gullible as he had
been. We ran out of money, and he started drinking again halfway
through his unemployment insurance. He borrowed money from the wrong
kind of people, the kind that Mark had been involved with, and began
pressuring me to pose for some pictures that he could sell to them to
get them off his back. I did, twice, both times after I'd gotten
myself high as a kite. When I saw the second set of pictures, I
realized that I'd gone far beyond posing, and I didn't remember any of
the men or the woman. My husband then began grinding my face in it and
I'd feel bad and get drunk or stoned...
I was a mess.
One of my cousins finally helped me get straightened out, and I left
Gerald in '75. Mom and Dad and my sisters helped me out as much as
they could.
I settled down, for the most part, but I had to let loose every now
and then. I could always tell when it was coming. The nightmares would
start, and I'd start drinking two or three beers in the evenings,
after the boys were in bed, to help me sleep without dreaming. Then
I'd do a countdown of the days till the boys were staying over at
someone's house.
Finally, I'd get dressed up in what I called my "fuck-this-no-good-
slut" clothes. You know, flashing some tit and making sure every line
of my body was visible. I always went to the same two or three places,
and word got around. One night, as soon as I walked in, half the men
in the place started cheering. They knew I was going to get drunk or
stoned and fuck somebody's nuts off. One night, after the place
closed, I took on 18 guys and provided seconds and thirds as needed.
By then, of course, I'd learned something: condoms.
Eventually, in late '82, I was contacted by maybe the only person in
the world who could have gotten me to act: Bonnie.
She'd heard from a boyfriend about what I was doing -- I'd done him
one night in the bar -- and came over to see me. She had just finished
detoxifying on a methadone program and was in AA and therapy; she
recognized the signs and made a suggestion. Which was when I started
the therapy. It was very, very tough, but it helped. I'm not all the
way there yet, but I'm closer.
I didn't see Dan again until '85. Mom and Dad had sold the house up
north and moved to one of those little developments near Scottsdale,
Arizona. Dad had a heart attack, and Mom needed all of the kids around
her for support. She flew me and my brothers out; the rest paid their
own way.
It had been 14 years since that last night in the hotel room, and I
hadn't let myself think about him at all, in that way, since then.
Older now, stockier, a little silver creeping in the beard, the sight
of him still sent a thrill through me. But there were more urgent
matters at hand, not the least of them my inner conflicts over Dad. A
lot of memories and anger, long suppressed, were boiling over now. I
was going through wild mode swings while they did the bypass on Dad.
He would be fine, they said, but he had to stay calm and follow a
regimen till his health was restored -- and then he'd be better than
new.
The night before he was to come home from the hospital, my sister and
I dragged Dan out to one of the local nightspots. My other brothers
had already returned to Ohio -- to school and a precarious job,
respectively.
Jeanne and Alexis knew the club from previous visits. Their
description sounded great to me and awful to Dan, whom we voted to be
the designated driver.
I felt sure enough of myself to have a few drinks with my sisters.
Dan, of course, indulged himself in a glass of red wine and then drank
nothing but seltzer the rest of the night. Alexis and I got pretty
rocked. Jeanne was just woozy. Once we got into the car and started
driving through the unfamiliar night, I was glad Dan was sober.
Jeanne and I talked pretty freely in the car. On recollection, I know
that our conversation was meaningless to Dan, since we were exchanging
references that only we three sisters would understand. At that
moment, though, I was just messed up enough to be sure he knew
everything we were talking about.
Back at the house, Mom was already sacked out -- she'd been taking a
lot of medication to calm her nerves -- and snoring. Dan went into the
kitchen and got himself a beer while Alexis crashed in the spare
bedroom. Dan was going to sleep on a cot in the basement, and Jeanne
and I were going to share the pullout in the living room.
That last beer hit Jeanne pretty hard, though, and we started kidding
and teasing. At one point, I kind of said, too loud, "So, Jeanne, do
you want to play Yellow Pages like we used to?"
I didn't mean it, of course, and we both knew it. We laughed like the
drunks we were, then giggled uncontrollably.
Then Dan's voice from the kitchen, where he was sipping his beer,
smoking a cigarette and trying to read a book: "'Yellow Pages'?"
"You know," Jeanne giggled, and we both started singing, "Let your
fingers do the walking in the Yellow Pages."
Dan stuck his head into the living room. "Oh, so that's what you two
were up to in the bedroom all the time. And you were what, Marie --
11?"
"And I was just a wittle giwl," Jeanne announced in a singsong voice.
"As busy as you guys were, and all the time I had to choke the chicken
when I was visiting," he said ruefully. I could tell he was just
kidding us.
"I seem to remember trying real hard to change that," Jeanne said.
"Yes, and you were much too little to be an object of my desire."
"I wasn't," I reminded him.
"You were, too."
"Alexis wasn't," I pointed out.
"St. Alexis the Pure never tried that stunt on me," he said. "She was
definitely not too little -- but she was also definitely not
interested."
"Was, too," Jeanne mumbled.
Dan stepped into the room and over to the pullout.
"How do you know?"
"She told me, couple of years ago."
"Too bad she didn't tell me many years ago."
"She's still sexy and pretty, isn't she?" I demanded.
"Yeah, sure -- "
"Well, why don't you go get into bed with her and have sex with her.
She'd still like that, I know she would. She's still hot for you. Go
in and have sex with her!" My voice was getting shrill and angry.
Jeanne knew what it meant and cautioned me with a touch on my arm.
I shook her off. "But you wouldn't do that, would you? And you
wouldn't do it then, either. And you wouldn't do it when we wanted
to!"
I had started crying.
"That's why we always wanted you to stay, because you wouldn't have
let it happen, would you?"
Jeanne had her arms around me, and Dan sat next to me on the bed.
"Would you?" I demanded. "Would you have let him do it?"
"Do what?" he asked. I could feel the tension in him.
"Would you have let that -- that ANIMAL rape us?"
His head jerked back as if he'd been slapped. "Who?"
I couldn't speak for myself, but Jeanne could speak for me, for both
of us.
"Dad," she said quietly.
"When?"
"It started when I was eight," I whispered.
Remember when I told you how Dan looked when he dealt with those three
punks who wanted to force me to party with them? He got that same look
on his face. I had a terrible feeling that he was close to exploding.
"Will you tell me about it? Do you want to?"
So then I told him. Until then, the only people I had told were my Mom
and, many years later, my therapist.
So then I told him. I didn't have to tell Jeanne or Alexis. They'd
gone through it, too. But I finally told Dan, and now I'll tell you.
I was a little bit more than eight years old. We'd had a whopper of a
storm the night before. Frightened by the lightning and thunder, I
crawled into bed with Mom and Dad. This was not unusual. The next
morning, Alexis had already headed off someplace or other -- I don't
remember where or why -- and Mom had taken Jeanne and my brothers to
the dentists. I had great teeth, always have, and didn't have to go.
Anyhow, I woke up alone in bed with Dad. It was still very humid, and
hot, and we didn't have any air-conditioning. Dad was wearing his
boxer shorts and I was just wearing my panties. At eight, this is no
big deal, either.
Dad was still fast asleep, but I was awake and alert. It was summer
vacation, and I wanted to play!
I saw the big bump in Dad's underwear, and when I reached out to touch
it, he woke up.
"What's that? Does it hurt?"
He got a funny look in his face. "That's special. It doesn't hurt, but
it will if it stays like that."
"It's special?"
"Very special. It's for big girls to play with."
"I'm a big girl, ain't I? How do you play with it? Can I see it?"
"Well, I don't know, baby. Do you really, really want to see it?"
I nodded my head vigorously.
"Well, then, let's see if my little girl is ready to be a big girl for
her daddy. But you have to promise to keep it a secret, just for you
and me. Men aren't supposed to let girls play with it until they're
all grown up, and I don't want anyone being jealous and mad because I
let you start having fun early. Can't tell anyone, okay? Not even
Mommy or Jeanne or Alexis -- not ANYone, ever. Promise?"
I was fascinated that I was finally going to see one of the Mysteries
of Adults. I agreed whole-heartedly, saying "cross my heart" and
making an "x" over my tiny, flat breast.
"Well -- okay," he said.
So I uncovered his cock. It was swollen and hot and red and looked
absolutely huge.
"Gosh -- and it doesn't hurt?"
"Not if you play with it right."
"And it's fun for big girls to play with it?"
"Um-hmmm."
So he showed me how to grab it. My little hand didn't come close to
wrapping around it. He had me kneel up and jerk it with both hands a
little bit. Then he told me to kiss it and lick it on the end.
I thought that was yucky and told him so.
"It's not yucky when it's like that," he said. "Big girls know that --
and big girls like being licked down there, too."
I suspected that was true because sometimes, in the tub, I'd felt a
nice buzzing when I'd touched myself down there.
"I'll show you," he said, rolling over. "Let's take these off --"
He started pulling down my little panties, tickling me a little to
show it was fun. I rolled onto my back and squealed as he took them
off.
"And now I'm going to eat you all up!" he said, just the way he had
when telling me bedtime stories. But this time he did. He got his face
between my legs and started lapping at my little cunt. It felt so good
that I didn't even mind the way his stubble scraped the insides of my
thighs. I didn't cum or anything like that, but it was incredibly
pleasurable and totally new to me.
He stopped after a few minutes. My cunt was saliva-soaked on the
outside, and his face was wet with his own spit. My little nipples
were hard.
"Why'd you stop?"
"Now it's your turn," he said, and rolled over.
Well, I licked and kissed his cock, and he showed me how to touch his
balls, and then I tried to do what he said and put it in my mouth, but
my mouth was very, very small, and I couldn't open wide enough. And
all the time I'd been doing that to his cock, he'd been fondling and
caressing me and running his fingers around between my legs and up and
down over my ass and twat. They felt nice. And kissing and licking it
was not even yucky. Just like he'd said.
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