This is a work of fantasy. It is not about real people, and if it
is, its not what they would do. (not that you are likely to know them
anyway). If you are under 18, go away, since I don’t like to get in
trouble. If you are turned off by perversion, what are you doing at
asstr? In other words, go away. If none of this applies to you, great!
Read on! Have fun! Let me know
what you like!
Oh, and I work hard on my writing…so guess what? Its mine.
That’s right boys and girls…its copyrighted…so if you want it? Just ask-
we’ll talk.
Dryad
******************************************************************************
Return (MF, rom)
I’m not a pig. Really!
You say that because you don’t know, or don’t think. Yes, yes,
he was my best friend’s father. But you’re missing the point!
I was wandering the park. It was Monday afternoon; not many people
out. It looked like rain, but its not like I was gonna melt or anything.
Then I saw him. He was walking along the avenue of oaks.
He looked gaunt, tired. No, that’s not right. He looked lonely, not
the kind of closed off lonely, but the look a child has when they’ve lost
something that kept them safe. Compared to the Mr. Allard I knew, it
was devastating. I mean, this is the man who actually let us teach
him how to do the Swim and the Monkey. He was so vibrant.
I knew Mrs. Allard had passed. Breast cancer. She
only lived 4 months after they found out. Such a shame. I read about
the funeral, but hey, funerals are for the living. She knew I’d miss
her and wished her well and I wasn’t going to cry because I had known such
a beautiful person.
But here he was coming toward me. Actually, bumped right
into me.
“Mr. Allard, I’m so sorry. I heard. It was so sudden. She was
too young.” I said and I put my hand on his arm. All of which are true. Words
just never do service to the feelings we have.
You could see it took him a moment to recognize me. Well,
I guess that is fair, I stopped straightening my hair when I graduated high
school in ’67, though he’d seen me since then.
“Thank you, Sandy” he said forcing a slight smile, shaken out
of his reverie. “It was quick; she didn’t suffer much.”
Odd how men have to try and act so strong, when its obvious he
thought the world fell apart. I fell into step with him. Why,
You ask? Quite frankly, the man shouldn’t have been alone. For all
the times he listened to me, I could damn well listen. Maybe remind him he
didn’t die with her.
“This place,” he shook his head as he continued walking, “It was
so special. Did you know Laura and I met here? I proposed to
her, here at the fountain.” He chuckled slightly. “I was never so scared.
I shook so bad, I actually dropped the ring in the fountain.” I smiled.
I could see him doing it. “We both jumped in, running our hands around looking
for it. She was so wet….” His voice trailed off suddenly. Like
I was going to care? Hell, I lost my virginity to Matt Jamison in his basement
sophomore year. No, that wasn’t going to bother me. Not only that,
but I believe its important to remember those things. I reached out
for his hand. He looked so lost.
“It’s okay. It’s important to remember her that way. I’m
not exactly the little kid you remember.” I’d been practically living at
their house since I was 7, so I guess his not wanting to share was understandable.
But, he needs this, and it’s certainly better he talk it out with me than
Denise. Kids don’t want to know about what their parents do after hours.
Then it began to rain. I mean RAIN. It had been warm,
so I had been wearing one of my old hippie days peasant shirts. Not
exactly good for rainstorms. Then I noticed it. He was staring
at my chest, but oddly, I knew it wasn’t me he was staring at. I mean,
come on, Laura died of breast cancer; and I realized. I wasn’t hitting
on him. I wasn’t asking for anything. But, somehow I knew, I
knew he needed to see, to feel, to realize that they all didn’t go hard,
malignant and murderous.
I took the hand I was holding and softly pulling it to my breast.
“Its okay,” I murmured. His hand shook, then rested on my breast.
“So soft,” He whispered. That’s when I knew I was right.
But I was getting soaked, and the bandstand was way the hell over on the
other side of the park. His fingers rested on my breast momentarily, then
as though realizing the sky was opening up, he pulled me by the hand, running
toward a stand of hemlock Denise and I used to play house in, when we were
little kids.
We pushed our way through the outer boughs, and into the inner
sanctum. It would stay dry here, unless it really started to downpour.
Suddenly, he leaned low and kissed me softly, putting all his boiling emotion
into it. I knew it wasn’t me. He was far too in love with Laura.
But I realized this, and knew that this was his way of saying goodbye, or
gaining closure, or just healing. Call it what you will. I’ve
done a lot of things in this life I wasn’t exactly proud of, but letting
him make love to me was not one of them. His hand caressed my face, memorizing
each detail, the slope of my jaw, the curve of my neck. He kissed surprisingly
well, and I soon found myself kissing him back; between the affection and
sensuality, I began to lose myself.
I showed him with my body, reminded him he was alive. My leg went
up and wrapped around his legs. Our lips parted, gasping for breath.
We suddenly lost our balance and I landed on top of him. We laughed
out loud, and I rubbed his backside, pretending to make his boo-boo feel
better. We rolled in the dry, brown, slick needles.
He pressed into me, kissing me, but suddenly shy, sluggish; so
tender of me. My hands told him though, placed on his shoulders, bringing
his lips to my breast. His lips covered a chilled nipple through my
shirt, warming it with his tongue. Oh, god I couldn’t tell you how
it felt. The sensation was incredible, yes, but I found I was needed.
He needed me, showed me how much he did, as he moved to my other side.
This new sudden power surged through me, and I could no long keep my body
still.
“Please.” I whispered. Please forgive me for not being Laura,
please let me help you.
“Laura,” he moaned softly. He continued to trail down my tummy.
My skirt was pulled up around my waist. He knelt between my legs, kissing
my thighs. My hands reached for his hair, pulling him closer.
He nuzzled at me, at my warmth. I reached down to help him, peeling
my underwear off. He sighed. Such a sigh!
Suddenly, he was licking against me. I went a bit hazy then.
I shivered, quaked. Then out of nowhere, I came. I mean really
came hard. I usually made a ton of noise as I got close, but this was
such a surprise, I was speechless. His tongue fluttered over my clitoris,
and my orgasm continued, until I began to whimper low. God, I wanted him.
It no longer mattered that he was my friend’s father. He was someone
I loved and respected, and was making me feel surprisingly incredible.
I pulled him up to me, wanting more of him.
He knelt between my legs, pressing his head against me, rubbing
it softly into my wetness, before pressing slowly into me. He filled
me. His warmth, his caring. This was different from all the times I’d
slept with people; it wasn’t for fun, it wasn’t to prove a point—wasn’t because
I had hopes of marrying. It was just caring.
He pressed in fully, before sliding back out just as slowly.
I couldn’t help but moan, feeling the pressure build within me again.
Felt how he was feeling in an odd sense. Shaking beneath him, feeling him
lose himself in my body.
I watched his face as he relaxed from his orgasm. I smiled
softly. He looked stunned, even a bit embarrassed; it was rather sweet.
But then I saw the pain creep in. He fell onto my chest, weeping the
large tears that only come with something so painful. I didn’t say
anything. I wrapped my arms around him, and let him lose himself in
me.
He tried to apologize, said I could press charges for raping me,
as his tears continued to fall.
“Of course not.” I replied, brushing back his hair. “Its okay
to cry.”
“I thought you were Laura, I’m so sorry.” He sniffled quietly,
as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.
“I knew. Its fine. You were saying goodbye.” I continued
to stroke his shoulders. I wish I had someone who loved me as much as he
loved Laura.
“She’s gone. She’s really gone. I miss her so much.”
His tears fell silently onto my chest.
“I know.” I held him softly, absorbing his pain.
He sniffed again. “What happens now?”
“Well, what do you want to happen?” I parried. I was open to possibilities
after all.
So now, you think I’m a pig. Well, you know what? I don’t
care, because I just saw a smiling man hold his new grandchild. A man who
hasn’t REALLY smiled in a long time. Denise had a baby girl. My god-daughter’s
name is Laura.
Copyright Dryad ([email protected]) 2002
read the mirror; Gone
This story has quite a bit to do with Breast cancer.
It can not only kill those it directly affects, but hurts those around
them. Please consider clicking on the link below. This is one
of those "click-and-donate" links that donates money for free mammograms.
Thanks!